Pardon me, but is that seat taken? By a bag?

Is it me or have the rules for what is considered okay behavior changed?  Ever more frequently, it feels like what I would consider a rude behavior is the norm, while my questioning or refusing to let it ride has become the rude behavior.  I've mentioned this in the past - and will again and again, because this is a huge pet peeve of mine.  And one of the biggest peeves for me is the bag on the train seat.

When the train is packed and people are searching for a seat or standing, how is it possible that people continue to leave their bags on seats?  And why, when I am put in the position of asking someone to move their bag so I can sit, am I treated as if I am the rude one?  More often than not, you, the bag person have a monthly ticket (although that is not to say you need to ride the train every day to know a person gets priority for a seat over a bag!) so I know you've heard the announcements about being courteous to your fellow passengers.  The bag thing is one of only three things you're asked not to do (mind you, the others - don't put your feet on the seats and be considerate when using your cell phones - are, big shock, frequently ignored as well).

Yet when I pause next to you, my intention obvious, you do nothing.   On a crowded train where people are in the aisle searching for seats, you sit there, an available seat next to you occupied only by a bag (sometimes it's a big bag, sometimes it is a tiny little thing, a miniature brown paper shopping bag all alone in the big old seat), and you make me ask you to move that bag.  Now, clearly you are playing the odds that people will feel uncomfortable and not ask you to move it, and you are okay with other people standing while your bag takes up a seat providing you with some nice, roomy space on a crowded train.  Come on, just admit it - that's why it's there. It's not because you don't want to put it on the ground.  After all, I've seen you and your kind in Starbucks - you put it on the ground there, no problem.  You're giving yourself some extra room and the heck with anyone else. 

And when I say "excuse me" with a chin nod to the bag (and I will because in a civil society you should move your bag to give a fellow passenger a seat and my personality will not allow it to be otherwise), you give me a dirty look and act all put out, like it's the biggest inconvenience in the world (as opposed to, say, the inconvenience suffered by the people who are standing on a moving train for 50 minutes because you think you deserve to be more comfortable than them).   Double jeers to the people who sit on the aisle seat and put their bag on the inside hoping that either 1) no one will notice it's a bag not a person or 2) having to ask them to move their bag and their person will be too much for the timid souls who have bought into the fallacy that asking you to be courteous makes them rude.   Not me - I'm asking you first...

Mind you,  my snark is reserved only for those situations in which seats are at a premium.  If there's plenty of room, go ahead, live it up - put the bag on the seat.  Just don't put your feet on the seat across from you while you talk loudly on your cell phone.  Because then I'll be writing about you in another blog.

When TV shows disappoint...

Oh, "The Following." I had such high hopes for you. Your print and television ads looked pretty cool. I listened to a whole interview on Howard Stern with Kevin Bacon, who was surprisingly personable and funny (ok it was during a five hour drive and Big Guy was driving so he had radio control).  I bought into the whole thing, expecting a radical new television drama that would give the cable dramas a run for their money. So far the only thing that has shown up as promised are the pierced eyes and blood. Let me point a few things out to you:

-- Yes, your head serial killer is charismatic and has a particularly smarmy British accent. But he's all over the place. He's a professor who got too into his subject matter; he mesmerizes girls and boys; he wants to create a cult; he wants revenge against his wife; he wants his son back; no, wait, what he really wants is to be Kevin Bacon's puppet master. I'm beginning to think the reason they have him in jail is they understood he couldn't accomplish all this unless he had a lot of free time on his hands.

-- I don't know where this all takes place but boy, does the law enforcement stink. A serial killer on death row easily escapes. Three characters who are intimately close to people intimately connected to the serial killer (his son's nanny and the gay - but not really but actually one may be -couple living next door to the only victim who survived his attacks) are shown *on prison video that is on record* to have visited the serial killer multiple times in jail. With no significant disguises I might add.  There they are on camera strolling pretty as you please to chat with a serial killer on death row.  I would think there would be a little more interest in who was visiting him and what they did when they left (I'm no expert, but I've seen movies on the subject and my god, the hoops even the person's lawyer goes through to visit).  Just one basic check?  "Hmmm, looks like today's visitor is identical to his son's current nanny but she used a different name to visit him...should we investigate further?"

