After my first posting about CC and my big move, the most popular question across the board was "are you going to talk about your living situation?" (actually just my in-laws asked, but that's not the point). By popular demand I give you ... "The Situation" (Warning...this "The Situation" comes without six pack abs...I once had a six pack, but it turned out that sucking in air and showing your ribs is not the same thing as stomach muscles... who knew? - for the older crowd, this is yet another MTV reference... I ooze coolness...)
Anyway, when you dive into real estate, timing is everything. Although the deteriorating New York real estate market allowed CC and I to get a great deal on our new home, jumping in at the "right time" left us stuck with a year left on our rental lease and a landlord with about as much compassion for two cute young lovers (that's us) as Brad Pitt had for Colonel Waltz in Inglorious Basterds (pop culture reference = extra hits on the blog = NICE). Needless to say, our landlord wasn't willing to let us out of the lease.
To make a long and stressful story short (brevity is not usually my thing), CC and I were able to find some guy (i.e. "sap") to sublet our apartment for the year with a minimal loss on our end.
Side Note: I could do a whole blog on being a landlord, but I will instead sum it up with these two real emails from my Tenant: Email (1) "The shower is leaking water all over the floor. Did you have this problem when you lived here?" Follow up email from my Tenant..."I had the Super come look at the shower and he told me that it's not leaking, I just have to close the shower curtain when I'm showering... It's no longer leaking"; Email (2) "When I open the window in the bedroom, the blinds bang because of the wind. What do you suggest I do?"
Now understand, I am a person who naturally finds the humor in things (he said while patting himself on the back), but you can't make this stuff up. The guy is about 6'5" and a former college football player and he is wondering why the floor gets wet when he showers without closing the curtain? I'm not even touching the blinds email. What's next... why does it get cold when I open the refrigerator? Thankfully my lease is done in August.
Getting back to "The Situation," the only way CC and I could rent our apartment was to do so on a full year lease...so we moved out of our 1-Bedroom on August 1. The problem was, with the construction/renovations we were doing on our apartment (see: future blogs to come), we didn't move into our new place until December 4. For those counting at home, that's over three months of displacement.
Faced with the terrifying prospect of moving to... wait for it... Long Island... a few of my own personal Heroes stepped up to the plate big time (namely CC's sisters, parents and Batman...ok, not really Batman, but that would have been cool). The end result was that we avoided Long Island... but I assure you, it wasn't without bumps in the road.
Let me just digress for a second... it's not that I don't like Long Island... because I do (not really), it's just that the commute back and forth for work seemed so unappealing (and I dislike Long Island - who said that?). Actually Long Island is great... who doesn't love having to jump on a major highway and sit in traffic every time you go to the grocery store?
It's also not that I wasn't looking forward to living with my in-laws for three months...actually, you know what, let's just not go there...I love them dearly and they were extremely supportive throughout the process (living with them for three months in Long Island might just have been a support overload - (un)fortunately we'll never know).
Clearly I've gone over my 50-word limit (there's a first time for everything)... so I'm going to have to break this blog up. Coming up, an adventure that took us between CC's sisters' apartments. First up. August in a Studio on 79th Street (spoiler alert: The A.C. sucked, the blinds were broken and there was... I'm shuddering at the thought of this... NO CABLE). As you'll see, I could not have gotten through it without the love and support of BOOZE.
This week's message...I don't really have one (shocker). [Forced Message Alert] I guess writing these blogs helps me realize that even for a guy who stresses about everything...life can be pretty funny. When you sit back and look at life as a whole, you can pull humor from even the most random events in life (except death and sexual assault... nothing funny about that... well, except that CC LOVES Lifetime movies about both).
So until next time... enjoy the weather - unless you're in Florida or California where it's always nice... those people can all kiss my...Goodnight Folks.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
CC The Reality Star/Property Virgins
It's been well over a year since my last blog and shockingly I'm not bringing it back due to popular demand...that would require both popularity and demand...neither of which I have. Instead, I'm blogging for CC (that's my wife, Cupcake Cutie). CC is convinced that if I talk about her enough, eventually she'll pick up a reality TV show and become L.C. famous (not Whitney famous, because she says Whitney is boring... which is hilarious because CC's idea of a fun Saturday night is a glass of wine... a brief dance party by herself... and sleep by 9:15... so I don't know who she's calling boring) - For my "adult" fans, that was a Hills reference... a popular show for the kids on MTV.
With fame and fortune for CC in mind, my blogging renews... and if you happen to know someone who runs E! or Bravo, please put in a good word.
Anyway...It took me 32 years, but I'm no longer a virgin... a Property Virgin that is (please... I stopped being a real virgin when I was 29 - kidding...I was 27). On September 2, 2009, CC and I jumped into the New York Real Estate Market. We closed on our first home, a nicely sized two bedroom, two bath on the Upper East Side (Editor's note: nicely sized on the Upper East, is the equivalent of a small closet in Idaho... yet priced similarly to a small private Jet). Our apartment was in "estate condition." Now for those of you who are not real estate savvy, "estate condition" is a signal to the buyer that the place is a disaster, yet can be had for a good price because the former owner is... how to say this delicately... dead. One problem with our apartment... the condition was estate, but the owner was... far from dead. On the contrary, she was living in Atlanta (not a real housewife though) and refusing to budge on her price. Regardless, we wore her out and purchased our first home for slightly less than NASA's original budget for the space program. Yay us.
This blog will have to be broken down into multiple entries, because what follows is a description of the best and worst times of our lives. So let's start from the beginning...
Part One: Overview
Since I told you we bought an "estate" sale, it should come as no surprise that our apartment hadn't been renovated since the 1980s and had the same kitchen as the Brady Bunch --sans Alice. It also had bathrooms that had all the charm of Gas Station bathroom, without the condom machine (only Sailors use those baby). While this left a daunting task ahead of us, I must say, if you have the patience, time and money, gut renovating an apartment is totally worth it, both from a value standpoint and from the ability to call your home... your own (if this was HGTV, there would be a green arrow pointing up).
Our story, which I will detail over the next several posts (barring another year and a half hiatus) is a chilling, yet true story. So I should start by saying thanks to everyone who made the process pain-in-the-@ssable... I mean possible. Of course I'm kidding, but as you read...remember...my sarcasm comes with love.
You know the movie "Groundhogs Day" where Bill Murray lives the same day over and over to no end? Beginning in June of last year, that was my life, except instead of Punxsutawney and a Bed and Breakfast with Andie MacDowell, we were in Garden City, Long Island at Lowes or in a tile store working with a "Design Specialist" named Kiki.
Side note: Why in the world is everyone in home improvement a "Design Specialist" and what type of schooling do you need to achieve this? I think they hand this title out along with a menu for a Chinese restaurant on an corner of 53rd and 3rd Avenue. Despite this, every where we went everyone was a self-proclaimed "specialist"...Case in point, CC and I were looking for a light fixture the other day and the "Design Specialist" recommended that we purchase the chandelier from Phantom of the Opera...really? I explained to the woman that our "dining room" was 12" by 8" and not the Majestic Theatre on Broadway ... We were looking for something a bit simpler. Anyway, she looked at me like I was nuts... "Well..." she said "Don't listen to me, I'm just a certified Design Specialist... what would I know?". A certified Design Specialist? I don't think a GED and 3 years employment at Joe's Lamp Emporium on Sunrise Highway makes you Ogden Codman (I did a google search for "Famous Interior Designers" and Codman's name came up - I never heard of him either, but you get what I'm saying).
The point is, the stories that follow are full of know-it-alls, shall I say...douche bags, and people who generally made renovations a living nightmare (not you CC, you were slightly less difficult). But somehow we made it and...SPOILER ALERT... our apartment looks amazing.
In the upcoming weeks, I hope our experience helps you learn a few things and, more importantly, makes you chuckle a few times. Laughter and love got us through it (as it did with the cast from Growing Pains..."sharing the laughter and love") and now we have a home to call our own.
So until next time... be sure to contact your local cable provider and tell them "We want CC on TV?"
With fame and fortune for CC in mind, my blogging renews... and if you happen to know someone who runs E! or Bravo, please put in a good word.
