What is our fascination with the TV hospital drama? Obviously this is not a new thing, they've been around forever, but in recent years it seems to be getting out of hand. Some go off the air, only to be replaced by two, three, or four replacements in the same slightly-tweaked format. NBC itself, after finally shutting down the long running show ER- replaced it this fall by introducing to new shows "Trauma" and "Mercy" - which seem to be the old ER split into two different shows.
Now this is not to say I'm immune to the hospital genre. I watched ER back in its infancy, and currently watch Grey's Anatomy. But for anyone who has spent any amount of time in a hospital, as patient or visitor, these shows take an enormous suspension of disbelief to take them seriously. How many times have you been put off by a show or movie because of something like - Oh come on, that's sooo unrealistic it's ridiculous. Well, these hospital shows that we know and love are the worst offenders- and yet we keep coming back for more.
On the shallowest level- I have never been treated by a doctor in a hospital who looked like any of these people. Yes I know it's TV, but come on- dial it back a little; perhaps at least one "normal" looking character. Nor have I ever seen nurses in the hallway pleading with and fighting the doctors for patients' rights or needs, or the emotional connections to said patients that invariably happen on these shows. Hell, I'd settle for nurses who at least act like they want to be there.
Although, I am willing to believe that they're all sleeping with each other in empty OR's and broom closets- this at least explains why it take so friggin' long to be seen.
So as another television season descends upon, against the backdrop of the country's battler over health care, we'll tune into visions of what health care isn't. And why the hell not, TV's a good form of escape- right? Or is it what we'd hope it to be? Might as well set the next hospital drama on the moon or Mars- or would that be too unrealistic?
Monday, October 5, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Bathroom couplet...
Methinks that I shall never see,
A lovelier place 'n which to pee.
Okay, not that kind of couplet- more of a couple different musings both centered on the bathroom at my place of employment.
THE SMELL!!
And no, it's not what you think.
Ten floors up, our bathroom faces out toward the backs of buildings on 48th Street. Often times the window is left ajar a bit, so as to air out the goings on that go on in a bathroom. Well, somewhere down below there is restaurant, from which delicious smells waft up into the air, seeping through the open window and into the bathroom- burgers, chicken, onion rings, and other fried goodies...
Often times I have walked into the bathroom, and for moment thought -- Mmmm, what's that smell?-- and then immediately remembered where I was, and felt very strange about the sensory contradiction I have encountered. And I'm not the only one- I have spoken to a few other co-workers who have faced the dilemma of the delicious-smelling bathroom. It just feels wrong to walk into bathroom and be made to feel hungry.
Don't get me wrong, sometimes it stinks like a bathroom usually does. But it's almost a comfort when it does. Ewww, that's more like it.
A SIGN OF THE TIMES?
On the mirror above the sink, there's a sign that states "It's flu-fighting season, don't forget to wash your hands!" Because it's flu-fighting season- that's why you should wash your hands. Not because you're in a bathroom, having done your business where countless others have done similar business.
And if it's the type of person who doesn't wash their hands after using the restroom- does this sign even register? Is the fact that it's "flu-fighting season" a deal-breaker? As if it's like, "Oh I don't mind a little fecal matter or the like on my hands- but the flu? I just can't have that!! Better wash my hands." I don't know. I would think this person is comfortable in his savagery enough to think himself impervious to such petty things as the flu, or say, social convention.
So, thanks for the "reminder," but you're probably preaching to the choir with this one.
A lovelier place 'n which to pee.
Okay, not that kind of couplet- more of a couple different musings both centered on the bathroom at my place of employment.
THE SMELL!!
And no, it's not what you think.
Ten floors up, our bathroom faces out toward the backs of buildings on 48th Street. Often times the window is left ajar a bit, so as to air out the goings on that go on in a bathroom. Well, somewhere down below there is restaurant, from which delicious smells waft up into the air, seeping through the open window and into the bathroom- burgers, chicken, onion rings, and other fried goodies...
Often times I have walked into the bathroom, and for moment thought -- Mmmm, what's that smell?-- and then immediately remembered where I was, and felt very strange about the sensory contradiction I have encountered. And I'm not the only one- I have spoken to a few other co-workers who have faced the dilemma of the delicious-smelling bathroom. It just feels wrong to walk into bathroom and be made to feel hungry.
Don't get me wrong, sometimes it stinks like a bathroom usually does. But it's almost a comfort when it does. Ewww, that's more like it.
A SIGN OF THE TIMES?
On the mirror above the sink, there's a sign that states "It's flu-fighting season, don't forget to wash your hands!" Because it's flu-fighting season- that's why you should wash your hands. Not because you're in a bathroom, having done your business where countless others have done similar business.
And if it's the type of person who doesn't wash their hands after using the restroom- does this sign even register? Is the fact that it's "flu-fighting season" a deal-breaker? As if it's like, "Oh I don't mind a little fecal matter or the like on my hands- but the flu? I just can't have that!! Better wash my hands." I don't know. I would think this person is comfortable in his savagery enough to think himself impervious to such petty things as the flu, or say, social convention.
So, thanks for the "reminder," but you're probably preaching to the choir with this one.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
I know it's hot out, but...
Come on...
This is what I saw at Starbucks this morning:
He was with his family, and seemingly not homeless or crazy. So what's your excuse, pal?
And note, if you can see it, the shirt flung over his left shoulder- so it's not like he doesn't have one. If you're so freakin' hot, how about putting a pair of shorts on?? How about that? Or are the jeans the next to come off? Pity the poor people in the next store he goes into.
This is what I saw at Starbucks this morning:
He was with his family, and seemingly not homeless or crazy. So what's your excuse, pal?
And note, if you can see it, the shirt flung over his left shoulder- so it's not like he doesn't have one. If you're so freakin' hot, how about putting a pair of shorts on?? How about that? Or are the jeans the next to come off? Pity the poor people in the next store he goes into.
Friday, August 14, 2009
That guy, that's me
I'm a sweater. Not that I'm made of woven or knitted wool, I just sweat- and saying I'm perspirer doesn't really roll off the tongue or the page (in fact according to spellcheck, it's not even a word). In any weather, in any amount of clothing I can work up a certain lather. This is one reason I never like to make plans for after having gone to the gym. Sure I can shower. What I can't seem to do is dry off. In fact it seems worse when I do shower. Especially in the summer.
The other night, I walked out of the gym- freshly showered- into the humid air of an August evening, on my way to dinner with my wife and friends. As I walk to the train, the moisture on my face graduates to dampness. By the time I get downstairs at Columbus Circle and on the platform, my face can now be classified as wet. I get on the crowded train, and it's not quite as cool as one would hope in my ever-increasing aqueous condition. And as we pull out of the station, it is Niagara Falls. Water is dripping off my face, and people are now looking at me. I'm THAT guy. As in: "Oh my, is that guy okay?" or "Woah, look at that guy!"
