Monday, January 13, 2014
Bud Selig is the commissioner of baseball, a job strictly beholden to major league team owners, yet empowered to govern the entire professional sport. (While countries such as Japan and Mexico have fully-developed systems of leagues, they defer to North American baseball – there is a team in Toronto after all – when it comes to critical decisions, those involving real money.) Selig’s first name is really Allan, and even there he gets it wrong. A Milwaukee car dealer, he sold his interest in the Milwaukee Braves, née the Boston Braves, when the team moved to Atlanta. He then bought the bankrupt Seattle Pilots and moved the team to Milwaukee as the Brewers in 1970.
The Brewers, under Selig, had one of the worst periods of team performance in baseball history, appearing in the World Series only once. He also played a leading role in colluding with his fellow owners to squelch players’ free agency, which cost the owners damages of $280 million. They, recognizing his talents where other baseball observers failed to, made him acting commissioner in 1992, where he then orchestrated a 232-day strike in 1994 and the first, and only, cancellation of the World Series, which for 23 of the prior 24 years had been a non-event for him in any case. Not surprisingly, when baseball resumed in 1995, attendance and television audiences fell significantly.
What redeemed baseball and inflated Selig’s reputation, at the time, was the emergence of superstars engaged in a contest to break the most mythic of baseball records for home runs, particularly, the battle between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa in 1998 for the most home runs in a single season, with McGwire eventually breaking Roger Maris’s record. Selig, in fact, became the official baseball commissioner in 1998, having the “Acting” removed from his title then. Of course, the fly in the ointment was actually the ointment, pills, liquids and other chemical compounds which enhanced McGwire’s, Sosa’s and many other players’ physical performance. Selig, in 2006, testified to Congress that he was alert to the issue in 1994, “before anybody was really talking about steroids in baseball.” However, in what may have been a senior lapse in 2005, Selig told reporters, “I never even heard about them [steroids] until 1998 or 1999. I ran a team and nobody was closer to their players and I never heard any comment from them. It wasn’t until 1998 or ’99 that I heard the discussion.”
Now, as the Alex Rodriguez steroids controversy swirls around us and Selig’s role as the Great Enabler is properly raised again, I’ll give you my ultimate beef about Selig. In his early days as acting commissioner, when almost everyone expected Selig’s term to be brief, George W. Bush (yes, that one), then part owner of a baseball team, wanted the big job for himself, according to several reports, including a book by Selig’s predecessor, Fay Vincent, The Last Commissioner: A Baseball Valentine, wherein Vincent quotes Bush on the subject. “I’ve been thinking about it. Selig tells me that he would love to have me be commissioner and he tells me that he can deliver it.” Vincent claims that Selig actually wanted to stay in the job, sending the former Yale cheer leader to search for other fields to conquer. Oh, what might have been.
I was surprised to find such a good Peking duck ($19.95 a half) at China Village Restaurant, 94 Baxter Street, a place for a quick lunch for many people visiting criminal court and the adjoining detention facility immediately south of the restaurant. The duck was served with 4 large puffy buns, a generous amount of scallion slivers, but no cucumber, hoisin sauce and a rosette constructed from carrot peels. The entire half duck was served, a leg and a wing and the rest chopped into 1" pieces. Only a few pieces held more fat than you’d want to consider ingesting. In fact, the duck was particularly tasty, and the size of the portion seemed just right for one good lunch.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Last week, I wrote about the fear manifested by uncompromising advocates of the Second Amendment when challenged by someone wielding a word processor. Now, there is another example of how possession of a gun only seems to increase the paranoia of a gun nut rather than providing the comfort and confidence that one might expect when carrying a lethal weapon.
On Monday, near Tampa, Florida, a retired police captain shot and killed the man sitting in front of him in a movie theater after they argued about how much noise the man was making while texting during the movie. No punches were thrown, but the shooter claimed, according to police reports, that “[t]he victim turned and stood up, striking him in the face with an unknown object.” With that, the shooter pulled out a .380 semiautomatic handgun from his pants pocket, fired one shot killing the other guy.
This incident brings into question Florida’s notorious “Stand Your Ground” law, which removes a person’s duty to retreat when he fears mortal danger. The police found nothing but scattered popcorn at the scene, the only object, aside from a bullet, that hit either party, according to witnesses. Appropriately, the movie playing was Lone Survivor.
Speaking of standing one’s ground, the New York Times reports about the problem facing a McDonald’s in Queens where elderly Koreans gather to pass the hours, consuming little more than a random cup of coffee or a small portion of fries. The local police precinct said there had been four 911 calls since November requesting the removal of the entrenched older patrons, who admittedly return shortly after being scattered. For reasons no one can explain, another nearby McDonald’s and Burger King, as well as neighborhood community facilities, see an ordinary amount of foot traffic, while the joint at the corner of Northern Boulevard and Parsons Boulevard draws folks using “walkers, or with canes, in wheelchairs or with infirm steps, as early as 5 a.m. and [who] often linger until well after dark.” So far, no shots have been fired.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
The Boyz Club met for lunch at XO Kitchen, 148 Hester Street. As on my solo visit (July 2, 2010), the House Special Pancake with Peanut and Sesame Paste ($5.95) stood out. It would make a fine dessert, breakfast dish or late night snack even for people (should they exist) who don’t like Chinese food.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
As I got on the elevator this morning to go to work, I found three other residents of our large building (almost 500 apartments). Only one, however, had won a Pulitzer Prize for Drama and has continued with other successful play and movie scripts. Cool guy that I am, I did no more than nudge his dog nibbling at my ankles. I also did not point out that I got his autograph on my theater program the night before the official Broadway opening of his award-winning work. My self-control is consistent with his desire for privacy since his name does not appear on the building’s directory.
Given the size of our building, it’s no surprise that he and I are not the only notables in residence. Candido, the now-retired Afro-Cuban jazz percussionist, who started recording in the 1950s with Dizzy Gillespie and other musicians, lives here. He issued well more than a dozen recordings, and was a sideman on many more. Now, I see him leaning on a beautifully-carved, African walking stick, his smooth brown skin resembling some of the planes of the walking stick. Also, let us not forget the president of Hadassah.
Friday, January 17, 2014
I was pleased to receive an invitation to the Chinese-American Planning Council’s 49th Anniversary Chinese New Year Fundraising Dinner, celebrating the Year of the Horse on February 6th. I don’t think that I will be able to be a Diamond, Ruby, Gold or Silver Sponsor ($25,000, $10,000, $5,000 or $3,000) of the event. However, since it will be held at Jing Fong Restaurant, 20 Elizabeth Street, one of my favorite dim sum joints, I may be curious to see what $150 as a mere attendee brings, when, in the past, I’ve fed about a dozen people there for a bit less.
Does anyone know if there are female leprachauns?
Friday, January 17, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
Penmanship
Monday, January 6, 2014
I thought that the phrase, “The pen is mightier than the sword,” must have originated with Shakespeare, Othello perhaps. Actually, it first appears in the 1839 play Richelieu; Or the Conspiracy, by the English author Edward Bulwer-Lytton, even better known as the author of the infamous opening line “It was a dark and stormy night.” The same thought, however, goes back at least 2,700 years or so to the Assyrian sage Ahiqar who said, according to WikiPedia, “The word is mightier than the sword,” although probably not in English. Since then, others uttered similar phrases. I found the brief article on the topic quite interesting. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_pen_is_mightier_than_the_sword#cite_ref-8
You might think that the uncompromising defenders of the Second Amendment (UDOTSA) thoroughly reject this concept. After all, their near-carnal grasping of firearms seems to empower them as nothing else does. Somewhat like an adolescent boy under the covers at night, they appear to be governed by the principle “I shoot, therefore I am.” That’s why I was a bit surprised by Guns & Ammo magazine dropping Dick Metcalf as a columnist. Metcalf is a longtime contributor to the magazine and normally counted as an UDOTSA, with far-from parochial credentials as a historian at Cornell and Yale. Recently, he wrote a column entitled “Let’s Talk Limits.” Well, talk wasn’t cheap in Metcalf’s case. His television show evaporated along with his magazine by-line.
This is not an issue of rights. Guns & Ammo may publish or ban anyone they choose. It’s just that I marvel at the manic insecurity manifested by UDOTSA when a whiff of moderation is in the air. What’s the good of all that heavy firepower if their arsenals are really at risk from an onslaught of word processors?
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
I thought of Dinah Washington this morning on the way to work. I saw her perform at the Apollo Theater in 1969 on a jazz program that included, as I recall, Count Basie and his orchestra. After so long, I still remember the reaction of the audience as she leaned over the edge of the stage wearing a low-cut evening gown. Her greatest hit, which made it onto the Top 10 list in 1959, was “What a Diff’rence a Day Makes.” This came to mind as I saw that the temperature sign at 72nd Street read 4 degrees; yesterday’s high temperature at 9 AM was 55 degrees.
NYTimes.com just published the following: “Eighty retired New York City police officers and firefighters were charged on Tuesday in one of the largest Social Security disability frauds ever, a sprawling decades-long scheme in which false mental disability claims by as many as 1,000 people cost taxpayers hundreds of millions of dollars, according to court papers.” It’s just so disappointing to be reminded again of the power of greed. I’ve noticed that when brought down, the fraudsters never seem to say “I did it and I’m glad.” Rather, they offers tearful pleas for forgiveness and leniency. How boring. Can’t they even have some pride in a bad job well done? By the way, it’s not just these literal blue collars who got caught today. “Princess Cristina, the younger daughter of King Juan Carlos of Spain, was formally accused of money laundering and tax fraud by a magistrate on Tuesday and was summoned to appear in court on March 8.”
I realize that those of us gathered under the shelter of this blog have diverse ethical, religious, moral and political views, but, unlike the fraudsters, I believe that we mostly share values based on fairness with a reluctance to exploit others. The words that I live by are: “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs, and then let’s redecorate the apartment.”
