At what point do advocacy groups lose sight of the forest? At what point do they become so myopically focused on their issue that they forget that or refuse to acknowledge that there may be limits on whatever right they feel requires a passionate defense?

I am talking here about women's reproductive rights advocates. To be clear, I am not talking about a woman's right to have an abortion or receive reproductive counseling (things which I support).

A Judge in upstate New York has ruled that a couple may not have any more children until they show that they are capable of doing so by regaining custody of the four children of theirs who are currently in the care of the state. Each child, all born since 1998, has tested positive for cocaine at birth. The Judge ruled that this was too much of a burden on the state to continue to care for the children this couple was having. I was surprised to note that the women's reproductive rights groups immediately denounced the decision and vowed to do something about it.

I think the Judge was right and the groups were wrong. One, I do think that the state has the power to regulate behavior. That concept is really beyond cavil. This behavior has an impact on the state, the other children in the state system, and sucks up resources (state and medical) that could be used elsewhere. The state, it seems to me, has a compelling interest in regulating this behavior. Two, what about the children? Studies have shown that children born to mothers who abuse cocaine face significant problems in their lives: lower birth weight; cognitive issues; and physical/health issues. Why don't these groups take into account the lives these future children will face if born to a cocaine abusing mother?

I think you can push the concept of rights just too far. If the judge can fine me for having a dog without a license . . .

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As we search for wisdom and understanding, and further ponder the deeper metaphysical implications of change, we should contemplate the sayings of the greatest Yogi of them all, for in contemplation, lies the road to wisdom. In that spirit, I give you the Yogi quote of the day:


"If you come to a fork in the road, take it."

* By "Eastern", you should, of course, understand that to mean the Eastern Division of the American League.

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Stinky was not nearly as bad as he usually is and the papers have gone out to the other side and to the judge. Woo hoo! And the best part is that no animals were harmed in the making of the opposition to this motion. I will blog more about Stinky tomorrow, when I've caught my breath.

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I only have one side of this story and am aware that there could easily be another explanation, but I will not let the fact that I am not in possession of all the facts stop me.

I have an acquaintance. He is dying from an incurable brain tumor. When another friend arrived at the hospital to visit him, he found the fellow's girl friend there with some "sleazy accountant". It transpires that the girl friend, a woman of uncertain character, is now the wife. It further appears as if this has taken place very quickly and the will has been changed with equal rapidity. All who are aware of this fellow's condition believe that, as a result of the effects of the tumor, he lacked the capacity to marry, to change his will, or to make practically any decision as all.

Maybe there is a reasonable explanation, but I am hard pressed to see it. To quote my little girl, I am, absolutely, so sad.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:03 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Quick update: I was right, those crazy kids are not going to make it. I got an email this morning from L asking me to let B down gently, explaining (to the extent that what follows constitutes an explanation, not that she needed to provide one), that she didn't think it was going to go anywhere. The French say that when you meet someone, there has to be a "flash". No flash here, evidently.

And the dating goes on. . .

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:18 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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This past weekend was the first weekend in a long time I did not have to work. It was delightful. I already wrote about Saturday.

Sunday was Mother's Day. Another in a long line of what my wife and I think of as Hallmark Holidays. We had lunch with my parents and my grand-parents. Not the high point of my day, at the risk of sounding like a less than dutiful son. My daughter collapsed in tears in the restaurant, and I had to carry her out, upon hearing the pronouncement that there would be in dessert. She was vastly overtired. In fact, she went to sleep almost as soon as we got her home. The boy child did as well. He actually was very well behaved at the restaurant.

So what, you may wonder, did I do with the two and a half hours of free time given to me by my children? Well, I wasted a half an hour doing I know not now. The other two hours I spent in serious nap on the sofa. Ah, the bliss that is the afternoon nap. Actually, I was not feeling too well which is why I crashed out for two hours. I felt a bit loggy when I awoke. The kids were up very shortly after I was. I cooked dinner for us all, which my daughter refused to eat, preferring toasted bread and cheese, which we made for her. The boy ate his, after a fashion, meaning that half made its way into his mouth directly, a quarter was waved about in the air for a time before being eaten, and the remaining quarter went straight on the floor, much to his mother's consternation.

We finished dinner early and it was a beautiful evening. So, we loaded the boy into the baby bjorn and the girl into the stroller and off we went into the village. It's about a 10-15 minute walk into the village and it was delightful. Many of the flowering trees and bushes are budding and some are fully flowered. It smelled delicious and every where we looked there were vivid pinks and purples. However, we did not take too much time to stop and smell the flowers. No, we were on a mission. Ice cream. There is a place in our little hamlet that makes its own ice cream. Our daughter wanted strawberry and our son, my wife decided, really wanted toasted almond, although how she got that from his babbling is beyond me.