As the train moves on, I thought to myself I knew this was going to happen, I should have borrowed (see also: stolen) a towel from the gym to bring with me. Then, I remember that earlier in the day I had bought a roll of paper at the drug store, and had jammed it into my gym bag. Genius! So now here I am, sweating profusely, tying to keep my balance in the middle of crowded subway car, rifling through my gym bag to pull out the plastic Duane Reade bag which holds my immediate savior. Got it! Now I'm still keeping my balance, and trying to rip open the plastic wrap which covers the paper towels, all the while condensating like a can of beer left out on the picnic table. And again, I see people watching me struggle, and I realize that I'm THAT guy again. As in: "What the hell is that guy doing?," or "See kids, you could end up like that guy."
The paper towels out of their wrapper, everything back in its place, I can finally mop myself down. In my mind, the people around are so happy for me ("Good for that guy!"), and my stop comes and I head up to street level and to some very welcome breezes. After arriving for dinner, I feel the need to apologize for my saturated state- although it's a vast improvment over just a few minutes ago. Once we get inside and I can sit in the air conditioned dining room, I finally start to dry off. Ah, sweet AC and chairs. That's really all THIS guy can ask for in the summer. Someday I'll learn.
The other night, I walked out of the gym- freshly showered- into the humid air of an August evening, on my way to dinner with my wife and friends. As I walk to the train, the moisture on my face graduates to dampness. By the time I get downstairs at Columbus Circle and on the platform, my face can now be classified as wet. I get on the crowded train, and it's not quite as cool as one would hope in my ever-increasing aqueous condition. And as we pull out of the station, it is Niagara Falls. Water is dripping off my face, and people are now looking at me. I'm THAT guy. As in: "Oh my, is that guy okay?" or "Woah, look at that guy!"
As the train moves on, I thought to myself I knew this was going to happen, I should have borrowed (see also: stolen) a towel from the gym to bring with me. Then, I remember that earlier in the day I had bought a roll of paper at the drug store, and had jammed it into my gym bag. Genius! So now here I am, sweating profusely, tying to keep my balance in the middle of crowded subway car, rifling through my gym bag to pull out the plastic Duane Reade bag which holds my immediate savior. Got it! Now I'm still keeping my balance, and trying to rip open the plastic wrap which covers the paper towels, all the while condensating like a can of beer left out on the picnic table. And again, I see people watching me struggle, and I realize that I'm THAT guy again. As in: "What the hell is that guy doing?," or "See kids, you could end up like that guy."
The paper towels out of their wrapper, everything back in its place, I can finally mop myself down. In my mind, the people around are so happy for me ("Good for that guy!"), and my stop comes and I head up to street level and to some very welcome breezes. After arriving for dinner, I feel the need to apologize for my saturated state- although it's a vast improvment over just a few minutes ago. Once we get inside and I can sit in the air conditioned dining room, I finally start to dry off. Ah, sweet AC and chairs. That's really all THIS guy can ask for in the summer. Someday I'll learn.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Gems abound...
In my opinion New York is the best place in the world to overhear some of the best quotes by everyday people. Like the time in Starbucks a few years back I heard a seemingly upper-middle class woman sitting at the adjacent table state, "But I'm not an American , I'm a New Yorker." It doesn't always need to be this substantive, or catchy- sometimes it's just a casual exchange or turn of phrase that sticks with me. This week I've had a few of these gems floating in my direction, which for one reason or another tickled my fancy.
Walking down 80th Street past a brownstone, I noticed two little girls and what looked their mothers conversing on the stoop. The moms were quietly discussing something while the girls interacted. One girl was struggling with a biggish toy rocket-ship like thing, that lit up and made noise. The other little girl was struggling to get rocket-girl's attention, in a very pronounced, proper British accent: "What's your name? What's your name?" To which rocket girl, finally in control of her contraption looked up and said in drawn out tones, "Scaaarlet..." The exchange made me smile. The British girl, the American girl named Scarlet playing with a rocket-ship; it could have been out of a movie, but here it was- out on a stoop, on a sticky New York summer evening.
Earlier this week I heard two guys at the gym talking about wrestling- like the Grecco-Roman variety, not WWE or the like- and different moves and holds or locks they knew. The one guy, who didn't really look like a wrestler- kind of lanky- claimed he busted his shoulder because he's always "rolling guys like way outta my weight class." The conversation turned to people trying to pick fights with them on the street or what have you (This portion instigated by the feather-weight). "Who would you rather fight [on the street]," he asked. To which the other, more husky gentlemen replied, "Usually somebody my size or bigger than me... if some guy starts in with me and he's a little guy- I don't want no part, because he's gotta be crazy, or ninja or something." Sound advice grasshopper, you have passed the test... beware the little, crazy ninjas loose in the city!
And finally, one that happened at Duane Reade- New York City's most prevalant purveyor of drugs and sundries. It so entertained and awed me, I actually posted this exchange as my status on Facebook shortly after it happened. I called it, "The Power of Listening."
Cashier: What?
Customer: Duct tape...?
Cashier: Tape?
Customer: Duct tape.
Cashier: Like scotch tape?
Customer: DUCT tape.
Cashier: (points upstairs) Uhhh, aisle twelve-
Customer: (looks upstairs) Aisle what?
Cashier: Twelve.
Customer: Twelve?
Cashier: Yes.
I'd like to point I was in an isoceles triangle with these two gents, meaning I was equidistant from each of them as they were to eachother- and I could hear each of them just fine. Maddening, yet so entertaining.
Walking down 80th Street past a brownstone, I noticed two little girls and what looked their mothers conversing on the stoop. The moms were quietly discussing something while the girls interacted. One girl was struggling with a biggish toy rocket-ship like thing, that lit up and made noise. The other little girl was struggling to get rocket-girl's attention, in a very pronounced, proper British accent: "What's your name? What's your name?" To which rocket girl, finally in control of her contraption looked up and said in drawn out tones, "Scaaarlet..." The exchange made me smile. The British girl, the American girl named Scarlet playing with a rocket-ship; it could have been out of a movie, but here it was- out on a stoop, on a sticky New York summer evening.
Earlier this week I heard two guys at the gym talking about wrestling- like the Grecco-Roman variety, not WWE or the like- and different moves and holds or locks they knew. The one guy, who didn't really look like a wrestler- kind of lanky- claimed he busted his shoulder because he's always "rolling guys like way outta my weight class." The conversation turned to people trying to pick fights with them on the street or what have you (This portion instigated by the feather-weight). "Who would you rather fight [on the street]," he asked. To which the other, more husky gentlemen replied, "Usually somebody my size or bigger than me... if some guy starts in with me and he's a little guy- I don't want no part, because he's gotta be crazy, or ninja or something." Sound advice grasshopper, you have passed the test... beware the little, crazy ninjas loose in the city!
And finally, one that happened at Duane Reade- New York City's most prevalant purveyor of drugs and sundries. It so entertained and awed me, I actually posted this exchange as my status on Facebook shortly after it happened. I called it, "The Power of Listening."
Customer: Excuse me, where is your duct tape?
Cashier: What?
Customer: Duct tape...?
Cashier: Tape?
Customer: Duct tape.
Cashier: Like scotch tape?
Customer: DUCT tape.
Cashier: (points upstairs) Uhhh, aisle twelve-
Customer: (looks upstairs) Aisle what?
Cashier: Twelve.
Customer: Twelve?
Cashier: Yes.
Customer: Thanks.
