I have so many questions about this strange, gross, bro-humor sign in the bathroom of the restaurant where I ate last night. I particularly like the “ew, cooties!” elision of tampons as “girl things” -from a writer who clearly took glee in naming condoms, hair balls, writing utensils (?) and enumerating every single type of “designer or regular underwear” he could name. (I presume that “grannies” count as “regular” and “g-strings” as “designer,” though being a lady who uses girl things, I remain unclear on the respective designations of boxers and briefs.)

I have so many questions about this strange, gross, bro-humor sign in the bathroom of the restaurant where I ate last night. I particularly like the “ew, cooties!” elision of tampons as “girl things” -from a writer who clearly took glee in naming condoms, hair balls, writing utensils (?) and enumerating every single type of “designer or regular underwear” he could name. (I presume that “grannies” count as “regular” and “g-strings” as “designer,” though being a lady who uses girl things, I remain unclear on the respective designations of boxers and briefs.)

Pure joy at the Park Avenue Armory

There are a few days left to see (and play at) “the event of a thread,” Ann Hamilton’s art installation and indoor playground at the Park Avenue Armory. I spent one of the more carefree hours of the past month here, pumping my legs and trading pushes on an adult-sized swing with a friend.

Parts of the event seem ripe for parody on the next season of Girls (the actors reading Aristotle to caged pigeons, the brown-bag radios passed around the crowd). Ignore them; also ignore, if possible, the pushy Upper East Side parents who will try to shame any adults into relinquishing swings to their spoiled children. Go; swing; have fun. Through Sunday.

Rise of the machines, downtown Manhattan

Taken outside my office building yesterday, five weeks post-Sandy. Related:

capitalnewyork:

NY TIMES: “There is now more deserted office space in Lower Manhattan because of Hurricane Sandy than there are offices in many cities. Mobile boilers line the streets. Portable generators are stacked to the curbs. Ventilation tubes coil around scaffolds, snake above sidewalks, quiver and pulse. It is as if bodies had been turned inside out, exposing the hearts, lungs and organs that are normally internal. Of course, these devices keep the buildings running in some limited ways. Still, 15 million to 18 million square feet of space is unusable, about as much as exists in any condition whatsoever in cities like Miami, Phoenix and San Diego.”

(Source: inothernews)

Boat Basin chaos post-Sandy, Upper West Side

I walked down the hill to Riverside Park this week kind of expecting worse, boats completely flipped over rather than merely unmoored from crinkled, accordioned boardwalks. The damage was hard to see at first, not as dramatic as some of the photos from the harder-hit areas of the city. But a year ago, a day after Hurricane Irene, this same area was barely touched, with light debris and muddy waters the only sign of disruption. These photos were taken Tuesday; the police haven’t let us back since.

Watching the watchers of the Giants’ ticker-tape parade

My favorite sight from the Giants’ ticker-tape parade today was of these two gentlemen, overlooking the crowd from one of the many bland office buildings lining the start of the parade route. There’s something ominous, but yet so incongruous, about them — the neon colors encasing them especially makes them appear friendlier than the snipers or cops I might initially expect them to be. Was that their function? Or were they just two construction workers with a great view, taking the opportunity to see whichever Manning helped win the Super Bowl?