In any event, ice cream was procured, tasted, pronounced perfect, and happiness pervaded our merry little band. And to top it off, on the way back, we got to watch a bunny rabbit for a couple of minutes before he (or maybe she) decided our attention was too much and hopped away.

It was a perfect, almost Norman Rockwell, evening. I'm trying hard to fix it in my memory to keep it to refer back to when we get the anti-Norman Rockwell moments. It's hard, though, isn't it? I mean, to keep hold of the good times when you are experiencing the bad times. The bad times, somehow, seem more vivid and immediate and long lasting than the good times. Speaking of which, I am off to get some papers out today. I am working with Stinky, the partner I love the least. Wish me luck and patience.

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No more babies and booze. Yesterday was the last babies and booze event as we've known them in the past. What, you may ask is babies and booze? It was the last gasp of formerly very social adults who suddenly found themselves with child. We were four couples, all of whom were somewhere between friends and very good friends. All of whom reproduced at or about the same time, certainly within a year of each other. All of whom used to hang out and often drink a little too much. None of whom wanted to bring a baby to a smoky NYC bar and all of whom considered themselves to be responsible parents. Solution? Pick an apartment and all get together for a 5-6 hour, sometimes longer, visit. We'd divide the 8 into 2 teams of 4 and into 2 shifts. The first time, the guys went to see the first Lord of the Rings movie while the women watched the kids. The second shift involved the guys with the kids and the women imbibing at a local Mexican place. It was a huge success and for awhile there we were getting together like this every 4-6 weeks.

Last night was one of the last with the original 4 couples. We had it at their apartment in Greenwich Village. This couple is moving to Pennsylvania where he will be a professor at a law school there. They live in a very trendy building in the far West Village -- think J-Lo or Tony Soprano guy. They sold their apartment for an obscene amount of money, bought a house in rural Pennsylvania and are going, so the thinking goes, to bury themselves out there in the middle of nowhere. So, they hosted.

We broke with tradition by all staying together the whole time such that it was more like an extended play date with wine. We had all divided up food responsibilities and I took cheese. Shopping for cheese, with almost no constraints because you're buying for 6, is so much fun. I went to Murray's Cheese, one of the top cheese shops in the City, and told the nice woman behind the counter that I wanted 6 cheeses -- three stinky and three non-stinky -- and that she should dazzle me with her suggestions. Well, maybe she was new, but I was not dazzled. For instance, when I asked for the most unusual stinky cheese, she gave me a cheese with truffles in it but where the rind had been rubbed with cinnamon. Sort of yummy, not stinky at all and the cinnamon detracted from the earth richness of the truffles. So I intervened and ended up buying an: Epoisse (very stinky washed rind); two goats; a Tur (goat and sheep, creamy but stinky); a petit Muenster (stinky like old socks); an aged Gouda (almost crunchy); and, for a seventh, they had a cool Norwegian cheese with cloves in it.

We took the kids across the West Side Highway to a very cute playground and ran around with them until we decided it was time to go. We convinced the kids by saying the magic word, "snacks". Of course, they did not expect snacks to include boiled shrimp or smoked salmon, well, with the exception of my kid, maybe, who thinks smoked salmon is about as good as ice cream. No kidding. She used to make her ice cream noise for smoked salmon and nothing else. She did put away so much shrimp though that I sort of apologized to our host who, being inherently a kind person, told me not to worry about it.

We also drank some yummy wine. Our host covered the labels on 2 bottles and had us taste and compare. It turns out that they were both the same wine, a Chateau Talbot, but 10 years apart in vintage. Not to blow my own horn, but I got it immediately on the first sip of each, much to the surprise of my host. I like wine and, while it's hard to talk about wine without sounding pretentious, it's not a complicated subject. Taste, think, describe. Where's the great mystery?

Anyway, it was a lovely day with great cheese, great wine, good friends, adorable and well behaved children, and a perfect way to say good bye to a wonderful little tradition. I don't know if we are ever going to do it again and even if we do, with just the three couples or if we add another one, the dynamics will be different.

So that is another change. Another chapter ended. I'm still going to post about some other changes later. I just need to reflect on them some more, or maybe, I'll just use this to reflect out loud.