I'd like to point I was in an isoceles triangle with these two gents, meaning I was equidistant from each of them as they were to eachother- and I could hear each of them just fine. Maddening, yet so entertaining.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Must GO TV?
My wife and I have had a steady stream of bad luck luck lately when it comes to latching onto new TV shows. As soon as we decide that we really enjoy enjoy a show, the network up and decides to can it. While reality show after reality show continues to flourish and spin-off, we are left hoping that the episode we're watching of one our favorite non-reality programs isn't its last.
Over the past couple years we have tuned in weekly to watch the untimely demise of such quality shows as Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Life on Mars, My Own Worst Enemy, Eli Stone, The Unusuals, and Pushing Daisies (although that last one was more a favorite of the wife's, but I would tune in every now and then). It seems what all these shows had in common was that they were a little different from other shows on TV- quirky, with interesting characters, and bold, if not off-beat storylines and plots. Heaven forbid we get a little variation from the norm! It doesn't say much for those making the decisions at the networks these days, or for that matter the audiences making the decisions of what to spend their time watching. It's a rather narrow spectrum, I fear, that both groups seem to dwell in.
I realize it's all about the money. These shows didn't test well, or what have you- and got yanked because of it. It's just too expensive to keep shows on, with the hope that that just may catch on and gain a following eventually. And some of these shows that stay on for four and five seasons... I just have to scratch my head. Are people really watching this, or is it just that cheap of a show to keep churning out episodes? Perhaps I'm just a snob... Perhaps I can live with that.
As crappy as it is to see these shows go by the wayside, perhaps I should thank these network bigs. After all, the DVR still winds up full most every week with enough shows for my wife and I to barely keep up with. I still hold out hope for quality TV, but in the meanwhile will hunker down with the tried and true staples... and let's not forget syndication. There will always be re-runs! What better way to enjoy the present state of television, than by reliving its glorious past. It might just be better than looking to future.
Over the past couple years we have tuned in weekly to watch the untimely demise of such quality shows as Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Life on Mars, My Own Worst Enemy, Eli Stone, The Unusuals, and Pushing Daisies (although that last one was more a favorite of the wife's, but I would tune in every now and then). It seems what all these shows had in common was that they were a little different from other shows on TV- quirky, with interesting characters, and bold, if not off-beat storylines and plots. Heaven forbid we get a little variation from the norm! It doesn't say much for those making the decisions at the networks these days, or for that matter the audiences making the decisions of what to spend their time watching. It's a rather narrow spectrum, I fear, that both groups seem to dwell in.
I realize it's all about the money. These shows didn't test well, or what have you- and got yanked because of it. It's just too expensive to keep shows on, with the hope that that just may catch on and gain a following eventually. And some of these shows that stay on for four and five seasons... I just have to scratch my head. Are people really watching this, or is it just that cheap of a show to keep churning out episodes? Perhaps I'm just a snob... Perhaps I can live with that.
As crappy as it is to see these shows go by the wayside, perhaps I should thank these network bigs. After all, the DVR still winds up full most every week with enough shows for my wife and I to barely keep up with. I still hold out hope for quality TV, but in the meanwhile will hunker down with the tried and true staples... and let's not forget syndication. There will always be re-runs! What better way to enjoy the present state of television, than by reliving its glorious past. It might just be better than looking to future.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Who's sorry now?
It happens.
You're at the store, you bang into someone with the cart, or maybe run over their feet. Or you're in a crowd and you step on someone's heel, or bump into someone walking the opposite direction. In New York, it's pretty unavoidable- and sometimes it's your fault.
When it's my fault, my first instinct is of course to apologize. I mean, 99.9% of the time it's not on purpose, so why wouldn't I be sorry? And in that moment I truly am sorry for the bump, bash, step or whatever transgression has passed between us. However, it is the moment that follows that decides how deep my contrition runs.
For instance, last night at the grocery store, trying to squeeze through a tight area, I accidentally clipped a woman's heel with the shopping cart wheel (I won't even mention she and her companion were taking up more space than they needed to, I won't - because I am that good of a person). I immediately said, "Oh I'm sorry!" To which her response was a sideways glance, and "Geeez!" To which I mumble, under-my-breath-but-loud-enough-for-her-to-hear, "I said I was sorry," at which point I no longer am. And then what I want to say is: Just accept my apology lady and get over it... don't tell tell me YOU'VE never done anything like that!! But I don't- remember what a good person I am?
So, how sorry am I if my sincerity involves the other party's acceptance of my apology? Shouldn't I just be sorry independent of their reaction? Maybe... in a perfect world. Last time I checked, that's not the one we live in, though. So get over it people- it's happened before, it'll happen again. And if you don't like that attitude, well SOOORRRYYY... And I mean it.
You're at the store, you bang into someone with the cart, or maybe run over their feet. Or you're in a crowd and you step on someone's heel, or bump into someone walking the opposite direction. In New York, it's pretty unavoidable- and sometimes it's your fault.
When it's my fault, my first instinct is of course to apologize. I mean, 99.9% of the time it's not on purpose, so why wouldn't I be sorry? And in that moment I truly am sorry for the bump, bash, step or whatever transgression has passed between us. However, it is the moment that follows that decides how deep my contrition runs.
For instance, last night at the grocery store, trying to squeeze through a tight area, I accidentally clipped a woman's heel with the shopping cart wheel (I won't even mention she and her companion were taking up more space than they needed to, I won't - because I am that good of a person). I immediately said, "Oh I'm sorry!" To which her response was a sideways glance, and "Geeez!" To which I mumble, under-my-breath-but-loud-enough-for-her-to-hear, "I said I was sorry," at which point I no longer am. And then what I want to say is: Just accept my apology lady and get over it... don't tell tell me YOU'VE never done anything like that!! But I don't- remember what a good person I am?
So, how sorry am I if my sincerity involves the other party's acceptance of my apology? Shouldn't I just be sorry independent of their reaction? Maybe... in a perfect world. Last time I checked, that's not the one we live in, though. So get over it people- it's happened before, it'll happen again. And if you don't like that attitude, well SOOORRRYYY... And I mean it.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Tag! You are...?
Just about a year ago, I wrote in this blog how I had joined the throng and signed up on Facebook. Well after the all-encompassing preoccupation and obsession died down it has become a fun thing to check here and there, and a great way to reconnect with all the people I always wanted to... and some I forgot I knew. But that's not the point here...
People post pictures on facebook, and there's a feature where you can "tag" people in the photos- meaning you zero in on their face say this is this person, this is that person, and so on. So when you are flipping trough your friends photos, you can roll over people with your mouse and, if they have been tagged, it pops up their name. Nifty.
Well, I realize that now when I am on some other website, i.e. not facebook, and looking at photos I sometimes will roll over a person in the picture hoping to find out who they are... but alas, the NY Times and CNN and the like don't tag people in their photos. Yes sometimes there are captions, but they don't always tell the whole story- Who's that guy behind Obama.. not quite in focus, but he looks so darn familiar, I know he's somebody...? If he was tagged, we'd know.
I like the tag. That's all I'm saying.
