Dogs have it good. In the dog world, if you want to claim territory, all you have to do is pee on it. Then it is yours. Until the next dog pees on it. Then, if you want it back, you have to pee on it again. It is all very democratic: being the first to grab something does not mean you get to keep it forever, and one good rain resets the whole system.

When it comes to people, fewer New Yorkers than you might think run around peeing on things, but we have all claimed territory. We each have places that we go that we consider our own. They may be isolated or they may be overrun with people, but when we are there, it is our place alone. Cleopatra’s Needle is mine, but it is cold this time of year. I am considering annexing the Metropolitan Museum of Art as my winter palace.

On Wednesday, I will be celebrating my twenty-fifth birthday. But tonight is my birthday dinner. I never have birthday dinners. No one is ever in town for my birthday, or they all have plans with their families. Even my Jewish friends manage to occupy themselves on Christmas Eve in mysterious ways that do not include commemorating my birth. But due to some strange configuration of the stars, a number of people were free to go out with me tonight.

I hope no one pees on the table.