Market means nothing gets done in the office. It means you go to showrooms and stare at product and models and numbers and spreadsheets and eat a half-decent sandwich and then do more of the same for the rest of the afternoon. Then at night you go out for a dinner of ridiculously over-indulgent proportions. I mean, your drinks alone would pay for all the homeless people you see on the way home to have a hot meal. Tonight's dinner was courtesy of a company with operations based in Canada. Naturally, the butter was cut into small maple leafs. Someone today was paid to do that. Hmm. I'm not saying I feel guilty. I work hard, and its nice to be rewarded once in a while. But I look at these people who do this kind of thing literally all the time, and, frankly...I wonder how they sleep at night.
Being crazed with market leaves me with little or no time on the computer, be it in the office or at home, so there's really nothing quality to blog about. Nothing gets read, or attended to, or whatever, and I'm left with precious little fodder. And I have to jet somewhere in the southern states for the weekend for a friend's wedding, so expect things to be light in the next week or so.
Thankfully, I've planned ahead. I have random pix from the crap-cam on my phone, and I hope to actually write a bit about at least a couple of them.
The first I don't really have much to say about. He's a hot-dog vendor at the corner of 35th and 7th and apparently one of the few (the only?) with a sense of humor about things. Most of the guys at these stands seem pretty gruff, and why shouldn't they be? I suppose they're probably happier to be making the money they are here than the pittance wages they would be making building rubber gaskets in Rubixcubistan, but they're still cognizant of where they rank on the NYC quality-of-life scale, most likely.
There are, however, a few genuinely nice ones out there. There's a plump Russian gal near Times Square...always pretty normal, but one day I was bringing Ti-guy into the city to bring him to his mom's office, and had him strapped to my chest - that's like having a girl magnet on your collar. She gave me an extra dog and insisted it was for him (I don't think he was 2 yet at that point). And there's a Pakistani guy near my offices who has his kid with him, but only after a really long day - apparently these guys come out at night, too. I bought a dog once and gave the kid a buck from the change. I've never seen a kid light up like that, ever. I haven't seen them recently, but I'd buy a dog again just to see that kid go bonkers all over again.
Anyway, here's the guy I first mentioned. I'm convinced he has at least a decent sense of humor. See if you can tell why.
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