Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Bubblie
Twice this week while walking down 6th Avenue I got caught in a sea of bubbles. Yes, like the kind you blew out of plastic holes as a kid. Apparently this street vendor disarms customers with effervescent floating circles. I guess bubbles get him in the mood. (ew.) But, its not just a few bubbles, it's hundreds floating around oblivious commuters. Now, while children might find bubbles entertaining, after the age of, oh…say 6, they lose their appeal. First of all, I see bubbles and instead of thinking "fun! I want to pop them!" I think, “hmm, if that soap gets in my eye it will hurt, but then I could sue for temporary blindness." Second, bubbles are gross. I don’t want that shit on my suit. I’m already trying to maneuver through the idiots on the sidewalk -- now I have to yield to your stupid bubbles? And what product is he trying to sell that correlates to bubbles? The freak mechanical puppy that backflips and barks like a poodle? It’s astonishing that he stands there blowing soap…into a crowd…and doesn’t get stabbed. Tomorrow I’m going to make him pay for my dry-cleaning bill. AND doctor’s bill…because I heard bubbles gives you cancer.
Monday, June 22, 2009
TRACKS
Like most cosmopolitan cities, New Yorkers live and die by their sports teams. Unlike most cosmopolitan cities, New York has the luxury of having two teams for every sport. While the true sports rivalries lie with our friendly neighbors to the north (thank you very much Tom Brady and Dustin Pedroia), New York’s “two-teamed system” has generated animosity among its natives. For example, Giants fans from Manhattan and Jersey believe Jets fans from Queens and Long Island have a 40-year “whoa is us” inferiority complex. And Mets fans from Brooklyn think Yankees fans from the Bronx are fair-weather babies that “earned” 26 rings with a mercenary roster of high-priced talent for hire. To make matters worse, the Yankees decided to build a new stadium during the worst economic recession since the phrase “run on the bank” was coined and now their adoring fans must pay a years’ worth of college tuition just to get a seat. On the other side of town, the Mets get to show off their new Taxpayer’s Field…I mean Citifield…while Bernie Madoff continues to embezzle assets overseas. And who can forget Bloomberg’s embarrassing flump of Jet’s Stadium which I believe, to date, is still an abandoned parking lot on 11th Avenue.
But this is not about sports, or sports teams, or their stadiums -- it’s about trains. And train stations. Like sports teams, New York migrants face two important choices: Grand Central or Penn Station. And akin to sports teams, allegiances are based (almost solely) on where someone resides or grew up. As someone who has been displaced from Connecticut to Manhattan, even a blind mute could figure out which station I prefer, but I would like to discuss just how far superior Grand Central is to the herds at Penn Station. In case it’s not blatantly obvious.
Aesthetically, there is not contest. Ten years ago they renovated the shit out of Grand Central’s Main Concourse and were pleasantly surprised to find the entire ceiling had its 1930’s astronomic painting of famous constellations still in tact. Now the “zodiac sky” graces the arch of the terminal, which has become a tourist destination and a city landmark. City. Landmark. Penn did similar renovations in the 90s. But by renovations I mean it swept all the homeless people out of the crypt and back onto the streets. Penn’s still waiting for that landmark status.
Appearances aside, there is a huge practical difference between these two stations. Immediately upon entering Grand Central one is presented with all essential “train travel” information. I.E.-a large clock above an information booth that contains train schedules and a living, speaking attendant. And, just in case one suffers from “can’t read train schedule-itis” or has crippling anxiety around attendant strangers, then Grand Central posts its train times and track schedules on a large board in the middle of the Concourse. For everyone to see.
Oddly, GC’s cross-town brother has not picked up on these basic commuter principals. So here are some rules when maneuvering around the cavernous corridors of Penn Station:
1. My biggest peev about Penn Station is the way they designate what train leaves from which track. Train times at Penn are posted on either a big board or TV screens…but without track designations. So everyone has to crouch around this signage impatiently waiting for information about the 5:35 while some Penn Station employee haphazardly assigns a track ninety seconds before the train is scheduled to leave. The onslaught that follows is a bloody rush to the track where “woman and children first” does not apply and you’re bound to get knocked over by some weekender’s oversized Vera Bradley bag which seemingly has Lily Pulitzer dresses in it, but is seriously loaded with bricks. This whole charade is like walking into a deli at 1 with no menu on the board and everyone (tired and hungry) has to wait for the day’s specials to be posted at 1:02, then charge the counter to order a pastrami on rye before the pastrami runs out and what’s left is day-old seafood salad made by the owner’s trashy girlfriend with long acrylics. I wish I could spout some rules on how to navigate this commuter travesty -- but its time for Penn to seriously step it up. MTA's subway counter-part deals with 656 miles of tracks, 26 lines and millions of trips a day and there’s never any question which train belongs on which track. What’s Penn’s excuse?
2. Trains coming in and out of Grand Central travel to upstate New York and Connecticut. Trains coming in and out of Penn travel to Long Eye Lund and New Joysee. Sorry, Long Island and New Jersey. You don’t want me to make fun of your island or your state? Then don’t make it so easy. Dunkin Doughnuts doesn’t serve “cawfee anna bagel” and muscle shirts don’t constitute formal-wear.
3. It’s the 21st Century. And as with everything else in the 21st Century, train tickets are primarily bought through ticket vending robots and not actual humans. The ticket machines apparently have a monopoly over the New York metropolitan area because the MTA uses the same machines at GC, Penn AND for the NYC Subway. Regardless of where you’re from, you have to deal with these machines, so there is absolutely no excuse for taking more than 90 seconds to purchase a ticket. Enter the first letter of the station you’re traveling to, pray that you’re not traveling peak, then insert either a plastic money or green paper. Viola! A ticket is dispensed. So when the ticket getting line starts to get long (which inevitably occurs at Penn since there are only 5 machines versus GC’s ROOM of ticket booths), I seriously contemplate the level of idiocy required to botch this process. If you don’t know the station you’re traveling to then you probably shouldn’t be visiting anyways. Go back to Brother Jimmy’s. And if you don’t know whether it is peak time, then stop living under a rock. But generally, the real issue occurs during the payment portion of the transaction, especially if the payment form is cash. For starters, always use a credit card – using cash stops the ebb and flow of the city pace. Those Visa Check card commercials are onto something. Stick your plastic in that thing and get on your way. If you choose to use your Andrew Jackson’s, make sure the bill is crisp. Straightening out bills on the corner of the machine is SOOO 1982. And don’t be surprised when $8 in change comes out in $1 coins…what did you expect? A certified check?
4. The silver-lining at Penn is “TRACKS” – the self-proclaim “raw bar and grill” on the LIRR side. I believe this is Penn’s attempt to compete with Grand Central’s Oyster Bar and while Tracks will never beat GC on the classy scale, it does offer fatty fare, draft beer and singles with pick-up lines like “Didn’t I make out with you at the Drift?” While I normally steer clear from these fratastic establishments in the city, there is something about Tracks’ shameless attempt to get Long Island commuters drunk for a quick make-out sesh that draws me into its “train themed” bar and makes me lie that I'm from Smithtown.
5. Finally, why is getting into Penn Station so hard? There’s a LIRR entrance, a NJ Transit entrance and a Madison Square Garden entrance, also known as the Amtrak entrance, also known as shady drug dealer’s entrance. Rightfully so, since you’d have to be on crack to pay Amtrak prices. However, Penn Station is not logically laid out and the various wings of the station do not easily lead to each other. So if you enter on the NJ Transit side, but need to get to the LIRR, godspeed. And forget asking your fellow transient for directions, they resent you for taking up space in their commuter life and would rather check on the Mets or Giants score at Tracks. Besides, you’d probably make fun of their accent anyways.
But this is not about sports, or sports teams, or their stadiums -- it’s about trains. And train stations. Like sports teams, New York migrants face two important choices: Grand Central or Penn Station. And akin to sports teams, allegiances are based (almost solely) on where someone resides or grew up. As someone who has been displaced from Connecticut to Manhattan, even a blind mute could figure out which station I prefer, but I would like to discuss just how far superior Grand Central is to the herds at Penn Station. In case it’s not blatantly obvious.
Aesthetically, there is not contest. Ten years ago they renovated the shit out of Grand Central’s Main Concourse and were pleasantly surprised to find the entire ceiling had its 1930’s astronomic painting of famous constellations still in tact. Now the “zodiac sky” graces the arch of the terminal, which has become a tourist destination and a city landmark. City. Landmark. Penn did similar renovations in the 90s. But by renovations I mean it swept all the homeless people out of the crypt and back onto the streets. Penn’s still waiting for that landmark status.