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
I was happy to find Gold River Malaysian Cuisine, 21 Division Street, open after its brief shutdown within days of its opening. However, I was concerned when I found that I was only the second person seated around 1 PM. Fortunately, while the other person left, he was replaced by nine others. This Malaysian food certainly deserves a larger audience. I had two of the most traditional dishes, roti canai ($3.50), although their too-flaky pancake/crepe/blintz made it hard to deal with the buttery curry dipping sauce, and nasi lemak ($6.95), a mound of rice surrounded by cucumber slices, boiled peanuts, half a hardboiled egg, a couple of small chunks of curried chicken and potato, fried tiny anchovies, and sambal, a spicy, chili pepper-based condiment common to Malaysia and Indonesia. Gold River compares favorably with West New Malaysia Restaurant, in the Chinatown Arcade, one of my mainstays, because, so far, Gold River adds a little more spice to its food. However, there’s a big menu ahead and I have my work cut out for me. I hope that I am up to the challenge.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Mens rea plays an important part in our criminal law. A “guilty mind” is a necessary element in defining many crimes. Today’s New York Law Journal reports on a yegg who put this concept to the test in his appeal from his conviction for attempted robbery. He was arrested after he showed up at the back door of a fast food joint just before it opened wearing a mask and displaying a gun. No, no, he argued before the appellate court. That doesn’t prove that I intended to commit a robbery. I might have been there to commit murder, rape or kidnapping, he contended. The court reasoned that, since the weapon he carried was only a BB gun, murder was improbable. Further, he didn’t know anyone in the restaurant, so the court found rape or kidnapping to be a reach. Now, you might think that this was a trivial issue for the learned jurists, but, in fact, the vote to uphold the conviction for attempted robbery was 3-2, leaving the bad guy guilty as a bad guy instead of innocent as a worse guy.
Friday, January 10, 2014
David Goldfarb, that distinguished scholar, has challenged the validity of my claim to have eaten in scores of different Chinese restaurants in Chinatown. Rather, David claims that there is one master kitchen dispensing foods out of a collection of storefronts. I’ve challenged this theory before using beef satay (August 9, 2010) and chicken with garlic sauce (October 6, 2010) as examples of the unified theory of menu printing, the same name applied to diverse dishes. Today, I encountered still another example at Thai Son Vietnamese Restaurant, 89 Baxter Street (August 25, 2010), and, as in the other cases, I am not uttering a complaint, but merely offering a rebuttal to David’s misguided idea, admittedly a rare deviation from his usual laser-like perspicacity. I ordered Vietnamese steak with fried rice ($8.95), a very tasty dish, by the way. However, the generous serving of rice on the plate wasn’t fried rice as I know and love it. It was a mound of steamed yellow rice akin to what a Mexican or Tunisian joint would serve, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Just, there was no evidence of oil used in its preparation (a healthy choice) as I was gearing up to compare Vietnamese fried rice to Chinese fried rice, probably best exemplified by Wo Hop. Of course, I would be the last one to impose censorship or any rigor on the use of language in menus, especially as these experiments in vocabulary add another kind of flavor to my lunchtime excursions.
I thought that the phrase, “The pen is mightier than the sword,” must have originated with Shakespeare, Othello perhaps. Actually, it first appears in the 1839 play Richelieu; Or the Conspiracy, by the English author Edward Bulwer-Lytton, even better known as the author of the infamous opening line “It was a dark and stormy night.” The same thought, however, goes back at least 2,700 years or so to the Assyrian sage Ahiqar who said, according to WikiPedia, “The word is mightier than the sword,” although probably not in English. Since then, others uttered similar phrases. I found the brief article on the topic quite interesting. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_pen_is_mightier_than_the_sword#cite_ref-8
You might think that the uncompromising defenders of the Second Amendment (UDOTSA) thoroughly reject this concept. After all, their near-carnal grasping of firearms seems to empower them as nothing else does. Somewhat like an adolescent boy under the covers at night, they appear to be governed by the principle “I shoot, therefore I am.” That’s why I was a bit surprised by Guns & Ammo magazine dropping Dick Metcalf as a columnist. Metcalf is a longtime contributor to the magazine and normally counted as an UDOTSA, with far-from parochial credentials as a historian at Cornell and Yale. Recently, he wrote a column entitled “Let’s Talk Limits.” Well, talk wasn’t cheap in Metcalf’s case. His television show evaporated along with his magazine by-line.
This is not an issue of rights. Guns & Ammo may publish or ban anyone they choose. It’s just that I marvel at the manic insecurity manifested by UDOTSA when a whiff of moderation is in the air. What’s the good of all that heavy firepower if their arsenals are really at risk from an onslaught of word processors?
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
I thought of Dinah Washington this morning on the way to work. I saw her perform at the Apollo Theater in 1969 on a jazz program that included, as I recall, Count Basie and his orchestra. After so long, I still remember the reaction of the audience as she leaned over the edge of the stage wearing a low-cut evening gown. Her greatest hit, which made it onto the Top 10 list in 1959, was “What a Diff’rence a Day Makes.” This came to mind as I saw that the temperature sign at 72nd Street read 4 degrees; yesterday’s high temperature at 9 AM was 55 degrees.
NYTimes.com just published the following: “Eighty retired New York City police officers and firefighters were charged on Tuesday in one of the largest Social Security disability frauds ever, a sprawling decades-long scheme in which false mental disability claims by as many as 1,000 people cost taxpayers hundreds of millions of dollars, according to court papers.” It’s just so disappointing to be reminded again of the power of greed. I’ve noticed that when brought down, the fraudsters never seem to say “I did it and I’m glad.” Rather, they offers tearful pleas for forgiveness and leniency. How boring. Can’t they even have some pride in a bad job well done? By the way, it’s not just these literal blue collars who got caught today. “Princess Cristina, the younger daughter of King Juan Carlos of Spain, was formally accused of money laundering and tax fraud by a magistrate on Tuesday and was summoned to appear in court on March 8.”
I realize that those of us gathered under the shelter of this blog have diverse ethical, religious, moral and political views, but, unlike the fraudsters, I believe that we mostly share values based on fairness with a reluctance to exploit others. The words that I live by are: “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs, and then let’s redecorate the apartment.”
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
I was happy to find Gold River Malaysian Cuisine, 21 Division Street, open after its brief shutdown within days of its opening. However, I was concerned when I found that I was only the second person seated around 1 PM. Fortunately, while the other person left, he was replaced by nine others. This Malaysian food certainly deserves a larger audience. I had two of the most traditional dishes, roti canai ($3.50), although their too-flaky pancake/crepe/blintz made it hard to deal with the buttery curry dipping sauce, and nasi lemak ($6.95), a mound of rice surrounded by cucumber slices, boiled peanuts, half a hardboiled egg, a couple of small chunks of curried chicken and potato, fried tiny anchovies, and sambal, a spicy, chili pepper-based condiment common to Malaysia and Indonesia. Gold River compares favorably with West New Malaysia Restaurant, in the Chinatown Arcade, one of my mainstays, because, so far, Gold River adds a little more spice to its food. However, there’s a big menu ahead and I have my work cut out for me. I hope that I am up to the challenge.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Mens rea plays an important part in our criminal law. A “guilty mind” is a necessary element in defining many crimes. Today’s New York Law Journal reports on a yegg who put this concept to the test in his appeal from his conviction for attempted robbery. He was arrested after he showed up at the back door of a fast food joint just before it opened wearing a mask and displaying a gun. No, no, he argued before the appellate court. That doesn’t prove that I intended to commit a robbery. I might have been there to commit murder, rape or kidnapping, he contended. The court reasoned that, since the weapon he carried was only a BB gun, murder was improbable. Further, he didn’t know anyone in the restaurant, so the court found rape or kidnapping to be a reach. Now, you might think that this was a trivial issue for the learned jurists, but, in fact, the vote to uphold the conviction for attempted robbery was 3-2, leaving the bad guy guilty as a bad guy instead of innocent as a worse guy.
Friday, January 10, 2014
David Goldfarb, that distinguished scholar, has challenged the validity of my claim to have eaten in scores of different Chinese restaurants in Chinatown. Rather, David claims that there is one master kitchen dispensing foods out of a collection of storefronts. I’ve challenged this theory before using beef satay (August 9, 2010) and chicken with garlic sauce (October 6, 2010) as examples of the unified theory of menu printing, the same name applied to diverse dishes. Today, I encountered still another example at Thai Son Vietnamese Restaurant, 89 Baxter Street (August 25, 2010), and, as in the other cases, I am not uttering a complaint, but merely offering a rebuttal to David’s misguided idea, admittedly a rare deviation from his usual laser-like perspicacity. I ordered Vietnamese steak with fried rice ($8.95), a very tasty dish, by the way. However, the generous serving of rice on the plate wasn’t fried rice as I know and love it. It was a mound of steamed yellow rice akin to what a Mexican or Tunisian joint would serve, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Just, there was no evidence of oil used in its preparation (a healthy choice) as I was gearing up to compare Vietnamese fried rice to Chinese fried rice, probably best exemplified by Wo Hop. Of course, I would be the last one to impose censorship or any rigor on the use of language in menus, especially as these experiments in vocabulary add another kind of flavor to my lunchtime excursions.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Out With The New
Monday, December 30, 2013
I visited Tasty Dumpling, 54 Mulberry Street, early in this (ad)venture (February 8, 2010). Today, I found that they just moved down the block to roomier, brighter quarters at 42 Mulberry Street. All else seems to be the same, but, with the bigger space, even more customers crowded in to sit at the four tables for four or the two stools against a small counter against the wall on the left as you walk in. One order taker/cashier kept the flow of orders going to two very busy cooks in the open kitchen area that takes up nearly half the joint’s floor space. One other person sat alone in the back stuffing dumplings to be cooked on the premises or frozen and sold for home preparation and consumption.
