2.25.2009

Good/Bad

It is possible, apparently, for an insolvent financial institution to better its fortunes by carving out its diseased parts from the functioning ones. What remains, then, is an operational "good bank," the health of which is beyond reproach, and a "bad bank," the gangrenous stench of which we choose to ignore until it goes away (we hope).

Why stop there? I think we can apply the concept to our nation with success. California and Florida, the epicenters of the real estate collapse, should be packaged away into a "bad country." Add Michigan, obviously; the stench of the dying auto industry is more than we can bear. Louisiana, if only for the noxious fumes coming out of its governor's mouth. South Dakota and its Badlands. New Jersey? Fuck you; it should be the jewel of our "good country."

Alas, our current troubles are global. Let us restore the health of this world by creating a good world and a bad world. Let's be quite granular in our distinctions, and very eclectic in our criteria. Laughing old ladies making buckets of kimchi in a backyard in Seoul: good. Piles of poop revealed on the sidewalk in the Upper West Side after the snow melts away on a slightly warmer winter day: bad. The knowledge that, at any given moment in time, people are doing it somewhere, and doing it out of something that resembles love: good. The sudden and unexpected reflective side revealed in a formerly douchebag-like classmate after his recent layoff: unclear.

And I should perhaps compartmentalize the bad parts of myself. What is on display, then, walking in your midst, will be the good, smiling, cordial but confident me, clearly thoughtful but transparent in my intentions, shaking hands, building a career, hanging with friends, petting dogs, and being nice to my family. And, when no one's looking, I will tend to a brooding, vengeful, fraudulent and petty me, the indecent motives of whom threaten to destroy the whole self unless repressed and hidden away. I don't know if it's possible to cleanly extract these things, but doing so -- sorting out the mess into bins, and passing judgment on each -- might me a better person, or at least a less entropic, and therefore more human, person.

2.17.2009

Weekend in San Francisco


It is worth the wait at the Shanghai House ... right?


Comrades Sullivan and Zhang, spearheading the redistribution of juice buns


Roli's porchetta (lunch #2) beats the hell out of Porchetta in the EV


Before the porchetta: lunch #1


Teapot incubating alien life form


Braised short ribs, ass


Unfortunately for these lobsters, Dungeness crabs were out of season


Pasta, paper towel


Two squabbling Asians


Either gross or beautiful, depending on your point of view

2.10.2009

Porchetta, Hair Mates and Ippudo: an Afternoon in the Life of an Idle President of Vice

I went to the East Village today for a haircut. On the way, I stopped by Porchetta for a plate of pork, beans and greens.

But I am totally lying. I went to the East Village specifically for the Porchetta plate. People have been raving about this place. I had to check it out.

But the plate left me hanging. The pork and the beans both seemed underseasoned. The burnt ends were good, but I only had a few pieces to savor. And the portion was less than generous. At fourteen bucks, I consider this neither a bargain nor some kind of ecstatic foodie experience.

So I found myself unsatisfied, but also just a few blocks from Ippudo, which supposedly has the awesomest ramen in the city. The thing was, I had an hour to kill before Ippudo opened for dinner at five.

Fortunately, Hair Mates was on the way, and they were taking walk-ins. An hour and forty bucks later, I emerged with fabulous hair and an even greater appetite for porky noodles.

I was the very first dinner guest at Ippudo. The entire staff greeted me as I was seated at the supa trendy-looking counter. I ordered the Hakata Classic. It came in a smallish bowl, but I was not looking for something huge. The rich broth was opaque with porkiness. Lest I miss the point, succulent slices of pork belly topped the noodles. This, too, was fourteen bucks. Not a bargain, really, but definitely the most refined and fantastic bowl of ramen I have had in New York.

This does not mean I am giving up on my Midtown Men Kui Tei fixation. I don't always need refinement; in fact, usually I need hearty, gut-busting fare. Hear that, Men Kui? The usual, with a mini curry, please.

2.08.2009

...

For most of Thursday, I felt reasonably fine. Then I went to the airport, and I no longer felt fine.

Perhaps I should have seen it coming. I am a mystery only to myself.

Self-absorption, apparently, does not equal self-sufficiency. I can't shake this sense that I exist mostly in the minds of others, and I fear that I will wither away when I stop mattering to those whom I adore.

2.04.2009

Wandering Past Midnight in a Snowy Central Park

Of the numerous public properties that belong to the Park clan, Central Park is the closest from my apartment.

At midnight, following another moderate snowfall here in New York, I headed out to take some pictures. I had the entire place to myself.

















On the way home, I slipped on some black ice on Columbus Avenue and busted my ass.