Appearances aside, there is a huge practical difference between these two stations. Immediately upon entering Grand Central one is presented with all essential “train travel” information. I.E.-a large clock above an information booth that contains train schedules and a living, speaking attendant. And, just in case one suffers from “can’t read train schedule-itis” or has crippling anxiety around attendant strangers, then Grand Central posts its train times and track schedules on a large board in the middle of the Concourse. For everyone to see.
Oddly, GC’s cross-town brother has not picked up on these basic commuter principals. So here are some rules when maneuvering around the cavernous corridors of Penn Station:
1. My biggest peev about Penn Station is the way they designate what train leaves from which track. Train times at Penn are posted on either a big board or TV screens…but without track designations. So everyone has to crouch around this signage impatiently waiting for information about the 5:35 while some Penn Station employee haphazardly assigns a track ninety seconds before the train is scheduled to leave. The onslaught that follows is a bloody rush to the track where “woman and children first” does not apply and you’re bound to get knocked over by some weekender’s oversized Vera Bradley bag which seemingly has Lily Pulitzer dresses in it, but is seriously loaded with bricks. This whole charade is like walking into a deli at 1 with no menu on the board and everyone (tired and hungry) has to wait for the day’s specials to be posted at 1:02, then charge the counter to order a pastrami on rye before the pastrami runs out and what’s left is day-old seafood salad made by the owner’s trashy girlfriend with long acrylics. I wish I could spout some rules on how to navigate this commuter travesty -- but its time for Penn to seriously step it up. MTA's subway counter-part deals with 656 miles of tracks, 26 lines and millions of trips a day and there’s never any question which train belongs on which track. What’s Penn’s excuse?
2. Trains coming in and out of Grand Central travel to upstate New York and Connecticut. Trains coming in and out of Penn travel to Long Eye Lund and New Joysee. Sorry, Long Island and New Jersey. You don’t want me to make fun of your island or your state? Then don’t make it so easy. Dunkin Doughnuts doesn’t serve “cawfee anna bagel” and muscle shirts don’t constitute formal-wear.
3. It’s the 21st Century. And as with everything else in the 21st Century, train tickets are primarily bought through ticket vending robots and not actual humans. The ticket machines apparently have a monopoly over the New York metropolitan area because the MTA uses the same machines at GC, Penn AND for the NYC Subway. Regardless of where you’re from, you have to deal with these machines, so there is absolutely no excuse for taking more than 90 seconds to purchase a ticket. Enter the first letter of the station you’re traveling to, pray that you’re not traveling peak, then insert either a plastic money or green paper. Viola! A ticket is dispensed. So when the ticket getting line starts to get long (which inevitably occurs at Penn since there are only 5 machines versus GC’s ROOM of ticket booths), I seriously contemplate the level of idiocy required to botch this process. If you don’t know the station you’re traveling to then you probably shouldn’t be visiting anyways. Go back to Brother Jimmy’s. And if you don’t know whether it is peak time, then stop living under a rock. But generally, the real issue occurs during the payment portion of the transaction, especially if the payment form is cash. For starters, always use a credit card – using cash stops the ebb and flow of the city pace. Those Visa Check card commercials are onto something. Stick your plastic in that thing and get on your way. If you choose to use your Andrew Jackson’s, make sure the bill is crisp. Straightening out bills on the corner of the machine is SOOO 1982. And don’t be surprised when $8 in change comes out in $1 coins…what did you expect? A certified check?
4. The silver-lining at Penn is “TRACKS” – the self-proclaim “raw bar and grill” on the LIRR side. I believe this is Penn’s attempt to compete with Grand Central’s Oyster Bar and while Tracks will never beat GC on the classy scale, it does offer fatty fare, draft beer and singles with pick-up lines like “Didn’t I make out with you at the Drift?” While I normally steer clear from these fratastic establishments in the city, there is something about Tracks’ shameless attempt to get Long Island commuters drunk for a quick make-out sesh that draws me into its “train themed” bar and makes me lie that I'm from Smithtown.
5. Finally, why is getting into Penn Station so hard? There’s a LIRR entrance, a NJ Transit entrance and a Madison Square Garden entrance, also known as the Amtrak entrance, also known as shady drug dealer’s entrance. Rightfully so, since you’d have to be on crack to pay Amtrak prices. However, Penn Station is not logically laid out and the various wings of the station do not easily lead to each other. So if you enter on the NJ Transit side, but need to get to the LIRR, godspeed. And forget asking your fellow transient for directions, they resent you for taking up space in their commuter life and would rather check on the Mets or Giants score at Tracks. Besides, you’d probably make fun of their accent anyways.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Right-of-Way
Yes, people. Just like driving, NYC streetwalkers and subway riders need to abide by some simple right-of-way rules. I pray that one day every walker/rider will understand that sometimes they don't go first; that they aren't the only person on the sidewalk; and (for the love of god) that it won't hurt to follow some common rules of decency.
For all of you who don't understand what I'm talking about....please try to remember the last time a woman walked out of Bloomingdale's directly into your path on the side walk. She, without hesitation, stops inches from your being. She shuffles her feet and the various sized "brown bags" in her obnoxious hands. There would have been a total body collision if you hadn't been paying attention. She looks uptown, downtown, then uptown again. She walks uptown 2 paces and then turns to walk downtown (all while in your way). If you're lucky, she briefly stops to look at grid map. The last time that happened was yesterday, wasn't it? Just what I thought.
1) Its like pulling out of a driveway. You always look to see who's coming, right? Don't just aimlessly walk onto the sidewalk without looking around you. We're not asking for the world here, just understand your surroundings. I can see you, why can't you see me?
2) We get to our subway stop. You've been sitting and snoozing since Jamaica. I've been standing over you since the last stop. Don't try to get up and around me while I'm trying to hold on. We're ALL getting off here. There's no need to try and get in front of me. Sit your ass down and wait your turn. I have the right of way b/c I'm closer to the door and I don't have to inconvenience you to get off first.
3) My subway is sitting at the platform. "Ding Dong - stand clear of the closing doors please", I hear the bell ring signaling that the doors are about to close. "Ding Dong - stand clear of the closing doors please", I hear it again. "Ding Dong stand clear of the closing doors please", one more time. Is there seriously still something in the doors? Nah, the train designed in 1978 must be broken....again. I'm on the stairwell and have ample time to make it to the train due to this slight delay. When I hear that bell, I automatically hustle (just like Pavlov's salivating dog). But, I don't make it. Why? Because I'm being body rushed by the few people that just got OFF that train now going up the stairs. They are not in a rush; they're actually taking their time. Here, I have the right of way....my path is more urgent.
4) The right-of-urgency rule is also applicable to street walking. Take, for example, when the little red hand is blinking as you approach an intersection. You hustle to cross the street. But the walkers crossing the street perpendicular get it your way. You can't even get to the curb. But they're about to get the white hand! There's no rush for them. Here again, I have the right of way....my path is more urgent.
I'm going to end here by mentioning two people I don't like.....and what I do to teach them a lesson. They haven't fit into any of my blog themes but their mentioning is overdue. So here they are, completely out of context.
1) The guy (why is it always a guy?) who leans against the subway pole so no one else can hold on. You know what I do? Squeeze my fingers behind his back. Pretend he isn't there. He'll move. And occasionally you get a mumbled apology. But most of the time it will just be a nasty look.
2) The person who walks into a revolving door before you and doesn't PUSH. Don't give in. Refuse to push as well. When they realize they're not going anywhere they'll remember the fundamental rule of revolving doors.
For all of you who don't understand what I'm talking about....please try to remember the last time a woman walked out of Bloomingdale's directly into your path on the side walk. She, without hesitation, stops inches from your being. She shuffles her feet and the various sized "brown bags" in her obnoxious hands. There would have been a total body collision if you hadn't been paying attention. She looks uptown, downtown, then uptown again. She walks uptown 2 paces and then turns to walk downtown (all while in your way). If you're lucky, she briefly stops to look at grid map. The last time that happened was yesterday, wasn't it? Just what I thought.
1) Its like pulling out of a driveway. You always look to see who's coming, right? Don't just aimlessly walk onto the sidewalk without looking around you. We're not asking for the world here, just understand your surroundings. I can see you, why can't you see me?