Sorry if this one ran rather long. Thanks for reading to the end.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 07:20 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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As we search for wisdom and understanding, we should contemplate the sayings of the greatest Yogi of them all, for in contemplation, lies the road to wisdom. In that spirit, I give you the Yogi quote of the day:

"We may be lost, but we're making good time." -- Yogi Berra, 1972

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My wife made me tape the final episode of Friends because we were going out to dinner last night and she wanted to watch it. So, we saw it tonight. Actually, it was pretty vapid. However, one scene resonated with me. That was the last one where the cast all put their keys on the table and shut the door to the apartment.

Every time we've moved, I've always insisted on being the last one out the door and I turn to the apartment, say good bye, and shut the door. Silly, maybe, but it helps me with the change. I am probably (my wife says, certainly) not good at change. I contend that I love change, as long as it doesn't interfere with any of my little daily routines. Changing living space is a tough one, because it changes all of your daily routines.

So I always say good bye. I feel as if I have a vivid recollection of the last three places we lived, of the front door closing, of the sound of the door and the clunk of the locks. Even the smell of the hallways and the quality of the light. I sort of miss all of these places. I have happy memories of all of them. But I always have to say good bye.

I am contemplating some other changes, future changes, life/career changes. I'll address them later. Remind me if I forget, ok?

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This will probably be the first of many, but, walking down Fifth Avenue last night I realized I had forgotten about the Cartier Store/Plant Townhouse. This is the last surviving example of golden age Fifth Avenue domestic architecture. Yes, at one point, Fifth Avenue in the 50's was residential and very, very expensive. Cartier recently restored the building and it looks pretty great.

Also, a kind reader wrote in about the Cunard Building downtown, which has the most kick ass ceiling. This reminded me of the Customs House at Bowling Green. The NYC harbors were where much of the nation's wealth landed from cross-Atlantic trade. All the duties paid on that trade were paid here. Specifically, the counting room in the rotunda, which you can sort of glimpse in one of the photographs at the link, has the most incredible murals and the original desks where merchants stepped up to pay the duty on their cargo.

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Well, those two crazy kids may not make it after all. [Wipe tear away, here] B has reported in. He tells me that they stayed for another half and hour and chatted. B says she was cute and he enjoyed the set up. However, when he asked her for another drink or if she'd like to go get a bite to eat, she told him that she had to be up early tomorrow and would have to pass. So, B, ever the gentleman, walked her back to the train where she said, "this was fun, let's do it again sometime, email me". Sounds like the kiss of death, right? Time will tell, but, to paraphrase from old silent films, it doesn't look good for our hero!

However, another prospect has come out of nowhere. Well, not nowhere. My wife has a candidate from her job who just broke up with her boyfriend. Stay tuned and we'll see what develops in my quest to help B achieve couplehood.

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My wife and I had dinner last night in the City (NYC). All by ourselves, no kids, no other people. It was grand. The food was good, the wine was good, the conversation flowed (or at least did better than just dripping) and sparkled (there were moments, ok), and we felt for a brief and shining moment like adults again. She looked beautiful (and I'm not just saying that because I know that she tunes in from time to time).

After dinner, we were enjoying a post prandial stroll down Fifth Avenue to catch a train back home when, suddenly, who should I spy jumping out of a Town Car and ducking into the NBA Store but none other than Al Sharpton. Remember Al? Democratic Presidential candidate? Racial rabble rouser? Huckster?

He cut his hair, otherwise, he looked pretty good. I wonder if we'll see him at the Democratic National Convention, especially since I've been seeing articles concerning Kerry's failure to reach out to minorities and include more minorities in his campaign.

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Journalist arrested for investigation into fraud. It appears that there is a vast scandal brewing in the European Union over fraudulently diverting Commission money into private hands. Classic corruption. Here, in the United States, a journalist who exposed such a scam would be heading for the Pulitzer Prize. In Europe, he's gone to jail, had his lap top seized, had his records taken, and had his bank statements reviewed. No such treatment has been meted out to those accused of the fraud. The crime this journalist has committed? Insufficient fervor in support of the EU and giving ammunition to the anti-Europeans (read: British). The thing that got me, among others, was the bit about the television station called Euronews. The author of the article, a British MEP (member of European Parliament) had this to say about Euronews:

"[W]hen it reports directly on the EU, impartiality goes out of the window and we are treated to Soviet-style items about millions of workers waking up to higher standards thanks to the Commission. I found the contrast suspicious, so I put down a written question asking Romano Prodi [EU President] whether he gave Euronews any money. His reply was beyond parody. Yes, he said, he did give it grants, but such grants 'in no way restrict the editorial freedom of the beneficiary, who must, however, respect the image of the European institutions and the raison d'etre and general objectives of the Union'." (emphasis added)

I have always had strong views about state funded media. This just confirms them. Remember Prodi's response, please, the next time you read a European newspaper attacking the United States press for being a tool of the administration. Remember that the journalist may have filed that attack while on his or her way to the bank to deposit his or her check from the EU administration.