-- Speaking of the wife, boy is she handling the whole situation well.  Granted she is starting to fall apart a bit more now that her son has been kidnapped by the nanny/acolyte.  Who by the way got away with murdering her own mother in cahoots with her boyfriend, another acolyte, all while visiting the serial killer on death row; seriously, the law enforcement in this town is really bad. But I digress - back to the wife.  In the flashbacks, she has just finalized her divorce from her fellow college professor husband who she just found out was a brutal serial killer.  So what does she do to celebrate? Calmly hits on (throws herself at?) Kevin Bacon with quite witty repartee, the cop who caught her husband (no weird boundaries/relationship issues there) while enjoying a glass of nice red wine in her lovely home, glad to have the whole awful mess quite neatly behind her. Call me crazy, but don't the families of criminals (much less serial killers/mass murderers) experience some turmoil in their lives- guilt by association, they must have known, did they help cover it up, did they make him do it, etc. etc.  You know, the things a scapegoating society tends to do. And where's the press? This is a serial killer on death row! And if nothing else, isn't it too soon to introduce another man into her son's life - the son whose father was just sentenced to death for being a brutal serial killer?  Am I the only one who sees a problem with this?

--  And Kevin. Poor Kevin.  Is it hard carrying around all of those stereotypes?  Retired FBI guy who is called back to catch a serial killer a second time since he is the only one who can do it (big morale booster for current staff) and despite the fact that he's retired because of the mental and physical injuries he suffered from said serial killer.  A heart problem, a drinking problem, and mental anguish from the deaths you didn't prevent and the fact that you boinked the serial killer's wife?   And yet, you mesmerize girls and boys alike as evidenced by the blind devotion of said wife, his only surviving victim, the FBI rookie (who is about 10 years old and yet was in charge of this high profile case because he apparently had studied its history the most due to his infatuation with you and yet he didn't recognize you when you first showed up) and anyone else who comes in contact with you (except for that one guy who doesn't believe anything you say forcing you to continually go rogue, breaking every law but everyone overlooks it despite the fact that it always ends in more dead, bloody bodies).  Yes, you mesmerize them just like the serial killer. 

Just like the serial killer?  Wait a minute, wait a minute!  Could you be just like the serial killer, except you use your obsessive focus and awesome mesmerizing-ness for good?  Could - gasp - the serial killer see - no, feel! - this inner connection and will, at some future dramatic moment announce that you are just...like...him (cue the really hard rock music the show uses when they show ending scenes without dialogue that build upon a plot twist hinted at in the prior scene).  Because no one has ever done that before.

I'll probably finish watching you Following, partly to see where you go with all this, but mostly because the apartment I'm in has no premium cable (Oh, if only I had Game of Thrones!)  But if you decide to show Kevin's butt during sweeps week, I'm outta here.

Brrrrrr....

Baby it's cold outside!  And I don't mean a little chilly - I mean stinging pain on your skin, can't feel your fingers or toes and you might as well tape a tissue to the end of your nose cause it won't stop running cold.  My god, they are reporting deaths from the cold (this is not something that should happen unless you are on a remote mountain or Antarctica).

And yet, despite the frigid conditions, day after day I see people woefully underdressed for the weather.  Why?  The news has been pretty rampant with reports of the conditions so I have to assume they know it's cold.  Perhaps they don't own anything suited for cold weather?  It's Long Island - perhaps not the snowbelt but also not a bastion of warmth in the winter.  No, at the end of the day I have to assume it has to do mostly with looks and a little bit with stupidity (more on that later). Personally, I look pretty pathetic each day bundled in my down coat, hat, gloves, scarf and boots. But you know who else didn't look particularly stunning in their clothing choices?  Eskimos.  I'm following their lead - they know from whence they speak.

Here are a few of the most common blunders I see when the temperature drops:

--  Ladies, ladies - ditch the spiked heels when there is snow and ice on the ground.  Yeah, I know they make your legs look spectacular but when you are navigating a slippery train platform in a pair of shoes that you clearly have trouble walking in on a sunny day, it is an accident waiting to happen.  And if an accident happens, my train will be even more delayed.  If you must have the shoes put them in that giant bag you are carrying and change into them when you get to work.  Use the Starbucks downstairs from your office to change if you really can't bear arriving in winter gear (it’s New York, you know there’s one there)  

-- My female brethren get the second one as well.  Those ballet flats sure are cute - but without any socks with a pair of pants that come to your ankles when it is below zero with the wind chill factor?  I sympathize; my four year old only wants to wear hers as well and if given the choice would do the same as you (no, this isn’t a flattering comparison).  But if it’s frigid out, I make her wear them with thick stockings or with boots until she gets to school where she can change.  You can use the Starbucks too.