2) We get to our subway stop. You've been sitting and snoozing since Jamaica. I've been standing over you since the last stop. Don't try to get up and around me while I'm trying to hold on. We're ALL getting off here. There's no need to try and get in front of me. Sit your ass down and wait your turn. I have the right of way b/c I'm closer to the door and I don't have to inconvenience you to get off first.
3) My subway is sitting at the platform. "Ding Dong - stand clear of the closing doors please", I hear the bell ring signaling that the doors are about to close. "Ding Dong - stand clear of the closing doors please", I hear it again. "Ding Dong stand clear of the closing doors please", one more time. Is there seriously still something in the doors? Nah, the train designed in 1978 must be broken....again. I'm on the stairwell and have ample time to make it to the train due to this slight delay. When I hear that bell, I automatically hustle (just like Pavlov's salivating dog). But, I don't make it. Why? Because I'm being body rushed by the few people that just got OFF that train now going up the stairs. They are not in a rush; they're actually taking their time. Here, I have the right of way....my path is more urgent.
4) The right-of-urgency rule is also applicable to street walking. Take, for example, when the little red hand is blinking as you approach an intersection. You hustle to cross the street. But the walkers crossing the street perpendicular get it your way. You can't even get to the curb. But they're about to get the white hand! There's no rush for them. Here again, I have the right of way....my path is more urgent.
I'm going to end here by mentioning two people I don't like.....and what I do to teach them a lesson. They haven't fit into any of my blog themes but their mentioning is overdue. So here they are, completely out of context.
1) The guy (why is it always a guy?) who leans against the subway pole so no one else can hold on. You know what I do? Squeeze my fingers behind his back. Pretend he isn't there. He'll move. And occasionally you get a mumbled apology. But most of the time it will just be a nasty look.
2) The person who walks into a revolving door before you and doesn't PUSH. Don't give in. Refuse to push as well. When they realize they're not going anywhere they'll remember the fundamental rule of revolving doors.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Evens and Odds
The other day I was walking across town when a woman in a pinstripe powersuit sprinted past me. I began to make fun of her and the fact that she was probably late to something important when the oddest thing happened. Without warning, she stopped mid-sprint, turned 180 degrees and started to slowly walk back in my direction. As she passed by me…again…I tried to avoid the now awkward eye contact and wondered: where was she going in such a rush? What made her change her mind? Why was she less desperate to come back? Maybe she was heading to an apartment or bar that was on a different street. Maybe she was running towards the man of her dreams when she realized he was a figment of her imagination. Or maybe she just HAS to run west for exactly 1/10th of a mile every day otherwise terrible things will happen.
While I will never know the mysteries behind her actions, I do know this woman is not alone. People in New York City (not so) occasionally exhibit odd behavior.
Pinkberry has single-handedly changed the way people eat yogurt. It has convinced everyone that if plain yogurt is really, really cold, it’s a healthy dessert. Absent the numerous sugar-filled, cereal-related toppings you can load onto it. And ignoring the long list of chemical ingredients added to make the dessert taste “natural.” (Note: besides “plain” it also offers coffee and green tea. Green tea...really? Name one person that likes that.) On the heels of Pinkberry came additional franchises from Red Mango, Yolato and Flurt. But what is amazing is not the number of “Tastee-Delight’s” that are now forced into foreclosure, but Pinkberry’s ability to flourish in New York City’s seasonal climate. In the middle of January, while fighting the “wintry mix” of snow, rain and ice, people line up...outside...in their UGGs…just to get a cup of this tasty treat. Thirteen degree weather must make one crave chemical additives in coffee flavored yogurt topped with Captain Crunch. You know, for $3 less you can mix some cereal in cold Dannon while drinking a hot Dunkin Doughnuts coffee and viola, fro-yo. (Patent pending!) But I’m just bitter because I miss the gluttony of Cold Stone.
It is no secret that New York City “leans left” when it comes to politics; in fact, the city is so blue, it’s turning purple. Residents are well-versed in the language of multiculturalism because the city went XTREME on the whole “melting pot” concept. Which I love because Dinosaur Bar-B-Que in Harlem has the best ribs, Kossar’s in the lower east side has the best bialy’s, G Lounge in Chelsea has the best frozen cosmopolitans and Biny’s outside of Chinatown has the best karaoke. However, our high level of tolerance has opened doors for the overzealous to panhandle their religion to passer-byers. I’ve been forced to take brochures on the subway, been accosted on the street and been distracted by the Mitzvah Mobile. Don’t get me wrong, I greatly respect and appreciate all religions and one’s right to practice. But in Rome, nuns didn’t approach me about the date of my last confession. I’ve try to adapt -- on any given day I’ll wear a crucifix, an Allah pendant and a Kabbalah bracelet. “No, I’m not Jewish and I’m not a Jew for Jesus so please let go home. I have Lombardi’s waiting.”
Everyone knows to keep a safe distance from persons over the age of 5 who talk to themselves, strike up conversations with invisible friends or plot conspiracy theories with Mulder and Scully. But Bluetooth has recently blurred the lines between normal cell-phone usage and just plain crazy. While I’m sure the device generally protects against the epidemic of driving like an idiot, I can’t figure out its purpose for street walkers. First, God gave you two sets of arms and hands, use one. Second, talking and walking is not illegal, unless of course your feet somehow qualify as a “motorized vehicle” -- in which case you’re traveling around on battery-powered rollerblades or crazy regardless. Third, and most importantly, you look like you’re talking to yourself. And that’s just distracting. People passing now have to double take and scan your big head for some sort of earpiece just to determine whether they have to cross the street and keep a safe distance. So please, don’t use your Bluetooth device while walking, they are officially making me and Sparky, my invisible dog, lose our minds.
While I will never know the mysteries behind her actions, I do know this woman is not alone. People in New York City (not so) occasionally exhibit odd behavior.
Pinkberry has single-handedly changed the way people eat yogurt. It has convinced everyone that if plain yogurt is really, really cold, it’s a healthy dessert. Absent the numerous sugar-filled, cereal-related toppings you can load onto it. And ignoring the long list of chemical ingredients added to make the dessert taste “natural.” (Note: besides “plain” it also offers coffee and green tea. Green tea...really? Name one person that likes that.) On the heels of Pinkberry came additional franchises from Red Mango, Yolato and Flurt. But what is amazing is not the number of “Tastee-Delight’s” that are now forced into foreclosure, but Pinkberry’s ability to flourish in New York City’s seasonal climate. In the middle of January, while fighting the “wintry mix” of snow, rain and ice, people line up...outside...in their UGGs…just to get a cup of this tasty treat. Thirteen degree weather must make one crave chemical additives in coffee flavored yogurt topped with Captain Crunch. You know, for $3 less you can mix some cereal in cold Dannon while drinking a hot Dunkin Doughnuts coffee and viola, fro-yo. (Patent pending!) But I’m just bitter because I miss the gluttony of Cold Stone.
It is no secret that New York City “leans left” when it comes to politics; in fact, the city is so blue, it’s turning purple. Residents are well-versed in the language of multiculturalism because the city went XTREME on the whole “melting pot” concept. Which I love because Dinosaur Bar-B-Que in Harlem has the best ribs, Kossar’s in the lower east side has the best bialy’s, G Lounge in Chelsea has the best frozen cosmopolitans and Biny’s outside of Chinatown has the best karaoke. However, our high level of tolerance has opened doors for the overzealous to panhandle their religion to passer-byers. I’ve been forced to take brochures on the subway, been accosted on the street and been distracted by the Mitzvah Mobile. Don’t get me wrong, I greatly respect and appreciate all religions and one’s right to practice. But in Rome, nuns didn’t approach me about the date of my last confession. I’ve try to adapt -- on any given day I’ll wear a crucifix, an Allah pendant and a Kabbalah bracelet. “No, I’m not Jewish and I’m not a Jew for Jesus so please let go home. I have Lombardi’s waiting.”