I had a small hot and sour soup ($1.50) appropriately on this chilly day. The soup did not have a distinctive taste, but it was thick with chunks of bean curd and mushroom slices. The eight boiled chicken and mushroom dumplings ($3.25) were rather bland, but plump and steaming hot. Each table had squeeze jars of red chili sauce and wine vinegar, but the dumplings really needed Wo Hop’s mustard to amplify their flavor.
So, the old year ends with a new restaurant under the governing charter, inspired by the ancient proverb: “A journey of a thousand miles begins in a Chinese restaurant.”
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
This is another day off from work as urged by management on behalf of the taxpayers of the State of New York. It is also the date of my first marriage, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
From today's newspaper: "A federal judge on Tuesday struck down as unconstitutional a Florida law that required welfare applicants to undergo mandatory drug testing, setting the stage for a legal battle that could affect similar efforts nationwide." It seems that, whether or not there was any cause, not even probable cause, you had to pee into a bottle in order to get welfare assistance. I oppose this as a civil libertarian, but, recognizing the need to disperse public funds wisely, I offer an alternative.
In light of our adherence to trickle-down economics, I propose tinkle-down drug testing. Beneficiaries of government largesse, in order of financial gain, should be required to pee into a bottle. So, defense contractors, bailed-out bankers, and sports team owners looking to get a new stadium at public expense should line up at the urinals before we ask those folks in the cheap seats to start unzipping for Uncle Sam. If I achieve a filibuster-proof majority, I would extend the tinkle-down program into the economy at large. Cocaine use on Wall Street, for instance, has a long and tawdry history. See http://www.businessinsider.com/wall-street-cocaine-stories-2012-7?op=1
We’ve seen the havoc wreaked by the mismanagement of financial assets by a few well-placed, unsupervised, undisciplined, highly-compensated (make that extremely highly-compensated), possibly over-stimulated white collar crooks. So, gather in line according to the size of your W-2s and 1099s, you Wizards of Wall Street, and give it up for the lab.
The legal victory above should be credited to the ACLU of Florida, which is led by Howard Simon, CCNY '65, who has been with the ACLU for almost 40 years, the last 16 or so in Florida. He didn't go to Wall Street or McKinsey in spite of his first-rate education. He has been doing a real job for decades. I wish there were more like him and that I had done as much for the quality of American citizenship as he has.
We got to see Domesticated at the Lincoln Center theater on New Year's Eve. It's all about gender which is a good thing to keep in mind when shopping for clothes. Afterwards, we skipped all celebrations even though it was the 11th anniversary of my marriage proposal to America's Favorite Epidemiologist. That memory seemed to be so overpowering that she was asleep before midnight.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Catching up on our culture, we went to see Philomena yesterday afternoon. It’s an interesting story elevated by the performance of Dame Judi Dench in the title role. As a result, I did not watch the televised broadcast of the National Hockey League’s Winter Classic, an outdoor hockey game at the University of Michigan’s football stadium, played with snow falling and the temperature at 13̊, in front of 105,000 people. However, once we got home, I watched replays of the action, and interviews with players and coaches, and commentaries by various hockey analysts.
Many of the interviews and panel discussions were held, as the game itself, outdoors on or at the edge of the rink. Everyone on camera was thoroughly bundled up, padded gloves, puffy parkas, scarves and knitted wool hats pulled down to the brow. However, and here’s the cosmic mystery, more puzzling to me than the origins of the universe or the appeal of Miley Cyrus, why didn’t anyone have a runny nose? When I walk the few blocks to the subway on a 28̊ day, I require tissues and a occasional swipe of the back of a glove in order to maintain a respectable look. Those people sat outside, in brutal weather, with cameras in their face, without showing any moisture on their upper lip. How did they do that? Commercial breaks, during which production assistants may have rushed to their sides to dehydrate them, were many minutes apart. For the post-game hours that I watched, I never saw a drip, a drop, not even a little shiny liquid spot, under circumstances that would have labelled me the Faucet King.
The old year ended with a new restaurant and the new year begins with a new duck. OK 218 Restaurant, 218 Grand Street (April 9, 2010), served a very nice half Peking duck ($16.95). It came with six pancakes, the last two very dry by the time I got to them, and a generous amount of hoisin sauce, cucumbers and scallions, more thickly cut than usual. Much of the carcass came with it. Unlike every other Peking duck in Chinatown so far, they took the trouble of separating the crisp skin from the meat and scraping almost all the fat from the skin. The only other place that handles a duck like that is the fabulous Four Seasons, 99 East 52nd Street, maybe my most favorite restaurant in the whole world. Their crisp farmhouse duck with roasted figs is a great choice on the $75, three-course, pre-theater menu. It is not Peking, but it is worth going an equal distance for.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Getting to work in the Blizzard of ‘14 wasn’t that hard. Only one subway line closed down under me. The 6" of snow was less of a problem than the winds and 11̊ temperature on the way to the subway, keeping tissues handy. Strangely enough, while the courthouse was empty of judges and juries for the last week, I saw two judges this morning, one actually conducting business. Justice never sleeps, I guess, at least not for long.
Here’s an interesting, although unpleasant, dispute reported today in the New York Law Journal. A judge in Albany was asked by a divorcing couple to determine ownership of the cremated remains of a stillborn fetus. The husband-father wanted one half, as might be the case with other marital assets. The wife-mother prevailed on the basis of biology, since a man produces sperm cells every day, a woman is born with all of her eggs. The judge wrote that the wife “clearly owned, prior to marriage, the egg from which the fetus developed . . . [while the husband] impregnated the petitioner [wife] with sperm he acquired after the marriage.” Because there was no live birth, the judge considered the fetus as an extension of the wife’s egg, her separate property. There was no precedent for this decision, and, with any luck, this issue will never arise again.
The temperature soared to 14̊ at lunchtime and the path to Wo Hop, 17 Mott Street, was clear. Although no more than 4 other people were seated at any time while I was there, all the familiar waiters seemed to be present. I kept it simple with shrimp fried rice and lots of hot tea which were, of course, delivered promptly.
I visited Tasty Dumpling, 54 Mulberry Street, early in this (ad)venture (February 8, 2010). Today, I found that they just moved down the block to roomier, brighter quarters at 42 Mulberry Street. All else seems to be the same, but, with the bigger space, even more customers crowded in to sit at the four tables for four or the two stools against a small counter against the wall on the left as you walk in. One order taker/cashier kept the flow of orders going to two very busy cooks in the open kitchen area that takes up nearly half the joint’s floor space. One other person sat alone in the back stuffing dumplings to be cooked on the premises or frozen and sold for home preparation and consumption.
I had a small hot and sour soup ($1.50) appropriately on this chilly day. The soup did not have a distinctive taste, but it was thick with chunks of bean curd and mushroom slices. The eight boiled chicken and mushroom dumplings ($3.25) were rather bland, but plump and steaming hot. Each table had squeeze jars of red chili sauce and wine vinegar, but the dumplings really needed Wo Hop’s mustard to amplify their flavor.
So, the old year ends with a new restaurant under the governing charter, inspired by the ancient proverb: “A journey of a thousand miles begins in a Chinese restaurant.”
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
This is another day off from work as urged by management on behalf of the taxpayers of the State of New York. It is also the date of my first marriage, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.
From today's newspaper: "A federal judge on Tuesday struck down as unconstitutional a Florida law that required welfare applicants to undergo mandatory drug testing, setting the stage for a legal battle that could affect similar efforts nationwide." It seems that, whether or not there was any cause, not even probable cause, you had to pee into a bottle in order to get welfare assistance. I oppose this as a civil libertarian, but, recognizing the need to disperse public funds wisely, I offer an alternative.
In light of our adherence to trickle-down economics, I propose tinkle-down drug testing. Beneficiaries of government largesse, in order of financial gain, should be required to pee into a bottle. So, defense contractors, bailed-out bankers, and sports team owners looking to get a new stadium at public expense should line up at the urinals before we ask those folks in the cheap seats to start unzipping for Uncle Sam. If I achieve a filibuster-proof majority, I would extend the tinkle-down program into the economy at large. Cocaine use on Wall Street, for instance, has a long and tawdry history. See http://www.businessinsider.com/wall-street-cocaine-stories-2012-7?op=1
We’ve seen the havoc wreaked by the mismanagement of financial assets by a few well-placed, unsupervised, undisciplined, highly-compensated (make that extremely highly-compensated), possibly over-stimulated white collar crooks. So, gather in line according to the size of your W-2s and 1099s, you Wizards of Wall Street, and give it up for the lab.
The legal victory above should be credited to the ACLU of Florida, which is led by Howard Simon, CCNY '65, who has been with the ACLU for almost 40 years, the last 16 or so in Florida. He didn't go to Wall Street or McKinsey in spite of his first-rate education. He has been doing a real job for decades. I wish there were more like him and that I had done as much for the quality of American citizenship as he has.
We got to see Domesticated at the Lincoln Center theater on New Year's Eve. It's all about gender which is a good thing to keep in mind when shopping for clothes. Afterwards, we skipped all celebrations even though it was the 11th anniversary of my marriage proposal to America's Favorite Epidemiologist. That memory seemed to be so overpowering that she was asleep before midnight.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Catching up on our culture, we went to see Philomena yesterday afternoon. It’s an interesting story elevated by the performance of Dame Judi Dench in the title role. As a result, I did not watch the televised broadcast of the National Hockey League’s Winter Classic, an outdoor hockey game at the University of Michigan’s football stadium, played with snow falling and the temperature at 13̊, in front of 105,000 people. However, once we got home, I watched replays of the action, and interviews with players and coaches, and commentaries by various hockey analysts.
