Manhattanhenge! Also known as 'Manhattan Solstice' took place this last Sunday; and while it's one of my favorite quirks/phenomenon of the city, it passed without much fuss. Well, without any fuss on 78th and %th Avenue. We were busy coughing and hacking and chasing the dog who avoids his walking harness like a naughty naked toddler avoiding his training pants. How many grown men does it take to catch a greased-lightning fast pug? More than two most days.
Anydoggy, Manhattanhenge is a semiannual occurrence in which the setting sun aligns with the east–west streets of the main street grid of Manhattan. The term is derived from Stonehenge where, for those unfamiliar with it, the sun aligns with the stones on the solstices. It was coined in 2002 by Neil deGrasse Tyson, an astrophysicist at the American Museum of Natural History. It applies to those streets that follow the Commissioners' Plan of 1811, which laid out a grid offset 28.9 degrees from true east–west. And if all of that sounds too smarty-pantsy to come from my keyboard, it is. I copied it from Wikipedia. All I know if that it's cool and that twice per year, I can walk out onto any cross (East-West) street in Manhattan and see the sun set. Fancy, huh? Like the photo? I swiped from a more proactive Manhattanite.
Anyway, George Steinbrenner is dead, and I don't feel so good myself. 'night.
Fame whore doctors are always funny, but WHEN will America finally get its fill of Dr. Oz? I gave the guy's show a chance recently, initially thinking we'd finally connected. Maybe being away from Oprah, even though she still owns him actually made a difference.. Then, quickly, within the first two weeks of his show it was apparent that Dr. FameWhore is indeed all about himself.. And women. Women, women, women.. Every show, ALL about women, which is cool I suppose if you're a woman, but we were lead to believe Oz was the people's doctor, right? On a recent show supposedly dedicated to men, Dr. Oz found a way to, you guessed it, make it about WOMEN. Oz tenderly had half an audience full of men, prodding them to tell their most guarded secrets; among them were several men suffering from erectile disfunction, one suffering from memory loss. In true Oz fashion, each concern was turned into a message to women. Dr. Oz turned to the cameras and assured women that erectile disfunction is NOT their fault. Did you hear that women of America? It's ALL about you but the doctor wants you to know, it isn't your fault. Neither is the onset of early dementia in men, or frequent urination. Yes, I feel much better now. Thank you Dr. Oz. As a man, I'll rest much better now knowing that my various medical ailments aren't the fault of the ladies. Now I can suffer and die in peace.
The fun on Oz's show doesn't stop there; during every show, every segment, Oz must remind us that he is in fact, a doctor, or a surgeon. Take your pic, Dr. Oz does. Even on a recent show where Oz took audience questions along side medical colleague he'd invited on the show, another doctor, Oz interrupted his guest by saying at least once "I'll take that question as a surgeon".
Dr. Oz makes his own case why his show should be avoided at all costs, and while euthanization of his on-air practice is just what the doctor ordered.
When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. -The Declaration of Independence, 1776
White girls in too-tight tank tops and flip flops, one annoying other table sitters by asking if she can have their seats, apparently feeling entitled, (aren't they all?). 40 year old-plus "hipster" sits at the larger table marked 'Reserved for patrons with disabilities' conducting what seems to be interviews for some sort of 'film' he's producing. *eye roll*. A stream of younger, more authentic hipsters has held court since I've been here, posing for their theatrical lives. No sure if the role is technical or on-screen but judging from the business he's conducting, this producer who uses a coffee shop as his personal office would be better suited to rent space somewhere. Annoying early 30s-something sits in a corner to my right, being here since I arrived an hour ago, douchey earpiece in his ear, black Yankees cap tilted to the side while he talks to various people. Loudly. To loud, too crowded, I want more coffee.
Not being a fan of laws encouraging, even defending race-based quotas, I've watched the case of the New Haven firefighters make its was to the U.S. Supreme Court for the last few years. It began while I was living in Connecticut which gave me even more of a vested interest. If you don't know much about it, here's the condensed version: Several white and hispanic firefighters took a standard test, along with their African American colleagues which determined eligibility for promotions. Most, if not all of the white/Latino firefighters received high marks meeting the qualifications while some of the African American firefighters did not. The city of New Haven, Connecticut invalidated the results for the non-black firefighters in fear of being sued by the black firefighters and promoted a few of them instead... Off to court we go and judge after crazed, racist, biased judge shot them down; until today. The Supreme Court said "no", New Haven was wrong. And as you probably know, it's a serious bitch-slap to Supreme Court nominee Judge Sonia Sotomayor who infamously dismissed those same firemen when they came before her court. Not only did she throw their case out, she issues a once-sentence shoot-down of the very serious case which had very serious merits on both sides. Oh Sonia, you silly goose.