Everyone knows to keep a safe distance from persons over the age of 5 who talk to themselves, strike up conversations with invisible friends or plot conspiracy theories with Mulder and Scully. But Bluetooth has recently blurred the lines between normal cell-phone usage and just plain crazy. While I’m sure the device generally protects against the epidemic of driving like an idiot, I can’t figure out its purpose for street walkers. First, God gave you two sets of arms and hands, use one. Second, talking and walking is not illegal, unless of course your feet somehow qualify as a “motorized vehicle” -- in which case you’re traveling around on battery-powered rollerblades or crazy regardless. Third, and most importantly, you look like you’re talking to yourself. And that’s just distracting. People passing now have to double take and scan your big head for some sort of earpiece just to determine whether they have to cross the street and keep a safe distance. So please, don’t use your Bluetooth device while walking, they are officially making me and Sparky, my invisible dog, lose our minds.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Market This
I can only imagine the difficult position that DVR has created for marketing and advertising exec’s who can no longer indirectly market to the masses through television. However, I never, ever thought the advent of DVR would affect my every day commute. Hey, big whigs, HINT: outdoor marketing doesn’t work! So get off the street, out of my face and back onto my TV where I can more easily ignore your hard work with my remote.
First of all, why have I never, ever seen a good print ad on the side of a phone booth? The pictures are always faded, the writing is cut off and the ad’s general theme is vague and cheesy. Since phone booths are so archaic, advertising companies must assign “phone booth copy” to their degenerate employees. But I pass more phone booths in 5 blocks than I do Starbucks. I promise that if you give me something pretty to look at I’ll conveniently forget your gangbanging me with capitalism.
Stop dressing people in demoralizing signs that advertise “DISCOUNTED MEN’S SUITS” for stores located in abandoned buildings on the corner of 12th Ave and “you’re gonna get mugged” street. Is that sign supposed to make me want to visit your establishment? Who conducted the market research and concluded “human signage” was an effective marketing tool? I’d like to meet that genius so I can punch him in the face.
Speaking of faces, don’t shove cards in mine. I don’t care about you or the nightclub, comedy club, bar or restaurant you’re trying to promote. I have such disdain for you because so many trees died to make those stupid hand-outs which inevitably get trashed by…everyone. And definitely don’t shove anything in my face when I’m holding my phone and a coffee and have no free hands for your stupid card anyways. What am I suppose to do, hold it with my teeth?
I love creative subway ads that span over a few panels. I hate subway ads for law firms that promise large settlement awards and habla espanol. Not because the ad indirectly degrades latinos, but because the ad directly degrades the legal profession. As a member of said profession, I apologize for your eye sore.
One form of marketing I avoid are menu pile-ups. Pile-ups start at certain times of the day, say, 11:30AM and 3:30PM, when the restaurant business slows and the owners send their deliverymen on meaningless chores (instead of giving them a well-deserved break from serving the rest of Manhattan, who is becoming increasingly lazy). These boys drudgingly get on their bikes, armed with oversized menus to shove under the doors of unwilling recipients. God help residents of doorman buildings. These people return home from a long day of getting overexposed to capitalism, mugged while suit shopping, guilt-ed of tree murder and sore from looking at ads, and now have to sift through 7 Mexican menus just to order one goddamn burrito. This is the one (and only) benefit of living in a walk-up. Unless some stoner accidentally buzzes one of the delivery boys in, my apt stays menu free. Which is great because if you have to push menus to market your restaurant, your burrito probably sucks anyways.
First of all, why have I never, ever seen a good print ad on the side of a phone booth? The pictures are always faded, the writing is cut off and the ad’s general theme is vague and cheesy. Since phone booths are so archaic, advertising companies must assign “phone booth copy” to their degenerate employees. But I pass more phone booths in 5 blocks than I do Starbucks. I promise that if you give me something pretty to look at I’ll conveniently forget your gangbanging me with capitalism.
Stop dressing people in demoralizing signs that advertise “DISCOUNTED MEN’S SUITS” for stores located in abandoned buildings on the corner of 12th Ave and “you’re gonna get mugged” street. Is that sign supposed to make me want to visit your establishment? Who conducted the market research and concluded “human signage” was an effective marketing tool? I’d like to meet that genius so I can punch him in the face.
Speaking of faces, don’t shove cards in mine. I don’t care about you or the nightclub, comedy club, bar or restaurant you’re trying to promote. I have such disdain for you because so many trees died to make those stupid hand-outs which inevitably get trashed by…everyone. And definitely don’t shove anything in my face when I’m holding my phone and a coffee and have no free hands for your stupid card anyways. What am I suppose to do, hold it with my teeth?
I love creative subway ads that span over a few panels. I hate subway ads for law firms that promise large settlement awards and habla espanol. Not because the ad indirectly degrades latinos, but because the ad directly degrades the legal profession. As a member of said profession, I apologize for your eye sore.
One form of marketing I avoid are menu pile-ups. Pile-ups start at certain times of the day, say, 11:30AM and 3:30PM, when the restaurant business slows and the owners send their deliverymen on meaningless chores (instead of giving them a well-deserved break from serving the rest of Manhattan, who is becoming increasingly lazy). These boys drudgingly get on their bikes, armed with oversized menus to shove under the doors of unwilling recipients. God help residents of doorman buildings. These people return home from a long day of getting overexposed to capitalism, mugged while suit shopping, guilt-ed of tree murder and sore from looking at ads, and now have to sift through 7 Mexican menus just to order one goddamn burrito. This is the one (and only) benefit of living in a walk-up. Unless some stoner accidentally buzzes one of the delivery boys in, my apt stays menu free. Which is great because if you have to push menus to market your restaurant, your burrito probably sucks anyways.
Monday, February 23, 2009
LOST
I’d briefly like to shout out to our friend Ashley. The other day Ashley and I decided to go running on a Saturday (around noon). For the record, running is an extremely rare occurrence for me…I do it like, never. Second, there are few people I despise more than couples or friends that run together on the weekend. Usually I’m on the other of this story, staring at those people while tightly gripping a Revive Vitamin Water and trying not to vomit Petron on my bacon egg and cheese. And even on this particular Saturday I was hungover, on 4 hours of sleep and charged solely by a 5hr energy drink I found in the back of my cabinet, probably left by the previous tenant. But back to Ashley.
As we made our way downtown past Washington Square Park and into the “No” areas of Manhattan (Noho, Nolita, No one gives a shit), I hear Ashley whisper “2”. A few blocks later I hear “3”. As I begin to look for ways to ditch my increasingly crazy friend, she explains, “I’m counting how many groups of people are lost.” THERE she is. Instead of jogging along to “All my single ladies” on her iPod (see “My Purple IPizzle” below), she was actively searching for fanny packs, I (heart) NY shirts and NYC maps. And what was I doing? Listening to my lungs collapse. Her game sounded more fun. That’s what true friends are for.
People that are LOST in New York are easier to spot than crabs on Lindsay Lohan. Grouped together in the middle of Broadway, they squint and rotate their maps while trying to avoid homeless people selling batteries. I love LOST tourists. I refuse to voluntarily help them and on the flip side, they rarely stop me for my GPS services. Maybe it’s because I’m listening to my iPod (see “My Purple IPizzle” below), maybe it’s because I’m walking fast and with a purpose, or maybe it’s because I am gawking at them like they are in middle school. But seriously, just ask me where you want to go…not only will I give you directions, but I’ll recommend nearby restaurants and bars and abstain from making fun of you until you’re out of earshot.
During our 25 min run, we counted 5 groups of LOST tourists and gave directions to a total number of none.
Afterward, we went to the Union Square Greenmarket (see "Union Squiggity" below) and ran into Mark Summers while buying locally grown apples. I’m such a cliché.
As we made our way downtown past Washington Square Park and into the “No” areas of Manhattan (Noho, Nolita, No one gives a shit), I hear Ashley whisper “2”. A few blocks later I hear “3”. As I begin to look for ways to ditch my increasingly crazy friend, she explains, “I’m counting how many groups of people are lost.” THERE she is. Instead of jogging along to “All my single ladies” on her iPod (see “My Purple IPizzle” below), she was actively searching for fanny packs, I (heart) NY shirts and NYC maps. And what was I doing? Listening to my lungs collapse. Her game sounded more fun. That’s what true friends are for.
People that are LOST in New York are easier to spot than crabs on Lindsay Lohan. Grouped together in the middle of Broadway, they squint and rotate their maps while trying to avoid homeless people selling batteries. I love LOST tourists. I refuse to voluntarily help them and on the flip side, they rarely stop me for my GPS services. Maybe it’s because I’m listening to my iPod (see “My Purple IPizzle” below), maybe it’s because I’m walking fast and with a purpose, or maybe it’s because I am gawking at them like they are in middle school. But seriously, just ask me where you want to go…not only will I give you directions, but I’ll recommend nearby restaurants and bars and abstain from making fun of you until you’re out of earshot.
