Popular tourist destinations in Downtown Manhattan include the 911 Memorial, City Hall and Wall Street. 
Even though many tourists stand in front of Federal Hall National Memorial, and take pictures of the statue of Washington on the steps, only a few actually go inside the historic site.T
his is odd because it’s not only free, but also quite warm.
There’s interesting things to learn. 
And best of all – no guns are allowed.
February 2015 has been reported as the coldest month in 35 years for Manhattan. 
The East River isn’t frozen yet. 
But it’s getting there. (Click here or the images below for video.)
Built in 1921, the Cunard Building stands at 25 Broadway, above Bowling Green, at the foot of Manhattan. 
Best known for housing the Cunard Shipping Lines, which built famed ships, including The Lusitania, Mauritania, Queen Mary & Queen Elizabeth. 
The building is also cited by Daisy Buchanan in The Great Gatsby: There’s a bird on the lawn that must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Lines.
Perhaps Mrs. Buchanan, if she were here today, would have even visited the Cunard Building for an afternoon meal.
Espousing virtue when it comes to desire is a tenuous thing. This is not just because sex is often considered dirty by those proclaiming a purity of heart but more so that the self-same go incognito in pursuit of their own lust.
The internet provides the opportunity to delve into erotic fantasies, case and point being this blog, which had a surge of thousands of hits over the past few days from searches for “Jade Elizabeth Bachelor Playboy”. 
This virtual world of sex amounts to a reported $14 billion annually, which means that porn, as shadowy as so many claim it to be, is a reality for the silent majority. 
And so what of it? Can it not be left at that? Must there be shame attached to sexual desire? Why must there be some self-damning awareness for craving nakednesss?
Surely no one can claim anything wrong with the impulse, nothing out of the natural order. It would seem to be one of the great things about being alive.
However the lectures on decency and propriety always follow, inspiring schizophrenia in the listener, who must fight a natural impulse. Indeed, trying to be good and pure isn’t just difficult; it’s impossible.
The most common route – and most damaging – is to find shame in the desire and target the object of lust for this urge.
This violent demonization of sexual imagery, turning women into disposable objects, is founded upon a system where men seek to control women through mysogenic messaging.
It’s a lame-brain rouse that has dragged on for thousands of years (Yes, literally thousands.).
The issue is skewed, everything muddled between the left and right brain, just because of the premise that there might be something wrong with desire.
A sensible route would be to simply exit these sanctums gated by moral doctrine, therefore rejecting the shame that judgement wields.
And then the object of desire is no longer the issue, and instead it is only a matter of understanding and accepting the passion in oneself…and then clicking a button to see what’s there
Few are braving the cold and ice in Manhattan’s Financial District this February. 
Excepting of course the tourists… 
The TV show camera crews…
And the delivery guys. 
After all, the show must go on.
I feed my guilty pleasure for The Bachelor not because I want to see anyone find “true love” nor participate in a drinking game based on the amount of times a character says, “This is amazing!”, but rather to witness the humorous and pathetic decline of American civilization. 
Last night’s episode (Week 8 of Season 19) was no exception. Viewers witnessed Jade Elizabeth reveal pictures from her Playboy shoot to Bachelor Chris Soules on her computer. 
Confused between arousal and indignation, Chris bumbled through a proclamation that he would stand behind Jade if he were to choose her as his intended…and then went on to dump her the next day. 
The Bachelor offers that unique hybrid of American television which attempts to straddle the impossible: trashy titillation and a wholesome Christian story. 
Girls get drunk, do various stunts in bikinis, act with spite and scorn toward one another and then reflect thoughtfully on their Christian values and what it is to love. 
As amusing as all of this might be, I do find myself getting irritated at the hypocrisy when it is so foully-craft as the broadcast last night
Forgetting the fact that Chris, while promoted as true and pure, has at the very least indulged in porn-surfing and attended a strip club or two, no matter what he, his family, town or state might think of making money (or just expressing oneself) through nude modelling, it is inane to judge anyone on these standards. 