Anyway...It took me 32 years, but I'm no longer a virgin... a Property Virgin that is (please... I stopped being a real virgin when I was 29 - kidding...I was 27). On September 2, 2009, CC and I jumped into the New York Real Estate Market. We closed on our first home, a nicely sized two bedroom, two bath on the Upper East Side (Editor's note: nicely sized on the Upper East, is the equivalent of a small closet in Idaho... yet priced similarly to a small private Jet). Our apartment was in "estate condition." Now for those of you who are not real estate savvy, "estate condition" is a signal to the buyer that the place is a disaster, yet can be had for a good price because the former owner is... how to say this delicately... dead. One problem with our apartment... the condition was estate, but the owner was... far from dead. On the contrary, she was living in Atlanta (not a real housewife though) and refusing to budge on her price. Regardless, we wore her out and purchased our first home for slightly less than NASA's original budget for the space program. Yay us.
This blog will have to be broken down into multiple entries, because what follows is a description of the best and worst times of our lives. So let's start from the beginning...
Part One: Overview
Since I told you we bought an "estate" sale, it should come as no surprise that our apartment hadn't been renovated since the 1980s and had the same kitchen as the Brady Bunch --sans Alice. It also had bathrooms that had all the charm of Gas Station bathroom, without the condom machine (only Sailors use those baby). While this left a daunting task ahead of us, I must say, if you have the patience, time and money, gut renovating an apartment is totally worth it, both from a value standpoint and from the ability to call your home... your own (if this was HGTV, there would be a green arrow pointing up).
Our story, which I will detail over the next several posts (barring another year and a half hiatus) is a chilling, yet true story. So I should start by saying thanks to everyone who made the process pain-in-the-@ssable... I mean possible. Of course I'm kidding, but as you read...remember...my sarcasm comes with love.
You know the movie "Groundhogs Day" where Bill Murray lives the same day over and over to no end? Beginning in June of last year, that was my life, except instead of Punxsutawney and a Bed and Breakfast with Andie MacDowell, we were in Garden City, Long Island at Lowes or in a tile store working with a "Design Specialist" named Kiki.
Side note: Why in the world is everyone in home improvement a "Design Specialist" and what type of schooling do you need to achieve this? I think they hand this title out along with a menu for a Chinese restaurant on an corner of 53rd and 3rd Avenue. Despite this, every where we went everyone was a self-proclaimed "specialist"...Case in point, CC and I were looking for a light fixture the other day and the "Design Specialist" recommended that we purchase the chandelier from Phantom of the Opera...really? I explained to the woman that our "dining room" was 12" by 8" and not the Majestic Theatre on Broadway ... We were looking for something a bit simpler. Anyway, she looked at me like I was nuts... "Well..." she said "Don't listen to me, I'm just a certified Design Specialist... what would I know?". A certified Design Specialist? I don't think a GED and 3 years employment at Joe's Lamp Emporium on Sunrise Highway makes you Ogden Codman (I did a google search for "Famous Interior Designers" and Codman's name came up - I never heard of him either, but you get what I'm saying).
The point is, the stories that follow are full of know-it-alls, shall I say...douche bags, and people who generally made renovations a living nightmare (not you CC, you were slightly less difficult). But somehow we made it and...SPOILER ALERT... our apartment looks amazing.
In the upcoming weeks, I hope our experience helps you learn a few things and, more importantly, makes you chuckle a few times. Laughter and love got us through it (as it did with the cast from Growing Pains..."sharing the laughter and love") and now we have a home to call our own.
So until next time... be sure to contact your local cable provider and tell them "We want CC on TV?"
Monday, November 3, 2008
Ice Ice Baby...
Before Vanilla Ice told us to "Stop Collaborate and Listen"...Queen (along with David Bowie) used a remarkably similar bass line to talk about "Pressure...Pushing Down on Me" (Note: this is largely the extent of my music knowledge... a discussion of the single worst musician of all time and a 1970s rock band famous for their Arena Rock and for having Borat as their lead singer). The point is, life is full of pressure and from a guy who sweats even the smallest of details (I time my haircut to the exact day and minute to center my cut around major events, while ensuring that my hair never gets "out of control"...it's not easy to do...yet CC swears she can't tell the difference from before and after the cut...details), dealing with pressure is no simple task.
There are many cliche's about Life...Life is a bowl of cherries, life is like a box of chocolates, life is a cereal (actually, that's not a cliche, but damn if Mikey didn't like that stuff...if only he hadn't OD'd on Pop Rocks and Pepsi)... Anyway, during a particularly stressful moment at work (espn.com stopped working for 30 seconds) I got to thinking...If life is so wondrous, then why do we have so many things to stress about? Think about it, there is no point in life where anyone can honestly state that they are completely worry free (and if they do, they are lying). Even on my honeymoon, the happiest time of my life, I had performance anxiety...that's right, all of the guests in Bora Bora put on a production of "Phantom of the Opera"... it was a lot of fun, but I was nervous...Wait, what did you think I meant?
Some people, like myself, find everything stressful and thus deal in levels of stress at all times. Others merely feel stressed from time to time and deal with it. I think what separates the sane from the not so sane (i.e. me), is the ability to accept the fact that pressure is a part of our lives. Being able to differentiate what is really worth worrying about, from what...in the scheme of things... is really no big deal, is the key to a happy life (that plus money, health, family, one freaking Super Bowl for the Jets in my lifetime, etc...but I digress).
CC is great at this. Sure there are things that stress her - Saturday night outfit picking time is always an adventure...
CC: What should I wear?
Me: The black shirt is nice.
CC: I hate this shirt...why won't you help me? I hate you...you never help [long stare at 40 shirts in an overloaded closet]...I have no clothes...grrrr...
Me: ??? - [insert drink here]
but for the most part CC's able to manage her stress by realizing that everything is relative (fashion excluded). There are certain things that are simply not worth worrying about (Normally I wear protection, but then I thought, "When am I gonna make it back to Haiti?" - BAD IDEA)... and for the things that are worth worrying about she does her best to deal with it. After that... why stress? I wish I had this attitude.
Look... I'm 31 years old now. So in all likelihood I'm not going to change. Everyone has problems that make them stressed on an individual level, mine are just more important than yours... kidding. So here comes a classic "do as I say, not as I do"...which doesn't always work because if I would have listened to my Dad, I would have missed out on years with my friend John Daniels ("He may be Jack to you son, but when you've known him as long as I have...")... Whenever something stresses you, try to take it all in perspective. Market's Down? Maybe you have a kid on the way that makes it all worth while (for all my friends reading this...there are lots of you with kids on the way, so relax). Job sucks? It's just a job, that's why they call it work - thankfully we have friends and family and, of course, TV to fill the rest of the time. Not extremely good looking? Well now that would just suck...but I don't have that problem. I think if I've had a theme in these blogs, it's that life is an adventure and we're just along for the ride... sure stress makes me miserable, but it adds to the adventure and makes the good times that much better... All things in perspective.
And so, as I sit here stressing about an upcoming deposition (did I mention I was a lawyer? -half of you just changed websites)... I gotta say - Life is good (as an aside... maybe if I spent this time preparing for the deposition rather than blogging, I might not be as stressed...but let's not over think things).
Until next time...
[By the way...CC is my wife "Cupcake Cutie" - if you didn't know that, shame on you for not being a loyal reader from the first blog].
There are many cliche's about Life...Life is a bowl of cherries, life is like a box of chocolates, life is a cereal (actually, that's not a cliche, but damn if Mikey didn't like that stuff...if only he hadn't OD'd on Pop Rocks and Pepsi)... Anyway, during a particularly stressful moment at work (espn.com stopped working for 30 seconds) I got to thinking...If life is so wondrous, then why do we have so many things to stress about? Think about it, there is no point in life where anyone can honestly state that they are completely worry free (and if they do, they are lying). Even on my honeymoon, the happiest time of my life, I had performance anxiety...that's right, all of the guests in Bora Bora put on a production of "Phantom of the Opera"... it was a lot of fun, but I was nervous...Wait, what did you think I meant?
Some people, like myself, find everything stressful and thus deal in levels of stress at all times. Others merely feel stressed from time to time and deal with it. I think what separates the sane from the not so sane (i.e. me), is the ability to accept the fact that pressure is a part of our lives. Being able to differentiate what is really worth worrying about, from what...in the scheme of things... is really no big deal, is the key to a happy life (that plus money, health, family, one freaking Super Bowl for the Jets in my lifetime, etc...but I digress).
CC is great at this. Sure there are things that stress her - Saturday night outfit picking time is always an adventure...
CC: What should I wear?
Me: The black shirt is nice.
CC: I hate this shirt...why won't you help me? I hate you...you never help [long stare at 40 shirts in an overloaded closet]...I have no clothes...grrrr...