--  Bald guys - wear a hat.  My father was right - most of your body’s warmth does escape through your head.  Now this goes for everyone, but it is doubly true for you since you have no natural covering up there.  You have no hat head to contend with nor will a hat look any worse on you than the rest of us – so what’s the problem?  I see you shivering away, looking miserable – everything below your neck bundled up while your head is wide open to the elements.  It’s like putting the heat in your house on 80 and then leaving your windows open.  And no, earmuffs aren’t the solution - and aren’t a particularly good look if you ask me.

-- People, people - dress for the weather not the amount of time you plan to spend outside in it.  I always say that I dress for breakdowns, not car rides.  Which, although perhaps I take it to the extreme, is the practical way to go – and in zero degree weather practical wins.  Oh, the people (mostly men) I have seen outside in only their suit or a sweatshirt because they “won’t be outside that long.”  Because you know, nothing could ever possibly go wrong to change this.  The LIRR is never late when it is cold.   A train has never come to Jamaica and been taken out of service for some unknown reason and you need to wait *outside* for the next one.  Or your building will never be evacuated (hey a long shot but possible).  The most extreme case I ever saw of this was some idiot on the train platform when it had to be ten below in just a suit.  The train was 45 minutes late.  He did this because his interview was in Penn Station  (I was right next to him and heard everything, albeit in a stuttering, shivering voice).  A friend dropped him at the train and he was smart – he waited in the car until just a minute before the train was scheduled to leave so he wouldn’t be in the cold long.  I can think of two things even smarter.  Wait in the car until you actually see the train coming and WEAR A COAT.  I never saw him again which could mean that his intelligence level and lack of ability to foresee problems and plan for them came through clearly in the interview (perhaps they saw the frost on his head and no jacket?), or he got pneumonia and is no longer with us, or he just took different trains than me (in which case I hope he learned his lesson and started to bring a jacket).

It’s winter people.  Accept it and put some clothes on.  And I am all about equality.  When it is summer, I’ll talk about how I don’t think you should wear Uggs with shorts.

Not Responsible for Errors!

So, it isn't often that I actually look at a Long Island Rail Road schedule - I have a pretty set routine (thanks kids) and there are a couple of morning and evening trains that make up my options.  But being one of the ten or so people that had to work on MLK day (again, boo to my boss) I had to look at a schedule because it was a Holiday schedule - well, modified Holiday whatever that means.  And, in looking I also came across this little nugget of a disclaimer in the printed schedule "Not responsible for Errors."  Which was surrounded by a bunch of legalese about how the LIRR cannot assume any responsibility for, well, anything it would seem - or at least anything related to getting people somewhere by the trains they operate using the schedules they print.

Now, a person could get concerned about how a business could excel (or even operate at a middling level of competency) when they assume no responsibility for what they are doing - particularly a business upon which she relies day in and day out.  But, as the Buddhists (or someone) say, you shouldn't worry about what you can't control (even when that thing you can't control affects large portions of your life and costs a lot of money).  So instead, I decided to think about how it would benefit *me* to no longer be responsible for errors.

• Oh the time I would save at work if I stopped proofing spelling and grammar, verifying facts, and other time consuming acts I have spent on quality issues.  Wrong time included on that donor reception invite?  Not my problem - didn't you see that "not responsible for errors nor any inconveniences resulting from them" in the small print on the bottom?
• I would spend a few extra bucks and get my checks personalized with my new special quote (can you get the quote right under the dollar amount?) and no longer worry about writing them out in the correct amounts.  Let the receivers of my money deal with the ramifications of there not being enough - I'm "not responsible for errors!"
•  I would start showing up at work whenever I wanted and leaving when I felt like it and just tell my boss that my “schedule was subject to change without notice.”
• I would save a lot of time and stress and cut back on all the parenting stuff.  I'd just send those kids out into the world with a note from me that reads "not responsible for errors or any damage resulting from them."  In fact, I'll give my kids that note when either of them attempt to bring up any childhood crap to explain some wrong decision they make in their twenties.  I could get a lot of mileage out of this one.