People post pictures on facebook, and there's a feature where you can "tag" people in the photos- meaning you zero in on their face say this is this person, this is that person, and so on. So when you are flipping trough your friends photos, you can roll over people with your mouse and, if they have been tagged, it pops up their name. Nifty.
Well, I realize that now when I am on some other website, i.e. not facebook, and looking at photos I sometimes will roll over a person in the picture hoping to find out who they are... but alas, the NY Times and CNN and the like don't tag people in their photos. Yes sometimes there are captions, but they don't always tell the whole story- Who's that guy behind Obama.. not quite in focus, but he looks so darn familiar, I know he's somebody...? If he was tagged, we'd know.
I like the tag. That's all I'm saying.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Angst in the morning...
Yesterday was one of those lovely New York mornings. Huffing through the rain, only to get down to the subway platform and find it packed with people; a tell-tale sign that it has been a loooong time since a train has graced this station with its presence.
At last a train comes.. full of people, so that only a few of the more pushy commuters make their way onto the already crowded train (I live only few stops from the beginning of the line, so if it's already ridiculously crowded on the train at my stop- it only gets uglier- and let's face it stuffier and smellier- as the train ambles downtown). The next train pulls into the station: blaring its horn, another tell-tale sign for regular subway riders that this train will not be be stopping at this station. Finally another train rolls in, and I manage to get on this one- packed in with a bunch of my closest, damp and impatient friends.
We make our way downtown. And is the case on a crowded train, it takes a little more time in each station, as people crammed on the train try to squeeze out, and those in the station try and shoe-horn their way onto the train. At which point the conductor comes over the loudspeaker and announces, "Please do not hold those doors open. This train is behind schedule- 15 minutes behind schedule and we need to keep moving." Pardon me while I double over in laughter.
Two problems with the conductor's announcement. 1. Not our fault the train is late. It is only this crowded because the train is late, and did I mention that's not the passengers' fault? 2. There's a schedule!!?? Anybody who rides the subway on a regular basis has to find that statement laughable at best- and completely ridiculous at worst. What's that "schedule" look like? Okay, one train at 9:05, the next one at 9:07, followed by the 9:23, then the 9:32 and 9:58 trains. Please.
Don't BS us. The MTA keeps raising the fares, the least they can do is tell their employees to be straight-shooters with the commuters. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your conductor speaking. Sorry this train is late and the air conditioning's not on not despite the 83% humidity. We have no idea why we've been delayed, but it's our bad. We also apologize for the stinky fat dude next you- we've told him countless times to wear deodorant. I would say we should be moving shortly, but that would be a lie- since I have no idea when we'll be moving. Thank you and have a pleasant day."
At last a train comes.. full of people, so that only a few of the more pushy commuters make their way onto the already crowded train (I live only few stops from the beginning of the line, so if it's already ridiculously crowded on the train at my stop- it only gets uglier- and let's face it stuffier and smellier- as the train ambles downtown). The next train pulls into the station: blaring its horn, another tell-tale sign for regular subway riders that this train will not be be stopping at this station. Finally another train rolls in, and I manage to get on this one- packed in with a bunch of my closest, damp and impatient friends.
We make our way downtown. And is the case on a crowded train, it takes a little more time in each station, as people crammed on the train try to squeeze out, and those in the station try and shoe-horn their way onto the train. At which point the conductor comes over the loudspeaker and announces, "Please do not hold those doors open. This train is behind schedule- 15 minutes behind schedule and we need to keep moving." Pardon me while I double over in laughter.
Two problems with the conductor's announcement. 1. Not our fault the train is late. It is only this crowded because the train is late, and did I mention that's not the passengers' fault? 2. There's a schedule!!?? Anybody who rides the subway on a regular basis has to find that statement laughable at best- and completely ridiculous at worst. What's that "schedule" look like? Okay, one train at 9:05, the next one at 9:07, followed by the 9:23, then the 9:32 and 9:58 trains. Please.
Don't BS us. The MTA keeps raising the fares, the least they can do is tell their employees to be straight-shooters with the commuters. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your conductor speaking. Sorry this train is late and the air conditioning's not on not despite the 83% humidity. We have no idea why we've been delayed, but it's our bad. We also apologize for the stinky fat dude next you- we've told him countless times to wear deodorant. I would say we should be moving shortly, but that would be a lie- since I have no idea when we'll be moving. Thank you and have a pleasant day."
Swimming in the rain...
As the official beginning of summer approaches, let me put down my umbrella for sec and say something.
I don't want to hear a damn thing about drought conditions this summer. It seems like almost every year, as summer descends upon us, articles and news reports start popping up about how we have a rain deficit- or that we are heading for drought warnings and need to conserve water. Hey I am all for conservation- but don't say the word drought to me. Those of us that have been practically swimming (see also: hyperbole) to work and around the city the past month don't appreciate or believe it. And yes, I am speaking for everyone.
That's all. Pull on your rain boots and slickers and go back to what you were doing (perhaps it was building an ark?).
I don't want to hear a damn thing about drought conditions this summer. It seems like almost every year, as summer descends upon us, articles and news reports start popping up about how we have a rain deficit- or that we are heading for drought warnings and need to conserve water. Hey I am all for conservation- but don't say the word drought to me. Those of us that have been practically swimming (see also: hyperbole) to work and around the city the past month don't appreciate or believe it. And yes, I am speaking for everyone.
That's all. Pull on your rain boots and slickers and go back to what you were doing (perhaps it was building an ark?).
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Your laundry is NOT my laundry
Common decency... that's what it comes down to.
Doing laundry in New York City, for those of us certain tax brackets, is a communal experience. There's only a certain amount of washers and dryers to go around for ten million people. My wife and I are lucky in that we have decent laundry facilities in the basement of our building. There are four washers and two dryers for about sixty apartments, so it's tight- but it works.
Most of the time.
Which brings me to this question- How hard is it to remember what time you put your laundry in, so as to remember what time you need to go down to retrieve said laundry when it is finished? For some, it seems the answer is: Very hard. Example: Last night we were doing laundry, which my wife started before I got home. While we were putting our last load in the dryer, I noticed a pile of still-wet laundry sitting on the folding counter. "I took those out," my wife informed me, when she had put our stuff in the wash originally. And there it sat, while our next batch of clothes came out of the dryer- and who knows, it could have still been there in the morning.
Now, I don't want to have to handle other people's laundry- but I will (as will my wife, obviously). If your clothes are in my way of getting this pain-in-the-butt chore done, they will be moved. Respectfully, of course- I'm not going to throw them on the floor- but they will be moved. My allotted laundry time does not take into account your laziness. I repeat- I don't want to handle your laundry... and I shouldn't have to, either. Or would you like me to fluff and fold too??
Set an alarm. Or just look at a clock, and do the math. Understand that there are precious few facilities, and we all need a turn. Or were you absent the day in kindergarten they taught how to share? Or how about the day they taught how to tell time, at least? Missed that one too, huh?
Now, I am not unreasonable- if you are five minutes late in getting your laundry out- I am not gonna throw up a fuss. But when your wet laundry is still there after I have taken it out, and done four loads of my own? Give me a break, people. You're not the only person on the planet, stop acting like it.
