Don't Do That

I'm in a coffee shop in Brooklyn. I almost don't need to explain anything else based on all that is implied from the first sentence. I'm going to explain anyway.

Picture this: A girl. A brunette with a whack bob haircut that is disheveled and badly in need of a trim. She's wearing an oversize Breton striped top and slightly stone washed skinny jeans. I've seen cleaner shoes on homeless people. She is clearly not homeless. Her phone rings. She prattles on and on and on for at least 20 minutes until she says, "I gotta go...I'm in a coffee shop." Then she talks for another 10 minutes. She's not working, she's reading a book. So, far be it from her to consider that other people around her are working. She's definitely from some upper middle class background. That kind of "me as the center of the universe" mentality doesn't grow anywhere else.

The girl behind the counter is wearing a slightly crushed pea green bowler hat; it covers greasy mouse brown hair. She has a tattoo of a viking ship on the underside of her right bicep. She is clearly not a viking.

Back to the girl on the phone. She's talking to a family member, talking aimlessly about possible exit plans for Thanksgiving. She talks about what she did yesterday. It's infinitely boring. She talks shit about a girl she met who "intellectualized" everything! But, thankfully, she didn't seem like a bad person. Whew! I hate when I meet people who over intellectualize and then turn out to be rapists and serial killers. Or people who work in the financial district, which is just as bad.

She talks about buying a "vintage" bag and by her slight look downward to the bag at her side, I can tell that's the one. It literally looks dumb. If bags had an IQ. The word vintage specifically relates to making wine. Sometimes it can refer to something out dated. It entered the lexicon of the fashion world to refer to mint condition high fashion pieces that are decades old. The connection being that high fashion pieces don't loose their charm over time, like a good vintage wine. It is not meant to be a euphemism for used crap sold at a dusty hole in the wall that's little better than a pawn shop. So, if it isn't Chanel or Dior and you're saying it's vintage without the slightest sense of irony--don't do that.

If you're a white person living in Brooklyn and are thinking of getting a tattoo of an old fashioned boat on your arm--don't do that.

If you're in a coffee shop and your phone rings and it's mom who you know is going to want to talk for a minimum of 25 minutes about the mundane details of your life and you're thinking about answering--don't do that.

"How many hipsters does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

"Some barely known obscure number. You've probably never heard of it."

Appetizers is What You Eat to Make You More Hungrier.

I just wrote a great post and then accidentally deleted it. The title of this post is one of my favorite quotes from Eric Cartman of South Park, Colorado. He says the sentence to an Ethiopian child in an effort to explain why we have appetizers.

I was just thinking about how much money there is floating around in the hands of people vs. how many people are poverty stricken. Tons of money, tons of starving people. At a basic level that just doesn't make sense. Is there a lack of donating? Is there a lack of donating to relieve poverty? Millions upon millions of dollars each year are siphoned into charities. And yet, still, so many problems with people being poor.

Think about what Britney Spears and the Sultan of Brunei could do alone? I mean that guy could cause a major inflationary problem all by himself just by buying shit. That is rich. But, it isn't enough to give a man a fish, you have to teach him (or something?). This is why I think the world's billionaires should get together and buy off corrupt politicians in third world country governments, Africa first. They should then either insert themselves or people they hire into office. And THEN donate a drinking well. The infrastructure has to be there.

What Your Mom Should Have Read You Before You Went to Sleep.

A relationship is nothing more than two people who get together because they like to fuck and like eachother's company*. Beyond that, it's a crap shoot. Until marriage there are no guarantees**. Don't listen to some bitch who calls you a home wrecker because she is too dumb to see her relationship for what it is and imagines herself to be one of the Disney Princesses. Blindsightedness isn't your fault. See your relationships for what they are, never call a woman a home wrecker.

The idea isn't to "go the distance" it's to help each other grow for as long as you're lucky enough to be together. Create one life, from two, greater than the sum of its parts.

And when it's time to separate say thank you and appreciate the opportunity to help someone else grow and be helped yourself.

Don't get romantically invovled with someone who doesn't help. Graciously accept whatever (growth) help you're offered, from anyone, but don't project more on to it than what the other person wants it to be. Don't be afraid to ask, no sooner than one month and no later than two. Accept the answer respectfully. Make sure you love fucking yourself and enjoy your own company.

* A lot of people project romantic, egotistical notions on to the simple fact of enjoying the company of another person. "We're on the same wavelength! We like the same books, movies, brand of grape jelly! He gets me! I can be myself with him!" Get over yourself. You (plural) like to hang out. Being yourself, btw, is up to you and not another person.

**Marriage is not always a gurantee either, obviously. But, it is the public act of an explicit and mutual promise. Respect it.

Just like Home!?

After four years of living on the dark side of the moon, I've finally started to feel like it's home. And I realized something today that came about four years too late. Any way that you can bring a touch of home to a new place is helpful. Any sense of the familiar can fill you with warmth and positivity, even on a rainy day.

I used to grocery shop at Trader Joe's back home. There are two in New York, one in the city, one in Brooklyn. I used to buy this indian dish that was incredible. Some kind of red mush that left my mouth on fire and made a complete meal with a slice of naan. This was a staple for me at home. Cheap and filling. I was sad when I moved away, I would never have Trader Joes' Pav Bijal again.

Cut to about yesterday. I know this sounds ridiculous but I realized that the Trader Joe's in Brooklyn is actually not far from me. A few stops on my train line, a 10 minute walk and I was there. So, I took an adventure after work and went. I was beyond delighted to see the familiar signs and decor. I picked up items that were special to TJ's and was about to get in line when I saw it. Pav Bijal. My heart leapt, angels sung, the heavens parted. I had almost forgotten it, having signed it off as a cost of moving long ago. I even settled for my local grocer's Indian--yuck.