During our 25 min run, we counted 5 groups of LOST tourists and gave directions to a total number of none.
Afterward, we went to the Union Square Greenmarket (see "Union Squiggity" below) and ran into Mark Summers while buying locally grown apples. I’m such a cliché.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Stairhells
It all went down in a special subway stop called 53rd and Lex. That's right , the station where Satan lives. The only station where subway riders can transfer from the second worst subway line (the 4-5-6) to the absolute worst line (the E) in Manhattan. It's where Queens folk meet upper east side folk for the first time. And it happens over and over again....everyday.
When you transfer from the downtown local 6 to the E it all MUST happen through ONE hallway and ONE particular stairway. A transaction that I would consider impossible if I hadn't seen it myself. This particular stairway has one small escalator; going UP for obvious reasons; and one do-it-yourself staircase; for those walking down. In this particular dark, urine infested corridor the simple rule to follow is: those going up take the escalator moving in that direction; those traveling down take the stairs. Sounds self explanatory....
On the morning that I am remembering, a bold young lady decided it was acceptable to try and walk UP the stairwell (instead of taking the escalator) while the E masses were walking DOWN on this very staircase. "Wow", I thought, "this girl has got balls!" She was breaking every unspoken rule about movement through this corridor. Although ballsy, I figured she would still get out alive. Even I underestimated the degree to which this stairwell rule needed to be followed. Stupid said girl successfully pushed her way up approximately 3/4 of the staircase when a man triple her size began to scream bloody murder.
His voice carried, "What do you think you're doing?! Who do you think you are?! Turn around and take the escalator you stupid bitch! Did your parents raise you this way?!" He repeated this over and over again. I thought about what he was saying. Was this actually something that our parents were to teach us about?? Wash your hands after you use the bathroom; always say please and thank you; respect your elders; follow stairway rules. For this large man, it was that simple. As she resisted and refused to turn around, he began to physically push her back down the stairs. His parents also taught him that pushing young ladies was acceptable if inforcing stairway rules. These people are crazy. I was also taught to mind my own business. That's exactly what I did. I scurried to the E as 2 concerned people alerted the nearest members of the NYPD.
Don't be like these two crazies, follow some easy rules.
1) I don't care where you are from. Follow the simple escalator rule. If you're standing and riding stay right. If you're walking and riding, pass on the left. In Australia this rule applies opposite. I quickly learned how to follow the Aussie system while there. Why don't you understand???
2) Do not rush to get in front of me as I'm approaching the stairs then proceed like a grandma with hemorrhoids. Can't you see the pace that I'm operating at? I win.
3) We all know its raining. You can wait until you exit the subway stairwell to open your umbrella. Although I do enjoy the poker in my eye as you awkwardly stop and release your 6 foot walking umbrella, I would rather see you melt when the 3 drops of mist hit your precious face....you witch.
4) There are two acceptable paths up or down any staircase; the right side or the left. Not the middle. Only take the middle if you would like me to think horribly bad things about the size of your ass.
5) Why are you leaving your child in the stroller as you and some male stranger carry BOTH up the stairs? This demonstrates one thing and one thing only. You shouldn't be allowed to procreate.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
My Purple Ipizzle
So you know what I saw in the subway yesterday? You'll never believe me. A woman listening to a CD walk man. She also had fake nails and was wearing samba sneakers (the nails and kicks don't really matter here, just funny to mention). I found the walk man very intriguing.
This scratched Sony device was interesting to me for three reasons. 1) I didn't understand how she was listening to her CD while holding it sideways on a subway. I know your shit is skipping. Don't try to fool me. 2) What does she do when the CD will inevitably end during her trip? Restart and listen to it all over again? Weird. 3) She has been so overwhelmed by the use of small music playing devices on the subway that she was forced to wipe the dust off her Sony walk man from 1996 and succumb to one of the most unspoken social pressures the MTA has to offer.
That's right. I said it. All you mp3 listening, homeless person ignoring subway riders. You don't necessarily listen to tunes on your way to work because you are some music connoisseur. You listen because its scary out there without your headphones to protect you. While you're listening you can ignore the randies that are trying to talk to you; you can avoid direct eye contact with any glance that comes your way. In fact, wearing those headphones makes it much more likely that you will COMPLETELY ignore the fact that you are being herded like cattle. I do not exclude myself from this group of people. I love my purple Ipizzle. Yep, I have a pet name for my ipod. You should too. It serves a better purpose in your life than you may realize.
I actually feel bad for those who don't choose to bring their purple Ipizzles. I make up stories in my head about why they don't have their ipods. Oh, "poor guy, "the battery on his ipod definitely died this morning on his way to work". When my batter dies I look around the subway and think...."I have a dead ipod in my bag....I swear! Please don't mind me as I aimlessly watch anything and everything that goes on in this car. If awkward smelly man next to me tries to strike up a conversation I am not afraid to take out my healed shoe from my commuter bag".
That being said, there are somethings to remember while listening.
1) Mind the volume. We don't all like your music. Or, it could completely give off the wrong first impression. One time, I got on the F train going downtown and saw a seemingly 'attractive' forty-something business man with white headphones. After the conductor said "next stop Bryant Park", I focused on the song he was listening to (yes, I forgot my Ipizzle at home that day). His entire personality was explained to me in the wise words of Beyonce Knowles..... "All my single ladies.....all my single ladies.....put your hands up!" I instantly thought of that otherwise masculine man in a leotard and high heels (reference SNL skit). I quietly laughed to myself. Silly man. You need to listen to better music.
2) Do not, I repeat, do not try to share your headphones while standing in a crowded subway. You are already in my way. Now that you are trying to stand while fitting the short wire between you and your ugly short girlfriend you realize how hard it is. If she was cool she would have her own Ipizzle.
3) Use your playlists. Although it is perfectly acceptable to be browsing while stationary on the subway, it is unacceptable to browse while walking on the sidewalk. I figure out what I'm going to listen to on my walk to my building PRIOR to the sidewalk. You should do the same.
4) Don't sing aloud. This is a bad side effect of listening too loud (see #1). Seriously though, you know that you're operating at an audible volume. I don't like you and I don't like your singing voice. Go play the American Idol game on wii.
This scratched Sony device was interesting to me for three reasons. 1) I didn't understand how she was listening to her CD while holding it sideways on a subway. I know your shit is skipping. Don't try to fool me. 2) What does she do when the CD will inevitably end during her trip? Restart and listen to it all over again? Weird. 3) She has been so overwhelmed by the use of small music playing devices on the subway that she was forced to wipe the dust off her Sony walk man from 1996 and succumb to one of the most unspoken social pressures the MTA has to offer.
That's right. I said it. All you mp3 listening, homeless person ignoring subway riders. You don't necessarily listen to tunes on your way to work because you are some music connoisseur. You listen because its scary out there without your headphones to protect you. While you're listening you can ignore the randies that are trying to talk to you; you can avoid direct eye contact with any glance that comes your way. In fact, wearing those headphones makes it much more likely that you will COMPLETELY ignore the fact that you are being herded like cattle. I do not exclude myself from this group of people. I love my purple Ipizzle. Yep, I have a pet name for my ipod. You should too. It serves a better purpose in your life than you may realize.
I actually feel bad for those who don't choose to bring their purple Ipizzles. I make up stories in my head about why they don't have their ipods. Oh, "poor guy, "the battery on his ipod definitely died this morning on his way to work". When my batter dies I look around the subway and think...."I have a dead ipod in my bag....I swear! Please don't mind me as I aimlessly watch anything and everything that goes on in this car. If awkward smelly man next to me tries to strike up a conversation I am not afraid to take out my healed shoe from my commuter bag".
That being said, there are somethings to remember while listening.
1) Mind the volume. We don't all like your music. Or, it could completely give off the wrong first impression. One time, I got on the F train going downtown and saw a seemingly 'attractive' forty-something business man with white headphones. After the conductor said "next stop Bryant Park", I focused on the song he was listening to (yes, I forgot my Ipizzle at home that day). His entire personality was explained to me in the wise words of Beyonce Knowles..... "All my single ladies.....all my single ladies.....put your hands up!" I instantly thought of that otherwise masculine man in a leotard and high heels (reference SNL skit). I quietly laughed to myself. Silly man. You need to listen to better music.
2) Do not, I repeat, do not try to share your headphones while standing in a crowded subway. You are already in my way. Now that you are trying to stand while fitting the short wire between you and your ugly short girlfriend you realize how hard it is. If she was cool she would have her own Ipizzle.