So forgive me for wallowing in my crass political incorrectness, but this is a happy day. Affirmative Action policies lived their 15 minutes and were a good thing, only until perhaps the late 1970s. Now, they're simply an abused tool for groups who support them to win their ways into jobs and funding and services which many other non-minorities are shut-out of solely based on their race. So, cheers to the firefighters, white, hispanic AND black for dousing the flames of racial bias and draconian affirmative action rules. A good day indeed.
I think the only real way to describe my feelings under sunny skies is something like hearing a jazz band on a cool New Orleans fall day while sitting at a table full of hot red crawfish while getting a neck rub from Daniel Craig, or Megan Fox; take your pick.
After nearly two months, our weather here in Manhattan has finally cooperated affording us at least two-thirds of a sunny day, breezy, a bit humid but we'll take it. It's weird how the weather affects me. Clouds and rain equal no gym, fussy attitude, stoic sensibility and pie eating while sun equals everything else; gym, laughs, happy thoughts and doing my own tour of street fair food.. KnowWhatIMean? Viva en sol!
This photo needed it's own entry. Whatta ya think crawled up his ass? Whatever it is, it's got his wrist swinging so hard it's about to burst into a big gay glitter ball. Wurk it out girl!
Yawn.... I can't get myself going today. An early dinner, homemade believe it or not, extra sleep (until 8:30, thankyouveryuch!) and even a great breakfast to start the day; I had pipe dreams of visiting the Met and seeing the newly reopened American wing. I have about three hours at this point but, what the hell. Watching the Hudson river and the clouds go by from 38 stories up is sometimes just as pleasant a way to spend the day than slogging around at ground level, even if it is slothful. Oh, but the President and the Mizzez are in town tonight for 'date night'. I like that, 'date night'. You may recall their last date night a few weeks ago, the first couple strolling around the White House lawn hand-in-hand after getting back from dinner. A quiet stroll somewhere on the front lawn then towards the back, away from the prying eyes of the fishbowl media. Tonight's a bit different though. Mr. O. is taking Mizzez to the Big Apple. No word on what they'll do or where, but I hope we'll bump into one another. If I do, I'll tell 'em you said "hi".
Strong coffee, anxious to get out for some sun on the humid streets of Manhattan, considering next career move, dinner with Doug, do I REALLY need that pair of Nikes, why do my nieces never call, how is Boudreaux, problems friends are having which they can't see for themselves, just remembered those four shirts at the dry cleaners, I could really use a trip someplace happy and above all, Mom is heavy on my mind. I miss you mama.
Forget or a moment the oddity some may find in seeing a guy walking down the street in a skirt, but Jeremy Kerr of my hometown doesn't refer to it that way, he just calls it what it is; a fucking KILT.
During a recent appearance at a court house in New Orleans Kerr was yelled at and stopped by a New Orleans police officer who demanded Kerr explain why he was wearing a skirt. I'm going to skip the whole "it's the culture of some people who should have the right to wear their indigenous garb" argument and just ask the question, SO WHAT?!? What if the guy wore a skirt and heels? Perhaps earrings? Odd? You bet, to me anyway. Illegal? Immoral? Otherwise inappropriate? No, not unless we're going to force woman back to the kitchen and out of slacks, jeans and pants suits.
There are all sorts of issues with this but chief among them, in my cough medicine with codeine hazy head is the growing, incessant, dangerous double standards in our society being faced by men and the fact no one is talking about them. Check out the link below and decide for yourself: and if you decide the cop was right, please stop reading my blog and don't contact me until you've reached synergy with your therapist.
Nothing is impossibly new other than my careless lack of attention of this website and other things; sadly that isn't really so new at all, so scratch what I wrote above.
When I decided to update BBS this morning, I was going to write a post about my sudden case of strep throat over the weekend, my lack of seeing Boudreaux and how my dad still doesn't seem to be coping with the loss of my mom all so well, but that's just sadness. Blah. I'd much rather know about how some of YOU are doing, especially those of you outside the U.S. who've been so nice about sending notes and questions. Emile in London, are you serious about cooking school in Illinois?!? REALLY? Frank in Toronto, thank you. ThankYouVeryMuch and yes, it really does look like that. ;-) Person in France who works at Versailles and whose name I can't pronounce, much less type; are you still with us and did you see San Francisco?