Me: ??? - [insert drink here]
but for the most part CC's able to manage her stress by realizing that everything is relative (fashion excluded). There are certain things that are simply not worth worrying about (Normally I wear protection, but then I thought, "When am I gonna make it back to Haiti?" - BAD IDEA)... and for the things that are worth worrying about she does her best to deal with it. After that... why stress? I wish I had this attitude.
Look... I'm 31 years old now. So in all likelihood I'm not going to change. Everyone has problems that make them stressed on an individual level, mine are just more important than yours... kidding. So here comes a classic "do as I say, not as I do"...which doesn't always work because if I would have listened to my Dad, I would have missed out on years with my friend John Daniels ("He may be Jack to you son, but when you've known him as long as I have...")... Whenever something stresses you, try to take it all in perspective. Market's Down? Maybe you have a kid on the way that makes it all worth while (for all my friends reading this...there are lots of you with kids on the way, so relax). Job sucks? It's just a job, that's why they call it work - thankfully we have friends and family and, of course, TV to fill the rest of the time. Not extremely good looking? Well now that would just suck...but I don't have that problem. I think if I've had a theme in these blogs, it's that life is an adventure and we're just along for the ride... sure stress makes me miserable, but it adds to the adventure and makes the good times that much better... All things in perspective.
And so, as I sit here stressing about an upcoming deposition (did I mention I was a lawyer? -half of you just changed websites)... I gotta say - Life is good (as an aside... maybe if I spent this time preparing for the deposition rather than blogging, I might not be as stressed...but let's not over think things).
Until next time...
[By the way...CC is my wife "Cupcake Cutie" - if you didn't know that, shame on you for not being a loyal reader from the first blog].
Monday, October 27, 2008
The Daily Grind(ing)
Back by popular demand... I'm just as surprised as you are. Anyway, in an effort to respond to my critics (namely C.C.), I'm going to get right into it today.
I love being a New Yorker (admittedly, I'm originally born and raised in New Jersey, but about five years ago I was born again... as a New Yorker. I'd rather not get into details, but lets just say it involved German tourists, two nuns, a police horse, Chuck Bass and a bottle of Jack Daniels...when I woke up, I was a New Yorker - or at least that's what my tattoo said). Anyway, there's a lot to love about New York (I'll save that for another post), but one thing that I worry about (aside from the crashing global economy and Carneys--Circus Folk. Nomads, you know. Small Hands... smell like cabbage) is riding New York City's fine public transportation for the rest of my life. Of course there is a certain excitement and camaraderie that comes with being a faithful rider of the Number 6 train, but I worry that over time the thrill of having my face implanted in a complete stranger's armpit for 20 minutes every day will eventually diminish... and it's at that point that I fear all hope is lost.
CC and I were riding the subway together the other morning (from time to time our schedules merge allowing our commutes to overlap - CC loves when this happens. She thinks it's a "fun little adventure." I'm rather indifferent about it...after all my "adventure" still inevitably ends up with me sitting at my office desk and if that's the definition of a "fun adventure," then what's the point). Anyway, this past week, we came across that guy... a guy who simply had too much of the armpits (that should be the MTA's slogan... "Ride the NYC Subway...It's the Pits").
If you're an out of towner, you may not realize that the morning commute is a struggle. As the car pulls up during rush hour, the car is inevitably already filled to the max, and yet there are 30 people per subway door that still have to get in. Simple physics... it doesn't work. It's like watching a fat chick try to squeeze into a pair of jeans that are three sizes too small... it's part frustrating, part depressing and part hilarious... clearly there is a problem, but the fat chick (i.e. "the City") doesn't want to admit it. My boss once told me that in China they have people whose job it is to push people into the car in order to maximize capacity...New York doesn't need that. We have people who do that for free...they are called "New Yorkers" (I don't like to stereotype, but fat women are generally the best pushers - lots of shout outs to fat women today). Anyway, the whole process of riding a wave of people into the subway is actually not that bad...lots of random touching leading me to inevitably debate whether Joe the Plumber (couldn't resist) just made a pass at me or whether the constant brushing of limbs across my buttocks and/or crotch is just the reality of having 50 sets of hands to every square foot of space (I like to think a combination of both...people just like to cop a feel of me).
Of course the subway is not without it's "charm". I think you truly are a New Yorker when you witness something that rivals McCain's selection of Sarah Palin on the "Unexpected...What was He Thinking? Chart", yet think nothing of it (New York's equivalent of Manny being Manny - you just come to expect it). Take CC for instance, about a year ago we were waiting for the 6 Train. When it arrived and the doors opened, people poured out of the car faster than the value has poured out of my young 401K (jokes like that are for my mature audience... so it probably falls on deaf ears). Now on a typical day CC will knock over a pregnant 90 year old woman with one leg in order to get a seat, but the sheer joy she got from seeing an empty car rivaled only that feeling she gets when she arrives at a Theory Sample Sale 5 hours before any sane person and is first on line (although in her defense... being first has it's benefits there - Guys may not realize, but women lose their f-ing minds at sample sales - a blog for another day - but just know these events would rival Shark Week if ever there was a documentary made). Anyway, in her sheer joy to select from many available seats... CC failed to note about 100 people's efforts to run for their lives. So there she was, me standing at the door... her smiling in her chair, pocketbook comfortably on her lap...without the slightest notice of the overwhelmingly disgusting PUKE stench that permeated the car... vomit as fresh as a steaming pile of poop in a dog park. Of course I quickly and politely pointed out her mistake. Astoundingly (can't make this stuff up), a remarkably similar event happened within months later. Doors open... people flee...CC takes one of many empty seats and smiles...this time failing to note the homeless man casually strewn across the bench looking remarkably like Jobba the Hut and smelling remarkably like a combination of the aforementioned puke and dog poop (and yes, I called the sh*t poop)...a cardboard box in the place of pants and newspaper in the place of any other clothes. Had I not again pointed out her error, she may have been riding solo (I mean riding alone...not Han) to Grand Central on the Sewage Train (Star Wars references... I'm so hip to what the kids are into these days).
The point is, expecting and accepting the unexpected is what being a New Yorker is all about. Actually, CC's experience might not qualify as being a "New Yorker," it strikes me as being oblivious. But maybe there is something to be learned in her ignorance is bliss method of commuting. Let's flash back to our friend who had simply had enough of the armpits. As I was riding the wave of people into my standard 8 a.m. 6 Train, this man deflatedly, dejectedly and defeatedly whimpered "Please push in people. For the love of God, I deal with this every day... won't you please move in....Please" It was the last pathetic cry of a sorry subway commuter who had let the ride beat him down for many years. I read in later in the afternoon that that man shot himself...(OK, not really, but he probably did shots by himself later that day).
The point is, we can not...nay... MUST NOT (a flair for the dramatic) let it get us to that stage of defeat. So, here's my advice... get a car service - kidding. Life is an adventure, enjoy the ride in whatever manner you can. The subway is an inevitable part of life in NYC... so accept it and make the best of it. For me that means splitting my time between reading the morning Metro and debating how many of the 100 people on my train enjoy rubbing/touching my Junk [a recent poll revealed that approximately 67% of commuters enjoy it]. For CC it means a daily dose of fighting the elderly, pregnant and infirm for their seats and generally being oblivious to all other riders and happenstance... But you know what? It works for us... and it has to... because "For the Love of God," we have to deal with it every day.
Until next time...which hopefully will be quicker (that's what she said...).
I love being a New Yorker (admittedly, I'm originally born and raised in New Jersey, but about five years ago I was born again... as a New Yorker. I'd rather not get into details, but lets just say it involved German tourists, two nuns, a police horse, Chuck Bass and a bottle of Jack Daniels...when I woke up, I was a New Yorker - or at least that's what my tattoo said). Anyway, there's a lot to love about New York (I'll save that for another post), but one thing that I worry about (aside from the crashing global economy and Carneys--Circus Folk. Nomads, you know. Small Hands... smell like cabbage) is riding New York City's fine public transportation for the rest of my life. Of course there is a certain excitement and camaraderie that comes with being a faithful rider of the Number 6 train, but I worry that over time the thrill of having my face implanted in a complete stranger's armpit for 20 minutes every day will eventually diminish... and it's at that point that I fear all hope is lost.
CC and I were riding the subway together the other morning (from time to time our schedules merge allowing our commutes to overlap - CC loves when this happens. She thinks it's a "fun little adventure." I'm rather indifferent about it...after all my "adventure" still inevitably ends up with me sitting at my office desk and if that's the definition of a "fun adventure," then what's the point). Anyway, this past week, we came across that guy... a guy who simply had too much of the armpits (that should be the MTA's slogan... "Ride the NYC Subway...It's the Pits").
