Windy weekend.

Much of the day was spent people watching in New York's premier PW spot - Union Square. The square's proximity to NYU, the East Village, and Brooklyn via the L train provides an ever-changing crowd of individuals to gawk at. The downside to today's lazy afternoon was the wind. To call it strong would be nice; $%*#ing awful is more accurate. Artists struggled to keep their works weighed down, and I squinted to keep Union Square's finest dust out of my eyes.

The kite guy, though - he was having a blast.

Unmentionables.

17th street, a block west of Union Square.

"Doesn't mean me."

Joker tested, rider approved.

I noticed two kids snapping photos of this sign while waiting for uptown 6. Bahhh, tourists. Or so I thought.


Clearly, this is not one of the normal signs depicting the 48,493 weekly construction changes. Clearly, this was hilarious.

And then I realized that the joke was on us, all of us. Here comes the $100 monthly metro card.

Dear 'ole Abe.

Okay, okay, back to the updates.

Mom, Pops, and I took a Big Onion walking tour of the Union Square and Gramercy area of town. Sunny skies, storytelling, and Honest Abe. No idea he was on the north side of Union Square.

Serious drummer envy.

It's no secret that I'm a fan of street music. New York. Philly. Above Ground. Underground. Doesn't matter. Strike a chord or bang a drum bucket. I have a grand amount of respect for those who throw it down for all of society to see and hear. Most are decent. Some make you cringe. A small few really engage their audience.

Meet Mike Alaska.







An Alaskan from Texas? Who knows; I don't. But his drumming is nonetheless ridiculous.

In completely unrelated news, Staten Island Chuck is calling for an early spring. Sweet.

The way Saturday should be.

Granted it wasn't the normal weekly New York hustle that I've been used to, but it was nice to have the week be over and done with. Weekends can be busy or not. Hungover or healthy. Frugal or rock star expensive.

To say weekend options are limitless is cliche but accurate. Guests come and go. Drunk brunch possibilities. Quiet nights in. But on occasion Saturdays work out to be a satisfying ratio of productivity, conversation, and belly aching laughs. Boom. Jackpot.

My day started with lunch at Le Pain Quotidien. A wonderful spot just south of Union Square, it was a welcomed escape from the craze outside. The smell of good coffee and homemade bread punched my senses square on their ass. Communal tables dominated the floor. No one seemed rushed. Tourists were nowhere to be found.


I found my old friend sitting peacefully in the back, enjoying tea and a book (not from Strand, waaah). She the curry chicken; me the organic porridge. Strong coffee. BREAD. (Thank you, Le Pain, for fulfilling my self titled bread-head craving). But beyond the warm eats and friendly staff, the feeling of calm that the cafe exuded might be its defining characteristic. No one is rushed; come and go as you please. The way Saturdays should be.

Entitled.

I met a friend for lunch yesterday, recounting the previous 48 hours of my recent (f)unemployment.

What'd you do yesterday?
Meh. Threw together my first resume in five years.
You didn't steal one from someone you met on campus?
Really?
Shoulder shrug. Why not? You've seen thousands of them.
I'm not stealing the creative brainpower of a 20 year old accountant-to-be.
How'd yours come out?
Like it was made by the 20 year old's pre-teen brother.

We sat in silence for maybe 30 seconds, my friend realizing the complexity of my current situation. We took in timely sips of our respective beers; mine Magic Hat #9, his Sam Adams. The cold mugs made the burgers and conversation in front of us easier to swallow.

You don't have to get right back into things, you know.
I know, I know. I knew. I think I knew, at least.
You're entitled to some "me" time. You're sitting here checking your phone like you still have partners to tend to and conference calls to deliver on.
Well there is the job interview I have on Friday that I'm waiting...
Take a day. Take an hour. Take a timeout. Do something tomorrow that you haven't done in a long time. Get out of your apartment, away from the internet, and be selfish for an afternoon.

I was selfish today.

I walked around the Union Square, East Village area. It was my home for three years. I know it well. Like an old friend.

100 Faces - hand drawn in Union Square by Felix

Sketching a mural on the wall of Ross Charter School.

Sun sets on Union Square.

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.