Wondering why that Fugees reunion ain’t happening? Blame Lauryn.

Once I was in love with a woman and couldn’t keep my mind on nothing else (except during lunch when deciding between the Italian BMT–with everything minus onions–at Subway or the magically delicious Taste of Heaven–turkey burger with honey mustard–at D&D deli on Lafayette and Spring).

I’d trade the world for this good thing I found (well…anything but my 1989 Upper Deck mint condition complete set which includes Ken Griffey Jr’s rookie card).

If she was bad, I couldn’t see it (My optometrist did say that in a few years I should be able to get laser eye surgery).

She could do no wrong and I turned my back on my best friend after he put her down.  I don’t care what Percy Sledge says about when a man loves a woman.  Fellas, don’t make this same mistake that I made: Remember, bro’s before ho’s.

[I've been contacted by a few people regarding my Easy Listening Sunday posts thinking it was about them.  Those entries as well as this one are all apropos of nothing.]

I had to stop by a hardware store the other day and I noticed this sign by the register.  I thought it was hysterical.  Why?

It’s not all fashionistas and vogueing in New York.  Ugly outfits live here too.  But then again, who’s to say what’s “good” or “bad,” “fashionable” or “ugly,” “light” or “heavy?”  For me, it’s both extremes and everything in between that makes me love NYC so much.

GOOD LUCK TO ALL THOSE TAKING THE NY BAR EXAM!!

And if you don’t pass the first time, it’s not the end of the world: many a distinguished people have failed the bar. [Thanks Kristy!]

Update:  Thanks PETE for sending the link to Kristy (who in turn sent it to me) that reminds stressed law students that, “Yes, Virginia, people really do fail the bar.”

The Times recently posted a set of 101 simple recipes that can be prepared and ready to devour in 10 minutes or less.  Anyone that is somewhat familiar with me quickly learn that in a kitchen an armless person or even a rat is more able than I am.  With this caveat in mind, I glanced at the article hoping to find an equivalent of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or Ramen recipe.  Instead, I found myself reminded of why I can’t cook.  Apparently the Times’ definition of “simple” is different than mine.

1 Make six-minute eggs: simmer gently, run under cold water until cool, then peel. Serve over steamed asparagus.  Simmer what gently?  The eggs?  How the hell do you do that?  And when do you know “steamed asparagus” is done?

 2 Toss a cup of chopped mixed herbs with a few tablespoons of olive oil in a hot pan. Serve over angel-hair pasta, diluting the sauce if necessary with pasta cooking water.  How the hell do you “dilute” sauce?  And what sort of mixed herbs?–Can I just buy “mixed herbs” at the grocery store?

3 Cut eight sea scallops into four horizontal slices each. Arrange on plates. Sprinkle with lime juice, salt and crushed chilies; serve after five minutes.  How do you cook sea scallops?  And to crush chilies, does this mean I just cut them up finely?

4 Open a can of white beans and combine with olive oil, salt, small or chopped shrimp, minced garlic and thyme leaves in a pan. Cook, stirring, until the shrimp are done; garnish with more olive oil.  How much olive oil, etc do I use?  How do I know when the shrimp is done?

Clay came up to NYC weekend from DC looking appropriately snazzy. Regular readers should recognize those glasses from a previous entry where it was the hit of the party. He came in late on Friday night, but conveniently the bus dropped him off by K-Town, so we hit up some delicious late night Korean food.

Saturday morning, after Bergen Bagel deliciousness, we headed over to the Met to check out one of my favorite sections, the medieval arms wing. Clay demonstrates his incredible balancing on his toes ability here.

Obligatory jumping photo. A rule of any visitor of mine is, “Sure, you’re always more than welcome to stay in my apartment, but when I say jump, you better say how high!”

Some artsy photos in the museum.

More artsyness. Are you sensitive enough yet for all this?

Clay reflecting on an avant exhibit exploring “art” at its most reduced, fundamental and organic state. The result? Nothingness. WOA.

Matt is wondering what to eat for lunch.

It looks like Theodore Geisel snuck in one night and planted a musical instrument from his wonderful imagination.

You know JFK had a potty mouth. And the chicks digged that about him.

On the steps of the Met.

Afterwards we headed towards Central Park. Along the way, Clay spotted a neat sculpture and attempted to take a photograph of it. As a good friend, I tried to ruin the photo.

We met up with another friend from our Alaska days, Mark. It’s so obvious but I love his shirt.

The frisbee I’m throwing here is the same one I had in high school. We started an ultimate frisbee club and got these glow-in-the-dark frisbees made up with the nuke warning symbol printed on it. It’s still the best disc out there.

After dinner we killed some time in my apartment by Youtubing and Ted’ing.

Like we were REALLY killing some time. Haha, this photo amuses me for some reason.

I’m so pensive.

Mark is mesmerized by the Filipino Thriller re-enactment. Frankly I am as well still.

Clay mocking my vest.

This is what Alaskans look like, kids. Just less tan because you know, it’s always dark there. And cold.

What’s going on over there?

Chris going to town on his nails.

The subway was packed with all sorts of people coming back from the Siren Music Festival in Coney Island.

Clay is thinking, “I could kick that kid’s ass with my pinkie….but I need to finish my delicious ice.”

I title this photo, “A Study in Contrast.”

Chris and some of his friends. Check out the DJ in the back. He looks like my 10th grade math teacher.

I’m doing my happy dance after the DJ slid over a free PBR ticket to me.

PBR and Blue Steel is a blue ribbon combination in my humble opinion.

I don’t know why I look so freakin’ tan here. Anyway, I think I’m continuing my happy PBR dance.

Peter!

It doesn’t test whether you can actual make contact with a baseball thrown 90 mph–a major league fastball essentially–but this online experiment does test whether you have the reaction time to be able to theroetically hit a fastball thrown your way at 90 mph.

My quickest reaction time was .21 seconds which is supposedly a hit! What’s yours?

Update: I scored a home run on this with a .08.

Mark, Clay and I all went to the same high school in Alaska where much havoc, nerdiness, and bedlam occurred.  Mark’s an ah-tist in Brooklyn, Clay partly works for the man in DC, and I apparently did not get the memo about putting my hands on my hips for this group photo in my apartment.

(Photo credit: Clay)

When you go back to work or class on Monday coworkers and classmates inevitably ask “How was your weekend?” You smile. “It was nice, relaxing, and I went to a couple parties” you say. They nod familiarly and respond with the stock reply about how the weekends are always too short. Meanwhile behind your friendly visage, melancholy brews: You find yourself going out, and enjoying the laughter and company of old familiar friends and new ones, nonetheless a lacuna grows as none of them compares to…you, or rather nothing compares 2 u.