Well done LIRR!  This refusal to assume responsibility for anything regardless of how it affects anyone else *is* easier!  I'm going to continue to follow your lead and work on my inability to function in any inclement weather and start considering myself on time as long as I am within a mile of where I need to be within at least 10 minutes of when I need to be there.  The people waiting outside for me in 10 degree weather will surely be okay with that.

Have dark cloud, will travel

So this weekend we took a road trip to my brother's in Massachusetts.   For those who may not know, this is the brother with whom my Mother has been staying since the whole Sandy thing happened and among other reasons, we made the trip so that the mini-me's and their Grandma could see each other.  We would also get to see other family.  My nephew is still in the area and would be coming by and my niece and her boyfriend, while a couple of hours away, were planning a surprise pop-in on Sunday (we knew about it but her Dad, my brother, did not).  And, yes, you are reading all of this right - I am so old that my nieces and nephews are grown up and live away from home and many have kids of their own.  Shut up.

Anyways, my ancient status aside, it shaped up to be a really nice weekend.  It was good catching up with everyone and things were relaxing.  And the space in their house!  Rooms and rooms to go to when you wanted to get away from other people (hey, you stay with five people for 2 months in a one bedroom apartment and then judge).  My brother lives on a very large plot of land in a woodsy area. Long Island friends, I know what you are thinking: 80' X 100'?  100' x 120'?  Bigger?  A - gasp - quarter of an acre?  We are talking rural Massachusetts people - 8 acres! (Which beavers are trying to turn into waterworld, but that is a story for another day).  There was lots of snow, which was exciting enough for the little ones; but an unexpected bonus was a frozen pond down a hill and through the woods, just a few hundred feet from the house, that a neighbor had walled off into a little skating rink (see pix below; people included for perspective - don't worry, I am not exploiting my family for profit). 

I did it - I added a picture!  I just couldn't figure out how to put this caption below it

We had no skates (mini-me the Elder wanted to know why I didn't bring her skates - um, because I had no way of knowing there was a skating rink in the backyard and no, I didn't think to ask?  Why didn't *you* bring them?) but it was still fun to slide around on it (once I was convinced that it was indeed fully frozen and no one would fall through - can you blame me for not wanting to take any chances with my luck lately?).  My nephew did manage to find an old pair of his hockey skates which Big Guy tried out (and despite steadfast filming on my part, I did not get a fall on camera) along with some sticks and a puck - and we had lots of fun. 

The next day, Sunday, started really well.  Lazy morning and then a visit to friends of my sister-in-law who have chickens and a neighbor with horses.  Everyone got to feed the chickens, gather eggs (we even got to bring some home - pretty blue and brown ones!) and pet the horses and feed them carrots.  There was an attempt to give the mini-me's a ride on a little Shetland Pony but it was a little unhappy with the arrangement and pretty much bucked off mini-Me the Elder twice (I am so very proud of her for getting right back on the second time - and quiet anyone saying "you let your kid get back on a horse that tried to throw her?"  It was a shetland pony - she wasn't going far and the owner was right there).  Again, lots of fun and if the brand new car got some mud and chicken poop in it, well so be it (quiet Big Guy - so be it).  We arrived home to the surprise (sort-of) presence of niece and boyfriend, with nephew and girlfriend present as well.  A return trip to the pond was a no-go (temperatures had risen and the frozen status of 3 feet of water apparently shifts pretty quickly - just a little pressure from my toe and that thing cracked) but hey, shit happens.  Or it will...

The dark cloud clearly had to assert its presence (I did not realize it had stowed away) and I can only apologize profusely to my brother and his family for bringing it to their house (by the way, Big Guy considers it *my* dark cloud and won't assume any part of it - after twenty years together I thought we should share everything) .  My brother had been clamoring for a ride in the new car as he was thinking of purchasing the same one.  Now, he is in a wheelchair and on the way out to the car something got caught in the wheels and he flipped out of it (much like Mini-me the Elder off the Shetland I guess) and hurt himself (it should be noted that he did not mention any hurt until after he obtained said test ride in the car - men).  Afterward, he copped to a significant amount of pain and his wife and daughter took him to the emergency room, which took a long time (it ended up being a big hematoma, nothing broken thank goodness).  Those of us left behind cooked the dinner that was planned and had an enjoyable time together, but with a bit of a shadow as texts on status flew back and forth.
We had to leave at about 7 PM (I had to go to work - boo on my office for not closing on MLK day) so didn't see my brother or SIL before we left.  We ended up seeing my niece for about 20 minutes total - and I assume she had not planned on the surprise visit to her Dad taking place in a hospital.  My nephew and his girlfriend also had to leave and so I think the worst experience (except for my bro) goes to my niece's poor boyfriend (who is just *such* a nice guy) who ended up staying behind and essentially babysitting my Mother - he wanted to go keep my niece company in the hospital but my SIL did not want to leave an 82 year old woman who has a history of falls alone, while out awaiting the news on whether someone else's hip was broken - this is what is known as courting disaster (I wonder if they were also worried that I would be leaving the stink of dark cloud behind for a bit).  This poor guy...alone with my Mom in the house and he had a two hour drive ahead of him at some point so he couldn't even drink.