If you're an out of towner, you may not realize that the morning commute is a struggle. As the car pulls up during rush hour, the car is inevitably already filled to the max, and yet there are 30 people per subway door that still have to get in. Simple physics... it doesn't work. It's like watching a fat chick try to squeeze into a pair of jeans that are three sizes too small... it's part frustrating, part depressing and part hilarious... clearly there is a problem, but the fat chick (i.e. "the City") doesn't want to admit it. My boss once told me that in China they have people whose job it is to push people into the car in order to maximize capacity...New York doesn't need that. We have people who do that for free...they are called "New Yorkers" (I don't like to stereotype, but fat women are generally the best pushers - lots of shout outs to fat women today). Anyway, the whole process of riding a wave of people into the subway is actually not that bad...lots of random touching leading me to inevitably debate whether Joe the Plumber (couldn't resist) just made a pass at me or whether the constant brushing of limbs across my buttocks and/or crotch is just the reality of having 50 sets of hands to every square foot of space (I like to think a combination of both...people just like to cop a feel of me).
Of course the subway is not without it's "charm". I think you truly are a New Yorker when you witness something that rivals McCain's selection of Sarah Palin on the "Unexpected...What was He Thinking? Chart", yet think nothing of it (New York's equivalent of Manny being Manny - you just come to expect it). Take CC for instance, about a year ago we were waiting for the 6 Train. When it arrived and the doors opened, people poured out of the car faster than the value has poured out of my young 401K (jokes like that are for my mature audience... so it probably falls on deaf ears). Now on a typical day CC will knock over a pregnant 90 year old woman with one leg in order to get a seat, but the sheer joy she got from seeing an empty car rivaled only that feeling she gets when she arrives at a Theory Sample Sale 5 hours before any sane person and is first on line (although in her defense... being first has it's benefits there - Guys may not realize, but women lose their f-ing minds at sample sales - a blog for another day - but just know these events would rival Shark Week if ever there was a documentary made). Anyway, in her sheer joy to select from many available seats... CC failed to note about 100 people's efforts to run for their lives. So there she was, me standing at the door... her smiling in her chair, pocketbook comfortably on her lap...without the slightest notice of the overwhelmingly disgusting PUKE stench that permeated the car... vomit as fresh as a steaming pile of poop in a dog park. Of course I quickly and politely pointed out her mistake. Astoundingly (can't make this stuff up), a remarkably similar event happened within months later. Doors open... people flee...CC takes one of many empty seats and smiles...this time failing to note the homeless man casually strewn across the bench looking remarkably like Jobba the Hut and smelling remarkably like a combination of the aforementioned puke and dog poop (and yes, I called the sh*t poop)...a cardboard box in the place of pants and newspaper in the place of any other clothes. Had I not again pointed out her error, she may have been riding solo (I mean riding alone...not Han) to Grand Central on the Sewage Train (Star Wars references... I'm so hip to what the kids are into these days).
The point is, expecting and accepting the unexpected is what being a New Yorker is all about. Actually, CC's experience might not qualify as being a "New Yorker," it strikes me as being oblivious. But maybe there is something to be learned in her ignorance is bliss method of commuting. Let's flash back to our friend who had simply had enough of the armpits. As I was riding the wave of people into my standard 8 a.m. 6 Train, this man deflatedly, dejectedly and defeatedly whimpered "Please push in people. For the love of God, I deal with this every day... won't you please move in....Please" It was the last pathetic cry of a sorry subway commuter who had let the ride beat him down for many years. I read in later in the afternoon that that man shot himself...(OK, not really, but he probably did shots by himself later that day).
The point is, we can not...nay... MUST NOT (a flair for the dramatic) let it get us to that stage of defeat. So, here's my advice... get a car service - kidding. Life is an adventure, enjoy the ride in whatever manner you can. The subway is an inevitable part of life in NYC... so accept it and make the best of it. For me that means splitting my time between reading the morning Metro and debating how many of the 100 people on my train enjoy rubbing/touching my Junk [a recent poll revealed that approximately 67% of commuters enjoy it]. For CC it means a daily dose of fighting the elderly, pregnant and infirm for their seats and generally being oblivious to all other riders and happenstance... But you know what? It works for us... and it has to... because "For the Love of God," we have to deal with it every day.
Until next time...which hopefully will be quicker (that's what she said...).
Friday, September 26, 2008
Cocktail Hours... Hold the Cocktails
Well it's been over three weeks since my last post, and during that time I did some serious soul searching...turns out I have one. So...good for me.
Actually though, after my first few entries, I was beginning to feel pressure - no surprise to those who know me - to keep up the high pace and high quality of my entries (the latter being less difficult because most would argue that the quality was never that high to begin with), but regardless, I decided to reinvent Interblogatory slightly (I think that's probably a contradiction... there's no such thing as a minor overhaul...that's kind of like a giant midget... but I digress - no need to worry, I'll still try to digress at least once a blog).
After my brief break, I realized a few things. First, I actually have fans or, er... readers at least (over 500 reads and counting - that's right...I'm watching you all). So thank you to those who read and especially to those who pass it on (not to be confused with readers who have passed on while reading... my apologies to their families). The point is, people I don't even know have asked my friends why I haven't posted lately and those I do know have demanded a new posting (that is a wild exaggeration)... so I'm back (though, in many ways, I never left. I've always offered the same high-quality meals at competitive prices).
Second, the only complaint I've really gotten (aside from the usual "you've wasted 10 minutes of my life...loser") is that my posts are too long (by the way, it hurts when you call me a "loser" Mom and Dad - kidding - my Grandparents said it). Anyway, I get the message... you like me a lot...but in short doses. That's not unlike experiencing me in person - short doses... so I'm cool with that.
Anyway, on to the topic of today's blog: Socializing in the Competitive World of Cocktail Hours While Maximizing your Caloric Intake. As the thought of this blog came to me, I realized that this is a highly under-studied topic. Technically speaking, Websters dictionary defines "Cocktail Hour" as "honestly... who still uses Websters?" But seriously, Cocktail Hours rank up there with whiskers on kittens on my list of a few of my favorite things (Clay Aiken...who knew?). Tackling a cocktail hour in the most food/drink efficient manner is a topic that should not be taken lightly. So here are a few tips for maximizing your experience.
First and foremost, Cocktail Hours are NOT for socializing (unless it's your own wedding and then you have no choice and you miss all the great food that you personally picked out and selected BECAUSE it's your favorite food and... I probably should change the subject). Anyway, CC and I are Cocktailing professionals.
Of course the biggest problem is holding your drink in one hand while also getting more food and feeding yourself at the same time. Damn you genetics and the two arms you've cursed me with. Not even David Blaine upside down could pull that off. I've heard rumors of cocktail plates that have a cup holder attached on the side, leaving the cocktailer with one free hand at all times...But I just don't buy it. If such a thing exists (and much like Big Foot, I remain skeptical), why wouldn't every catering hall stock up on these? This is like Seinfeld and Chinese people... "They're hanging in there with the chopsticks, aren't they? You know they've seen the fork." Same thing here... if a magical plate existed that allowed you to hold a plate and drink in one hand, while leaving the other hand to shovel food down your throat, don't you think everyone would buy into this? I mean this would rival "It" on the invention scale...(what is "It" you ask? surely you all own a Segway Scooter which revolutionized transportation in 2001). Anyway, plate and glass together like peanut butter and chocolate? I say it doesn't exist.
So absent this mythical plate, what is one to do? The answer? Lose the drink... Trust me. Look, this goes hand and hand with the socializing argument. You have four hours to both talk to people and drink... for the love of God, don't waste your one hour of bliss on something you can get the rest of the night anyway. I have all night to tell everyone that I love my new job and my bosses are great (you never know who might end up reading this). Food is the word... is the word... is the word (this a very musical oriented blog).
On to the food... All things in moderation please... I know this is hard when it is your favorite foods in miniaturized goodness. DO go for your favorite foods and DO not be ashamed of it (no room for modesty people...remember - only one hour)... but please, use moderation.