Doing laundry in New York City, for those of us certain tax brackets, is a communal experience. There's only a certain amount of washers and dryers to go around for ten million people. My wife and I are lucky in that we have decent laundry facilities in the basement of our building. There are four washers and two dryers for about sixty apartments, so it's tight- but it works.
Most of the time.
Which brings me to this question- How hard is it to remember what time you put your laundry in, so as to remember what time you need to go down to retrieve said laundry when it is finished? For some, it seems the answer is: Very hard. Example: Last night we were doing laundry, which my wife started before I got home. While we were putting our last load in the dryer, I noticed a pile of still-wet laundry sitting on the folding counter. "I took those out," my wife informed me, when she had put our stuff in the wash originally. And there it sat, while our next batch of clothes came out of the dryer- and who knows, it could have still been there in the morning.
Now, I don't want to have to handle other people's laundry- but I will (as will my wife, obviously). If your clothes are in my way of getting this pain-in-the-butt chore done, they will be moved. Respectfully, of course- I'm not going to throw them on the floor- but they will be moved. My allotted laundry time does not take into account your laziness. I repeat- I don't want to handle your laundry... and I shouldn't have to, either. Or would you like me to fluff and fold too??
Set an alarm. Or just look at a clock, and do the math. Understand that there are precious few facilities, and we all need a turn. Or were you absent the day in kindergarten they taught how to share? Or how about the day they taught how to tell time, at least? Missed that one too, huh?
Now, I am not unreasonable- if you are five minutes late in getting your laundry out- I am not gonna throw up a fuss. But when your wet laundry is still there after I have taken it out, and done four loads of my own? Give me a break, people. You're not the only person on the planet, stop acting like it.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Scoot. Over.
On the train this morning, a guy got on struggling with stuff in his hands... his over the shoulder bag, his book, and his... scooter. Like a razor scooter- the kind you might find a child skipping down the street on. Now I try not to be judgemental (often times horribly unsuccessfully), but come on.. a scooter? What self respecting adult finds this mode of transportation reasonable? All I know is the last thing I want to have to avoid as I walk down a crowded city street is some kid on a scooter- notice I said kid, because having to avoid being run over by an adult on a scooter shouldn't even be on the list.
So what does this full-grown man who is okay with zipping around the city on scooter read, you ask: Proust's Swann's Way. Hmmm... Flash back to childhood anyone? Who wants a cookie?
So what does this full-grown man who is okay with zipping around the city on scooter read, you ask: Proust's Swann's Way. Hmmm... Flash back to childhood anyone? Who wants a cookie?
Monday, March 30, 2009
Let's clear something up...
Because I know you are all going rush out to see Vin Diesel's new movie when it comes out on April 3, I want to take some time to clear up a little confusion that no doubt has been troubling you.
There have been four movies now in the series. The first one was "The Fast and The Furious," followed by the sequel "2 Fast 2 Furious," the threequel, "The Fast and The Furious: Tokyo Drift," and now the latest and probably greatest: "Fast & Furious." Notice how they have cleverly dropped the "The" from the title, and adding an ampersand- making it a completely different title than the first movie!! Now that's some serious ingenuity, people. Bravo.
Now, I myself will not be attending- not only do I have plans on said release date, but I also have not seen the prior three films, and therefore would surely find myself lost and confused. Plus I'll have another chance when the fifth one comes out: "Fasturious!" It's gonna be huge.
There have been four movies now in the series. The first one was "The Fast and The Furious," followed by the sequel "2 Fast 2 Furious," the threequel, "The Fast and The Furious: Tokyo Drift," and now the latest and probably greatest: "Fast & Furious." Notice how they have cleverly dropped the "The" from the title, and adding an ampersand- making it a completely different title than the first movie!! Now that's some serious ingenuity, people. Bravo.
Now, I myself will not be attending- not only do I have plans on said release date, but I also have not seen the prior three films, and therefore would surely find myself lost and confused. Plus I'll have another chance when the fifth one comes out: "Fasturious!" It's gonna be huge.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
What global financial meltdown?
Even in these trying financial times, there's always gotta be one guy who's got way more money than he knows what to do with.
This guy. He's Charles Simonyi, a Hungarian-born software developer, the so called "space tourist," who today blasted off in a Russian rocket for his second- that's right second- trip to the International Space Station. The going rate for which is $35 million dollars. I don't know about you, but I would love to wipe the smug look of his face.
From the article in the NY Times:
Help calibrate space radiation sensors my butt. The latter two seem more like it... "Hey, look at me! I'm filthy rich and rather than use my money to fund humanitarian efforts in these troubled times on earth, I'M GOING TO SPACE!!" Now far be it from me to tell a guy how spend his money, and I am sure this will only boost his chances with the ladies (Hey baby, wanna see my space suit?)- but it seems to me a little insensitive to be dropping 35 mill on something that should probably be a once in a lifetime experience. Once, Charles. Hell, it irks me and I have a job. What must some jobless factory worker think about this? ( Find one and ask them, I am sure they are not happy...)
Okay, bitter rant over. Sweet galactic dreams, Mr. Simonyi, on your pillow no doubt made of soft, laundered currency. Okay seriously, the bitterness is over...
This guy. He's Charles Simonyi, a Hungarian-born software developer, the so called "space tourist," who today blasted off in a Russian rocket for his second- that's right second- trip to the International Space Station. The going rate for which is $35 million dollars. I don't know about you, but I would love to wipe the smug look of his face.
From the article in the NY Times:
In a telephone interview... Mr. Simonyi said he plans to help Russian engineers calibrate space radiation sensors, chat with school kids via ham radio and discuss his experiences with Internet readers.
Help calibrate space radiation sensors my butt. The latter two seem more like it... "Hey, look at me! I'm filthy rich and rather than use my money to fund humanitarian efforts in these troubled times on earth, I'M GOING TO SPACE!!" Now far be it from me to tell a guy how spend his money, and I am sure this will only boost his chances with the ladies (Hey baby, wanna see my space suit?)- but it seems to me a little insensitive to be dropping 35 mill on something that should probably be a once in a lifetime experience. Once, Charles. Hell, it irks me and I have a job. What must some jobless factory worker think about this? ( Find one and ask them, I am sure they are not happy...)
Okay, bitter rant over. Sweet galactic dreams, Mr. Simonyi, on your pillow no doubt made of soft, laundered currency. Okay seriously, the bitterness is over...
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Peeves, pets...
Let me start by saying: I don't like washing my hands with cold water. It doesn't feel like they are getting clean, and the soap seems to take longer to wash off. Do I do it? Yes of course, as public restrooms don't always give you the option: no matter what the handles on the faucet are labeled; or do you really want to spend the extra time in a public bathroom to wait for the water to get warm? So yes, I do wash my hands with cold water when I have to- but I don't have to like it... not even a little.
While on the subject of public bathrooms: Give me paper towels. I know, know, hand blowers are better for the environment, blah blah blah... Hey I'm all for reducing my carbon footprint, but I'm also for walking out of the bathroom with dry hands... or without water up inside my sleeves, where it invariably ends up getting blown to. Paper towels, I'm in control of- I know where the water's going: on the towel. And let's not get me started on the whole automatic faucets and blowers... I've already gone there on this blog awhile ago.