Seriously, dark cloud.  People are going to stop inviting me to visit them. 

Come, Take a Walk With Me...

Ah, the things I see on my morning walk from the train to work, all within a 20 minute span (I don't see as much on my way uptown in the evening since I tend to be rushing a bit more and can't really take the time to enjoy the sights).  Let me share with you some of the sights of just this morning: 

• A guy holding his hand up to find a cab heading north wandering out into the middle of the street, not even noticing that he was about to be mowed down by the cars heading east from across the street who just got the light.  As always, looking to be kind and helpful I called out "hey, you're about to be hit by a car!"  He looked, stepped back, safe from danger, and then gave me a dirty look.  Seriously, no one says thank you anymore for anything.  Now, if I had been single in a standard issue rom-com I would have tackled him out of the way of a truck and found, after 90 minutes of missed opportunities, misunderstandings and other freewheeling complications (I understand there is a list of 20 rom-com screenwriters choose from), the love of my life.
• In addition to cab guy, I also saw at least four people talking or texting on their phones pay no attention whatsoever to the lights and walk into the street in front of traffic.  Lucky for them the drivers were paying attention and honked (just honked - no slowing down or stopping - this is New York after all).  Is it wrong that if any of them had gotten hit I probably would have gone to the driver first to tell them it's okay, it wasn't their fault?
• A guy get out of a cab and then unfold a tricycle.  Yes, a tricycle.  Perhaps a little bigger than your standard toddler issue one, and a sleek black and grey color (cool) but still the standard seat, three wheels and handlebars (and no it wasn't one of those big recumbent bikes - it was a *tricycle*).  His nose area was covered by a giant bandage so I assume it was to help him get around for health reasons (why did he need transportation for an apparent nose injury?  I don't know).  I am thinking that I witnessed the next generation of sick person travel vehicles and I am for it.  I suspect it will lend them the speed of the scooter with a much smaller carbon footprint - all while providing a daily cardio workout.
• A guy running in shorts and a tank top.  I do not know the exact temperature but it couldn't have been more than 40 degrees.  I thought he was an idiot and that's all I have to say.
• A bike rider traveling the wrong way and through a red light in the bike lane nearly hit me.  Actually, this is pretty much a daily occurance (sometimes more than once in the same day) and there is most definitely a blog percolating on what I think about bike riders in the city, particularly since they were given bike lanes to make *them* safer.  It will not be filled with kind thoughts.

Let other people get excited by celebrity sightings.  I'll take the injured guy on the tricycle every time. 

I Missed Pajama Day

So I dropped off Mini-Me the Younger at school today and as soon as I walked in I saw that just about everyone was wearing pajamas which could only mean one of two things:  I was having a really boring dream in which I went through my entire morning routine only to arrive at a surprise, yet not very exciting, ending or - and this was more likely- it was pajama day at her school and I had blown it.  No, I didn't forget it; I had no clue whatsoever which means I missed any and every notice about it, including its listing on the month's activity calendar hanging on my (well technically my sister's) refrigerator. And clearly there were such notices - at least 80% of the kiddies were dressed in their PJs.

As soon as I realized it (it didn't take long - I'm a smart cookie) the dreaded phrase that I hate to think made an appearance in my brain.  Yes, I briefly thought "I am a bad Mother."  Then I shoved it back out with a "hell no I am not" and refused to feel bad for a number of reasons.