3) Use your playlists. Although it is perfectly acceptable to be browsing while stationary on the subway, it is unacceptable to browse while walking on the sidewalk. I figure out what I'm going to listen to on my walk to my building PRIOR to the sidewalk. You should do the same.
4) Don't sing aloud. This is a bad side effect of listening too loud (see #1). Seriously though, you know that you're operating at an audible volume. I don't like you and I don't like your singing voice. Go play the American Idol game on wii.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Union Squiggity
Union Square is enlightening to walk through. And by enlightening I mean rip-your-hair Bill O’Reilly meets Jim Cramer pissed off and annoyed. Way too many people visit this area for shopping, touristing, eating and drinking and it makes the sidewalks overcrowded with dumb, blind and ignorant pedestrians who stand in the middle of the street, walk slowly in large groups and are impossible to maneuver around. One must just accept that it takes 10 minutes to walk 2 blocks from University to 3rd. Kidding aside (but not kidding, I really do hate walking back and forth on 14th Street), Union Square is a unique congregation of city sub-cultures that are drawn to this area for various reasons. Sure, other squares of the city are equally crowded and frustrating to walk through (Times square, Herald square, Madison Square Garden)…But no other square houses as many NYC stereotypes as the 4 corners that run from 14th to 17th, Union Square East to Union Square West. And since this is where cultures clash, oftentimes there are, well, culture clashes.
1. Of these sub-cultures, the most prominent is, of course, NYU students strolling back and forth on 14th street in a…uh…“foggy haze.” NYC co-eds wear traditional hipster garb -- the females can be spotted in Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen black leggings and the males are awkwardly skinny and wear hats with dark denim jeans. They carry camouflage colored bags with patchwork over the labels and come dangerously close to hitting pedestrians with their skateboard tricks. (Hey kid, you know you can WALK down those stairs right?) These kids are easy to spot because of the look in their eyes -- which oddly enough is not a look of youthful fear and hope -- but a sense of superiority over the other Union Square inhabitants. As if their youthful faces and access to parent’s checking account gives them street cred. God I hope one of them gets mugged.
2. Another subterranean group that dominates the square is rarely spotted anywhere else in the city: protestors. Adults that have an affinity for hemp and megaphones. They are groups of people that still believe in the power of political organization and assemble in the square despite its gentrification (evidenced by Whole Foods across the street). In fact, this group single-handedly gives Union Square its historical significance, character and charm. The park is the start and end point for many political marches and is a frequent gathering point for speeches, rallies and demonstrations. Anti-War? You got it. Increase Minimum Wage? Sure. Nurses Rights? Why not. NYC Pillow Fight Day? Ummm...ok.
3. On the weekend, the square is full of twenty and thirtysomething couples perusing the Greenmarket kiosks, hoping to save the earth by buying locally grown fruits, vegetables, cheese and bread while they simultaneous sip on Starbucks and forget to recycle their NY Post. But the true kiosk spirit is felt at Christmas, when the farmers are kicked to the curb and vendors from failing NYC retail stores take over in endless rows of red booths. These Holiday Market vendors are pushy -- acutely aware they are inferior to the classier Bryant Park kiosks uptown and retaliate by bargaining the crap out of you. You end up walking away with some random “present” you’re convinced is a good stocking stuffer. Merry Xmas honey, I hope you enjoy this bar of soap…its made from hemp.
4. Separate from the Greenmarket/Holiday Market kiosks are the more traditional street vendors, selling knock-off photos of the city and caricature pictures of Britney Spears. These people sell crap, get in my way and I just want to kick the table from under them in the name of artistic revival. However, on occasion I’ll buy from them something I need just to avoid being in a store. (I’ll take the Obama button and $5 pashmina knock-off, but going to have to pass on the 25x5 Air Jordan poster and carrot peeler.)
5. Union Square is not only for the downtrodden and haggard -- bounties of Upper East side families also venture “downtown” to shop at the Babies R Us, Whole Foods and Traders Joe’s, all conveniently located in the square (especially Trader Joe’s, its only other location is…BROOKLYN). They walk around timidly, scared of the locals and usually travel in droves, armed with spouses, friends and children. Since they are not familiar with the square’s regular inhabitants, they stay close to their companions or remain locked on their phones, failing to acknowledge the hundreds of other people trying to shop. Get off your blackberry and pay for your salmon, you’re not that important.
6. Finally, my least favorite group of union square-ians are those groups of guys that walk around, seemingly without a purpose or destination. These interracial groups are made up of 5-7 twenty-somethings who refuse to walk 2-by-2, side-by-side. They linger through slowly and with a swagger as if one arm is heavier than the other. They whistle at women and wear big puffy jackets in the dead of summer. How do they all know each other? What brings them to Union Square? Why are they not with women? Why must they take up the whole sidewalk? I will never know. But really, I just want to know where they are heading so I can avoid passing through their puffy jackets and getting whistled at. And I’d like them to pull up their jeans, it’s not 1998 anymore. Can I get a what-what?
1. Of these sub-cultures, the most prominent is, of course, NYU students strolling back and forth on 14th street in a…uh…“foggy haze.” NYC co-eds wear traditional hipster garb -- the females can be spotted in Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen black leggings and the males are awkwardly skinny and wear hats with dark denim jeans. They carry camouflage colored bags with patchwork over the labels and come dangerously close to hitting pedestrians with their skateboard tricks. (Hey kid, you know you can WALK down those stairs right?) These kids are easy to spot because of the look in their eyes -- which oddly enough is not a look of youthful fear and hope -- but a sense of superiority over the other Union Square inhabitants. As if their youthful faces and access to parent’s checking account gives them street cred. God I hope one of them gets mugged.
2. Another subterranean group that dominates the square is rarely spotted anywhere else in the city: protestors. Adults that have an affinity for hemp and megaphones. They are groups of people that still believe in the power of political organization and assemble in the square despite its gentrification (evidenced by Whole Foods across the street). In fact, this group single-handedly gives Union Square its historical significance, character and charm. The park is the start and end point for many political marches and is a frequent gathering point for speeches, rallies and demonstrations. Anti-War? You got it. Increase Minimum Wage? Sure. Nurses Rights? Why not. NYC Pillow Fight Day? Ummm...ok.
3. On the weekend, the square is full of twenty and thirtysomething couples perusing the Greenmarket kiosks, hoping to save the earth by buying locally grown fruits, vegetables, cheese and bread while they simultaneous sip on Starbucks and forget to recycle their NY Post. But the true kiosk spirit is felt at Christmas, when the farmers are kicked to the curb and vendors from failing NYC retail stores take over in endless rows of red booths. These Holiday Market vendors are pushy -- acutely aware they are inferior to the classier Bryant Park kiosks uptown and retaliate by bargaining the crap out of you. You end up walking away with some random “present” you’re convinced is a good stocking stuffer. Merry Xmas honey, I hope you enjoy this bar of soap…its made from hemp.
4. Separate from the Greenmarket/Holiday Market kiosks are the more traditional street vendors, selling knock-off photos of the city and caricature pictures of Britney Spears. These people sell crap, get in my way and I just want to kick the table from under them in the name of artistic revival. However, on occasion I’ll buy from them something I need just to avoid being in a store. (I’ll take the Obama button and $5 pashmina knock-off, but going to have to pass on the 25x5 Air Jordan poster and carrot peeler.)
5. Union Square is not only for the downtrodden and haggard -- bounties of Upper East side families also venture “downtown” to shop at the Babies R Us, Whole Foods and Traders Joe’s, all conveniently located in the square (especially Trader Joe’s, its only other location is…BROOKLYN). They walk around timidly, scared of the locals and usually travel in droves, armed with spouses, friends and children. Since they are not familiar with the square’s regular inhabitants, they stay close to their companions or remain locked on their phones, failing to acknowledge the hundreds of other people trying to shop. Get off your blackberry and pay for your salmon, you’re not that important.
6. Finally, my least favorite group of union square-ians are those groups of guys that walk around, seemingly without a purpose or destination. These interracial groups are made up of 5-7 twenty-somethings who refuse to walk 2-by-2, side-by-side. They linger through slowly and with a swagger as if one arm is heavier than the other. They whistle at women and wear big puffy jackets in the dead of summer. How do they all know each other? What brings them to Union Square? Why are they not with women? Why must they take up the whole sidewalk? I will never know. But really, I just want to know where they are heading so I can avoid passing through their puffy jackets and getting whistled at. And I’d like them to pull up their jeans, it’s not 1998 anymore. Can I get a what-what?