Other news? I'm no longer going to Asia for work, or anyplace else for work for that matter, my nephew broke up with his fiance' of six years and quickly claimed a new bride-to-be, I decided to return to the gym before renting out ad space on my stomach became an irresistible option, we have a black man as president (positive thing) whom we elected regardless of knowing nothing about (bad thing), I've explored the battlefields of Gettysburg, the beaches of Delaware and the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the last three months and organized a 'Free Hugs' MeetUp group to make random people smile, so all is not lost. So, how have you been? Really?
-JD
I'm sitting in Starbucks last week, at about the same time as the U.S. Airways jet crashed landed in the Hudson to give you a gauge on the time, not that it matters..ANYScully, I'm at Starbucks, drinking a latte before heading to Whole Food, and there's a realty magazine sitting all by itself at a lonely table; I reach over and grab it and, as it by some magic divine home buying intervention I find this gem of a house, built at least 10 years before the Revolutionary War. It was love at first sight. I kept the magazine and keep looking at it like a chubby school girl thumbing through a model magazine. I've decided to buy it, and spend my days in Stephentown planting wild flowers along the drive and using the barn to host sexy parties and pony rides for homeless kids, though not at the same time. Only one problem, I can't afford it. Yeah, sad right? But I have a plan. I always have a plan. If each one of you contribute at least one buck, I should have enough coin to make it my own, sometime by 2020. So please, give early, give often and give fast; and make sure to send me your address, I'll put you on the invite list for a sexy party, or a pony ride.
I found this interesting piece on presidential health and aging on CNN.com which focuses on how Obama will likely age over the next four years. I particularly like the 'after' shot of the older, more distinguished Obama. He looks like every black statesman-like movie president I've ever seen, (thank you Morgan Freeman). I remember my mom saying that no matter who she voted for, she always felt a bit sorry for the man leaving the White House because he looked so haggard, tired and spent due to all the heavy burdens on his shoulders and that his health likely took a serious beating due to the office he held. This article seems to support that. Hey mom, you were right again. Click here to read the full story.
Look, my New Year monkey is wishing you a Happy 2009, and so am I. So, happy economic decline, government bailout, Barack Hussein Obama-loving, world-going-to-shit new year. Remember nary 10 years back how the biggest stuff we fretted over going into a new year was fear of a Y2K meltdown? Yeah, those were the good old days. I'm inclined to say things can only get better from here but I've learned the hard, sad way that isn't always the case. Things can ALWAYS get crappier than they are. Seriously. So, lift your hangover glass of tomato juice and Alka Seltzer to the sky, bid adieu to 2008 and let's all hope for better, bigger and brighter days to come with better jobs, more expendable cash and daily-updated blogs. Cheers!
When you grow-up down in Louisiana, snow is something you think you'll never see until the second coming. If that's the case, brace yourselves for Jesus because reports say up to 1.5 inches of snow sit on top of streetcars this afternoon.Laissez le bon temps rouler!
Last weekend, over a lunch of so-called southern food at a very cool (but not southern) West Village bistro, an old friend decided a discussion of my looks, size and body mass was called for, (you know who you are). For future reference, never, ever, ever approach weighty issues with a guy sensitive of them while having greasy make-believe home cooking, especially if said guy is in the West Village or Chelsea. It makes the walk down 8th Avenue even more painful.
Friend: "You know, you looked incredible when you came up here. Look what the Northeast did to you."
Me: "I did it to myself, I own it."
Friend: "I'm just sayin. Maybe if you started that Spinning thing every day again...."
Me: "I've been through this. We've been through this. It'll come when it comes. How're your homefries?"
Friend: "No really, I know what stress and breakups can do, they just cause a focus on food as a replacement."
Me: "You gonna finish your cheese grits?"
I swore I wouldn't give-in to forty, and I'm still swearing, and having periodic swings of my old self, each one lasting a bit longer. But until Oprah pays the bills and does the worrying over everyday life issues, biceps and waist size can wait. They're both still there anyway, somewhere..I think. Excuse me while I make love to a breakfast burrito.
So I'm just fine, coughing and basking in my bronchial misery, worry of economic downturns, apartment hunting, mentally ill drug-dependent relatives and job transfers to the third-world when I read this baby Jesus hating mess: the University of North Carolina has suspended Christmas, sort of. See, a time honored tradition of displaying Christmas and holiday time ornaments at the university's libraries has been banned. No more smoking clove cigarettes under the library Christmas tree or singing of carols by chubby Phi Mus under holiday lights, no siree! Sorry, but fever and risk of hitting the laptop prevented me from reading the entire article, but it's nothing we haven't read already. Based on past issues, I'm guessing it's due to more shinanigans of pissed-off non Christians angry that; well, I'm not sure what they're always angry of. Ever notice how people insist on tolerance and acceptance of anything and everything until it comes to something like paganesque Christmas trees or groups of Christians saying a prayer in schools? I do. Then again, who actually attends UNC for a top drawer education? My guess is that a little state, so anxious to be part of the East Coast state of being will keep struggling to enact such draconian, intolerant and messed-up policies and their ever growing populace will go right along with it. I'm not what you'd call a text book Christian myself but gimme a break! Would wouldn't want to celebrate the season of twinkling lights, Santa Claus, baby Jesus and debt-based mass consumerism? Well?
