So yeah, this isn't fun.

Due to the beat down that occurred at Giants Stadium yesterday (and I'm not talking Sanchez) I took today off. For those of you wondering, this is what a broken collarbone looks like:


I think these are the two broken pieces:


Apparently there is a chasm between the broken pieces. My hopes of being a shoulder model are forever ruined. I'll refrain from posting pictures of what this thing actually looks like. No reason to make you gag.

Oh, and Charlie Weis was canned today. So yeah, there's that.

I'm never rooting for the Jets again.

Whelp, so much for being thankful for my health. I attended the NY Jets game against Carolina this afternoon with a colleague of mine. Great day. Great weather. Great tailgate. Crap game but the Jets pulled out an uninspiring win.

Then there was post-game in the parking lot.

The scene: Six grown men and two kids from the neighboring tailgate, passing the time with a game of touch football.
The call: 10 yard slant over the middle (redundant description but necessary for the non-football readers).
The play: Broken pass, incomplete.
The result: Broken left collarbone.

Sonofabitch. I blame Mark Sanchez.

I've never been in this kind of pain before. Perhaps this is because it's my first broken bone, but the fact that the collarbone is sorta-kinda-maybe attached and related to everything is a literal pain. It doesn't help that I'm left handed either. Try brushing your teeth or putting on a sock with your non-dominant hand then get back to me.

No pictures from the hospital, but this one is of some creep taking photos of these lovely ladies.

Tree time.

Continuing tradition, we cut down the family tree this afternoon at a farm in upstate New Jersey. It sure does beat buying it off of a Manhattan street corner.

This will never get old.

The broskie and I hit up some shopping this afternoon, and this gem of a shirt was for sale at Dick's Sporting Goods. Spectacular? You better believe it.

Plenty to be thankful for.

Health. Home in Brooklyn. Home in Jersey. Friends. Fam. Yuengling. Dear Old State. GPA enabled phones. Food. Drink. My ipod. Employment. Garlic. Joe Paterno. Blogs. Every play that actually changes the season. Flying into LaGuardia at night. Thanksgiving leftovers. The Brooklyn Bridge. Netflix. Books. The act of eating peanut butter with a spoon. Christmas in New York. Snow. Sun. Heck, all four seasons. 27 World Championships. Digital cameras. Macs. Hulu. Salt and pepper. Unlimited Metro cards. That's what she said.

Turkey and gravy step aside. There's a new killer combo this fall.

I discovered Dogfish Head's "Punkin Ale" one night after work at Stag's Head pub. Seasonal brews are nothing new, as Sam's and Blue Moon have been doing it for years with much success. But this Dogfish brew is hard to track down, and even if you find it you'll be paying a premium for a 4-pack (10 bucks in NJ, 13 Brooklyn). But dammmmmn is it worth it.

I sat down with a cold ale this afternoon and nonchalantly sliced off a piece of homemade banana bread. Bite of bread. Swig of Dogfish. Brilliant. The combination of spices and flavors from each came together in ridiculous perfection. I foresee myself enjoying this combination for the rest of the week.

If you see this beer in your local shop I highly recommend picking it up. Just note the 7% alcohol content, slightly higher than you the typical Miller Lite. Then again, it won't set you on your ass like Michael Scott's seasonal drink of choice:

Park Avenue is trying to force the fall season out.

The Christmas lights are here right on schedule, if you count pre-Thanksgiving on schedule. Leaves are still on the trees that line Park Avenue, giving the midtown stretch of pavement a fall-like feeling. But it's not. Thanksgiving is all but an afterthought here in midtown. Christmas trees are for sale on the streets. Black Friday commercials are on overload (even Hulu is running them).

More pictures of the holidays to come when I am back after the holiday. Cheers!

The End of an Era.

Goodbye, Philadelphia.

Annoying Gap commercials invade more than just your living room.

The newest slew of Gap commercials [link] are a sure sign that flannel is alive and no longer a hipster-only fashion. But unlike the TV spots that you can avoid, Gap is giving you no choice but to stare at their smiling faces while you wait an eternity for the bus. These maniacal characters will surely not allow you to fall asleep like beer.

While on the subject of commercials, this one for Sony's Play Station 3 is one of my favs. With a stick. Stick.

It's like fall wrapped up in a tiny piece of foil.

I mean this in the most honest and straightforward way. Pumpkin spice Hershey Kisses are the best candy I've ever had.

Best. Candy. Ever.

Ever.