Friday, February 13, 2009
Rain Check
First, let me point out that I do own rainboots (a.k.a. galoshes or weather shoes, but more recently dubbed "Wellies" by the geniuses at JCrew). It took me 4+ years to purchase them and I only gave into this phenomenon after I realized I was single-handedly paying my Asian dry cleaners’ 6th Avenue rent with soaked suits. Forty dollars later I made an investment in my future -- my future which now included brightly colored striped Wellies. However, when I purchased them I sold my soul -- I fell victim to clever marketing that convinced herds of 20something females (myself included) that Barbie pink, polka dots and Matha's Vineyard turtles are perfectly acceptable as footwear. Regardless, my Wellies are fabulous. I can wear them in the rain or snow, I barely slip, my socks never get wet and they don’t kick dirt onto the back of my legs. Wearing them keeps me drier, cleaner and generally saner. Even if I do look like an idiot.
However, I am rarely armed with my Wellies. Ninety percent of the time I suffer in the rain in regular boots, sneakers or UGGs (which are decisively NOT water proof because Australia is 95% desert). This is because I generally do not notice the rain until I am about to exit my building. Now, I have windows in my apartment...as I was getting dressed, WHY do I not notice pellets of water dropping from the sky? Or that it is eerily dark as culumbus clouds form for the sole purpose of ruining my day?! Idk. Instead I find myself standing at my front door, staring into the rain and debating whether to go back up the 4 flights of stairs to my apt, unlock three sets of door locks, dust the accumulation off my Wellies and search for an overpriced umbrella I purchased at the bodega across the street, which is certain to flip inside out with the slightest gust of wind. Since I believe I’m thick-skinned, fighting Mother Nature sounds like more fun (translation: I’m lazy and 4 flights leaves me out of breath).
Sidebar: At one point I owned the all-protecting Hammacher Schlemmer wind-defying compact umbrella. For $30, this piece of equipment warrants full blown rain and wind protection -- it never flips out, breaks or decomposes in your hands after the a spring shower. However, my “expensive” commodity was inevitably lost within a week. The $8 bodega umbrella on the other hand, I've had for 3 months. Irony 1, Kelly 0.
So I march into Mother Nature's wrath; I lean forward and keep my head down against the relentless rain. As I walk through the cement jungle I realize my mortal enemy is not in fact the rain, but the array of other side-walkers who are comfortably equipped with Wellies, Hammacher and Northface. All of a sudden I become invisible to them as they thrash their umbrellas in my face, walk slowly in front of me and kick water onto my clothes. Seriously? Do you not see me trying to remain dry and calm here?
So here are a few of my rules for rainwalking:
1. If you are carrying an umbrella, don’t walk under store awnings. What purpose does that serve? Look up, there is a mini-awning over your head. I hope a big drop of rain rolls off the awning and into your bag.
2. Store awnings should be reserved for umbrella forgetters (like me). The awning provides the only solice against relentless rain and finding haven under one is highly coveted. In fact, jumping between store awning is actually a perfectly timed dance -- one that entails slowly walking past a store for a few seconds then bolting in the rain to the next awning. The run is such a panic and the awning is so dry, you feel like an addict searching for methadone. As a warning to all others: Do not get in the way of the dance. Although in reality, the dance looks more like a game of Frogger. And you know what, I'm losing.
3. What is with those clear-ish umbrellas that look like mini-domes? They seem so constricting. Just looking at them makes me claustrophobic. And why are they always carried by Asians?
4. Carrying obnoxious 18 inch corporate logo umbrella’s is a choice, not a right. My bodega umbrella protects me just as well as your JP Morgan umbrella protects you. However, since you chose a piece of equipment that could protect an army battalion, use it with caution. Always lift it up when someone is passing by (or under) you. If you’re short, hold it to the side. Never close it when other people are around -- you could take out an eye, or take off a head. And never, ever walk slowly while carrying it. There will inevitably be someone (without said protection) trying to maneuver around you but can't figure out whether to squeeze by you on the side, resulting in a wet collision, or to just hurdle over your head.
5. Speaking of obnoxious umbrellas, why are they always carried by men? Do they not realize how effeminate they look? God forbid some water gets on your Brooks Brothers tie.
6. Many streets in New York are covered by scaffolding while a building is constructed overhead. What results from this is a poorly constructed “alternate side-walk” that some civil engineer designed obviously while baked. Even on a gorgeous, sunny, spring day these fake side-walks are impossible to walk through. There is barely enough space for 2 people to walk side-by-side, they are never in a straight line, and the ground is always uneven. To make matters worse, NYTimes tells me they constantly fall (on people). So, my irrational fear of being buried beneath scaffolding does not need to be exacerbated with my rational fear that when it's raining, I will get poked in the eye under one of these things. As such, close your damn umbrella while walking through these side-walks...there just is not enough room for you and your 18 inch Hammacher. There is no need to worry about the rain while walking through these things anyway, you are already covered by the scaffolding. What, do you need double protection? You must be friends with store awning guy.
However, I am rarely armed with my Wellies. Ninety percent of the time I suffer in the rain in regular boots, sneakers or UGGs (which are decisively NOT water proof because Australia is 95% desert). This is because I generally do not notice the rain until I am about to exit my building. Now, I have windows in my apartment...as I was getting dressed, WHY do I not notice pellets of water dropping from the sky? Or that it is eerily dark as culumbus clouds form for the sole purpose of ruining my day?! Idk. Instead I find myself standing at my front door, staring into the rain and debating whether to go back up the 4 flights of stairs to my apt, unlock three sets of door locks, dust the accumulation off my Wellies and search for an overpriced umbrella I purchased at the bodega across the street, which is certain to flip inside out with the slightest gust of wind. Since I believe I’m thick-skinned, fighting Mother Nature sounds like more fun (translation: I’m lazy and 4 flights leaves me out of breath).
Sidebar: At one point I owned the all-protecting Hammacher Schlemmer wind-defying compact umbrella. For $30, this piece of equipment warrants full blown rain and wind protection -- it never flips out, breaks or decomposes in your hands after the a spring shower. However, my “expensive” commodity was inevitably lost within a week. The $8 bodega umbrella on the other hand, I've had for 3 months. Irony 1, Kelly 0.
So I march into Mother Nature's wrath; I lean forward and keep my head down against the relentless rain. As I walk through the cement jungle I realize my mortal enemy is not in fact the rain, but the array of other side-walkers who are comfortably equipped with Wellies, Hammacher and Northface. All of a sudden I become invisible to them as they thrash their umbrellas in my face, walk slowly in front of me and kick water onto my clothes. Seriously? Do you not see me trying to remain dry and calm here?
So here are a few of my rules for rainwalking:
1. If you are carrying an umbrella, don’t walk under store awnings. What purpose does that serve? Look up, there is a mini-awning over your head. I hope a big drop of rain rolls off the awning and into your bag.
2. Store awnings should be reserved for umbrella forgetters (like me). The awning provides the only solice against relentless rain and finding haven under one is highly coveted. In fact, jumping between store awning is actually a perfectly timed dance -- one that entails slowly walking past a store for a few seconds then bolting in the rain to the next awning. The run is such a panic and the awning is so dry, you feel like an addict searching for methadone. As a warning to all others: Do not get in the way of the dance. Although in reality, the dance looks more like a game of Frogger. And you know what, I'm losing.
3. What is with those clear-ish umbrellas that look like mini-domes? They seem so constricting. Just looking at them makes me claustrophobic. And why are they always carried by Asians?
4. Carrying obnoxious 18 inch corporate logo umbrella’s is a choice, not a right. My bodega umbrella protects me just as well as your JP Morgan umbrella protects you. However, since you chose a piece of equipment that could protect an army battalion, use it with caution. Always lift it up when someone is passing by (or under) you. If you’re short, hold it to the side. Never close it when other people are around -- you could take out an eye, or take off a head. And never, ever walk slowly while carrying it. There will inevitably be someone (without said protection) trying to maneuver around you but can't figure out whether to squeeze by you on the side, resulting in a wet collision, or to just hurdle over your head.
5. Speaking of obnoxious umbrellas, why are they always carried by men? Do they not realize how effeminate they look? God forbid some water gets on your Brooks Brothers tie.