CC and I attended a wedding recently that had an hors devours TABLE that was downright ingenious. I've since called it the Fried Station. If memory serves me (thanks to alcohol, it rarely does), this table consisted of a variation of pigs in the blanket, slider, fries, more fries...I think they might have even had fried drinks... you get the point. I mean if it's not good fried... you shouldn't be eating it. Anyway, the excitement and glee CC and her friends experienced in manhandling this table, can only be rivaled by the episode of the Smurfs when Gargamel finally finds the Smurf village and ransacks it and eats half the population (if that never happened, it should have - to think I once had a whole smurfing village of Smurf crap). Anyway, you've all seen the fat kid in the original Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (not the one staring Michael Jackson), there is plenty of food... just don't be greedy. Otherwise you could (hypothetically) end up sick to your stomach two hours later with your head over the toilet in a secret bathroom asking your future husband to help you puke and rally (again hypothetically). So enjoy... but enjoy smartly. You CAN have too much of a good thing.
Look, I can go on for days on this topic (I haven't even touched the merits of holding a table versus eating on the fly or how Vodka and Caviar Stations makes me feel like a VanDerWoodson - XOXO), but that would defeat my goal of shorter blogs (already defeated). So I leave you with this bit of advice... cocktail hours are no social event... take them seriously... if not, you'll end up a mini-weenie without a blanket.
Until next time...
Actually though, after my first few entries, I was beginning to feel pressure - no surprise to those who know me - to keep up the high pace and high quality of my entries (the latter being less difficult because most would argue that the quality was never that high to begin with), but regardless, I decided to reinvent Interblogatory slightly (I think that's probably a contradiction... there's no such thing as a minor overhaul...that's kind of like a giant midget... but I digress - no need to worry, I'll still try to digress at least once a blog).
After my brief break, I realized a few things. First, I actually have fans or, er... readers at least (over 500 reads and counting - that's right...I'm watching you all). So thank you to those who read and especially to those who pass it on (not to be confused with readers who have passed on while reading... my apologies to their families). The point is, people I don't even know have asked my friends why I haven't posted lately and those I do know have demanded a new posting (that is a wild exaggeration)... so I'm back (though, in many ways, I never left. I've always offered the same high-quality meals at competitive prices).
Second, the only complaint I've really gotten (aside from the usual "you've wasted 10 minutes of my life...loser") is that my posts are too long (by the way, it hurts when you call me a "loser" Mom and Dad - kidding - my Grandparents said it). Anyway, I get the message... you like me a lot...but in short doses. That's not unlike experiencing me in person - short doses... so I'm cool with that.
Anyway, on to the topic of today's blog: Socializing in the Competitive World of Cocktail Hours While Maximizing your Caloric Intake. As the thought of this blog came to me, I realized that this is a highly under-studied topic. Technically speaking, Websters dictionary defines "Cocktail Hour" as "honestly... who still uses Websters?" But seriously, Cocktail Hours rank up there with whiskers on kittens on my list of a few of my favorite things (Clay Aiken...who knew?). Tackling a cocktail hour in the most food/drink efficient manner is a topic that should not be taken lightly. So here are a few tips for maximizing your experience.
First and foremost, Cocktail Hours are NOT for socializing (unless it's your own wedding and then you have no choice and you miss all the great food that you personally picked out and selected BECAUSE it's your favorite food and... I probably should change the subject). Anyway, CC and I are Cocktailing professionals.
Of course the biggest problem is holding your drink in one hand while also getting more food and feeding yourself at the same time. Damn you genetics and the two arms you've cursed me with. Not even David Blaine upside down could pull that off. I've heard rumors of cocktail plates that have a cup holder attached on the side, leaving the cocktailer with one free hand at all times...But I just don't buy it. If such a thing exists (and much like Big Foot, I remain skeptical), why wouldn't every catering hall stock up on these? This is like Seinfeld and Chinese people... "They're hanging in there with the chopsticks, aren't they? You know they've seen the fork." Same thing here... if a magical plate existed that allowed you to hold a plate and drink in one hand, while leaving the other hand to shovel food down your throat, don't you think everyone would buy into this? I mean this would rival "It" on the invention scale...(what is "It" you ask? surely you all own a Segway Scooter which revolutionized transportation in 2001). Anyway, plate and glass together like peanut butter and chocolate? I say it doesn't exist.
So absent this mythical plate, what is one to do? The answer? Lose the drink... Trust me. Look, this goes hand and hand with the socializing argument. You have four hours to both talk to people and drink... for the love of God, don't waste your one hour of bliss on something you can get the rest of the night anyway. I have all night to tell everyone that I love my new job and my bosses are great (you never know who might end up reading this). Food is the word... is the word... is the word (this a very musical oriented blog).
On to the food... All things in moderation please... I know this is hard when it is your favorite foods in miniaturized goodness. DO go for your favorite foods and DO not be ashamed of it (no room for modesty people...remember - only one hour)... but please, use moderation.
CC and I attended a wedding recently that had an hors devours TABLE that was downright ingenious. I've since called it the Fried Station. If memory serves me (thanks to alcohol, it rarely does), this table consisted of a variation of pigs in the blanket, slider, fries, more fries...I think they might have even had fried drinks... you get the point. I mean if it's not good fried... you shouldn't be eating it. Anyway, the excitement and glee CC and her friends experienced in manhandling this table, can only be rivaled by the episode of the Smurfs when Gargamel finally finds the Smurf village and ransacks it and eats half the population (if that never happened, it should have - to think I once had a whole smurfing village of Smurf crap). Anyway, you've all seen the fat kid in the original Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (not the one staring Michael Jackson), there is plenty of food... just don't be greedy. Otherwise you could (hypothetically) end up sick to your stomach two hours later with your head over the toilet in a secret bathroom asking your future husband to help you puke and rally (again hypothetically). So enjoy... but enjoy smartly. You CAN have too much of a good thing.
Look, I can go on for days on this topic (I haven't even touched the merits of holding a table versus eating on the fly or how Vodka and Caviar Stations makes me feel like a VanDerWoodson - XOXO), but that would defeat my goal of shorter blogs (already defeated). So I leave you with this bit of advice... cocktail hours are no social event... take them seriously... if not, you'll end up a mini-weenie without a blanket.
Until next time...
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Welcome Back Mr. Kotter
Happy Labor Day everyone... and may I just say thank you to all those pregnant women out there, without whom Labor Day would not be possible (I work in volume people... they can't all be winners).
I was going to dedicate this blog to the American worker and a discussion of the merits of a four day work week... but I'm going to put that off for now. With the historic Democratic National Convention recently wrapping up and the Republican Convention getting underway (I'm actually excited for the Republican Convention... if you begin watching before 6 p.m., you get free soup or salad and dessert with every speech), I think this blog needs to focus on more important issues...and what could be more important than this?...Television is BACK.
Those of you that know me, know that last year was a difficult year for me. To paraphrase my good friend Don McLean of American Pie fame (I actually don't know him, but I feel like we would be friends)...
"I can't remember if I cried (I did),
When I couldn't find out which "Heroes" died (they went with an alternate ending);
But something left me void in side,
The day... my TV died..."
(yeah, yeah, I've always been a poet... "Roses are Red..." runs in the family).
On November 5, 2007, Americans were faced with what was previously deemed unimaginable...TVs across America went dark... Meredith Grey was left without a decision about her commitment to McDreamy, Dr. House's sarcasm went silent, and we were left without our weekly "Very special ER...where we say goodbye to a life long friend..." (do you realize how many ER actors survived that season merely because the writers weren't able to kill them off "on a very special ER"?). On that cold day in November (I'm sure it was sunny and beautiful in Los Angeles), the Writers Guild of America went on strike... thus changing the landscape of American culture forever (Note: the overall impact of the strike has been exaggerated for the purposes of increased blog interest).
Now, let me start by noting a few things here... First, kudos to me for researching the day when the strike began...Winkepedia is a valuable tool (the strike ended on February 12, 2008). Second, yes, I realize that on November 5, 2007, TVs didn't actually go dark. In fact, most shows which had been previously filmed continued for months until the effects of the strike were felt -Heroes even had a contingency plan/alternate ending prepared (not even the best writers could have dreamed up 31 year old actor who plays Peter landing the underage Cheerleader - that, my friends, only happens in real life). Third, does anyone still watch ER? For me, as soon as the guy from the "Facts of Life" left, and they killed off Goose ("I feel the need, the need for speed"), my heart just wasn't in it anymore. Despite this, ER felt it necessary to proceed for another 10 years hooking us in with such star attractions including the Soul Glo King (Eric LaSalle), Corky's sister (Kellie Martin - CC enjoys her on Lifetime movies as well) and most recently Uncle Jesse (John Romjin - I know his real name) [I gave you those, but if you couldn't pick up the references without the real name in parenthesis... maybe we shouldn't be blogging together]. ER hasn't just jumped the Shark, it started a family of four with the Shark and recently celebrated its youngest Shark child's Bar Mitzvah (in other words... I'm glad this is ER's last season). Nonetheless, those that still watch ER (rivaling in numbers to my blog readers), maintain that the show remains quality programing...but I digress (which I try to do about once a blog).
