When Helena informed me a few weeks ago she'd be back in town, I thought to myself that I'd have a good time. Sure enough, over the past several days, between a knock-down drag-out affair for Brad and several days of hanging with Helena, it's been great.

But yesterday was even better.

The reason Helena came to town was to hit a few meetings for work; unfortunately her office also wanted to send her to NYC for a pair of back to back ones which meant she'd blow the entire day on a plane just going back and forth. So she asked if I was up for a road trip.

I was.

With that in mind, we popped in the cooper early Wednesday morning (after I ensured that everything at work was smoothly running) and headed north on 95. At our first stop, I managed to snag The Enormous Omelet Sandwich which was extremely tasty. Later, I got a crash course in air toxins just in time for us to drive through the scenic state of New Jersey. Finally we got to spend some quality time inside the Lincoln tunnel. Ugh.

After I dropped Helena off at her first meeting in midtown, I made three or four loops before finding a perfect parking spot a mere two blocks away from my first destination: the guggenheim. I'd only made it through the front door before, but this time, with the museum no longer under construction, I made it to the ticket counter. Ugh. Almost a full jackson later, I was spinning up the spiral for their latest exhibit entitled Russia!.

It was actually a great exhibit. I've never been a fan of early Russian art, but there were tons of pieces I enjoyed from other periods. Near the very end, I caught a tiny triptych of pieces by Francisco Infante-Arana that were amazing.

I emerged from the Wright masterpiece to a sunny, perfectly cool day. A couple of books by Nabokov in hand, I headed into Central Park to explore. Almost an hour later, having traversed almost 3/4 the length of the park, I found a series of rocks near the southern end to tackle my two books. Some significant sunshine later, Helena called to tell me her meetings were over.

Because of bad traffic, we ended up approaching MoMA with only an hour left to go before closing time. One quick look at the price tag left us numb, so we retreated to the safety of the design shop across the street where Helena, with expert eyes, picked out something interesting: a glasses case. I looked it over, noticed that it was the same color scheme as my car's interior, and then discovered it was no ordinary case. Instead, it was a jacob's ladder! Combined with Helena's earlier purchase of comfortable shoes, we were prepared to stroll back to the vehicle. On our way north, we happened to run into an old college friend who was going to tutor a kid in music. He seemed somewhat skeptical of our explanation for why we were in NYC, when I lived in the district and Helena was showing the west-coast some love, but it was good to see him regardless. Even in a big city, you can always run into someone you know.

Once we'd changed into our evening attire, we walked down Madison Avenue to find an establishment to eat. Luckily, we avoided several tempting prospects, eventually setting on one particular one with good ambiance and reasonable prices. Some tasty Italian food later, we rolled out with a black-and-white cookie and some ice cream. A perfect ending to a perfect day.

Of course, there was still the matter of the four-hour drive home, but some caffeinated products later, we were back in the district. The less crowded, less-smoky, less-fashionable, less-expensive, less-ostentatiously-rich, less represented capital city of America.

Ruben, once again, is hilarious:

I might have added "San Francisco has disastrous earthquake" as a card, but the t-bill/china one is good too.

This article in Salon is tripe.

As usual, it advances the now cliched trope of "there aren't enough available single men in X urban area". I'm tempted to simply quote from The Last Boy Scout and say the girl needs to "get a dog". But in reality, the author herself manages to find some other author to help back up her ludicrously elaborate paranoiac theory of dating. So I have to do a little more digging. Consider grafs like this one:

I have a sense that particularly in New York -- though I'm sure it exists this way in Boston and in San Francisco -- there is a super-abundance of attractive, intelligent young women whom a man is very unlikely to be worthy of, who nevertheless set a higher value on him than he sets on them. This makes any sort of decision very difficult. Because to constantly be exposed to people whom you are unworthy of to begin with, yet who want you more than you want them, is confusing.

That assumption, that generally young men are unworthy of their female counterparts, is certainly in your book. I would get hanged for saying it, but there's an uncomfortable truth there.

Um, no. The entire premise of this story is that there aren't enough available "good" guys. To then use that premise to discover "a sense" that there are more hot women than men in the city is begging the question.

In reality, I find it always curious that articles such as these assume the following tenets:

1. men are, somehow, not making correct decisions when it comes to relationships
2. a large majority of attractive, intelligent, successful women are single because of said decisions
3. therefore, most women are inherently settling if they end up with a man

The problem, of course, is not with tenet #1. I'm perfectly willing to accept that a large body of men make boneheaded decisions about relationships. But #2 is where the train veers off the tracks. Because most of the idiotic relationship decisions men make have to do with:

• cheating on a girlfriend with a hotter person
• wanting to cheat on a girlfriend with a hotter person
• dumping a girlfriend because she's not hot enough

Notice a common theme? Now let's examine the final bit of the story. The (female) author's thoughts are in bold:

Well, let's not overdo it. I don't think this historical crossover is a done deal. What we're talking about is very much in process; these shifts may just be working themselves out. For all our generalizations, I'm speaking very specifically, about my peers who live in New York City and at 30 are almost all single. It's possible that I just have really unmarriageable friends.

But probably not.

No, probably not, in that they are hot and successful: desirable by commonly held human standards. But I don't think my stoic female friends don't acknowledge injustice or pain. They just process it in a traditionally female mode -- by talking about it. It's like they transform that chatter into a fuel that men don't have.

Hmm. You see, I have less trouble imagining men behaving like cads to women who are intelligent and successful. Because, of course, said women could be unattractive. But the author herself negates that possibility, so of course it cannot be true, right?

Oddly, men in this universe are being critiqued for being not shallow enough when it comes to the women. "Look at us: we're desirable!" seems to be the statement of the author. Of course though, for all we know, the author and her social circle could be rich, snobby, unattractive and boring. They'd still, of course, complement each other, which would lead all to wonder why men were not interested.

In the end, I think most men aren't put off by highly successful women. Or attractive women. Or the bizarre possibility that they could never have to settle (sheesh, I'm taking a trip to New York tomorrow! seriously, I am!) if only they were in an urban center. Men are surprisingly good at judging aesthetics. And they are surprisingly bad at empathy. None of these traits affects their capacity for commitment or ability to juggle a relationship and work. Simply having a decent relationship resume isn't enough for a man: you have to have some sort of spark, something that cannot be forced.

Arrrr. The Half-Crazed Capn Bush of the America be sailin' his ship into uncharted waters with dangerous shoals. His navigator be down with scurvy and the men be restless. The capn's solution? Go dig up more booty! To bad he be fresh out of treasure, but they don't call him half-crazed for nuttin.

Avast, me hearties!

'Tis a fine day for making sail across this accursed sea of concrete. Ye be needin' to carry the black spot with you and greet any swash-buckling buccaneers with a hearty "Arrrr" to make sure no scurvy land lubbers are about. For today belongs to us pirates!

The weekend is finally here...and with it, I believe, the end of my moving process. I am looking forward to:

1. no more moving
2. unpacking
3. setting up directv and tivo
4. picking up helena from the airport
5. preparing for Talk Like A Pirate Day on monday
6. much needed sleep
7. steaks!
8. very tiny gifts
9. much needed sleep

Time to dust off your eye-patches, everyone!