Lately I’ve been getting quite astute to mortality and this thing we call life. It’s as if all the things I’ve heard and read in the years prior are all of a sudden becoming clearer to me and make sense. They aren’t just ideals any longer; they are actually impacting how I view life.

“Life is not a dress rehearsal.” That seems to ring more true to me now and I’ve fully embraced it. I’m more aware now that life isn’t something we get to do over. We don’t all reach the age of 50 and upon reflection are allowed to go back to a year and start again. This is it. This is life. We know how it begins and how it ends. It’s the stuff in the middle we’re all trying to figure out.

I’d be lying if I said Steve Jobs didn’t affect me. But not just the visionary genius he was, and his mark on the world with Apple, but the shear fact he died way too young. Here’s a guy with obscene money, much more than the majority of the world could ever imagine. And he died. He could have afforded any medical procedure on the planet, and if given the time I am sure he could have created some medical technology that doesn’t even exist yet that would end up curing him. But unfortunately all of that is a mute point. The passing of Steve Jobs taught me above everything else, health is most important. You can have all the money in the world, but often times that isn’t enough.

Sort of changes your outlook on what's important in life. The one with the most money doesn't win at the end.

When I travel for work, I enjoy sitting at the bar when eating meals as it allows me to interact with the bartender and get the “locals only” insight into the city. Sitting at the bar inevitably means I’ll be answering the “Where are you traveling from?” question. When I tell them New York City, I see a noticeable gleam in their eye. My answer is always followed by one of two statements from them: they tell me about the time they visited New York and how much they loved it, or they tell me how much they want to visit. The latter of the two always gets me thinking. On my last business trip, the bartender told me he and his wife had been saving for a New York City trip. For years. A trip to New York City was something he and his wife really wanted to experience and put on their bucket list. It was something they wanted to do before they died.

And I live in New York City.

Going to New York City has been on this guy’s mind for years. I wake up every day (when not traveling) in New York. Too many people take things for granted.

I saw this on Twitter yesterday and it fit nicely:

Guest Post: Jen Doll // @thisisjendoll

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I confess: I love the bizarre. A kidnapping caused by a slap caused by someone eating the last Hot Pocket. A bear, alone on the street, collapsed in a drunken stupor after being laid off from his job (don't worry, it's the best thing that's ever happened to him!). An air conditioner that falls out of a window and very nearly hits someone but doesn't, and instead lands on a pile of dog poo that a snooty-looking woman had been just about to put her Tory Burch flat directly into (she wrinkles her nose in disgust). A family getting lost in a corn maze 25 feet from the exit and calling 911 to get out. Two guys attempting to carry a couch away from a stoop sale, but dropping it on the wrought iron grates of a fence, where it remains, precariously perched, until a third friend arrives and helps them take it down. A woman who, walking down the street, feels something touch her foot and kicks her leg out Rockette-style in response, jettisoning her shoe from her foot; it soars through the air and hits a guy 20 feet away in the back. He returns it to her, and maybe they fall in love, or maybe he quickly moves away from New York, where shoes have a propensity to fall from the sky. (The thing that touched her foot, for the record, was a leaf.) A cat that steals under cover of darkness. A car shaped like a banana. The time you shaved off a stranger's beard, just because. I am inspired by the things you see or hear or read or listen to or do, on purpose or by chance, that incite cliches like "Truth is stranger than fiction!" or "You can't make that stuff up!", though sometimes you can make up the story. 

This is what I like the most: Finding out what happened, the banal little mystery or human condition or need or want or coincidence that led to the bizarre -- or, sometimes even better, concocting the story for what happened. I have no idea what the story is for this bear. I saw him near my apartment one weekend, and it looked as though others were getting his photo, too. Had they set him there to amuse passersby? Had he plummeted from a window above, or perhaps been tossed out by an angry resident who came home to find him cheating on her with the stuffed, one-eyed monkey? Was he hiding from the paps, in plain sight? Did an aging couple lose him on their way to a Mexican restaurant and, considering him part of the family, are they now plastering signs asking for his return all over Park Slope? Is he a hobo bear, getting a bit of shut-eye until he moves on to the next neighborhood or town? Had he just eaten a slice of pie left by a kindly woman, as well as a turkey sandwich (tryptophan!)? Is he a renegade Occupy Wall Street protester, as some suggested on Twitter when I posted the image? 

Chances are, we'll never know. He's no longer there -- I just happened to "be at the right place at the right time." But that only makes it more fun. He can be anything and everything we want him to be. He'll answer to whatever you choose to call him. That's the beauty of a bear on the sidewalk.

"Until every detail is perfect. We will not rest."

UBS commissioned artist Stephen Wiltshire, who is autistic, to sketch the New York City skyline from memory. The sketch was completed in three days, and then used as a billboard at JFK Airport. What transpired was not advertising, it was inspiration.

Incredibly proud this came out of Publicis New York.

Guest Post: Ian Sohn // @IanSohn

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He put his hand on my head, like one of those TV preachers.  "You're good people, baby."  

And at that moment, I was healed of all that ailed me.

But this was no mega-church.  And he was no preacher, though he shared the same mega-watt smile.

This was P.J. Clarke's - the original on 3rd Avenue and 55th Street in Manhattan.

And He is Doug Quinn, bartender and subject of a 2010 New York Times article. 

For serving cheeseburgers on plain white plates, with no frills.

For not offering "Free WiFi!"

For having one tiny TV tucked in the corner of the bar.

For the meatloaf special.

For serving ketchup - Heinz of course - in a bottle and not a silly ramekin.

For attracting suits, punks, grandmas and newborns.

For being the place where my wife and I shared so many unremarkable, yet special moments during our many years in New York.

For not having a hair out of place every time I return for a visit.

For being true to its roots, 127 years running.

For the healing powers of Doug Quinn.

P.J. Clarke's is what inspires me.

via here

Agency: BSSP

Herald Square NYC

(Nice job Mini (Part II))