Many of the interviews and panel discussions were held, as the game itself, outdoors on or at the edge of the rink. Everyone on camera was thoroughly bundled up, padded gloves, puffy parkas, scarves and knitted wool hats pulled down to the brow. However, and here’s the cosmic mystery, more puzzling to me than the origins of the universe or the appeal of Miley Cyrus, why didn’t anyone have a runny nose? When I walk the few blocks to the subway on a 28̊ day, I require tissues and a occasional swipe of the back of a glove in order to maintain a respectable look. Those people sat outside, in brutal weather, with cameras in their face, without showing any moisture on their upper lip. How did they do that? Commercial breaks, during which production assistants may have rushed to their sides to dehydrate them, were many minutes apart. For the post-game hours that I watched, I never saw a drip, a drop, not even a little shiny liquid spot, under circumstances that would have labelled me the Faucet King.
The old year ended with a new restaurant and the new year begins with a new duck. OK 218 Restaurant, 218 Grand Street (April 9, 2010), served a very nice half Peking duck ($16.95). It came with six pancakes, the last two very dry by the time I got to them, and a generous amount of hoisin sauce, cucumbers and scallions, more thickly cut than usual. Much of the carcass came with it. Unlike every other Peking duck in Chinatown so far, they took the trouble of separating the crisp skin from the meat and scraping almost all the fat from the skin. The only other place that handles a duck like that is the fabulous Four Seasons, 99 East 52nd Street, maybe my most favorite restaurant in the whole world. Their crisp farmhouse duck with roasted figs is a great choice on the $75, three-course, pre-theater menu. It is not Peking, but it is worth going an equal distance for.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Getting to work in the Blizzard of ‘14 wasn’t that hard. Only one subway line closed down under me. The 6" of snow was less of a problem than the winds and 11̊ temperature on the way to the subway, keeping tissues handy. Strangely enough, while the courthouse was empty of judges and juries for the last week, I saw two judges this morning, one actually conducting business. Justice never sleeps, I guess, at least not for long.
Here’s an interesting, although unpleasant, dispute reported today in the New York Law Journal. A judge in Albany was asked by a divorcing couple to determine ownership of the cremated remains of a stillborn fetus. The husband-father wanted one half, as might be the case with other marital assets. The wife-mother prevailed on the basis of biology, since a man produces sperm cells every day, a woman is born with all of her eggs. The judge wrote that the wife “clearly owned, prior to marriage, the egg from which the fetus developed . . . [while the husband] impregnated the petitioner [wife] with sperm he acquired after the marriage.” Because there was no live birth, the judge considered the fetus as an extension of the wife’s egg, her separate property. There was no precedent for this decision, and, with any luck, this issue will never arise again.
The temperature soared to 14̊ at lunchtime and the path to Wo Hop, 17 Mott Street, was clear. Although no more than 4 other people were seated at any time while I was there, all the familiar waiters seemed to be present. I kept it simple with shrimp fried rice and lots of hot tea which were, of course, delivered promptly.
Friday, December 27, 2013
That's (Not) Entertainment
Monday, December 23, 2013
Those of us around here are still marveling at this weekend’s weather. Saturday, a record high of 64°, topped by Sunday at 71°. The start of Winter, and the shortest day of the year, acting like Spring. It was unsettling.
The weather started returning to normal on this very quiet day starting a very quiet week in the dispensing of justice business. Befittingly, I had a simple lunch at Wo Hop, 17 Mott Street. However, I’ll take the time now to extol one feature of Wo Hop that I have ignored in describing my myriad past visits, that is, the mustard. Along with tea (in a glass) and water, your Wo Hop waiter invariably puts down a small dish of mustard, real hot mustard. More than a 1/4" dab will cause the normal adult human being to choke, gasping for air and cool relief, which means that a smaller amount adds a welcome kick to most dishes, especially the classic, Chinatown Cantonese food Wo Hop typically serves. Unlike some people, I’m not ordinarily devoted to very hot food, such as vindaloo curry. But, some Wo Hop mustard in a bowl of won ton soup or on a mound of shrimp fried rice memorably elevates the taste sensation. Unfortunately, those little plastic packages of mustard packed in with your normal Chinese takeout food lack the necessary pungency, and often appear to be left over from a previous dynasty. I haven’t inquired of the provenance of Wo Hop’s mustard, whether mixed on the premises or delivered in 55 gallon drums from across the Pacific or maybe just from across the East River.
Speaking of geography, the New York Times has a fascinating quiz on the geographic differences in American speech and vocabulary. In other words, where do you talk like. http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2013/12/20/sunday-review/dialect-quiz-map.html After answering the 25 questions, it identified me as a New Yorker (Surprise! Surprise!), by vocabulary and pronunciation. For instance:
“Do you pronounce cot and caught the same?”
“What do you call the thing from which you might drink water in a school? Bubbler, water bubbler, drinking fountain, water fountain, other.”
Try it and see it if you are where you belong.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Today, and next Tuesday, are days which the State of New York encourages us to stay away from our workplaces, using vacation days. I am complying and getting things done – a haircut late morning and then a visit to the New York Public Library’s performing arts branch, on the grounds of Lincoln Center, to see their exhibition of Al Hirschfeld’s work. It is a comprehensive look at his career, full of familiar and unfamiliar delights. However, I regret not visiting it sooner, in order to give myself time to make successive visits, and, to urge you to get over there before the January 4th closing. I’m also motivated to take stock of my Hirschfeld holdings, not only my handful of drawings, but the books, posters, postage stamps and the like that I have collected over the decades, and then figure out what to do with them.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Weeks ago, we bought tickets for Domesticated, a new play at Lincoln Center, to help fill these nights where we will not be trimming trees, wrapping packages or guiding sleighs to welcoming chimneys. Last night, we strolled the three blocks from Palazzo di Gotthelf to Lincoln Center with plenty of time to spare to make the 8 o’clock curtain. However, we were surprised to find the theater’s lobby empty when we arrived save two ushers and one bartender. Well, I jocularly said, everybody must be home trimming trees, wrapping packages or guiding sleighs to welcoming chimneys. Not really. Sometime in the recent past, theater management decided to push up the curtain time to 7 o’clock to accommodate the audience’s holiday schedule. Apparently, every other ticket holder was made aware of this change, probably to avoid the embarrassment of a lobby full of grumbling Westchesterites or Long Islanders showing up at the wrong hour which had recently been the right hour. Somehow, there seems to have been a communications dead spot in the immediate vicinity of Lincoln Center, and we proceeded innocently at the appointed hour, only to find that it was the disappointed hour. The man at the box office gave us excellent seats for an upcoming performance with a straight face, at least in our presence.
I must admit that, up until this morning, I was unconcerned about the earnings of professional equestrians. While there is an abundance of information on the industry/careers/opportunities in this field (see e.g., http://www.equestrianprofessional.com/public/main.cfm ), actual income data is sketchy. One web site, http://www.simplyhired.com/salaries-k-equestrian-jobs.html, says that the average annual salary is currently $62,000. Of course, there are several different jobs for a professional equestrian. You might be a horse trainer, a riding instructor, a barn manager or a show jumper, which apparently is where the big money is. According to the May 2, 2011 issue of ESPN The Magazine, in 2010, McLain Ward earned $1,280,788, the top among men, and Laura Kraut, the top among women at $627,907. Of course, they were the best and I’m worried about the also-rans, or maybe appropriately called the also-jumped.
It’s a brief article in today’s newspaper that stirred my interest. I learned that Georgina Bloomberg and Ramiro Quintana had a baby boy. Ms. Bloomberg is Mayor Michael Bloomberg’s daughter, and she and Mr. Quintana are identified as professional equestrians. They are not married. So, I have to conclude that, as professional equestrians, they could neither afford the $35 fee for a New York City marriage license, nor even $13.49 at Walgreen’s for a dozen Kimono Textured Lubricated Latex Condoms. Therefore, in the spirit of the season, please join me in a fund-raising effort for the young couple. Let’s try to make sure that their child is raised in a financially-sound household with both parents present and married, able to expand their family by design, not chance.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
So, how did we like American Hustle? Let me explain to you. When we decided to go to a movie on Christmas Day, we knew that this wasn't the most original idea and we could expect large crowds with the same thought. Therefore, this past Sunday without leaving home, I chose to buy tickets in advance from Fandango, assuring us that we would have seats for the 3:50 show, joined by Jill and Steve, our intrepid traveling companions. When I presented the computer-printed certificate representing four admissions at the theater yesterday, the scanner rejected it. When I handed the certificate to the lady at the customer service desk – this is a big establishment – she said, "Oh, this is for Sunday." "No, no. I got it on the computer on Sunday, for today." Well, yes and no. I went on line and paid on Sunday, asking for tickets for Wednesday. The computer apparently had other plans. Of course, that showing of American Hustle and every other reasonable alternative for hours afterwards were completely sold out. Without an actual ticket, not some stupid certificate, no one was getting in. The lady gave me four passes to be traded for tickets any time in the next two years. So, that’s how we liked American Hustle.
To summarize the past two days, the message apparently from on high is for my young bride and I to amuse ourselves over this holiday.
I’m at work today and I just received any interesting e-mail message from Trip Advisor (tripadvisor.com), a web site that I use when planning travel, especially to unfamiliar places. They’ve come up with some interesting lists from churning the many millions of submissions that they’ve received, and I love lists. The top 10 cities visited this year are, in order, London, Rome, Paris, New York, Las Vegas, Barcelona, Orlando, Milan, Florence, and Bangkok, based on almost 460,000 London reviews to over 115,000 for Bangkok. I’ve been to 8 of the 10. And you?
Friday, December 27, 2013
My work day was enhanced by a visit from Kaylah M., a ninth-grader whom I met when conferring with Sonia Sotomayor at City College. Kaylah is interested in a legal career and, even though things are very quiet around here in this holiday period, she wanted to get an introductory look at our court system. We walked around, finding a few folk to talk to, and then went over to 100 Centre Street to see some criminal arraignments. I viewed this time as an investment. If I need a lawyer in the future, my decrepit contemporaries will probably not have the energy to pull my chestnuts out of the fire, no less rise from their seats.