Back to water temperature: I don't like brushing my teeth with warm water. If the water comes out of the faucet, still warm from the last use, and it gets on my toothbrush- I will start over. Water and toothpaste conservationists be damned.
Now a here's "pet" peeve. This goes beyond the normal New Yorker complaint of "Why can't they clean up after their dog??" Although I am behind that one too. This is another issue I have with many dog owners, and a word of advice: Be giving when it comes to your dog. There are those of us out there, my wife and I included- in a big way- who wish to have have a dog of their own- but cannot for now, due to lifestyle and other financial restrictions. So when we stop to pet your dog on the street, and ask its name or how old or what breed- don't act like I've committed a federal offense, or walk away like you don't speak human, dragging your pal behind. Humor us. Hey I know, I'm sure it's the fourth time you've walked your dog today, and you've really got to get to that spinning class at the gym- but share in the joy that your dog is obviously bringing us. I'm not saying we want you to put on a show or display for us all of his or her tricks- just be civil. Embrace the joy, not the annoy.
A list of pet peeves could go on for ever, but that's all for today. So after the peeves, I leave you with some pets:
Our little angels, Mick & Bean.
While on the subject of public bathrooms: Give me paper towels. I know, know, hand blowers are better for the environment, blah blah blah... Hey I'm all for reducing my carbon footprint, but I'm also for walking out of the bathroom with dry hands... or without water up inside my sleeves, where it invariably ends up getting blown to. Paper towels, I'm in control of- I know where the water's going: on the towel. And let's not get me started on the whole automatic faucets and blowers... I've already gone there on this blog awhile ago.
Back to water temperature: I don't like brushing my teeth with warm water. If the water comes out of the faucet, still warm from the last use, and it gets on my toothbrush- I will start over. Water and toothpaste conservationists be damned.
Now a here's "pet" peeve. This goes beyond the normal New Yorker complaint of "Why can't they clean up after their dog??" Although I am behind that one too. This is another issue I have with many dog owners, and a word of advice: Be giving when it comes to your dog. There are those of us out there, my wife and I included- in a big way- who wish to have have a dog of their own- but cannot for now, due to lifestyle and other financial restrictions. So when we stop to pet your dog on the street, and ask its name or how old or what breed- don't act like I've committed a federal offense, or walk away like you don't speak human, dragging your pal behind. Humor us. Hey I know, I'm sure it's the fourth time you've walked your dog today, and you've really got to get to that spinning class at the gym- but share in the joy that your dog is obviously bringing us. I'm not saying we want you to put on a show or display for us all of his or her tricks- just be civil. Embrace the joy, not the annoy.
A list of pet peeves could go on for ever, but that's all for today. So after the peeves, I leave you with some pets:
Our little angels, Mick & Bean.Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Madoff's Punishment: Fair Market Value?
For those who haven't been living in a cave- or for those that do that have their cave wired for internet or TV- we all know that last week beloved Bernie Madoff pleaded (or is it pled) guilty to crimes beyond most of our collective comprehension. For these crimes Madoff may face up to 150 years in prison. Now I don't want to downplay just how serious these crimes were- many peoples' lives were greatly affected. But what does it say about our justice system when this guy faces 150 years for causing financial woes, while drug dealers, rapists and murderers can get 5-25 with time off for good behavior? Hmmm...
Don't get me wrong, I'm not feeling sorry for the guy- it's not like it would be hard time. So he gets sent away- let's face it- to probably some white-collar criminal minimum security prison/ country club for the rest of his life. Not so bad. But it's the math that just doesn't add up for me. Murders get a shot at redeeming them themselves in 25 years, but Bernie needs to stay off the streets forever, a true danger to society!
A better punishment for this guy would be stripping him of all his money, and forcing the guy to work the french fry-vat at Mickie D's, or some other minimum wage gig. It's not like the guy's got the street-cred to be able to open another financial firm, nor does he probably have any friends who would give him a shot to work at theirs. He has done more damage to himself already than any amount of time in jail could do. I would like to see him need to scrounge to make a living, not be given a cushy life behind "bars."
I think I may have contradicted my argument somewhere in there, but so be it- I'm over it.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not feeling sorry for the guy- it's not like it would be hard time. So he gets sent away- let's face it- to probably some white-collar criminal minimum security prison/ country club for the rest of his life. Not so bad. But it's the math that just doesn't add up for me. Murders get a shot at redeeming them themselves in 25 years, but Bernie needs to stay off the streets forever, a true danger to society!
A better punishment for this guy would be stripping him of all his money, and forcing the guy to work the french fry-vat at Mickie D's, or some other minimum wage gig. It's not like the guy's got the street-cred to be able to open another financial firm, nor does he probably have any friends who would give him a shot to work at theirs. He has done more damage to himself already than any amount of time in jail could do. I would like to see him need to scrounge to make a living, not be given a cushy life behind "bars."
I think I may have contradicted my argument somewhere in there, but so be it- I'm over it.
Monday, March 16, 2009
TP, or not TP? That's NOT the question...
I've come to realize that there are two types of people in this world. Those who put the toilet paper on the holder so the paper comes out from the top, and those who put it on so that it comes out from the bottom. Even though there are many preaching unity in the country right now, I think it's time we all took a good look in the mirror and decide just which side we're on.
I am and always been a "From The Top," or FTT guy, and always will be. I guess it's just that I was raised that way, and it's how I've done it as I have come of age and into control of my own toilet paper holders throughout life. But it is more than just an ingrained course of action- it is a choice. Studies have shown* there is far less chance of the paper getting caught behind the roll as you pull it, making it a far more agreeable situation for you after you have done your proverbial business (*there are actually no such studies, it's more of a really good gut feeling). Plus, I like seeing the paper I'm about to use- spotting any defects and/ or abnormalities- and us FTTers get that opportunity with our method. The "From The Bottom" contingent's view of the paper is often compromised due to the bulk of the roll and/or sub-standard lighting coming up from the bathroom floor.
I don't wish to change you, just to educate you. If I come to your house and find that you are an FTB, I will not judge you- and I will not passive aggressively change the orientation of your paper. I am an accepting person, and would never assume I can walk into others' commodes and lay down the law (although I have "laid down the law" in many bathrooms- but in a different manner of speaking).
Decide, people. Don't tell me, "Oh, I just don't pay attention to how I do it..." Because you're not only lying to yourself, you are lying to bald eagles and apple pie too. And that's a shame. Just be who you are, and, to use toilet paper and singer-songwriter Steve Winwood as an example: Just roll with it, baby.
I am and always been a "From The Top," or FTT guy, and always will be. I guess it's just that I was raised that way, and it's how I've done it as I have come of age and into control of my own toilet paper holders throughout life. But it is more than just an ingrained course of action- it is a choice. Studies have shown* there is far less chance of the paper getting caught behind the roll as you pull it, making it a far more agreeable situation for you after you have done your proverbial business (*there are actually no such studies, it's more of a really good gut feeling). Plus, I like seeing the paper I'm about to use- spotting any defects and/ or abnormalities- and us FTTers get that opportunity with our method. The "From The Bottom" contingent's view of the paper is often compromised due to the bulk of the roll and/or sub-standard lighting coming up from the bathroom floor.