First of all, by simply applying the opposite principle I know it's not true.  Not familiar with the opposite principle?  It's simple yet effective.  If you think something you have done is bad, you flip it to see if doing the opposite would be even worse.  So in this scenario, a flip would mean that I brought her to school in her pajamas on a day that was *not* pajama day.  I believe this would indeed be worse, ergo I had not done the worst thing possible.  It is a rather handy tool to immediately feel better.

Looking at it from a factual and relativity stance, I read the papers and watch the news and have happened upon many examples of truly bad Mothers (which I shall not list here because the goal of my blog is to leave people chuckling and happy, not despondent over the trajectory of humankind). 

From a contextual point of view, we have had a lot going on lately and if I had to drop a ball, pajama day is not a bad ball to drop.  It could have been a friend's birthday party - or even worse - a Mini-Me's birthday (not exactly the opposite principle but the same effect). 

Or we could consider it from a gender issues/feminist perspective.  Let's face it, the fact that this even concerns me is because I am a Mom.  I bet if a Dad forgot pajama day, he wouldn't feel bad for even two seconds (in fact I don't think he would feel bad even in the opposite principle scenario).  Mom's internalize this shit - you forget one little thing and suddenly it is reflective of you as a person (despite the fact that we spend so much time making sure our kids understand that when they do something wrong it doesn't make them a bad person - what's up with that?)

But, if I were to be honest, there is really just one reason why I am essentially okay with forgetting pajama day.  If you recall (or if you are like me and have no memory, let me remind you) I wrote that at least 80% of the kids were dressed for pajama day.  Which means that 20% were not.  Which means that  it was not just me that forgot (or ignored - either works for my purpose) pajama day.  Yeah, all of the above reasons (and likely many others) are valid and all that, but the fact that it wasn't just me is the one that matters. To put it another way - as long as a bunch of other kids were screwed over by their parents too, I'll sleep fine tonight. 

(Just in case anyone is actually worried about the kiddo's feelings, mini-Me the younger is fine and has not even mentioned that it was pajama day - just to be on the safe side I didn't bring it up either.)

Coffee Clean-Up On Aisle One!

So there I was on the train, settled into my seat, about to start settling into some serious sleeping reading when I saw it - a lake of coffee spawning about five rivers spreading throughout the train car.  Yeah, it looked like a full venti broke loose.

Now as I always tell my kids there are accidents and then there are completely avoidable careless spills.  An accident is when you are picking up a glass of orange juice and someone walking by bumps your elbow and you drop the glass.  It is not an accident when, to give a purely hypothetical example, you go to pick up the glass while holding an Ipad and your plate with your english muffin and apple slices on it while looking at the TV on which ICarly just started and rushing because you don't want to miss it and jab your hand toward the glass while still looking at the TV and knock it to the floor.  That is a completely avoidable careless spill (and yes you need to clean it up before you can watch ICarly). 

Which brings us back to the lake of coffee.  I don't think coffee spills on the train can be considered accidents (perhaps there is an exception out there and I'd love to hear it).  I think they can be avoided if train-riding folk kept a few simple things in mind:

• Coffee on the train is not for everyone.  It requires coordination, flexibility, and the ability to juggle.  Before you bring your coffee on the train you should practice it at home with the things you will have with you (this should be at minimum three items and for women should include a bag large enough to carry a body in).  Your first time you should really come with a small sized coffee that is only half full.  I know of which I speak - I realized a long time ago that I was *not* a coffee on the train kind of girl. 
• The laws of physics are not suspended on a train.  If you put a full cup of coffee on the floor and the train jolts to a stop, your coffee will not magically stay put.  There's a reason they started putting cup holders in cars, people. And physics aside, there is a good chance you or the person next to you will just kick it over.
• Perhaps you are one of those who put your coffee on the empty seat next to you.  In that case, please be aware that the laws of physics will meet the laws of gravity.  The seat being even more unstable than the floor (they may not be luxurious but those LIRR seats are sort of cushioned and most definitely not flat), not even a strong jolt is needed - the usual and customary bouncing of the train puts us both at risk.  I know you know this because you are constantly glancing down at it.  Would you put it on your couch when your toddler was jumping up and down on the far end?  Then don't do it here.  I would say something, but the confusing laws of polite behavior mean that I would be the rude one if I asked you not to put your giant, steaming hot or icy cold beverage on the rounded, cushion-like seat right next to me on a train that is bumping along at 60 miles an hour.
• Between your legs (we are talking men only now as far as I have seen) is a mite better for me (there would be some containment) but in the interest of being kind to others, I would really advise against it.  Physics and gravity (and the law of pressure) still apply and you know where it's going right? 