Those of us around here are still marveling at this weekend’s weather. Saturday, a record high of 64°, topped by Sunday at 71°. The start of Winter, and the shortest day of the year, acting like Spring. It was unsettling.
The weather started returning to normal on this very quiet day starting a very quiet week in the dispensing of justice business. Befittingly, I had a simple lunch at Wo Hop, 17 Mott Street. However, I’ll take the time now to extol one feature of Wo Hop that I have ignored in describing my myriad past visits, that is, the mustard. Along with tea (in a glass) and water, your Wo Hop waiter invariably puts down a small dish of mustard, real hot mustard. More than a 1/4" dab will cause the normal adult human being to choke, gasping for air and cool relief, which means that a smaller amount adds a welcome kick to most dishes, especially the classic, Chinatown Cantonese food Wo Hop typically serves. Unlike some people, I’m not ordinarily devoted to very hot food, such as vindaloo curry. But, some Wo Hop mustard in a bowl of won ton soup or on a mound of shrimp fried rice memorably elevates the taste sensation. Unfortunately, those little plastic packages of mustard packed in with your normal Chinese takeout food lack the necessary pungency, and often appear to be left over from a previous dynasty. I haven’t inquired of the provenance of Wo Hop’s mustard, whether mixed on the premises or delivered in 55 gallon drums from across the Pacific or maybe just from across the East River.
Speaking of geography, the New York Times has a fascinating quiz on the geographic differences in American speech and vocabulary. In other words, where do you talk like. http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2013/12/20/sunday-review/dialect-quiz-map.html After answering the 25 questions, it identified me as a New Yorker (Surprise! Surprise!), by vocabulary and pronunciation. For instance:
“Do you pronounce cot and caught the same?”
“What do you call the thing from which you might drink water in a school? Bubbler, water bubbler, drinking fountain, water fountain, other.”
Try it and see it if you are where you belong.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Today, and next Tuesday, are days which the State of New York encourages us to stay away from our workplaces, using vacation days. I am complying and getting things done – a haircut late morning and then a visit to the New York Public Library’s performing arts branch, on the grounds of Lincoln Center, to see their exhibition of Al Hirschfeld’s work. It is a comprehensive look at his career, full of familiar and unfamiliar delights. However, I regret not visiting it sooner, in order to give myself time to make successive visits, and, to urge you to get over there before the January 4th closing. I’m also motivated to take stock of my Hirschfeld holdings, not only my handful of drawings, but the books, posters, postage stamps and the like that I have collected over the decades, and then figure out what to do with them.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Weeks ago, we bought tickets for Domesticated, a new play at Lincoln Center, to help fill these nights where we will not be trimming trees, wrapping packages or guiding sleighs to welcoming chimneys. Last night, we strolled the three blocks from Palazzo di Gotthelf to Lincoln Center with plenty of time to spare to make the 8 o’clock curtain. However, we were surprised to find the theater’s lobby empty when we arrived save two ushers and one bartender. Well, I jocularly said, everybody must be home trimming trees, wrapping packages or guiding sleighs to welcoming chimneys. Not really. Sometime in the recent past, theater management decided to push up the curtain time to 7 o’clock to accommodate the audience’s holiday schedule. Apparently, every other ticket holder was made aware of this change, probably to avoid the embarrassment of a lobby full of grumbling Westchesterites or Long Islanders showing up at the wrong hour which had recently been the right hour. Somehow, there seems to have been a communications dead spot in the immediate vicinity of Lincoln Center, and we proceeded innocently at the appointed hour, only to find that it was the disappointed hour. The man at the box office gave us excellent seats for an upcoming performance with a straight face, at least in our presence.
I must admit that, up until this morning, I was unconcerned about the earnings of professional equestrians. While there is an abundance of information on the industry/careers/opportunities in this field (see e.g., http://www.equestrianprofessional.com/public/main.cfm ), actual income data is sketchy. One web site, http://www.simplyhired.com/salaries-k-equestrian-jobs.html, says that the average annual salary is currently $62,000. Of course, there are several different jobs for a professional equestrian. You might be a horse trainer, a riding instructor, a barn manager or a show jumper, which apparently is where the big money is. According to the May 2, 2011 issue of ESPN The Magazine, in 2010, McLain Ward earned $1,280,788, the top among men, and Laura Kraut, the top among women at $627,907. Of course, they were the best and I’m worried about the also-rans, or maybe appropriately called the also-jumped.
It’s a brief article in today’s newspaper that stirred my interest. I learned that Georgina Bloomberg and Ramiro Quintana had a baby boy. Ms. Bloomberg is Mayor Michael Bloomberg’s daughter, and she and Mr. Quintana are identified as professional equestrians. They are not married. So, I have to conclude that, as professional equestrians, they could neither afford the $35 fee for a New York City marriage license, nor even $13.49 at Walgreen’s for a dozen Kimono Textured Lubricated Latex Condoms. Therefore, in the spirit of the season, please join me in a fund-raising effort for the young couple. Let’s try to make sure that their child is raised in a financially-sound household with both parents present and married, able to expand their family by design, not chance.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
So, how did we like American Hustle? Let me explain to you. When we decided to go to a movie on Christmas Day, we knew that this wasn't the most original idea and we could expect large crowds with the same thought. Therefore, this past Sunday without leaving home, I chose to buy tickets in advance from Fandango, assuring us that we would have seats for the 3:50 show, joined by Jill and Steve, our intrepid traveling companions. When I presented the computer-printed certificate representing four admissions at the theater yesterday, the scanner rejected it. When I handed the certificate to the lady at the customer service desk – this is a big establishment – she said, "Oh, this is for Sunday." "No, no. I got it on the computer on Sunday, for today." Well, yes and no. I went on line and paid on Sunday, asking for tickets for Wednesday. The computer apparently had other plans. Of course, that showing of American Hustle and every other reasonable alternative for hours afterwards were completely sold out. Without an actual ticket, not some stupid certificate, no one was getting in. The lady gave me four passes to be traded for tickets any time in the next two years. So, that’s how we liked American Hustle.
To summarize the past two days, the message apparently from on high is for my young bride and I to amuse ourselves over this holiday.
I’m at work today and I just received any interesting e-mail message from Trip Advisor (tripadvisor.com), a web site that I use when planning travel, especially to unfamiliar places. They’ve come up with some interesting lists from churning the many millions of submissions that they’ve received, and I love lists. The top 10 cities visited this year are, in order, London, Rome, Paris, New York, Las Vegas, Barcelona, Orlando, Milan, Florence, and Bangkok, based on almost 460,000 London reviews to over 115,000 for Bangkok. I’ve been to 8 of the 10. And you?
Friday, December 27, 2013
My work day was enhanced by a visit from Kaylah M., a ninth-grader whom I met when conferring with Sonia Sotomayor at City College. Kaylah is interested in a legal career and, even though things are very quiet around here in this holiday period, she wanted to get an introductory look at our court system. We walked around, finding a few folk to talk to, and then went over to 100 Centre Street to see some criminal arraignments. I viewed this time as an investment. If I need a lawyer in the future, my decrepit contemporaries will probably not have the energy to pull my chestnuts out of the fire, no less rise from their seats.
Friday, December 20, 2013
Starting Somewhere
Monday, December 16, 2013
Mount Etna, Europe’s most active volcano, has been shooting lava and ash into the sky over this weekend. The airport in Catania, Sicily, where we departed from 2 months ago, is temporarily shut. As you may recall, my ordinary boldness disappeared about halfway up the volcano, and I spent several hours in the parking lot while those intrepid explorers Jill and Steve, guided by America’s Favorite Epidemiologist, scaled the heights. I wonder if this is the volcano’s delayed anthropomorphic reaction to my slight.
On the other hand, if want an eruption, how about the academic boycott of Israeli universities just voted by the American Studies Association, which “[a]s an organization with a longstanding commitment to social justice, the ASA has a responsibility to take a position on one of the leading social justice and human rights issues of our time.” This is the first academic boycott ever undertaken by the association, whose president, Curtis Marez, an associate professor of ethnic studies at the University of California, San Diego, said to the New York Times that “one has to start somewhere.”
By chance, the NSA spying program captured, in addition to the communications of senior European Union officials, Israeli government leaders, African heads of state and their family members, officials of United Nations and international aid organizations, officials overseeing oil and finance ministries, energy companies, and others, the ASA’s policy planning session leading up to the boycott resolution. While the speakers are unidentified, the transcript indicates that there were at least four participants, and the first male is thought to be Marez, the group’s president.
Female 1: “It’s time that we take our commitment to social justice seriously considering the terrible state of human rights throughout the world.”
Male 1: “Right, we have to start somewhere.”
Female 2: “One party political systems are invariably oppressive.”
Male 1: “Right, we have to start somewhere.”
Female 2: “Only a small number of regimes proclaim themselves to be one party, notably China, Cuba, Vietnam and North Korea. That’s quite a collection.”
Male 1: “Right, we have to start somewhere.”
Male 2: “Imprisonment so often entails human rights violations. I think that we should look at incarceration rates.”
Female 1: “I have it here from the International Centre for Prison Studies, a British group. First, would you believe, is the US. The next few, you’d never guess – Seychelles, St. Kitts & Nevis, the US Virgin Islands. Sadly, Cuba comes next.”
Male 1: “Right, we have to start somewhere.”
Male 2: “Actually, I think capital punishment is the ultimate human rights violation. Amnesty International keeps track of that. The top offenders make an even stranger collection – China, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Iraq and us, I mean the US”
Male 1: “Right, we have to start somewhere.”
Female 1: “It seems to me that there’s a natural choice when you read the newspapers.”
Female 2: “Syria, gassing its own people?”
Several voices at once: “No, Israel!”
Male 1: “Right, we have to start somewhere.”
[Chatter ensued.]