I don't wish to change you, just to educate you. If I come to your house and find that you are an FTB, I will not judge you- and I will not passive aggressively change the orientation of your paper. I am an accepting person, and would never assume I can walk into others' commodes and lay down the law (although I have "laid down the law" in many bathrooms- but in a different manner of speaking).
Decide, people. Don't tell me, "Oh, I just don't pay attention to how I do it..." Because you're not only lying to yourself, you are lying to bald eagles and apple pie too. And that's a shame. Just be who you are, and, to use toilet paper and singer-songwriter Steve Winwood as an example: Just roll with it, baby.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Mama, don't let your babies... into a movie theatre!
Went to see "Coraline" last night- the new Tim Burton-esque animated feature- in 3D no less. Being as it was animated, there were quite a few children in the audience- although for a movie that was pretty slow moving, the kids in the theatre were for the most part very well behaved.
Halfway through the movie though, a small baby could be heard crying. To which the kid sitting next to me, who had been audibly enjoying the movie and its 3D effects, replies, "Who brings a baby to the movies?" Which made me chuckle a little. And it begs the question: If a nine or ten year old kid knows full well that it's foolish to bring a baby to a movie theatre, how does an grown adult not know this? At least this was a movie geared toward kids, but still.
Rule of thumb: If the kid can't walk into the theatre on his or her own, then they don't belong in the movie theatre. I know this. The ten year old kid next me knows this. I gotta think on some level, even the crying baby knows this. I'm too young to be here, it's dark and loud and smells like butter, waaaaaaah!!
I'm just saying. Come on, people.
Halfway through the movie though, a small baby could be heard crying. To which the kid sitting next to me, who had been audibly enjoying the movie and its 3D effects, replies, "Who brings a baby to the movies?" Which made me chuckle a little. And it begs the question: If a nine or ten year old kid knows full well that it's foolish to bring a baby to a movie theatre, how does an grown adult not know this? At least this was a movie geared toward kids, but still.
Rule of thumb: If the kid can't walk into the theatre on his or her own, then they don't belong in the movie theatre. I know this. The ten year old kid next me knows this. I gotta think on some level, even the crying baby knows this. I'm too young to be here, it's dark and loud and smells like butter, waaaaaaah!!
I'm just saying. Come on, people.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Standoff on a Friday evening..
I am not usually that guy. The guy who's got an appendage of some sort stuck in door of the subway as it closes, holding up the train from moving. But it's Friday night and I just really wanted to get home.
As I came down the stairs tonight at the 50th Street Station there was the 1 train... Yes! Quickly maneuvered through the turnstile, got up to the the platform edge, one foot in the doorway... and despite the efforts of a woman who was on the train to help keep the door open for me-- swoosh- the doors shut on my foot. Generally speaking, the conductor will just open the door back up and you can hop right in... not this woman, not tonight. May be she was on her way home too.
I peered down the length of the train, her head peaking out of the conductor's window glaring at me- although too far for words. Rather than flinging it open real quick, the doors slowly inch closer to the center of my foot... at this point I couldn't get my foot out if I wanted to... I actually tried. Not budging. I give another look down, and add kind of a mild shrug, try to win her over from fifty feet away with sheepishness... she responds by increasing the pain to my foot.. there but for the grace of rubber stoppers on the doors go I... Then in a flash the doors part a tad, and I get my foot out, and just when I think all is lost and the doors come together... they come flying all the way back open and I jump into the train! Victory.
I give everybody on the train a sort half-hearted, "Sorry," but no seems to pay me mind either way... especially since there is another woman shoving her torso through the door as it attempts to close again. The conductor lets her off far easier than me, and she gets on the train as well.
"This is not the last train," the conductor lady announces as the doors finally close peacefully, which garners chuckles from those on the train- myself included. And while that's true, we New Yorkers also know that Murphy's law more than applies when it comes to mass transit- this morning I just missed the A train on my way in to work- only to have wait another twenty minutes for another to show up.
So I will fight. While I won't ever be one of those people who throws a tantrum and kicks the train and screams bloody murder when they miss they train... if there's a chance I can make it on that train... I will do my damndednest. I will not trust announcements of "There is a train directly behind this one." I will do what I gotta do to get home. If I have to, I will be that guy.
As I came down the stairs tonight at the 50th Street Station there was the 1 train... Yes! Quickly maneuvered through the turnstile, got up to the the platform edge, one foot in the doorway... and despite the efforts of a woman who was on the train to help keep the door open for me-- swoosh- the doors shut on my foot. Generally speaking, the conductor will just open the door back up and you can hop right in... not this woman, not tonight. May be she was on her way home too.
I peered down the length of the train, her head peaking out of the conductor's window glaring at me- although too far for words. Rather than flinging it open real quick, the doors slowly inch closer to the center of my foot... at this point I couldn't get my foot out if I wanted to... I actually tried. Not budging. I give another look down, and add kind of a mild shrug, try to win her over from fifty feet away with sheepishness... she responds by increasing the pain to my foot.. there but for the grace of rubber stoppers on the doors go I... Then in a flash the doors part a tad, and I get my foot out, and just when I think all is lost and the doors come together... they come flying all the way back open and I jump into the train! Victory.
I give everybody on the train a sort half-hearted, "Sorry," but no seems to pay me mind either way... especially since there is another woman shoving her torso through the door as it attempts to close again. The conductor lets her off far easier than me, and she gets on the train as well.
"This is not the last train," the conductor lady announces as the doors finally close peacefully, which garners chuckles from those on the train- myself included. And while that's true, we New Yorkers also know that Murphy's law more than applies when it comes to mass transit- this morning I just missed the A train on my way in to work- only to have wait another twenty minutes for another to show up.
So I will fight. While I won't ever be one of those people who throws a tantrum and kicks the train and screams bloody murder when they miss they train... if there's a chance I can make it on that train... I will do my damndednest. I will not trust announcements of "There is a train directly behind this one." I will do what I gotta do to get home. If I have to, I will be that guy.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Y2K...12.
So apparently, here we go again.
December 21, 2012:
Sigh.
This has led to growing number of books, websites, and general whack-jobbedness (yes it is a word) that the end is once again, very near (even a web page with handy countdown clock!). Doomsday part deux... or who knows what part. It seems like the signs have all aligned countless times marking the unmistakable end of our civilization.
I would just love to know what the hell these people who proclaim doomsday are doing with their lives. Going to work? Dropping off their stuff at the cleaners? Scrubbing the kitchen sink? Hell, if I really believed the world was ending in 4 years (or three and change at this point) I would be on a frickin' beach somewhere, maxing out my credit cards and thumbing my nose at any sort of rules... Not setting up websites, or writing books...
I have to wonder what these people possibly hope to achieve? If they are right, not only will no one be around for them to bask in their success- they themselves will be doing no basking. And if they're wrong...? Let's just say they might fall off a few Xmas card lists. They might have hard time getting that second book published- the one about the conspiracy theory regarding the poison gas that emits from albino hamsters, causing subordination in humans and will eventually lead to the Great Albino Hamster Empire.