Coming home from the shopping trip, it was cold and rainy for the first time in months, I was lugging two bags of groceries on my shoulders for about a half an hour. But I was on cloud nine.

About a week ago I was in Duane Reade and decided that it would be a good idea to get a plug-in air freshner for my room, to help mitigate stale smoke smell. I got whatever scent had the Febreeze label on it because Febreeze "eliminates" odors. So, I plug it in. Sitting here now, with the faint smell wafting through the room, I am reminded of home for the second time today. Something about air freshners, or that fresh laundry smell is just so...Midwest. And comforting.

PS

And the most influential book of all goes to...duh duh. The story of how Louis Pasteur found the cure for rabies. I read that book like a thousand times in my early developmental years, after I was taught how to read, of course.

Self Help

I was just thinking about the books I've read that have taught me something I consider to be indispensable. As much as we like to value fables, parables and allegories for life lessons, I'm not sure how many of those "lessons" in fiction I've retained and applied to my life.

Maybe it's just me, but the stuff that I seem to remember is what I've learned through nonfiction. The three most influential books in my life thus far have been:

"Who Moved my Cheese?" sound ridiculous? I found this book sitting in my Dad's basement during a time when I'd dropped out of college, totalled my car and moved in with my Dad's second-marriage family because he just happened to live within walking distance of my job. It's a short book, and I'd heard something about it so I read it. One line that got me and I'll never forget the message of, "sometimes it feels like you're moving one step forward and two steps back" cliche, I know. But the book went on to explain why in spite of that it's better to feel like a failure, after trying something new, then just stay in the same place. Amen. That snippet planted the seed that eventually led to me finishing school and moving to New York. It was the reassurance I needed, to know that someone out there knew it wasn't a cake walk--and that it's okay to not know what you're doing and fall on your face.

"The 48 Laws of Power" I picked this book up because I loved the way the author used historical references to back up his laws. Lots of juicy bits about military strategy, dodgy politicians and con men. As I read the book, I realized how the laws had been used on me--and how well they worked. Although the book had nothing to do with handling romantic relationships, it gave me a feeling of empowerment to stop whining and reacting to what other people did. I could, instead, allow people to react to what I do. This book gave me back my confidence after a nasty and prolonged bout of post break-up blues, especially when I started using the laws myself.

"The Black Swan" This is one of those Malcom Gladwell type of books. The venerated mathematician/scientist comes down from his lofty ivory tower to impart knowledge to the masses. As a genre, I'm over it. And this book is written in such a meandering way (the author desperate to prove he has a sense of humor in spite of making a living as a quant) that it feels tedious. Not to mention the guy is such a genius that he just can't do without his SAT words. I've taken statistics and econometrics courses and still found myself going, huh? The message of the book could be put into laymen's terms in probably about 10 pages. Life is a hell of a lot more random than we like to believe. The most important events in our lives (all our big breaks) are completely unpredictable. So, there is no sense in waiting around for anything to happen. And I mean anything. You might as well just go after what you want, and have a hell of a good time doing it.* As bored as I was during much of the book, I suppose all of the science-y talk made his point seem more valid and that was worth it. *This of course is a great argument for not tying yourself down with kids too early.

None of these books were technically in the "self-help" category per se. But, Cheese and Power are close conteders for the reviled section of the book store. For the record, I'd just like to say that I think it's bull shit that people scoff at self-help readers and are embarassed to read books that provide information that could very well improve the quality of their life. All it takes is a sentence, really. And that sentence could be anywhere. And let's face it, where else are you supposed to get your advice? Your stoner friends? Your parents who have nuggets but no concept of the social landscape their kids live in? I mean the idea that we know everything we need to know in order to be content is absurd. The idea that experience alone is enough to make us perfectly whole, happy, beings is even more absurd. All anyone knows is based on their own limited experience anyway. That includes your shrink. It makes sense to get different opinions.

My Day So Far...

So I wake up, at 6 a.m., randomly. Starving. Decide to take a shower, hey maybe for the first time in two years I'll get to the office before 10! Post shower I lay back down in bed to let my hair air dry a bit before blowing it (my typical routine). I decide that yes, definitely, today will be an anomoly in which I will have a morning like a large percentage of American adults. Plus, I am still starving inexplicably and the way to breakfast is the city. I stand up, walk over to my closet to try and figure out what to wear then--just like that--I decide that I am actually still pretty tired and maybe a little nap would be in order before I get up for realsies.

Next thing I know, it's 10. And my morning has officially become like so many before it. No time for hair, makeup or wardrobe considerations. Must be out the door in 30 minutes or less to get to the office by 11.

10:58 I walk into the lobby. I guess spending Sunday in the LES drinking from 2 - 8 p.m. is what made me very thirsty and ravenous. Though, I don't feel hungover. Walk into the 'bucks. OH NO! late morning line, WTF? this never happens. Three words, European teenage tourists, who I'm pretty sure are all getting a frappucino, when I want nothing more than an iced coffee. The humanity. 'Why, oh why,' I wonder, 'are we not allowed to openly discriminate against tourists between the months of June and August?

I finally get up to the counter. I order my usual, but sadly my barrista transferred to another store because of a management dispute. Those left in his place, may or may not have downs syndrome. Because for the second time, I order the reduced-fat coffee cake and the girl says "which one?" OMFG. The ONE that says "REDUCED FAT" on the label. I literally had to explain to her that there is a "classic" coffee cake and a "reduced fat swirl coffee cake" and the fact that she doesn't know the difference and thinks they're on par with each other is just, absurd.

So here I am, it's almost noon and I've done NOTHING today except write this blog.