Anyway, the point is, Americans were left with a full year of TV that resembled TV's typical summer-line up (i.e. repeats, crap, and repeats of crap, with the occasional crackpot reality show - i.e. "America Dog Idol" interspersed...although those bitches rocked - that's not cursing -it's the appropriate term for a female dog). Left without the genius of TV writers, people were left with few choices... (1) Read - for pleasure; (2) Explore the outdoors; or (3) Talk to each other. Of course none of these options was satisfactory (if my parents had to talk to each other rather than watch TV, they wouldn't have lasted a week, let alone 35 years). The point is, faced with the harsh reality of increased "quality time," America branched out and collectively embraced TV beyond the big four channels,delving outside the typical comfort zone (yes...Fox is a relevant network. In fact, last night Rupert Murdoch began a corporate takeover of my blog). Let me just be clear... when I use words like "America" and "collectively," I typically mean "me" and/or "CC and I" and just draw the conclusion that all people feel the same way.
For your typical TV viewer, Two and Half Men no longer was the name of a sitcom staring Charlie Sheen, but instead described a list of just a few of the final contestants on Project Runway (also amongst the finalist are Leather Lady and a few other people I can't even begin to describe). The only "Heroes" fighting against evil and defending the world, were our favorite Iron Chefs battling culinary chaos (with the occasional Throwdowns against friendly foes). And finally, Grey's inability to choose McDreamy (as my Mom would say... "sh*t or get off the pot already Grey"), paled in comparison to whether Jane and Sam's decision to add crown molding made their "House Worth How Much?" (Note: this show can also be considered an expose, in that it exposes me to the fact that one month's rent in NYC can buy me a 10 bedroom home, with three cows and a chicken coup in Idaho...with crown molding, no less).
While we can debate whether these channels have metrosexualized men across America a little too much (not that there's anything wrong with it), the fact remains that a bitter battle between the powers that be in the entertainment world, caused this Blogger to think outside the box (no, that is not another joke about sexuality) and I am better off for it.
And so we come to my advice for the day. If you haven't realized it by now, we are living in the Golden Age of television. (True, Americans are getting rapidly more obese by planting themselves in front of their televisions and computers, but this is really a catch-22. After all, TV may add to obesity, but obesity adds to TV. Can any of you deny that you have watched at least one show involving obese people and their struggle to become the biggest loser or some variation therefrom - CC is particularly pleased when she finds shows about people who need a forklift to be removed from their bed or who liposuction out a bathtub full of fat). And so, here are a few television viewing recommendations for you.
1) Leave no stone unturned or channel unwatched (particularly in HD). Don't be afraid to give shows a chance. In a country that begs for tolerance and acceptance, shouldn't we embrace these ambitious ideals in the television we watch? Case in point, I have a friend who is one of the most politically correct, tolerant people I know (don't ask... I'm just as surprised that we're friends as you are). Anyway, he's one of those people that makes me strive to avoid stereotyping any group (which I try to do unless a joke is involved...I'm only human), yet at the first mention by CC of "The Hills" or any type of MTV reality show, he becomes a ravenous Televisionist (think racist only in terms of TV shows).
Not everyone has similar tastes, but you never know what you might like and you certainly can't judge a show by it's title (I mean if I did that, I wouldn't know what a wonderful human being Kim Kardashian is - I kid, I kid).
2) You can never have too much of a good thing. In other words, if you like the Food Network, like this blogger does, don't treat it like it's just a filler channel when the big boy networks have repeats on. I'm not embarrassed to say, I'd rather meet Bobby Flay than most actors on TV... so why do I have to only watch his show when nothing else is on? Answer: I don't... and I'm better off for it.
3) NEVER EVER EVER watch Lifetime movies. When it comes to Lifetime and any of its derivative networks, all of the above rules DO NOT apply. That channel just plain sucks. Ok that's not fair, CC loves Lifetime and embraces the above advice. Thus, my DVR consistently saves movies involving pregnant teenage alcoholics who turn to prostitution after killing their boyfriend and developing an eating disorder. Far be it from me to criticize (perhaps she should remember that the next time someone she knows watches Justice League).
4) Finally, don't forget the ones you love. Look, we are offered the greatest variety of television programming in history, but I am certainly not suggesting that you forsake the shows that got you this far. The fact of the matter is, there are professional writers (not unlike myself... only who get paid and have a genuine audience), who know what they are doing. Please don't turn your back on them just yet. They were there for you through the bad times and the good (Donna Martin did, in fact, graduate).
With that said. Welcome back 90210; Thank you for the Gossip...Girl; Missed you Dr. House... you salty old chap (he's British); I can't wait to find out how you met their Mother Ted?;
As scripted TV finally makes its reappearance, I look forward to each and every show as undboutedly, "old friends are reunited and new friends are made" and yes, even I will tune in for that one final "Very special ER."
Until next time...
I was going to dedicate this blog to the American worker and a discussion of the merits of a four day work week... but I'm going to put that off for now. With the historic Democratic National Convention recently wrapping up and the Republican Convention getting underway (I'm actually excited for the Republican Convention... if you begin watching before 6 p.m., you get free soup or salad and dessert with every speech), I think this blog needs to focus on more important issues...and what could be more important than this?...Television is BACK.
Those of you that know me, know that last year was a difficult year for me. To paraphrase my good friend Don McLean of American Pie fame (I actually don't know him, but I feel like we would be friends)...
"I can't remember if I cried (I did),
When I couldn't find out which "Heroes" died (they went with an alternate ending);
But something left me void in side,
The day... my TV died..."
(yeah, yeah, I've always been a poet... "Roses are Red..." runs in the family).
On November 5, 2007, Americans were faced with what was previously deemed unimaginable...TVs across America went dark... Meredith Grey was left without a decision about her commitment to McDreamy, Dr. House's sarcasm went silent, and we were left without our weekly "Very special ER...where we say goodbye to a life long friend..." (do you realize how many ER actors survived that season merely because the writers weren't able to kill them off "on a very special ER"?). On that cold day in November (I'm sure it was sunny and beautiful in Los Angeles), the Writers Guild of America went on strike... thus changing the landscape of American culture forever (Note: the overall impact of the strike has been exaggerated for the purposes of increased blog interest).
Now, let me start by noting a few things here... First, kudos to me for researching the day when the strike began...Winkepedia is a valuable tool (the strike ended on February 12, 2008). Second, yes, I realize that on November 5, 2007, TVs didn't actually go dark. In fact, most shows which had been previously filmed continued for months until the effects of the strike were felt -Heroes even had a contingency plan/alternate ending prepared (not even the best writers could have dreamed up 31 year old actor who plays Peter landing the underage Cheerleader - that, my friends, only happens in real life). Third, does anyone still watch ER? For me, as soon as the guy from the "Facts of Life" left, and they killed off Goose ("I feel the need, the need for speed"), my heart just wasn't in it anymore. Despite this, ER felt it necessary to proceed for another 10 years hooking us in with such star attractions including the Soul Glo King (Eric LaSalle), Corky's sister (Kellie Martin - CC enjoys her on Lifetime movies as well) and most recently Uncle Jesse (John Romjin - I know his real name) [I gave you those, but if you couldn't pick up the references without the real name in parenthesis... maybe we shouldn't be blogging together]. ER hasn't just jumped the Shark, it started a family of four with the Shark and recently celebrated its youngest Shark child's Bar Mitzvah (in other words... I'm glad this is ER's last season). Nonetheless, those that still watch ER (rivaling in numbers to my blog readers), maintain that the show remains quality programing...but I digress (which I try to do about once a blog).
Anyway, the point is, Americans were left with a full year of TV that resembled TV's typical summer-line up (i.e. repeats, crap, and repeats of crap, with the occasional crackpot reality show - i.e. "America Dog Idol" interspersed...although those bitches rocked - that's not cursing -it's the appropriate term for a female dog). Left without the genius of TV writers, people were left with few choices... (1) Read - for pleasure; (2) Explore the outdoors; or (3) Talk to each other. Of course none of these options was satisfactory (if my parents had to talk to each other rather than watch TV, they wouldn't have lasted a week, let alone 35 years). The point is, faced with the harsh reality of increased "quality time," America branched out and collectively embraced TV beyond the big four channels,delving outside the typical comfort zone (yes...Fox is a relevant network. In fact, last night Rupert Murdoch began a corporate takeover of my blog). Let me just be clear... when I use words like "America" and "collectively," I typically mean "me" and/or "CC and I" and just draw the conclusion that all people feel the same way.