Some in the Maya scholastic community brush off these folks. "The trendy doomsday people...should be treated for what they are: under-informed opportunists and alarmists who will move onto other things in 2013," said John Major Jenkins, whose books include "Galactic Alignment" and who describes himself as a self-taught independent Maya scholar.
And there are those, who are more or less giving these doomsday "prophets" what they desire, that are outraged. "There's going to be a whole generation of people who, when they think of the Maya, think of 2012, and to me that's just criminal," said David Stuart, director of the Mesoamerica Center at the University of Texas at Austin.
Easy David... down boy.
And call me uneducated- do it, I flippin' dare you- but when I think the of the Maya, I think of actress Maya Rudolph. Or the Mayan Indians... or the Cleveland Indians... wait I just lost my train of thought...
2012 or bust? Or 2012 and bust. Putting on my Nostradamus hat: Perhaps these Maya characters were thinking something along the lines of 2012 will be when we stopped doing business as usual. When peace is something that is actually achievable rather than a foolish notion. When harmony is what is encouraged, rather than hate. But I don't want to step the Doomsday-sayers' shoes... especially when they're selling those shoes online with a fancy "2012" already printed on them.
quotes taken from cnn.com.
December 21, 2012:
The date marks the end of a 5,126-year cycle on the Long Count calendar developed by the Maya, the ancient civilization known for its advanced understanding of astronomy and for the great cities it left behind in Mexico and Central America.
Sigh.
This has led to growing number of books, websites, and general whack-jobbedness (yes it is a word) that the end is once again, very near (even a web page with handy countdown clock!). Doomsday part deux... or who knows what part. It seems like the signs have all aligned countless times marking the unmistakable end of our civilization.
I would just love to know what the hell these people who proclaim doomsday are doing with their lives. Going to work? Dropping off their stuff at the cleaners? Scrubbing the kitchen sink? Hell, if I really believed the world was ending in 4 years (or three and change at this point) I would be on a frickin' beach somewhere, maxing out my credit cards and thumbing my nose at any sort of rules... Not setting up websites, or writing books...
I have to wonder what these people possibly hope to achieve? If they are right, not only will no one be around for them to bask in their success- they themselves will be doing no basking. And if they're wrong...? Let's just say they might fall off a few Xmas card lists. They might have hard time getting that second book published- the one about the conspiracy theory regarding the poison gas that emits from albino hamsters, causing subordination in humans and will eventually lead to the Great Albino Hamster Empire.
Some in the Maya scholastic community brush off these folks. "The trendy doomsday people...should be treated for what they are: under-informed opportunists and alarmists who will move onto other things in 2013," said John Major Jenkins, whose books include "Galactic Alignment" and who describes himself as a self-taught independent Maya scholar.
And there are those, who are more or less giving these doomsday "prophets" what they desire, that are outraged. "There's going to be a whole generation of people who, when they think of the Maya, think of 2012, and to me that's just criminal," said David Stuart, director of the Mesoamerica Center at the University of Texas at Austin.
Easy David... down boy.
And call me uneducated- do it, I flippin' dare you- but when I think the of the Maya, I think of actress Maya Rudolph. Or the Mayan Indians... or the Cleveland Indians... wait I just lost my train of thought...
2012 or bust? Or 2012 and bust. Putting on my Nostradamus hat: Perhaps these Maya characters were thinking something along the lines of 2012 will be when we stopped doing business as usual. When peace is something that is actually achievable rather than a foolish notion. When harmony is what is encouraged, rather than hate. But I don't want to step the Doomsday-sayers' shoes... especially when they're selling those shoes online with a fancy "2012" already printed on them.
quotes taken from cnn.com.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Hardest working guy in showbiz...
Saw "The Wrestler" yesterday, and Mickey Rourke notwithstanding- the guy threw himself all over the place, and really got ripped for this part- I was reminded of just who should retain the title "Hardest Working Guy In Showbiz." (That's guy, not man, as I believe Mister James Brown cornered the market on that one a long time ago.)
It is is none other than the little film man, the mascot of AMC Movie Theatres, who I have come to learn is named "Clip."
Every show time. Every AMC Theater across the country. Introducing previews, the feature presentation, hocking concessions- the guy does it all. And all with the panache of a true showbiz professional. Throughout the years, he's gotten himself into all kinds of highjinks and wowed us wih feats of magic- I mean yesterday before the movie the guy jumped off a soda cup... not off the top of the cup, from off the cup itself. When's the last time you Tom Cruise do that?
And all he ever asks is that we enjoy the show.
So take a bow Clip- while a lifetime achievement Oscar may never come, enjoy the title of hardest working guy in in showbiz- and know you've earned it, little man.
Click here for some classic Clip in action.
It is is none other than the little film man, the mascot of AMC Movie Theatres, who I have come to learn is named "Clip."
Every show time. Every AMC Theater across the country. Introducing previews, the feature presentation, hocking concessions- the guy does it all. And all with the panache of a true showbiz professional. Throughout the years, he's gotten himself into all kinds of highjinks and wowed us wih feats of magic- I mean yesterday before the movie the guy jumped off a soda cup... not off the top of the cup, from off the cup itself. When's the last time you Tom Cruise do that?
And all he ever asks is that we enjoy the show.
So take a bow Clip- while a lifetime achievement Oscar may never come, enjoy the title of hardest working guy in in showbiz- and know you've earned it, little man.
Click here for some classic Clip in action.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Alas Oscar, I barely know thee....
Well, Oscar time is fast approaching, the noms making themselves known today... and as seems to be the case in recent years, I find myself thinking- Yes, of course that one, or Wow, they got nominated - when in true actuality, I have seen almost none of the movies and/or performances nominated in the major categories.
I have seen The Dark Knight, for which Heath Ledger received a nod for best supporting actor. That's it. That's the extent of the value of my opinion of this year's noms.
Point of reference: My 5 year old nephew has seen three nominated pictures. Okay, they're Wall-E, Kung Fu Panda, and Bolt- each nominated for animated feature- but still.
I hope to get to the movies this weekend. And apparently every weekend until Oscar night- lest I watch another Academy Awards show under false pretense, and they take away my movie watching privileges for good. And they'll do it.
I have seen The Dark Knight, for which Heath Ledger received a nod for best supporting actor. That's it. That's the extent of the value of my opinion of this year's noms.
Point of reference: My 5 year old nephew has seen three nominated pictures. Okay, they're Wall-E, Kung Fu Panda, and Bolt- each nominated for animated feature- but still.
I hope to get to the movies this weekend. And apparently every weekend until Oscar night- lest I watch another Academy Awards show under false pretense, and they take away my movie watching privileges for good. And they'll do it.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Hug a squirrel
You thought inauguration day was hard to beat. Well today is Squirrel Appreciation Day. If you see a seemingly rabies-infested yet adorable over-grown rat with a fluffy tail on your way home, tell him you appreciate him.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
New Year indeed...
What better day to put in my first blog post of '09? Unless you've been living under a rock, you know that today Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States. My apologies if you do actually live under a rock- but let's face it if you do, you're probably not reading my blog, and have bigger fish to fry...
With this new year, has come new hope for all of us. A good day indeed. A happy new year. While it's foolish to think we can turn this thing around right away, let's hope 2009 brings us closer.
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