As it states in the Constitution of the United States, a document fervently cited by Republicans, Democrats, libertarians and capitalists alike, it is everyone’s right to exercise “the blessings of liberty to ourselves.”
An issue to consider instead might be the presence of guns in the household of potential mates. Indeed, what if it turned out that one of the contestants had a relative who had a treasure trove of assault weaponry in the home? Would the music turn ominous? Would the bachelorette scowl and flee? Or would she be forced to don her bikini and let her rip? 
As for Jade, I hope that the producers of The Bachelor have the wherewithal to select her for next season’s Bachelorette so that we can watch all the eager boys shrug off her so-called past “for all the right reasons.”
While in New Orleans, I was intrigued by a poster called The Last Session.
Joshua Walsh’s “The Last Session” features Louis Armstrong as the Christ figure.
In trying to research who each of the figures of betrayal were in the work, I was quick to learn that parodies of Leonardo Da Vinci’s 1498 iconic work are common as thieves.
The proliferation of this icon, re-branded and spun, is confusing to say the least, an image that everyone seems to know and yet no one understand. 
Yes, just like getting a tattoo.
The Toronto Maple Leafs have sunk into a terrible morass from which there seems to be little escape. The players are adrift, the coach at a loss, while the media metes out blame and the fans cry in dismay. 
Rather than plunge into some sort of Robespierre frenzy, I suggest the following:
Problem #5: Vitriolic Toronto Sports Media. The Toronto sports media, as eager to deify as they are to condemn, is comprised of knee-jerk simpletons who make as many bad judgements as they do unintelligible puns. 
These clown are stupid enough to seriously suggest that Kessel be traded – Are they nuts?!? Solution: Change the channel and watch highlights of the 1993 Playoffs instead.
4. Ineffective Coaching. Ron Wilson (2008-12) and Randy Carlyle (2012-15) provided no direction for the players, beyond yelling and making snide remarks. 
While Horachek struggles to implement a system, it appears that his time will also be limited behind the bench. Solution: Mike Babcock needs to be hired, and Brendan Shanahan is the man to do that.
3. Infantile Fan Base. Sports fans are not known for a generosity of spirit nor intelligent analysis. For a market like the Leafs, where hockey is religion, it is all the worse. The symbolic throwing of team jerseys is emblematic of these childish reactions. 
Solution: Encourage your neighbor to give his jersey to a kid and maybe yell at the Flyers/Canadiens/Bruins/Rangers instead.
2. Lack of Team Leadership. Being captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs is a heavy burden to bear. It is not as much a matter of talent as it is of a confident, under-stated personality such as Dave Keon, Wendel Clark and Mats Sundin all had. 
Dion Phaneuf is not like these men. As skilled as he might be, he talks too much, often out of turn. Solution: Trade Dion Phaneuf and appoint a new captain in the off-season. James Van Reimsdyk is a good option to consider.
1. Team Management in Disarray. The ownership is weighed down by a bureaucratic board of governors, focused on making too much money, burdened by a history of poor management practice. 
This problem is the trickiest of the lot. Hopefully these suits can be swayed by Brian Burke’s wisdom: “They’ll name a street after whoever brings the Stanley Cup to Toronto.” Solution: Remind the board that they hired Brendan Shanahan to be president, and to let him do just that.
The Brooklyn Academy of Music is currently staging Eugene O’Neil’s marathon play, The Iceman Cometh. 
At just under five hours (!!!), the play delivers its message in the form of a blunt object (“the pipe dream”) ad nauseum, inducing an uneasy drowsiness for actors and audience alike.
While the acting of Nathan Lane, Brian Denehy et al is solid, as are some tableau moments, the trauma of this painfully slow drama begs the services of a certain tool. 
The highlight of the evening was in fact the relief of it being over and then getting on the NBA All-Star subway train home.
Although even this moment of reprieve became painfully slow.
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