Springtime at Bryant Park.

"Doesn't mean me."

Protest.

Maybe FedEx raised the price of copies. Perhaps Dress Barn stopped selling petites. Whatever the case, nothing says lunch hour like a little protest

Subway drums.

Yes, yes, another picture underground. This guy was stationed on the NRW stop at 59th Street. Crowd was into it; kids were dancing. It was a swell time.

Hotter than hell, but swell.

Hot damn, this weather is fine.

Work is busy. Life is crazy busy. Best I could do on this beautiful day was snap a photo or two in midtown while waiting for my lunch-partner-in-crime. This weather is putting everyone in a better mood; let's hope it means we'll avoid another summer Rain Watch.

FDR at night.

People go here.

Somewhere in midtown. Atrocious bystander conveniently cropped out of view.

(Almost) never a fan.

I generally loathe cats. Small cats, fat cats, and in this case oversized artistic cats. Doesn't matter. If you can't fetch, you're not for me.

There was only one cat I ever liked, and he spent most of his time chewing on a sofa cushion and living in a bag.

Enough said.

Brooklyn is

Three parts brick, one part mortar. Mix.

Add two parts paint for authenticity. Splash of skinny jeans for irony.

Harlem to Brooklyn (lager).

The day started off in Harlem sprucing up St. Nicholas Park, part of a friend's community service committment through an organization. One work day, a boxed lunch, and an undetermined amount of dirt-in-shoes, I was back in Brooklyn enjoying a cold one. Dinner at Sea was - per usual - loud and "scene-like" - but their pad thai and Rama the King dishes are tough to pass up. The hardest part about this place is convincing Manhattanites to leave their island for a few hours.

Spring is in the the beer aisle.

Good grief, Charlie B.

Spring beers are back and they're bangin'. Whole Foods - spot on. A trip to Pony Bar is in order.

Batter up.

Corporate softball - where careers go to prosper.

In a pursuit for camaraderie, high fives, and good cheer, I joined my friend's softball team. This team is on the other side of the spectrum from the team I used to play on, but I'll keep that story for another time and place (like happy hour).

Tonight's first game was against a team of Googlers in Central Park - rainy, cold, and dark - less than perfect softball weather. The perfect season came to an end, but there's nothing wrong with going 11-1.

Oh, and the horse?



I ran into him on the way into the park. He played right field. And was our best hitter.

Hey there, neon.

A warehouse parking garage in an otherwise gut-renovated and luxury high rise neighborhood. Sweet sign, man. Reminded me of the one in midtown.

No, I don't want a swig of your beer.

Wish I was carrying a real camera at the time for this one. This guy was great. Flirtin' with the ladies, chastizing the guys, posing for shots.

Sidewalk intruder.

Anywhere New York. Anywhere Philly. Anywhere urban.

Better than strollers, tourists, and uncurbed dogs. Weeds - like subway rats, find a way.

Worst. Fan. Ever.

It’s true. I effed up.

Back story – knowing I am a Pittsburgh Penguins hockey fan, my friend pulled a 13 on the Awesome Scale of 1 to 10 and scored four tickets to the last game of the regular season against the NY Islanders. Have you ever been to Nassau Coliseum? No? Good – keep it that way. What’s technically labeled a hockey arena, it should be burned to the ground, paved over, and done again. The smell of wet socks and sin permeates what is otherwise a pretty part of the Island. A palace it is not. But I digress.

So there we are, sitting corner ice; great view of the game. Sid the Kid gets his 50th and 51st goals of the season. We eat hot dogs and beers; standard. The girls get Dip ‘n Dots.

Still not sure it’s actually ice cream. And let it be known cotton candy should remain cotton candy. Worst ice cream flavor EVER.

Speaking of generally terrible things…

The game pushes to overtime after the Pens flake and lose their heads in third period. I’m nervous for a game that has zero bearing on the playoffs. I’ve yet to hit the bathroom. I’m two beers and a ginormous Coke into the game. See where this is going?

BK: Pens are playing like *%&#. I think I’m going to the bathroom.
Friend: Umm, okay.
BK: It’s right downstairs, right? I don’t want to miss the shootout.
Friend: Umm……okay.

There was no shootout to miss.

Eaton to Malkin to Leo. Boom. Game.

Sounded like a great win from the bathroom. Shame. A generous helping of I told you so’s (I was never told anything) and What were you thinking’s were served up on the ride home.

Cotton candy Dip ‘n Dots still suck.



Let’s go Pens. Senators are next. Do it.

Boston College is National Champs...

...in ice hockey. Woooooooooo!

East River at night.

Facing south (Queensboro Bridge).



More to come from this night.

Shoes and shadows.

Somewhere in midtown.

Leftover Peeps turned arts & crafts.

Clearance-priced Peeps + Rice Krispee Treats + Fruit by the Foot = Peep-ushi.

Righty tighty lefty loosey.

A Brooklyn staple.

No, I'm not talking about the Dodgers of old, the pizza of your grandfather, or the prettiest bridge south of the GW. I'm referring to hipsters.

Obviously.

This way home.

*Click* *Click* *Click*
*Click* *Click* *Click* *Click* *Click*
*Click* *Click*

"That's my favorite sign."
"Oh yeah?"

*Click* *Click* *Click*

"Yeah, I've always *Click* *Click* loved it."

*Click* *Click*

"Hmm."



*Click*

California's burning.

I woke up to blue skies and warm sunlight, but not the burst of spring that sprung New York's flowerbeds to life. I was in Valencia, California joining my friend as her plus one to a wedding.

Weeds-like setting, check.
Golf course ceremony, score.
Skinny black tie, done and done.

Picture of the day, sure.

Waiting for the 6.

It should go without saying that birds on the subway platform leave the rest of the commuters indifferent.

But what if this little dude actually got on the train?

Now THAT would make rush hour interesting.

Not an April Fool's joke...

There really is a naked bronze woman that greets people to my office building every day.