Gone.

I sealed the final box, the packing tape screech cutting through the otherwise silent Park Avenue office floor. Three years of a career filtered down to five boxes. Back up ties. Coffee mugs and felt pennants from each of my schools. Notes, records, correspondences. Boxes sent home, not shipped to another office or messengered upstairs to the 40th floor. Home. Done.

Three hours prior I was planning a semester's worth of travel. Presentations to give. Students lives to change. Hands to shake. A semester's worth of motions needed to be planned. I was planning.

Two hours and 55 minutes prior I was fired. This was not a motion but I knew. Pet food politics aside, I became a January statistic that others will read about in February. Coincidentally my 26th birthday is a month to the day from this moment. Scatter brained.

Head spinning from denial.

I found comfort in the words and warmth of friends, the taste of a chicken burrito, and the bottom of a highball of scotch. Neat.

My desk was never neat.

 

No reason to panic - I can hear again.

My trusty ipod survived the day to day abuse for more than two years. Yes, I've gone through my fair share of headphones (I'm on pair #4), but the core of my music survival has stood by strong. In the morning it's out of my bag, into my pocket, and on to the subway. Turned off and into my bag, bag thrown onto my desk. Work. Bag picked up, ipod thrown on for trip home, then turned off and tossed on to my desk/bed/living room table. Charge when necessary. Repeat.

Then out of the blue I turned it on one day to find the sound only coming out of one earbud. WTF. First I thought it was a headphone problem. Nope. My ipod was on its way out. Apple Customer Care informed me it would be at least 60 bucks to fix. Eff.

Younger brother to the rescue. He found a quick fix online, found the necessary part on ebay for less than $10 and bingo bango bongo - fixed. Sounds great, works great, and it cost me less than a pitcher of beer. Thanks bro.

Sad Panda works the tourist circuit.

Spotted - the infamous Sad Panda moping around the Financial District today. But was he really sad or was he toying with our heart strings all this time? Let me explain. Here he was when I first came upon him in his natural habitat:



Sad Panda, indeed. But wait. What was hidden behind the little girl? I could not believe it:



What I thought then was a peculiar panda spotting near the tourist-heavy Charging Bull made sense now; Panda was working it! Hopefully things haven't hit rock bottom for him yet, but one can never tell. Sad Panda's dire financial situation got the most of me (okay, maybe it was the species-matching tip jar) so I spotted the downtrodden fella a crisp Washington. Apparently the market price of bamboo is tanking because Sad Panda became Dancing Panda following my tip:



There you have it, folks. Sad Panda is hurting so lend a hand when you can. One more shot for good measure; just a Panda trying to rid himself of sadness:

You scream, I scream, we all scream for...decent parenting!

The work week is over and what better way to celebrate than with a Mr. Softee ice cream cone. Delicious, satisfying and definitely recession friendly. If parents have their way in Brooklyn however, Mr. Softee’s treats might be heading the way of old Coney Island.

Don't mind me while I get up on my soap box.

What is wrong with people?!?! The Daily News [via Gothamist] ran an article about parents complaining about Mr. Softee’s seemingly permanent hold up outside their neighborhood’s schools and park

Publish Post

s. Complain about the incessant jingle if you want, that's fine. But this was too pathetic good to pass up. Let’s start with an excerpt from Parenting 101, shall we?

“It’s very frustrating that they’re here every day. You’re a trapped audience. It’s hard to say no to your kids.”

Oh really? It’s hard being a parent? You seriously didn't decide to have a child because you wanted a best friend, did you? If you wanted a friend, you should have gone with a cat. Maybe a dog if your landlord allows it. It's called parenting, people. Had I been allowed to get ice cream every time the Good Humor truck rolled in to the beach parking lot I'd be as wide as I am tall (okay that's not saying much) and my parents would have been asking the driver if he took MasterCard. But I was told no. Do you know what I did when I was told that? I pouted for .04 seconds before grabbing my shovel and continuing on my sandcastle.

But Mom of The Year wasn’t done yet.

“I’ve had fights with my daughter in the past about it. You kind of feel like it’s pushed on you.”