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
I thought I would try Division 31 Restaurant, to see if they finally are serving lunch on a plate, not in a hot pot. No luck. Worse luck possibly is the fate of Gold River Malaysian Cuisine, just a few doors down from Division 31. Last week, I had a first-rate meal there and, finding Division 31 inhospitable, I thought to extend my examination of the menu at Gold River. However, it was closed; the aluminum gate firmly pulled down over the storefront. Nothing indicated its fate, and I hope this was only a momentary disruption in its new life. For lunch, I joined hundreds of rollicking Chinese folk at 88 Palace, 88 East Broadway (May 21, 2010), for dim sum Hong Kong style. $10 got me shrimp dumplings (4), shu mai (4), pork and vegetable dumplings (3), a plate of sticky rice and 3 crescent-shaped, fried dumplings containing something pleasantly obscure, and good, hot tea.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
The Boyz Club met for lunch today at Dim Sum Go Go, 5 East Broadway. We ordered one dim sum platter for each person (11 different pieces for $12), and extra plates of duck dumplings, steamed roast pork dumplings, spinach dumplings, and fried shrimp balls, about $4 each. One interesting thing about Dim Sum Go Go, in contrast to its popularity and high Michelin rating, is its remoteness from the myriad of subway lines in downtown Manhattan. Maybe that’s a good thing to keep the crowds manageable. Check your map before heading out. Let me remind you though, don’t order the scallion pancake.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
One more day with my mouth open, not saying a thing. It is supposed to be the last session of my Magnus Dentus Opus, although the need for some post-impartum adjustments may be inevitable. After all, I’ve paid a lot for this new grimace.
Friday, December 20, 2013
After my three hour session yesterday, I returned to work with new teeth, an unfamiliar bite and sore gums. I hope that the teeth remain, I grow accustomed to the bite and the pain wears off. For the rest of the day, I am sticking to simple, soft foods, fried rice at Wo Hop, 17 Mott Street, for lunch. Mind you, that’s not in the way of a compromise. Wo Hop’s fried rice (I often mix and match ingredients, today beef and shrimp) is probably the best fried rice in Chinatown, and served in large portions. The only thing wrong with that is that you can’t reasonably order fried rice as a complement to another dish when eating alone, unless you don’t mind leaving over a lot of food, which simply is not my style.
Those of you who live around here, or just about anywhere in the Northeast, know that precipitation in the form of snow or rain has been the prevailing weather pattern for the last couple of weeks, combined with cold temperatures. So, I’m stuck trying to explain what I have observed during this period. Many of the racks in New York’s bike sharing program have loads of empty slots, presumably meaning that the bikes are in use. For instance, this morning, admittedly a bit milder than recent days, around 9 AM, I counted seven bicycles in the rack on Reade Street, east of Broadway, which has 40 slots. Later, near 11 AM, the bike rack directly in front of the courthouse on Centre Street, just below Worth Street, had 24 bikes and 19 empty slots. Where have all the bicycles gone? Have they flown south for the winter? Are Century Village and Pembroke Pines in Florida as full of blue bikes as blue-haired ladies from New York?
Mount Etna, Europe’s most active volcano, has been shooting lava and ash into the sky over this weekend. The airport in Catania, Sicily, where we departed from 2 months ago, is temporarily shut. As you may recall, my ordinary boldness disappeared about halfway up the volcano, and I spent several hours in the parking lot while those intrepid explorers Jill and Steve, guided by America’s Favorite Epidemiologist, scaled the heights. I wonder if this is the volcano’s delayed anthropomorphic reaction to my slight.
On the other hand, if want an eruption, how about the academic boycott of Israeli universities just voted by the American Studies Association, which “[a]s an organization with a longstanding commitment to social justice, the ASA has a responsibility to take a position on one of the leading social justice and human rights issues of our time.” This is the first academic boycott ever undertaken by the association, whose president, Curtis Marez, an associate professor of ethnic studies at the University of California, San Diego, said to the New York Times that “one has to start somewhere.”
By chance, the NSA spying program captured, in addition to the communications of senior European Union officials, Israeli government leaders, African heads of state and their family members, officials of United Nations and international aid organizations, officials overseeing oil and finance ministries, energy companies, and others, the ASA’s policy planning session leading up to the boycott resolution. While the speakers are unidentified, the transcript indicates that there were at least four participants, and the first male is thought to be Marez, the group’s president.
Female 1: “It’s time that we take our commitment to social justice seriously considering the terrible state of human rights throughout the world.”
Male 1: “Right, we have to start somewhere.”
Female 2: “One party political systems are invariably oppressive.”
Male 1: “Right, we have to start somewhere.”
Female 2: “Only a small number of regimes proclaim themselves to be one party, notably China, Cuba, Vietnam and North Korea. That’s quite a collection.”
Male 1: “Right, we have to start somewhere.”
Male 2: “Imprisonment so often entails human rights violations. I think that we should look at incarceration rates.”
Female 1: “I have it here from the International Centre for Prison Studies, a British group. First, would you believe, is the US. The next few, you’d never guess – Seychelles, St. Kitts & Nevis, the US Virgin Islands. Sadly, Cuba comes next.”
Male 1: “Right, we have to start somewhere.”
Male 2: “Actually, I think capital punishment is the ultimate human rights violation. Amnesty International keeps track of that. The top offenders make an even stranger collection – China, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Iraq and us, I mean the US”
Male 1: “Right, we have to start somewhere.”
Female 1: “It seems to me that there’s a natural choice when you read the newspapers.”
Female 2: “Syria, gassing its own people?”
Several voices at once: “No, Israel!”
Male 1: “Right, we have to start somewhere.”
[Chatter ensued.]
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
I thought I would try Division 31 Restaurant, to see if they finally are serving lunch on a plate, not in a hot pot. No luck. Worse luck possibly is the fate of Gold River Malaysian Cuisine, just a few doors down from Division 31. Last week, I had a first-rate meal there and, finding Division 31 inhospitable, I thought to extend my examination of the menu at Gold River. However, it was closed; the aluminum gate firmly pulled down over the storefront. Nothing indicated its fate, and I hope this was only a momentary disruption in its new life. For lunch, I joined hundreds of rollicking Chinese folk at 88 Palace, 88 East Broadway (May 21, 2010), for dim sum Hong Kong style. $10 got me shrimp dumplings (4), shu mai (4), pork and vegetable dumplings (3), a plate of sticky rice and 3 crescent-shaped, fried dumplings containing something pleasantly obscure, and good, hot tea.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
The Boyz Club met for lunch today at Dim Sum Go Go, 5 East Broadway. We ordered one dim sum platter for each person (11 different pieces for $12), and extra plates of duck dumplings, steamed roast pork dumplings, spinach dumplings, and fried shrimp balls, about $4 each. One interesting thing about Dim Sum Go Go, in contrast to its popularity and high Michelin rating, is its remoteness from the myriad of subway lines in downtown Manhattan. Maybe that’s a good thing to keep the crowds manageable. Check your map before heading out. Let me remind you though, don’t order the scallion pancake.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
One more day with my mouth open, not saying a thing. It is supposed to be the last session of my Magnus Dentus Opus, although the need for some post-impartum adjustments may be inevitable. After all, I’ve paid a lot for this new grimace.
Friday, December 20, 2013
After my three hour session yesterday, I returned to work with new teeth, an unfamiliar bite and sore gums. I hope that the teeth remain, I grow accustomed to the bite and the pain wears off. For the rest of the day, I am sticking to simple, soft foods, fried rice at Wo Hop, 17 Mott Street, for lunch. Mind you, that’s not in the way of a compromise. Wo Hop’s fried rice (I often mix and match ingredients, today beef and shrimp) is probably the best fried rice in Chinatown, and served in large portions. The only thing wrong with that is that you can’t reasonably order fried rice as a complement to another dish when eating alone, unless you don’t mind leaving over a lot of food, which simply is not my style.
Those of you who live around here, or just about anywhere in the Northeast, know that precipitation in the form of snow or rain has been the prevailing weather pattern for the last couple of weeks, combined with cold temperatures. So, I’m stuck trying to explain what I have observed during this period. Many of the racks in New York’s bike sharing program have loads of empty slots, presumably meaning that the bikes are in use. For instance, this morning, admittedly a bit milder than recent days, around 9 AM, I counted seven bicycles in the rack on Reade Street, east of Broadway, which has 40 slots. Later, near 11 AM, the bike rack directly in front of the courthouse on Centre Street, just below Worth Street, had 24 bikes and 19 empty slots. Where have all the bicycles gone? Have they flown south for the winter? Are Century Village and Pembroke Pines in Florida as full of blue bikes as blue-haired ladies from New York?
Friday, December 13, 2013
Is Your Gun Housebroken?
Monday, December 9, 2013
If I were only devoted to sports, this weekend would have been a disaster. The Rangers lost two games back-to-back at home to traditional rivals. Then, the Giants flew all the way out to San Diego, California and forgot how to play football once they arrived there. Fortunately, there were other activities that provided sufficient enjoyment to rescue the weekend. Saturday morning, our synagogue welcomed new members; there was a lovely birthday party for Dr. Roger P. on Saturday night. Sunday morning, we heard Mel Scult, that formidable scholar, discuss his new biography of Mordecai Kaplan, the founder of Reconstructionist Judaism. Afterwards, we traveled to Shop-Rite in Englewood, New Jersey to refill the refrigerator and pantry depleted by Thanksgiving and Hanukkah celebrations. In fact, with the extremely early coming and going of Hanukkah, historically unprecedented it seems, my holiday bustling about is done. Of course, I will not ignore a bargain, as I found at the New York Public Library shop on Friday, rebuilding my inventory for next year’s gift giving. However, I don’t yet have a sense of urgency about being ready for the first candle on Tuesday night, December 16, 2014.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Just as our modern society recognizes certain differences between men and women, straights and gays, innies and outies, there is a gulf between pet people and the rest of us that sometimes bewilders me. Today’s New York Law Journal, for instance, describes the contest by a divorcing couple over custody of their 2 ½-year old miniature dachshund. A New York County judge ruled that the custody determination should depart from precedents which either simply rejected treating a pet as one would a child in a custody battle or automatically considering a pet as personal property, chattel in lawyer lingo. For better or worse, the methodology laid out by the judge went untested because the parties reached an agreement before the judge did.