For your typical TV viewer, Two and Half Men no longer was the name of a sitcom staring Charlie Sheen, but instead described a list of just a few of the final contestants on Project Runway (also amongst the finalist are Leather Lady and a few other people I can't even begin to describe). The only "Heroes" fighting against evil and defending the world, were our favorite Iron Chefs battling culinary chaos (with the occasional Throwdowns against friendly foes). And finally, Grey's inability to choose McDreamy (as my Mom would say... "sh*t or get off the pot already Grey"), paled in comparison to whether Jane and Sam's decision to add crown molding made their "House Worth How Much?" (Note: this show can also be considered an expose, in that it exposes me to the fact that one month's rent in NYC can buy me a 10 bedroom home, with three cows and a chicken coup in Idaho...with crown molding, no less).
While we can debate whether these channels have metrosexualized men across America a little too much (not that there's anything wrong with it), the fact remains that a bitter battle between the powers that be in the entertainment world, caused this Blogger to think outside the box (no, that is not another joke about sexuality) and I am better off for it.
And so we come to my advice for the day. If you haven't realized it by now, we are living in the Golden Age of television. (True, Americans are getting rapidly more obese by planting themselves in front of their televisions and computers, but this is really a catch-22. After all, TV may add to obesity, but obesity adds to TV. Can any of you deny that you have watched at least one show involving obese people and their struggle to become the biggest loser or some variation therefrom - CC is particularly pleased when she finds shows about people who need a forklift to be removed from their bed or who liposuction out a bathtub full of fat). And so, here are a few television viewing recommendations for you.
1) Leave no stone unturned or channel unwatched (particularly in HD). Don't be afraid to give shows a chance. In a country that begs for tolerance and acceptance, shouldn't we embrace these ambitious ideals in the television we watch? Case in point, I have a friend who is one of the most politically correct, tolerant people I know (don't ask... I'm just as surprised that we're friends as you are). Anyway, he's one of those people that makes me strive to avoid stereotyping any group (which I try to do unless a joke is involved...I'm only human), yet at the first mention by CC of "The Hills" or any type of MTV reality show, he becomes a ravenous Televisionist (think racist only in terms of TV shows).
Not everyone has similar tastes, but you never know what you might like and you certainly can't judge a show by it's title (I mean if I did that, I wouldn't know what a wonderful human being Kim Kardashian is - I kid, I kid).
2) You can never have too much of a good thing. In other words, if you like the Food Network, like this blogger does, don't treat it like it's just a filler channel when the big boy networks have repeats on. I'm not embarrassed to say, I'd rather meet Bobby Flay than most actors on TV... so why do I have to only watch his show when nothing else is on? Answer: I don't... and I'm better off for it.
3) NEVER EVER EVER watch Lifetime movies. When it comes to Lifetime and any of its derivative networks, all of the above rules DO NOT apply. That channel just plain sucks. Ok that's not fair, CC loves Lifetime and embraces the above advice. Thus, my DVR consistently saves movies involving pregnant teenage alcoholics who turn to prostitution after killing their boyfriend and developing an eating disorder. Far be it from me to criticize (perhaps she should remember that the next time someone she knows watches Justice League).
4) Finally, don't forget the ones you love. Look, we are offered the greatest variety of television programming in history, but I am certainly not suggesting that you forsake the shows that got you this far. The fact of the matter is, there are professional writers (not unlike myself... only who get paid and have a genuine audience), who know what they are doing. Please don't turn your back on them just yet. They were there for you through the bad times and the good (Donna Martin did, in fact, graduate).
With that said. Welcome back 90210; Thank you for the Gossip...Girl; Missed you Dr. House... you salty old chap (he's British); I can't wait to find out how you met their Mother Ted?;
As scripted TV finally makes its reappearance, I look forward to each and every show as undboutedly, "old friends are reunited and new friends are made" and yes, even I will tune in for that one final "Very special ER."
Until next time...
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Healthy Living
My wife ("CC") insists that I write something related to the television programs we watch. And, while I believe a discussion of Masterpiece Theatre would be beneficial... we don't watch it, so I can't blog it. Seeing as how she influenced the first entry, this one is all me. So let's get Sirius (note: when I start accepting advertising money for my blog, uses of words like Sirius in place of "serious" will be worth millions...so expect to see lots of them). AnY-outube (see?...cha-ching), today's blog is about going to the gym. For those not in the know, a gym is a place where serious exercise buffs go to release stress, tone their bodies and stay healthy (in Murray Hill, this definition varies slightly to include the phrases "meat market," "ogle at women" and "generally socialize"...in fact, the word exercise is rarely included in this definition).
For me personally, the gym was and remains an uphill battle. Hurdle number one in my goal towards a long healthy life, is dragging my @ss out of bed...generally speaking, going to the gym requires me to wake up early. Most of you don't get the pleasure of seeing me first thing in the morning (some have had the pleasure...you know who you are...how yooouuu doooin?), but it's not the most pleasant sight and I'm not the most pleasant person.
For my wife, waking up seems to be no problem. In fact, on most weekends, she gets more done before I wake up than I accomplish in an entire week (Note: That's not really a fair comparison...most of the week I usually just space out...space out? Yeah I just kinda stare at my desk, but it looks like I’m working… I’d say in a given week I do about 15 minutes of actual work [for my bosses, that's a movie quote, not reality]). So anyway, while I'm struggling to pain stakingly open each eyelid, my wife, having already finished computing the theory of relativity that morning, usually comes in with a big smile, calls me a lazy bum, then pinches my (facial) cheeks and tells me how cute it is that I sleep late (which is code for pathetic). Throughout this daily routine, I continue to curse the world (and usually her).
As those who struggle in the morning can attest, waking up and immediately facing a person as cheery as the secretary from Ferris Beuller's Day Off is not amusing. Generally I consider tossing her out of bed (or out the window), but physically abusing your spouse is no longer socially acceptable (and with your bad knee Ed, you shouldn't throw anybody). Eventually I relent and get out of bed (if this happens 2 out of 7 days...great success).
I'm sure everyone has a different gym experience... for me, I'm all about weights, vitamin supplements, AC/DC and a power work out...Or exactly the opposite. Fortunately, my apartment building is equipped with a gym in the building (I say fortunately, but it's not like we're paying discount rates... for what we pay it should come with a gym in the building and a guy who works out for me while I get a massage...but I digress). That being said, although the goal is to exercise, if I had to walk three extra feet to get to the gym, all would be lost...location is key.
My gym experience (about 5 weeks now) generally focuses on the elliptical machine (though as I get more into it...I'm adding some other machines to my repertoire). I'm not embarrassed to say that I use the elliptical machine, despite fact that it might be the least masculine activity available in a gym (with the exception of those giant balls that women seem to think sitting on, counts as exercise... don't they sell those balls in Walmart with pictures of your favorite cartoon characters on them?). The whole elliptical experience screams middle aged Mom... I mean the exercise itself involves what essentially is the power walk motion that my Mom did when I used to walk the dog. You know what I mean, when you are generally meandering at about 1 mile per hour, but your Mom thinks because she's flailing her arms around in a marching pattern, it's a good workout. Despite this, I find the whole elliptical experience to be fulfilling. For one thing, I can keep pace by knowing how many ellipses (or do they call it "steps"?) I've taken in a minute, but more importantly, I feel like my hands and arms are getting the attention they need. I promise you, I'm a coordinated athlete (or was when I was 15), but whenever I'm on a standard treadmill, I can't help but look at my arms and think... should I grab the bar, should I punch in the air, do they just flow naturally? The elliptical takes all this confusion out of play... I highly recommend it (Note: that was a recommendation).
Let's talk about people you come across in the gym..."Gym Goers"... because there are all types and this can make or break your experience. Admittedly, my gym being private to my building, probably has a different (much older) crowd, but I think some stereotypes are universal (for kids reading this...stereotyping is generally bad...generally speaking). My favorite amongst Gym Goers is the person who puts the treadmill on its highest level and holds on for dear life. I understand the need for speed as much as the next person, but looking like George Jetson during the opening credits, is not the gym persona I would want.