Pushed on you, huh? Do you know what’s pushed on you? EVERYTHING. You live in New York FREAKING City, where every possible inch of real estate is plastered with advertisements. Hell, there’s a neighborhood that is famous for its ads. I can't walk three feet in this town without seeing an advertisement for The Hangover, some overpriced (and vacant) luxury condo, or Bud Light...all while getting bugged by a vegan-only-eating bum for my spare change. Should Jameson be at fault for advertising on your child’s subway to school? Should Starbucks be condemned for setting up shop on every corner in sleep-deprived Midtown? Lady, it’s called doing business. I commend the entrepreneurs who spent thousands of dollars for the right to be next to your precious park. It’s not like they’re selling drugs or anything.

“It’s one thing if they’re just in the neighborhood, but to be here by contract [with the city], they might as well be selling drugs.”

You. Have. To. Be. Kidding.

Let us pause a moment to really let that sink in. Can we move on now? Should we even? We should and we shall.

Not to worry, crappy parents. Assemblyman Felix Ortiz is coming to your rescue.

“If they are not providing different choices and alternatives for our kids, then they do not belong there."

There are different choices. Tell your child, "No you can't have ice cream, dinner is in an hour." Be a PARENT. Mind you, Mr. Ortiz will get behind any "good" cause included but not limited to taxing dancers of the night, terrible parenting (oh the irony), insane campaigns taxes meant to curb underage drinking, and more insane taxes on video games and movies. And oh yeah I almost forgot- alcohol ads on subways are in Mr. Ortiz's line of sight. Pretty soon the only ads you'll be seeing on your ride to work will be for bunion surgery. Are those images not more damaging?

I'll let a random Mr. Softee's driver plead the case of all drug-pushing, chocolate cone-dipping criminals out there:

“We’re not pushing anybody to eat ice cream. As a parent, you have to know how to say no.”

Case closed.

Look at all of the children getting their way!

Stories told in five New York minutes.

Former colleague and current Colorado crunchie CJN used to experience long hours at work just like yours truly. One way we filled the disconnect between life and the outside world was by subscribing to extensive amounts of podcasts. Free, informative, and not blocked by work’s firewall, podcasts are convenient for a life spent working behind a desk and waiting for the subway. The Moth (warning: iTunes will open) was one of CJN’s great podcast finds.

The Moth is a not-for-profit organization devoted to storytelling that currently hosts events in LA and NYC. I caught most of a StorySLAM tonight in my neighborhood and walked away extremely fulfilled. Seven bucks (thank ya very much!) provided an evening of stimulating entertainment. Read my full review here. Shameless self promotion, I know.

The venue was packed and the best (last) seat in the house on the steps behind the sound man. Hence the picture.

No animals were harmed in the making of this blog. Mother Earth? Not so lucky.

Last week I received a chain email about ways to help out Mother Earth. One of the suggestions included in this made-for-TV special list was turn off your computer when you take lunch at work. Either this list was written in the 1950's or the author works for Uncle Sam (not you, Mrs. Murphy) where I believe the last eight hour, full benefits and kickin' pension exists. When I read this I thought but how will I get my work done? I couldn't tell you the last time I sat down, ate lunch, and talked to a human face to face. And no, Gchat does not count. Maybe elsewhere, but my office doesn't promote the wash-your-sandwich-down-with-a-cold-glass-of-mental-stability. But maybe that's just New York. After all, the only 9 to 5 in Manhattan nowadays will cost you a pretty penny.

Okay, buddy. Back to the picture.

The point of this post is talk about the fact that lunch was a positive part of my day. Granted, it was more like an early bird special since I didn't leave my desk until 4:00pm to search the Ugly streets of midtown for lunch. But what I did find might just be the my next big thing.

In search of falafel, I followed the suggestion of steadfast Midtown Lunch and checked out the street vendor at 54th and Park (one short block away from the Ugliness). Mind you, the lunch rush was over by now and I was scraping for the literal leftovers. Still at 4pm there I was third in line to order. I went with the falafel platter and I was excited with what I received. Foodie note - this was unreal.

Eight - count them - eight falafel balls. A little dry due to them sitting around for hours but otherwise delicious.

Spicy rice that lived up to its name.

Lettuce and tomato salad.

Some kind of spicy pickle and pepper concoction. Really nice.

Two grape leaves.

A dab of homemade hummus.

Warmed and chopped pita bread on top. ($0.50 extra)

If this was Price is Right, what would you guess? Try $5. Five bucks! Subway, please pack up your virtually meatless subs and scram.

So there you have it. After surviving most of the day on breakfast and probably artificial free coffee I ended the work day on a delicious note. I'll return to 54th/Park again soon with every intention of considering it round two of my "best of" review.