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I saw this at another blog during my travels and thought it a very amusing question. So, with thanks to Jen, who came up with it:

"If you had a theme song that would play as you walk down the street or enter a room, what would it be?

Discuss."

For me: Either, "Hey, hey we're the Monkees" or "Sympathy for the Devil".

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The built environment fascinates me. If you enjoy architectural history, you can never be bored in a city. There is always too much to see, to react to, to think about, to consider, and to enjoy. Here are some of my personal favorite buildings in NYC, in no particular order:

Lever House (Gordon Bunshaft)
The University Club (Standford White) or this link
The Flatiron Building

Grand Central Station
The Chrysler Building (pick a photo)
Citibank Center (couldn't easily find a picture)
New York State Supreme Court (60 Centre Street) (scroll down for picture)
New York Yacht Club
New York Tenement Museum (when my family came to NY, they lived in something that looked very much like this, I'm told)
Seagram Building
Century Association
Woolworth Tower (a cathedral of commerce, said the architect)

Colannade in Greenwich Village

Also check out this resource for pictures.

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Well, today in 1954, medical student Roger Bannister broke the four-minute mile during a track meet in Oxford, England, in 3 minutes, 59.4 seconds.

Cool, huh?

Also, while we are on a today in history review, today in 1889, the Paris Exposition formally opened, featuring the just-completed Eiffel Tower. I am working on a small architecture post in its honor.

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From the NY Times this morning:

"I'm thinking about gardening as a radical political act," said Fritz Haeg, 34, an architect who teaches in the environmental design program at the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, Calif. "It means completely questioning the way we live, the way we get our food, the way we use and abuse natural resources, the way we occupy public space."

I guess I should pay more attention to the flowers I plant. Or, maybe, I just mock what I do not understand. Still, I think he's taking himself way too seriously. He might want to try some of those decaffeinated brands.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:36 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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The Meeting.

Last night, I took B to meet with L at the Royalton Hotel bar. The Royalton is a very cool space. It was one of the first of the now ubiquitous boutique hotels in NYC. Designed by Phillipe Starck, the doors to the hotel entrance are unmarked and the space inside is low lit with low tables and chairs. Some of the chairs look like small animals with huge bases and small backs comprised of thick metal bars bent to provide some type of embrace. This is the lobby, by the way. You know, where you check in and say king size, no smoking, please. The check in desk is in the middle of the cocktail lounge and quite a bit smaller than the bar. There are these odd looking glass rhino-horn light fixtures jutting out from the wall every five feet or so. I did not like them. The bar is a great people watching place. Not to be too NYC bitchy, but you get the tourists who wandered in wearing matching sweat suits with bright new sneakers and very big hair (I think it was a mother/daughter team) and you get the Euro-trash types who have not been told that this bar is, to quote a friend, so two weeks ago. Interesting mix and they are all looking at each other trying to figure out what the other one is doing in their bar or hotel.

Then there was blind date table. B and I were in suits and ties. B looked quite dashing in a dark suit, pink shirt, and pink and purple tie. Not very lawyerly but certainly nice for a date. When we arrived, L was already there. She snagged a table for three and was drinking a light beer. She was as I remembered her and we quickly introduced each other and sat down.

Quick first impressions. What do you base these on? What a person orders from the waitress? Well, I did not expect her to be drinking a beer as she seemed more of a Cosmo type but a beer gives a good, honest, down to earth impression. B had a martini with a specified type of gin I had never heard of before. What does that make him? Fussy, perhaps? I just had a single malt scotch. I'm married so I don't care what it says about me particularly, except, I suppose, it says, hah, he's doing a low carb diet!

The conversation flowed easily and I'll be curious to hear B's reactions when he gets in to work today. I thought she was nice, but. . . . I have to admit, I was distracted some of the time by trying to figure out whether she was chewing gum while drinking her light beer. If so, turn off for me and I suspect for B who is really quite picky. Hmn, did I say fussy before based on the drink choice? Perhaps there is some truth to that.

In any event, I think that they got along. I stayed with them for a half an hour and then rushed to catch a train to see my children before they went off to bed.

B is usually in to work by this time. I will not read anything into the fact that he is late. I will wait for the report, which I will share with you, dear readers. Do the adventures continue? Tune in and find out!

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If you were to visit the blog which banned my comments (see below), you will find the blogger has now deleted all of her posts concerning the murder and her reactions to it. I wonder why. Almost.

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South Park Scripts are the Time Suck of the Day. Go forth and waste time.

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