He tried to stay in D.C. after Clinton, it didn't work. So he scored enough money to run for Governor of New Mexico. You'd think he would have been happy there but not so for the incessant Bill Richardson. He wanted to be President, didn't happen. Then he begged to be Secretary of State. Nah, sorry. Finally, U.S. President-Elect Barack Obama threw something his way. My only question is, will Bill Richardson finally shut the fuck up now? Let's hope so.
Manhattanhenge! Also known as 'Manhattan Solstice' took place this last Sunday; and while it's one of my favorite quirks/phenomenon of the city, it passed without much fuss. Well, without any fuss on 78th and %th Avenue. We were busy coughing and hacking and chasing the dog who avoids his walking harness like a naughty naked toddler avoiding his training pants. How many grown men does it take to catch a greased-lightning fast pug? More than two most days.
Fame whore doctors are always funny, but WHEN will America finally get its fill of Dr. Oz? I gave the guy's show a chance recently, initially thinking we'd finally connected. Maybe being away from Oprah, even though she still owns him actually made a difference.. Then, quickly, within the first two weeks of his show it was apparent that Dr. FameWhore is indeed all about himself.. And women. Women, women, women.. Every show, ALL about women, which is cool I suppose if you're a woman, but we were lead to believe Oz was the people's doctor, right? On a recent show supposedly dedicated to men, Dr. Oz found a way to, you guessed it, make it about WOMEN. Oz tenderly had half an audience full of men, prodding them to tell their most guarded secrets; among them were several men suffering from erectile disfunction, one suffering from memory loss. In true Oz fashion, each concern was turned into a message to women. Dr. Oz turned to the cameras and assured women that erectile disfunction is NOT their fault. Did you hear that women of America? It's ALL about you but the doctor wants you to know, it isn't your fault. Neither is the onset of early dementia in men, or frequent urination. Yes, I feel much better now. Thank you Dr. Oz. As a man, I'll rest much better now knowing that my various medical ailments aren't the fault of the ladies. Now I can suffer and die in peace.
I think the only real way to describe my feelings under sunny skies is something like hearing a jazz band on a cool New Orleans fall day while sitting at a table full of hot red crawfish while getting a neck rub from Daniel Craig, or Megan Fox; take your pick.
This photo needed it's own entry. Whatta ya think crawled up his ass? Whatever it is, it's got his wrist swinging so hard it's about to burst into a big gay glitter ball. Wurk it out girl! 
Strong coffee, anxious to get out for some sun on the humid streets of Manhattan, considering next career move, dinner with Doug, do I REALLY need that pair of Nikes, why do my nieces never call, how is Boudreaux, problems friends are having which they can't see for themselves, just remembered those four shirts at the dry cleaners, I could really use a trip someplace happy and above all, Mom is heavy on my mind. I miss you mama.
Forget or a moment the oddity some may find in seeing a guy walking down the street in a skirt, but Jeremy Kerr of my hometown doesn't refer to it that way, he just calls it what it is; a fucking KILT.
Nothing is impossibly new other than my careless lack of attention of this website and other things; sadly that isn't really so new at all, so scratch what I wrote above.
Last weekend, over a lunch of so-called southern food at a very cool (but not southern) West Village bistro, an old friend decided a discussion of my looks, size and body mass was called for, (you know who you are). For future reference, never, ever, ever approach weighty issues with a guy sensitive of them while having greasy make-believe home cooking, especially if said guy is in the West Village or Chelsea. It makes the walk down 8th Avenue even more painful.
So I'm just fine, coughing and basking in my bronchial misery, worry of economic downturns, apartment hunting, mentally ill drug-dependent relatives and job transfers to the third-world when I read this baby Jesus hating mess: 
He tried to stay in D.C. after Clinton, it didn't work. So he scored enough money to run for Governor of New Mexico. You'd think he would have been happy there but not so for the incessant Bill Richardson. He wanted to be President, didn't happen. Then he begged to be Secretary of State. Nah, sorry. Finally, U.S. President-Elect Barack Obama threw something his way. My only question is, will Bill Richardson finally shut the fuck up now? Let's hope so. 