I’m not completely insensitive to the affection and feeling of companionship one might have for a pet, some pets at least. However, having worked in divorce court (officially – a matrimonial part of Supreme Court) for over three years, I’ve seen how warring couples can invest animate and inanimate objects with global significance, warranting a scorched-earth policy, if necessary, to effect JUSTICE. A sofa will remain unchanged if it is the object of such a controversy. However, I am certain that Junior would suffer under those circumstances and maybe Fido would as well.
For a short time in the spring of this year, 21 Division Street was home to CM Malaysian Restaurant (April 3, 2013). It closed quickly and the site was empty until recently when Gold River Malaysian Cuisine opened, totally renovated with a simple, undistinguished interior. The food, on the other hand, quite distinguishes itself. I started, as I invariably do in a Malaysian restaurant, with roti canai ($3.50), the Indian pancake with curry dipping sauce. The pancake was a little crumbly, hard to fold without making a mess. However, the sauce had a real tang and contained a few pieces of beef, not just chunks of potato. I chose beef rendang over rice from over 30 lunch specials, all at $6. There was a generous amount of rice and highly-spiced beef. They could have borrowed the title spicy & tingly beef from Xi’An Famous Foods without apology. In addition to the lunch specials, predominantly familiar Chinese dishes, the menu includes Thai and Malay items, such as Hainanese chicken, mee Siam and pad Thai, and more obscure dishes. My devotion to West New Malaysia Restaurant, in the arcade between the Bowery and Elizabeth Street, will surely be tested by future visits to Gold River.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
As a kid, I had a very realistic cap pistol. It looked like a Colt .45, all shiny chrome. My attraction to firearms ended about then. Possibly a bigger divide exists between gun people and the rest of us than between pet people and non-pet people, although standing on the outside in both instances, I detect a common need for reassurance and personality enhancement in many of those who grasp for animals and guns. Maybe the best (worst) expression of the emotional neediness of many gun people is the history of gun control legislation in the year since the murder of schoolchildren in Newtown, CT. The New York Times reviewed the approximately 1,500 bills dealing with guns introduced in state legislatures in this period.
It found that 109 have become law throughout the country; 39 tighten gun restrictions, 70 loosen gun restrictions. For instance, as of now, Arkansas allows guns in places of worship; Louisiana allows issuance of lifetime concealed handgun permits; North Carolina (not alone) allows firearms in bars; Utah prohibits the sharing of firearms permit information with the federal government. This last one inspires me to suggest that the federal government prohibit its Centers for Disease Control from sharing information with Utah.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
With the temperature stuck in the mid-20s, Michael Ratner and I drank a lot of hot tea at Mika Japanese Cuisine & Bar, 150 Centre Street (July 19, 2011). Otherwise, we went without hot food as we ate a lot of sushi and sashimi. We shared a Love Boat ($45), a large platter of about a dozen different items, all tasting fresh and good. Adding to our pleasure was the coupon from Restaurant.com which covered the first $25 for only a few bucks. For the New York area, Restaurant.com is worth keeping in mind. It does not represent the most elegant collection of restaurants, but you are likely to find a coupon for a familiar place and save some money. Coupon prices vary; they are almost always running a promotion. Two weeks ago, I purchased coupons for four restaurants (including Mika), with redemption values of $15 to $50, for $1.80 to $6, unbelievably low cost. You have to spend more than face value, typically 50% more to use the coupon, and fixed price meals are often excluded. However, with a little attention to detail, you can eat more for less, my mantra.
Friday, December 13, 2013
"Congratulations once again on your admission to Fordham University."
Congratulations to my older brother because he became even older today.
Oops! It seems that while my brother's birthday is irrevocable, 2,500 Fordham applicants were falsely informed this week that they were admitted by early admission. It seems that an outside contractor handling financial aid applications made a bit of a mistake. In fact, 500 of these kids are being rejected for admission and 2,000 are being deferred. Happy Holidays!
Friday, December 6, 2013
Digest This
Monday, December 2, 2013
Clear liquids, all day, all night. Maybe it is appropriate that after a long holiday weekend, filled with special meals and parties, that my choices for today day are limited to water and apple juice. This is to prepare for a medical procedure tomorrow, after which I expect to return to the path of gluttony. This temporary period of restraint I am finding harder than the all-day total fast of Yom Kippur. I’ve gone to work today and at lunchtime I took a walk. I found myself besieged by enticing odors from sidewalk carts and the joints whose doors are opening and closing constantly for customers. At least, on Yom Kippur, I sit relatively still in a big room filled with equally deprived Jews. There’s no question that thoughts of refreshment often nudge thoughts of atonement aside while at services, but I feel that I am not alone in shul. Among the other pious ones, a yearning for spirituality may well be at odds with a yearning for a pastrami sandwich. I’m not trying to take my transitory deprivation too seriously, because there are too many folks around who will not be eating well again even after 24 hours have passed. It’s funny how many politicians and their mouthpieces appear hyper-alert to the prospect of what they label class warfare, when, in fact, they have already won that war. I’m not looking for the redistribution of wealth, just the distribution of wealth. Too many have none, too few have most. There are very few people that I could tolerate being stuck in an elevator with who claim that it’s the right way to run a country.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
I think that I failed a test today. It wasn’t the probe of my kishkes conducted by Doctor-Lawyer-Rabbi Traube, my personal gastroenterologist, which produced a satisfactory result, although, as usual, the 24 hours before was one of the most miserable periods of my life. I wrote yesterday about wandering about the fragrant streets of Manhattan, limited to water and apple juice as refreshment. Note that I later realized that vodka and gin qualified as clear liquids. It got worse, of course, once I began drinking that foul liquid which prepares your insides for a closeup look. Worsest (incorrect, but that’s how I felt), I was swallowing this devil’s brew as I was swallowing the Rangers’ 5-2 loss to the Winnipeg Jets.
The test failure came as I was signing in for the procedure. The clerk went through the typical inventory of inquiries, name, address, birth date, allergies, medications, and then asked “Religion?” I barely paused and said “Pass.” Now, except for some residents of southern California who took me for an Englishman because of my accent, my Hebrew heritage has been easily recognized and even proudly flaunted far and wide. Yet, I could not utter “Jew” when asked. Was my lack of candor rooted in the history of discrimination, a concern for civil liberties, stubborn independence or, merely, embarrassment? I was on East 38th Street in Manhattan, damn it, not Dusseldorf or Damascus. Ironically, I was about to put my ass in the hands of an orthodox rabbi who has a day job as a doctor. Go figure.
The procedure went well and my exit from the hospital was eased by the company of Stony Brook Steve, who kindly came to escort me off the premises. Once upon a time, just as you could walk into just about any building in New York City without ceremony, you could leave a hospital or treatment center by yourself if your legs could carry you.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Today’s Times has an interesting article about college faculty adjuncts, those poor over-educated schnooks who handle significant teaching loads for chump change. http://www.nytimes.com/2013/12/04/us/more-college-adjuncts-see-strength-in-union-numbers.html?hpw&rref=education&_r=0
For instance, the article identifies a married couple in the Boston area who teach 11 courses between them, at rates of $2,100 to $6,500 per course. Given the actual time needed to conduct a 3 credit (hour) course, this does not produce a living wage.
When I was asked to depart from Cornell University, my expectations of ever teaching a college class again evaporated. I managed to string together some teaching jobs in woebegone private high schools in order to delay visiting Vietnam for 47 years. However, there was nothing educational or academic about these settings. Fortunately, they lacked the drama of Blackboard Jungle, but also lacked its exciting soundtrack.
Once ensconced in the business world, in 1982, I had the opportunity to return to the front of a college classroom. I was asked to teach a one-credit course on computers in the law office, as an adjunct, at Bronx Community College, a division of the City University of New York (CUNY) (which I always considered to be a gimmick to vitiate the glory of CCNY). Since I treasured the opportunity to prance in front of a group of college students again, money was no object, which was just as well, because I got something like $37 per hour, that is for the one classroom hour weekly, and my job as a management consultant was paying me well. I loved this gig and I think the students, aiming for jobs as paralegals, not lawyers, benefitted from my efforts, which came at a time when law firms were finally beginning to catch up with other businesses in the use of computers. However, although invited to continue, I made that my first and last semester, because the college’s isolated location in the northwest Bronx prevented me from doing what I thought was needed to do justice to the subject – Show and Tell. I wanted to take my class in and out of law firms and computer showrooms so that they could see the real life examples that I tried to illustrate with brochures, promotional materials and snappy patter. The one hour that they were to spend with me would not have even covered the time on the subway to get to the nearest computer installation of any interest (in those days when computers were larger than hair brushes).