They were limited edition (as in nonexistent) and were on shelves for only a few weeks before the onslaught of the green and red. A friend of mine introduced them to me, and calls around town failed to turn up any remaining packages. But fear not, plans are in the works to stock up on them for the winter.

What is he doing on the Upper East Side?

Garbage day strikes again. De La Vega, the artist who's shop was on my old street (pre-Brooklyn move), somehow made his way to the Upper East Side for the day. It was a refreshing reminder for a message I was used to seeing tagged on everything from dumpsters to TV's on a daily basis.

More crates on the loose.

Who knows why, but this stack of milk crates were chained up together. Not as nice as the other day's crate. But hey, this is a point a shoot camera, remember?

I love it when New York shows its hand.

We all have an ace in our back pocket. It's something that makes us feel our best on our toughest days or during our most important moments. Maybe it's a certain shirt and tie combo. A lucky t-shirt. A certain perfume or set of heels. A favorite song blaring through headphones on the walk to work. Whatever it is, the world is at your taking.



New York has its share of aces. Some are no longer with us, and others have been here for what seems like forever. When the Chrysler Building shows its face, you know this city wins every time. There is something indescribably powerful yet humbling about its presence. It reminds you where you are, what you're doing, and what can be. It can make a bad day better, and a good day great. It makes you reminiscence. It makes you dream. It makes you thankful for what you have, while at the same time making you thirsty for more.

Manhattan's blank canvas.

It's probably quite obvious that I use a point and shoot camera on a daily basis. Most of the time I'm satisfied with its discreetness when it comes to stalker shots. And sometimes I land pictures that I'm proud of. Tonight was one of them.



Milk crates are used for more than just dairy products. Sure there are elementary uses like moving products, storing widgets, or moving from apartment to apartment. They also make killer seats for subway musicians. Or a newsstand for the afternoon paper boy selling the Times for half price.

I noticed this one sitting unmanned outside of my office tonight, the building's exterior lighting putting it on a proverbial stage. Where was owner? Why was this here? I couldn't help but wonder what kind of stories the banged up crate could tell. Tourists scurried by on their way back from Rockefeller Center, and businesspeople didn't notice it as they raced for the 6 train. And yet I crouched down, snapped a few photos, and landed this shot. The crate will be gone tomorrow, off to another job, supporting another performance. One more story to tell.

A November stroll that felt like September.

Sundays are lazy, obviously. Laundry, maybe brunch, and thatttttt's about it. But today included a walk up and down the east side. It was beautiful and unseasonably warm today, and the winter-coming-soon-so-the-sun-is lower-in-the-sky situation has been producing some kick ass sunsets (even if they're happening before 5pm). Today was no exception. The sun was screaming off of the United Nations facade as the rays cut past the Chrysler Building. Really, something to see.

Chess master hard at work.

I never learned how to play chess. Checkers? That's my game (don't get me started on Connect Four). This big guy was actually teaching his competitor how to play. I must have stood by with many others watching the pair enjoy a classic game. Generations apart, a simple game connected them for an afternoon in the square.

A dollar to pass the time? Yes please.

Chalk it up to a longer commute to work. I'm cruising through books like I'm back in high school AP English, the only difference being I'm actually reading these books. Strand Books near Union Square has been clutch. New, used, and out of print books run a muck. The $1 specials set outside the shop are like a yard sale on steroids. No order, rhyme or reason which means nothing to do but take time to sift through the shelves. Today I found a gem of a biography. Past the Scientology collections and beside a romance novel sat a hardcover about the Yankee Clipper, Joe DiMaggio. For a dollar oh-eight. No wonder Dan Humphrey is such a fan of this place.

Free to my worst enemy.

I picked up a new alarm clock months ago from Ikea and finally put it to use. After waking up to what could have been confused for a small marching band, I don't think I'll be setting it again any time soon. It does tell time well, however. Free to good home.

Thank you.

American flags flying over an American steakhouse.

To all of those stationed at home and abroad, thank you. To those who have served, thank you. To those who will serve one day, thank you.

A message from the little-to-show-for-it author.

Major updates coming. Time to get back on track. Cheers.

The scarlet door is commonplace.

If this door wasn't found in the village, it would be unique. But this place being what it is, a red door is just as common as a brown or a blue one. Call it charm or call it trying to out-do the neighbors, whatever it is keeps this neighborhood alive. I love getting lost in these streets. The pace of the city slows down over there, even if it costs you a few more pennies for your cup of joe. If you're lucky you can catch the sun setting over NJ down one of the worn streets.