6. Many streets in New York are covered by scaffolding while a building is constructed overhead. What results from this is a poorly constructed “alternate side-walk” that some civil engineer designed obviously while baked. Even on a gorgeous, sunny, spring day these fake side-walks are impossible to walk through. There is barely enough space for 2 people to walk side-by-side, they are never in a straight line, and the ground is always uneven. To make matters worse, NYTimes tells me they constantly fall (on people). So, my irrational fear of being buried beneath scaffolding does not need to be exacerbated with my rational fear that when it's raining, I will get poked in the eye under one of these things. As such, close your damn umbrella while walking through these side-walks...there just is not enough room for you and your 18 inch Hammacher. There is no need to worry about the rain while walking through these things anyway, you are already covered by the scaffolding. What, do you need double protection? You must be friends with store awning guy.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Subway Etiquette
Stating the obvious: NYC is a small island. And the most populated city in the United States. Not only with people that reside ON the island, but with people that are shipped in 5 days a week from 9-5. With people that seek out the island for food, culture, art and music. With people that are looking for their first job, a second chance, or a third marriage. People come in on subways, trains, boats, cars, bikes, and on their feet. The draw to the city is strong, which means: it's. freakin. crowded.
Although it breaks my liberal heart to say this, praise Guiliani. Not the post 9-11, I'm running for President as a fiscally conservative, social liberal, pro-war, anti-Muslim Republican. But the "Tipping Point" Guiliani that had enough balls to say ENOUGH to turnstile jumpers and simple vandalism. Thanks to his efforts (or at least the efforts of his well-staffed office), this overcrowded city is surprisingly clean, well-ordered and safe. Unfortunately, what Guiliani could not control were the dumb, blind and ignorant. Those people who are too dumb to realize what side of the subway stairs to walk on. Those people that are too blind to see that window shopping at Macy's is a street hazard. Those people that are too ignorant to realize pole hugging is not only a huge inconvenience to...well...everyone, but is also pretty damn gross. Nope, Guiliani could not control the odd, annoying habits of everyday strangers.
A majority of one's day in NYC is spend around, next to, and sometimes even on, strangers. In the subway, on the street, in line at stores...someone is always breathing down your neck. Thankfully, mel and i do not have social anxiety, we are not germ freaks who carry around large amounts of Purel and we do not wish (serious) harm on our fellow neighbor. But, we do loathe 98% of these dumb, blind and ignorant strangers that we are forced to inadvertently interact with on a daily basis and believe there are simple rules everyone should follow to make life a little bit easier.
So we will attempt to establish these rules through prose, hoping to make society a little more manageable. GREAT idea, right?! Only if you're about 2 redbull vodka's deep, otherwise it's a hopeless mission. Instead we will just vent our frustrations in an attempt to purge our minds of negative thoughts that run rampant throughout the day -- such as kicking Paris Hilton type dogs, or tripping couples that believe PDA is a sign of affection. And maybe, just maybe, teach some dumb, blind or ignorant strangers a thing or two about subway and street etiquette. God willing.
Here are some oldy-but-goody rants to kick off the blog:
You know what I hate...?
1. People that stand against subway doors. No, strike that. I'm all for the door lean, but the privilege to stand at the door should never be bestowed on those that just purged a paycheck at Century 21. If the door opens and closes more than once, move your crap to the middle of the car and hold onto a pole...you're making me late.
2. Ladies that wobble down the stairs as a train is loading while screaming 'Hold the train! Hold the train!" as if they're someone special. Who are they yelling to? The conductor?
3. Men under 50 that rush onto the subway as if there is a fire at the station and swindle a seat before pregnant women and children. Have some decency.
4. When a lot of people are waiting on the platform and the train that finally rolls up still has quite a bit of standing room. The woman that walks onto the train first (right in front of you), steps in and DOESN'T WALK ANY FURTHER. She stands at the door with her back to you holding onto the poll. YOU, and everyone else getting on, are forced to walk around HER cause she wants to stand right in the doorway. Seriously?! Just move in fat ass.
5. As you hear the train bell (indicating the doors are closing), someone runs through the turnstile, sticks his hand in the door to trigger the door release, and jumps through just in time. Though I'm not SO annoyed yet, my temperature rises as that same douchebag stands between the doors and yells "yo TONY HURRY UP! I'm holdin da DOOR for ya!" while their fat ass friend waddles down the stairs, not even through the gates yet.
6. Women who wear HIGH heels and walk in front of me on purpose. Someone, somewhere created commuter shoes for the following two reasons only: 1) to prevent blisters and promote overall foot comfort for the walking commuter; 2) so that the average lady can be agile enough to get out of my way when I'm late for work.
7. Subway passengers who choose NOT to hold a handle or poll even when there is plenty of room. They undoubtedly bobble back and forth stepping uncontrollably in every direction. There is a reason why subway engineers created so many handles. Just use them. God help them when they step on my toe.
Although it breaks my liberal heart to say this, praise Guiliani. Not the post 9-11, I'm running for President as a fiscally conservative, social liberal, pro-war, anti-Muslim Republican. But the "Tipping Point" Guiliani that had enough balls to say ENOUGH to turnstile jumpers and simple vandalism. Thanks to his efforts (or at least the efforts of his well-staffed office), this overcrowded city is surprisingly clean, well-ordered and safe. Unfortunately, what Guiliani could not control were the dumb, blind and ignorant. Those people who are too dumb to realize what side of the subway stairs to walk on. Those people that are too blind to see that window shopping at Macy's is a street hazard. Those people that are too ignorant to realize pole hugging is not only a huge inconvenience to...well...everyone, but is also pretty damn gross. Nope, Guiliani could not control the odd, annoying habits of everyday strangers.
A majority of one's day in NYC is spend around, next to, and sometimes even on, strangers. In the subway, on the street, in line at stores...someone is always breathing down your neck. Thankfully, mel and i do not have social anxiety, we are not germ freaks who carry around large amounts of Purel and we do not wish (serious) harm on our fellow neighbor. But, we do loathe 98% of these dumb, blind and ignorant strangers that we are forced to inadvertently interact with on a daily basis and believe there are simple rules everyone should follow to make life a little bit easier.
So we will attempt to establish these rules through prose, hoping to make society a little more manageable. GREAT idea, right?! Only if you're about 2 redbull vodka's deep, otherwise it's a hopeless mission. Instead we will just vent our frustrations in an attempt to purge our minds of negative thoughts that run rampant throughout the day -- such as kicking Paris Hilton type dogs, or tripping couples that believe PDA is a sign of affection. And maybe, just maybe, teach some dumb, blind or ignorant strangers a thing or two about subway and street etiquette. God willing.
Here are some oldy-but-goody rants to kick off the blog:
You know what I hate...?
1. People that stand against subway doors. No, strike that. I'm all for the door lean, but the privilege to stand at the door should never be bestowed on those that just purged a paycheck at Century 21. If the door opens and closes more than once, move your crap to the middle of the car and hold onto a pole...you're making me late.
2. Ladies that wobble down the stairs as a train is loading while screaming 'Hold the train! Hold the train!" as if they're someone special. Who are they yelling to? The conductor?
3. Men under 50 that rush onto the subway as if there is a fire at the station and swindle a seat before pregnant women and children. Have some decency.
4. When a lot of people are waiting on the platform and the train that finally rolls up still has quite a bit of standing room. The woman that walks onto the train first (right in front of you), steps in and DOESN'T WALK ANY FURTHER. She stands at the door with her back to you holding onto the poll. YOU, and everyone else getting on, are forced to walk around HER cause she wants to stand right in the doorway. Seriously?! Just move in fat ass.
5. As you hear the train bell (indicating the doors are closing), someone runs through the turnstile, sticks his hand in the door to trigger the door release, and jumps through just in time. Though I'm not SO annoyed yet, my temperature rises as that same douchebag stands between the doors and yells "yo TONY HURRY UP! I'm holdin da DOOR for ya!" while their fat ass friend waddles down the stairs, not even through the gates yet.
6. Women who wear HIGH heels and walk in front of me on purpose. Someone, somewhere created commuter shoes for the following two reasons only: 1) to prevent blisters and promote overall foot comfort for the walking commuter; 2) so that the average lady can be agile enough to get out of my way when I'm late for work.
7. Subway passengers who choose NOT to hold a handle or poll even when there is plenty of room. They undoubtedly bobble back and forth stepping uncontrollably in every direction. There is a reason why subway engineers created so many handles. Just use them. God help them when they step on my toe.
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