A holiday for some; for me, it was Monday.

I hope your President's Day was a thrill; i.e. fingers crossed that your company went Postal and gave you the day off.


For those of you who worked today, your consolation prize can be found here.

Monkey see, monkey listen, monkey drink.

I found myself pre-(f)unemployment typically partaking in drinks more during the week than on the weekend. A combination of factors went into this:

1) my job often entailed social events
2) my job drove me to the bottle
3) my job's hours limited social time to other people from the firm or other overworked midtown friends

Let it be known that I wasn't out in a bar four days a week like some lush or cad. I just, you know, enjoy a drink every now and again.

So Thursday night came and went, and I found myself killing a couple hours at a name-forgotten pub in the east 50's. The place looked and smelled like it was freshly stained - the pungent kick in the face when I first walked through the door reminded me of 6th grade shop class and my Minwax-stained baseball clock. My friend KDubs was there, and we caught up over Bud Lights and Blue Moons. I tiptoed through the (f)unemployment daises for a bit. She brought me up to speed on her long distance, vacation-fueled, Canadian based relationship. Her sleeves are were made up of more emotion than cashmere, so it was not difficult to see how happy she was. I was genuinely happy for her, too, more than I probably expressed.

Then there was this guy.


I don't know what part of Irish lore includes monkey heads, but these guys adorned the front of the bar. We don't know why, and frankly we didn't want to know. Tip money down and out the door.

Stumbled in.

I was bumbling around the LES and SoHo today, killing time in that stretch that takes place between being awake until calling it a night. I was bored, okay? It happens from time to time. Lucky for me, (f)unemployment was looking out for me.

As I meandered to the uptown 6 on Spring Street, I came across something rather curious. At the corner of Centre and Kenmare streets was - at least from first glance - an open door to an otherwise bare corner building. I couldn't decide if the door was left open, slightly ajar, on purpose or by some inconsiderate storefront employee. I was blind to the block lettering adorning the outside of the building explaining everything.

I quickly learned that the commercial space is dedicated to Storefront for Art & Architecture, a nonprofit started in 1982 that is "committed to the advancement of innovative positions in architecture, art and design." Click here for more worthwhile information.

To my enjoyment, the current exhibition was open for another hour or so, and I threw myself into one of the antique rows of stadium seating and caught a short film, Xmas Meier (trailer), in its entirety.

Here it was, smack dab in the middle of a blistery January afternoon. I was in such a place (physically, mentally, what have you) that I slid my phone into silent for 22 minutes and enjoyed a short documentary on a modern Italian church, the parishioners of which felt forever indebted to the Jewish architect that created their home for worship.

I decided not to stay for one of the remaining three documentaries, hoping to give myself reasons to return to Kenmare. Check this out if you're ever in the area as the exhibitions change frequently.

Uptown 6, Union Square transfer, home sweet China home.

A night in.

Funemployment - a night in with friends, food, wine, and, umm, more wine.


Côtes du Rhône might just be my new go-to French region. Trader Joe's, you never disappoint.

Never noticed the sparkles.

I couldn't tell you the last time I rode the uptown 6 and saw the floor. Here's to missing rush hour, of which taking a picture would get one arrested.