I think the idea of adding TVs to the gym as a way of entertaining (distracting) people to make the time go by is, to state the obvious, ingenious. Unfortunately, my gym is not equipped with personal TVs (like NYSC or Equinox - cha ching...advertising $$), so instead I (remember...I'm a late riser) am left to the television choosing of my fellow athletes (i.e. 50-60 year old women). Nothing gets me burning off the calories faster than seeing Ann Curry on the Today Show re-living the story of her Japanese Mother's childhood. What kills me is that most of these women also have their head phones on so loud that I can actually hear Barbra Streisand blaring from their ipods. "Papa... can you hear me?" Maybe Papa can't, but everyone else can (um... in case anyone asks, I had to look up who Barbra Streisand was and Google her songs...just making that clear). TV or Music...why do they torture me twice?
I could go on for days talking about Gym Goers (and maybe will in future blogs), but I want to wrap up with one more group that bothers me to the point of anger...people who throw their towel over the screen of the machine, and look around during their workout as if to say "I'm not here for the numbers... I'm all about the workout." What a load of crap. You know you are only working out to burn calories, so why pretend that the total amount is irrelevant? Me, I can't get through 30 seconds of working out if I can't see the minutes and/or calories ticking away. Let's get things straight... I hate going to the gym (it probably hates me too), so the only pleasure I get out of the whole experience is counting the seconds until I'm done, leaving me with the absolute most amount of time until the horrible process starts over.
This is the point where I give you my advice (the "point")... My advice: The gym sucks, so get to know a good plastic surgeon or just work on being wealthy so that people will hang out with you no matter what you look like. I mean there is no real gym advice to give you... except, make it as quick and painless as possible (if I had a dime for every time I heard that...get your mind out of the gutter people...I had a job pulling teeth as a child).
Please, be mindful of other people around you in the gym. Here's what I do: I go to my machine, start exercising... finish exercising, wipe off the machine and leave. That is all that is necessary. If I want small talk with a smelly sweaty person, I can chat up the homeless guy that lives a block away from me (shout out to Dave...kidding, I don't know his name). I do not stretch next to people so that my @ss is in their face; I do not engage in any conversation whatsoever; I do not stop and watch something interesting on the television, while practically leaning on the machine of someone who is sucking air like he is Darth Vader in the last scene of Return of the Jedi; and I NEVER...NEVER EVER say "good morning cutie" with a big @ss, unintentionally obnoxious, smile... like some people [CC] find necessary.
So lets recap... I hate waking up for the gym, I hate everything about my gym experience and I start grumpy and finish grumpier. Yup...I'm looking forward to some long healthy living.
Until next time.
For me personally, the gym was and remains an uphill battle. Hurdle number one in my goal towards a long healthy life, is dragging my @ss out of bed...generally speaking, going to the gym requires me to wake up early. Most of you don't get the pleasure of seeing me first thing in the morning (some have had the pleasure...you know who you are...how yooouuu doooin?), but it's not the most pleasant sight and I'm not the most pleasant person.
For my wife, waking up seems to be no problem. In fact, on most weekends, she gets more done before I wake up than I accomplish in an entire week (Note: That's not really a fair comparison...most of the week I usually just space out...space out? Yeah I just kinda stare at my desk, but it looks like I’m working… I’d say in a given week I do about 15 minutes of actual work [for my bosses, that's a movie quote, not reality]). So anyway, while I'm struggling to pain stakingly open each eyelid, my wife, having already finished computing the theory of relativity that morning, usually comes in with a big smile, calls me a lazy bum, then pinches my (facial) cheeks and tells me how cute it is that I sleep late (which is code for pathetic). Throughout this daily routine, I continue to curse the world (and usually her).
As those who struggle in the morning can attest, waking up and immediately facing a person as cheery as the secretary from Ferris Beuller's Day Off is not amusing. Generally I consider tossing her out of bed (or out the window), but physically abusing your spouse is no longer socially acceptable (and with your bad knee Ed, you shouldn't throw anybody). Eventually I relent and get out of bed (if this happens 2 out of 7 days...great success).
I'm sure everyone has a different gym experience... for me, I'm all about weights, vitamin supplements, AC/DC and a power work out...Or exactly the opposite. Fortunately, my apartment building is equipped with a gym in the building (I say fortunately, but it's not like we're paying discount rates... for what we pay it should come with a gym in the building and a guy who works out for me while I get a massage...but I digress). That being said, although the goal is to exercise, if I had to walk three extra feet to get to the gym, all would be lost...location is key.
My gym experience (about 5 weeks now) generally focuses on the elliptical machine (though as I get more into it...I'm adding some other machines to my repertoire). I'm not embarrassed to say that I use the elliptical machine, despite fact that it might be the least masculine activity available in a gym (with the exception of those giant balls that women seem to think sitting on, counts as exercise... don't they sell those balls in Walmart with pictures of your favorite cartoon characters on them?). The whole elliptical experience screams middle aged Mom... I mean the exercise itself involves what essentially is the power walk motion that my Mom did when I used to walk the dog. You know what I mean, when you are generally meandering at about 1 mile per hour, but your Mom thinks because she's flailing her arms around in a marching pattern, it's a good workout. Despite this, I find the whole elliptical experience to be fulfilling. For one thing, I can keep pace by knowing how many ellipses (or do they call it "steps"?) I've taken in a minute, but more importantly, I feel like my hands and arms are getting the attention they need. I promise you, I'm a coordinated athlete (or was when I was 15), but whenever I'm on a standard treadmill, I can't help but look at my arms and think... should I grab the bar, should I punch in the air, do they just flow naturally? The elliptical takes all this confusion out of play... I highly recommend it (Note: that was a recommendation).
Let's talk about people you come across in the gym..."Gym Goers"... because there are all types and this can make or break your experience. Admittedly, my gym being private to my building, probably has a different (much older) crowd, but I think some stereotypes are universal (for kids reading this...stereotyping is generally bad...generally speaking). My favorite amongst Gym Goers is the person who puts the treadmill on its highest level and holds on for dear life. I understand the need for speed as much as the next person, but looking like George Jetson during the opening credits, is not the gym persona I would want.
I think the idea of adding TVs to the gym as a way of entertaining (distracting) people to make the time go by is, to state the obvious, ingenious. Unfortunately, my gym is not equipped with personal TVs (like NYSC or Equinox - cha ching...advertising $$), so instead I (remember...I'm a late riser) am left to the television choosing of my fellow athletes (i.e. 50-60 year old women). Nothing gets me burning off the calories faster than seeing Ann Curry on the Today Show re-living the story of her Japanese Mother's childhood. What kills me is that most of these women also have their head phones on so loud that I can actually hear Barbra Streisand blaring from their ipods. "Papa... can you hear me?" Maybe Papa can't, but everyone else can (um... in case anyone asks, I had to look up who Barbra Streisand was and Google her songs...just making that clear). TV or Music...why do they torture me twice?
I could go on for days talking about Gym Goers (and maybe will in future blogs), but I want to wrap up with one more group that bothers me to the point of anger...people who throw their towel over the screen of the machine, and look around during their workout as if to say "I'm not here for the numbers... I'm all about the workout." What a load of crap. You know you are only working out to burn calories, so why pretend that the total amount is irrelevant? Me, I can't get through 30 seconds of working out if I can't see the minutes and/or calories ticking away. Let's get things straight... I hate going to the gym (it probably hates me too), so the only pleasure I get out of the whole experience is counting the seconds until I'm done, leaving me with the absolute most amount of time until the horrible process starts over.
This is the point where I give you my advice (the "point")... My advice: The gym sucks, so get to know a good plastic surgeon or just work on being wealthy so that people will hang out with you no matter what you look like. I mean there is no real gym advice to give you... except, make it as quick and painless as possible (if I had a dime for every time I heard that...get your mind out of the gutter people...I had a job pulling teeth as a child).
Please, be mindful of other people around you in the gym. Here's what I do: I go to my machine, start exercising... finish exercising, wipe off the machine and leave. That is all that is necessary. If I want small talk with a smelly sweaty person, I can chat up the homeless guy that lives a block away from me (shout out to Dave...kidding, I don't know his name). I do not stretch next to people so that my @ss is in their face; I do not engage in any conversation whatsoever; I do not stop and watch something interesting on the television, while practically leaning on the machine of someone who is sucking air like he is Darth Vader in the last scene of Return of the Jedi; and I NEVER...NEVER EVER say "good morning cutie" with a big @ss, unintentionally obnoxious, smile... like some people [CC] find necessary.
So lets recap... I hate waking up for the gym, I hate everything about my gym experience and I start grumpy and finish grumpier. Yup...I'm looking forward to some long healthy living.
Until next time.
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