If asked to teach a course, any course, in college today, instinctively, I would lunge at the opportunity. However, given my decent current earnings, I hope that I would defer to someone who could really use the $3,000 or so for the semester. After all, that equals the $3,095 median monthly rent for an apartment in Manhattan “according to a report today [October 10, 2013] by appraiser Miller Samuel Inc. and broker Douglas Elliman Real Estate.” http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2013-10-10/manhattan-rents-decline-for-the-first-time-in-two-years.html
I was not looking for a new place to eat today as I went to purchase plumbing supply items, armed with photographs of the inside of my toilet tank to better identify the needed parts. However, as I walked back from the hardware store, I glanced at the storefront at 139 Centre Street, which houses ABC Pharmacy, a new business. In fact, a bunch of new independent pharmacies have appeared in Chinatown recently, in contrast to the contagious spread of Duane Reade over the rest of Manhattan Island. I wonder if Obamacare makes a special provision for Chinese druggists? In any case, upon closer examination, Queen Bakery Inc. shares the space with the drugstore. It’s a small space almost entirely clad in marble with three tables and about ten chairs. It does not display the typical array of highly decorated cakes and pastries, nor did I see any hot dogs wrapped in lard-laden dough. Instead, it offers a small group of noodle soups along with a collection of buns for immediate consumption or takeaway. I had wonton, noodle and beef stew soup ($5.25). The only unmentioned ingredient was lettuce, which pleasantly wilted in the hot broth. The beef was flanken by any other name; the wontons (about 8) were in a thin, non-gummy wrapper. The portion was ample and I felt satisfied on my first day back in control of my gastrointestinal tract.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Again, it took four or five tries to find half a Peking duck. I guess, in Chinatown at lunchtime, one is the loneliest number. Yee Li Restaurant, 1 Elizabeth Street, had a good, juicy duck, which also equates to too much fat ($19). It was served with four round, spongy buns, scallions, cucumber and carrot slivers, hoisin sauce and pastel shrimp chips. There was a hefty leg and wing and much of the carcass along with the pieces of skin and meat to be wrapped in the buns. Not a bad deal overall, if you take the trouble to trim some pieces of duck before ingesting.
Friday, December 6, 2013
I had lunch with Marty the Super Clerk, who controls the administration at 71 Thomas Street, the lonely little courthouse in Tribeca. Today, I was delivering theater tickets to him which will be his wife’s Christmas presents. This has become an annual ritual for us since it is easy for me to stop in the theater district on the way home from work, thereby avoiding the onerous surcharges on tickets ordered by computer or telephone. Also, Marty recognizes me as a bit of a culture vulture, aware of current Broadway shows, and willing to put aside, at least temporarily, my own idiosyncratic taste in order to choose something to delight them on a future weekend in Manhattan away from their suburban New Jersey nest.
On my way home, I stopped in midtown to shop for gifts, Hanukkah 2014 gifts, at the New York Public Library's shop. I was very pleased with the results of this foray, as I expect at least a few of you will be about a year from now. Waiting for the uptown bus on this rainy night after shopping, I saw a fabulous sight, which I hope I've captured for you.
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Clear liquids, all day, all night. Maybe it is appropriate that after a long holiday weekend, filled with special meals and parties, that my choices for today day are limited to water and apple juice. This is to prepare for a medical procedure tomorrow, after which I expect to return to the path of gluttony. This temporary period of restraint I am finding harder than the all-day total fast of Yom Kippur. I’ve gone to work today and at lunchtime I took a walk. I found myself besieged by enticing odors from sidewalk carts and the joints whose doors are opening and closing constantly for customers. At least, on Yom Kippur, I sit relatively still in a big room filled with equally deprived Jews. There’s no question that thoughts of refreshment often nudge thoughts of atonement aside while at services, but I feel that I am not alone in shul. Among the other pious ones, a yearning for spirituality may well be at odds with a yearning for a pastrami sandwich. I’m not trying to take my transitory deprivation too seriously, because there are too many folks around who will not be eating well again even after 24 hours have passed. It’s funny how many politicians and their mouthpieces appear hyper-alert to the prospect of what they label class warfare, when, in fact, they have already won that war. I’m not looking for the redistribution of wealth, just the distribution of wealth. Too many have none, too few have most. There are very few people that I could tolerate being stuck in an elevator with who claim that it’s the right way to run a country.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
I think that I failed a test today. It wasn’t the probe of my kishkes conducted by Doctor-Lawyer-Rabbi Traube, my personal gastroenterologist, which produced a satisfactory result, although, as usual, the 24 hours before was one of the most miserable periods of my life. I wrote yesterday about wandering about the fragrant streets of Manhattan, limited to water and apple juice as refreshment. Note that I later realized that vodka and gin qualified as clear liquids. It got worse, of course, once I began drinking that foul liquid which prepares your insides for a closeup look. Worsest (incorrect, but that’s how I felt), I was swallowing this devil’s brew as I was swallowing the Rangers’ 5-2 loss to the Winnipeg Jets.
The test failure came as I was signing in for the procedure. The clerk went through the typical inventory of inquiries, name, address, birth date, allergies, medications, and then asked “Religion?” I barely paused and said “Pass.” Now, except for some residents of southern California who took me for an Englishman because of my accent, my Hebrew heritage has been easily recognized and even proudly flaunted far and wide. Yet, I could not utter “Jew” when asked. Was my lack of candor rooted in the history of discrimination, a concern for civil liberties, stubborn independence or, merely, embarrassment? I was on East 38th Street in Manhattan, damn it, not Dusseldorf or Damascus. Ironically, I was about to put my ass in the hands of an orthodox rabbi who has a day job as a doctor. Go figure.
The procedure went well and my exit from the hospital was eased by the company of Stony Brook Steve, who kindly came to escort me off the premises. Once upon a time, just as you could walk into just about any building in New York City without ceremony, you could leave a hospital or treatment center by yourself if your legs could carry you.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Today’s Times has an interesting article about college faculty adjuncts, those poor over-educated schnooks who handle significant teaching loads for chump change. http://www.nytimes.com/2013/12/04/us/more-college-adjuncts-see-strength-in-union-numbers.html?hpw&rref=education&_r=0
For instance, the article identifies a married couple in the Boston area who teach 11 courses between them, at rates of $2,100 to $6,500 per course. Given the actual time needed to conduct a 3 credit (hour) course, this does not produce a living wage.
When I was asked to depart from Cornell University, my expectations of ever teaching a college class again evaporated. I managed to string together some teaching jobs in woebegone private high schools in order to delay visiting Vietnam for 47 years. However, there was nothing educational or academic about these settings. Fortunately, they lacked the drama of Blackboard Jungle, but also lacked its exciting soundtrack.
Once ensconced in the business world, in 1982, I had the opportunity to return to the front of a college classroom. I was asked to teach a one-credit course on computers in the law office, as an adjunct, at Bronx Community College, a division of the City University of New York (CUNY) (which I always considered to be a gimmick to vitiate the glory of CCNY). Since I treasured the opportunity to prance in front of a group of college students again, money was no object, which was just as well, because I got something like $37 per hour, that is for the one classroom hour weekly, and my job as a management consultant was paying me well. I loved this gig and I think the students, aiming for jobs as paralegals, not lawyers, benefitted from my efforts, which came at a time when law firms were finally beginning to catch up with other businesses in the use of computers. However, although invited to continue, I made that my first and last semester, because the college’s isolated location in the northwest Bronx prevented me from doing what I thought was needed to do justice to the subject – Show and Tell. I wanted to take my class in and out of law firms and computer showrooms so that they could see the real life examples that I tried to illustrate with brochures, promotional materials and snappy patter. The one hour that they were to spend with me would not have even covered the time on the subway to get to the nearest computer installation of any interest (in those days when computers were larger than hair brushes).
If asked to teach a course, any course, in college today, instinctively, I would lunge at the opportunity. However, given my decent current earnings, I hope that I would defer to someone who could really use the $3,000 or so for the semester. After all, that equals the $3,095 median monthly rent for an apartment in Manhattan “according to a report today [October 10, 2013] by appraiser Miller Samuel Inc. and broker Douglas Elliman Real Estate.” http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2013-10-10/manhattan-rents-decline-for-the-first-time-in-two-years.html
I was not looking for a new place to eat today as I went to purchase plumbing supply items, armed with photographs of the inside of my toilet tank to better identify the needed parts. However, as I walked back from the hardware store, I glanced at the storefront at 139 Centre Street, which houses ABC Pharmacy, a new business. In fact, a bunch of new independent pharmacies have appeared in Chinatown recently, in contrast to the contagious spread of Duane Reade over the rest of Manhattan Island. I wonder if Obamacare makes a special provision for Chinese druggists? In any case, upon closer examination, Queen Bakery Inc. shares the space with the drugstore. It’s a small space almost entirely clad in marble with three tables and about ten chairs. It does not display the typical array of highly decorated cakes and pastries, nor did I see any hot dogs wrapped in lard-laden dough. Instead, it offers a small group of noodle soups along with a collection of buns for immediate consumption or takeaway. I had wonton, noodle and beef stew soup ($5.25). The only unmentioned ingredient was lettuce, which pleasantly wilted in the hot broth. The beef was flanken by any other name; the wontons (about 8) were in a thin, non-gummy wrapper. The portion was ample and I felt satisfied on my first day back in control of my gastrointestinal tract.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Again, it took four or five tries to find half a Peking duck. I guess, in Chinatown at lunchtime, one is the loneliest number. Yee Li Restaurant, 1 Elizabeth Street, had a good, juicy duck, which also equates to too much fat ($19). It was served with four round, spongy buns, scallions, cucumber and carrot slivers, hoisin sauce and pastel shrimp chips. There was a hefty leg and wing and much of the carcass along with the pieces of skin and meat to be wrapped in the buns. Not a bad deal overall, if you take the trouble to trim some pieces of duck before ingesting.
Friday, December 6, 2013
I had lunch with Marty the Super Clerk, who controls the administration at 71 Thomas Street, the lonely little courthouse in Tribeca. Today, I was delivering theater tickets to him which will be his wife’s Christmas presents. This has become an annual ritual for us since it is easy for me to stop in the theater district on the way home from work, thereby avoiding the onerous surcharges on tickets ordered by computer or telephone. Also, Marty recognizes me as a bit of a culture vulture, aware of current Broadway shows, and willing to put aside, at least temporarily, my own idiosyncratic taste in order to choose something to delight them on a future weekend in Manhattan away from their suburban New Jersey nest.
On my way home, I stopped in midtown to shop for gifts, Hanukkah 2014 gifts, at the New York Public Library's shop. I was very pleased with the results of this foray, as I expect at least a few of you will be about a year from now. Waiting for the uptown bus on this rainy night after shopping, I saw a fabulous sight, which I hope I've captured for you.
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