Simply put, if you want a coffee on the train you are just going to have to hold it.   Now granted, there are people who do any and all of the above day in and day out with nary a drop being spilled.   But, first of all, I believe this creates a false sense of security for the less competent coffee carriers travelling among us and secondly, it's probably just dumb luck and you are just a careless spill waiting to happen.  And then I am going to have to put my giant bag (which does not yet have a body in it) on my lap because the seat next to me has a cup of coffee on it.

Driving with Big Guy

Along with most men, big guy has a great sense of direction.  This of course is why he and others with a y chromosome don't need to ask for directions (don't even think it is because they are worried they will look weak if they have to ask for help finding something). 

Actually, he does have a pretty good sense of direction.  The problem is that it mostly comes in handy when he has to find his way back after one of his "shortcuts"  or "alternate routes" doesn't work out. For those who don't have this type of man (lucky you), shortcuts and alternate routes are necessary in a variety of situations, including but not limited to when there is any traffic (if there is even a nanosecond of slowing down and if there is an exit it must be taken - even if the road is clear 50 feet ahead, to avoid the traffic), when we need to make a pit stop at a Starbucks, or when the provided directions involve a road with just too many lights (have you figured out yet that Big Guy tends to be impatient when driving?)

It was the last one that came into play when we went to a birthday party yesterday (one in which both Mini-me's were invited).  It was off Route 110 on Long Island and traveling on Route 110 simply would not do - because of, you know, all the lights.  There were pretty clear directions on the invite and I had been to the place before, but Big Guy passed the exit off the Southern State we needed because he "knew a shortcut" so we could avoid "all the lights on 110."  I immediately informed the girls we would likely be late for the party - he was not amused. 

So two exits later he gets off the parkway onto the promised road without lights.  I once again expressed my concern whereupon he declared that he had been to the bouncy place before and knew where he was going and just trust him (with his shortcut track record?  I don't think so).  Again, the benefit of avoiding 110 and all the lights was stressed.  On and on the road went, and I pointed out that we should be there by now (particularly with a "shortcut") and he responded that it was just up ahead.  I questioned this considering the address was on a street which we were most definitely not currently on.  He got a mildly concerned look on his face at that but recovered quickly as he smugly announced "Here it is."  Yes indeed there it was.  Bouncers and Slydos.  Of course, we needed to be at Bounce U.  (All of these names will be intimately familiar to parents on Long Island.)

So we headed on over to Bounce U, by the only route possible from Bouncers and Slydos.  By Route 110.  Through all the lights.  We were on it for about a mile, far longer than we would have been had we not taken the shortcut to avoid it (now that's ironic).  And yes I did point this out to him.  Many times.  Very snarkily I might add.

Disney On Ice

Last night we had a family night out at Disney on Ice at Nassau Coliseum.  It was Ava’s first ice show and I think Shayna’s third, but the first one she actually stayed for the whole thing.  When she was little she had some issues with large places with loud noises.  She has come a long way since then. Things went well and a good time was had by all.  However I do have a few recommendations for the venue and the audience (including ourselves) that could improve the experience in the future.

·        It may be news to the coliseum but their parking lot is my only option to put my car and it really pisses me off that I have to pay to do this (this goes for just about every place in the world when I think about it, with a special shout out to Sesame Place for truly obscene parking prices on top of truly obscene park prices).  Sure, if you want to charge a fee for special areas that are really close, go for it – I’m okay with a premium for extra convenience.  Otherwise, you need to just include it.  You know who else makes people pay for things they shouldn’t have to pay for?  The Mafia.  Is that really who you want to be lumped with?

·        The good news was that the tickets were only $10 each (we had a coupon) – the bad news is that two souvenirs and two snow cones later the evening was no longer a bargain.  I understand that it was my choice to make the purchases, but seriously souvenir price setter people, being a parent is hard enough – have you no heart?  The only people worse are the traveling fair people who now charge like a gazillion dollars for a POP bracelet and the venues that make me pay to park. We gave in (well I gave in, Big Guy was parking the car) but told the Mini-me’s tonight was special since it was the first one and they will not be able to get these things in the future.

·        At the next show, when we (I) immediately cave on this declaration, Mini-Me the Younger is not allowed to select her own items.  Shame on me - I knew she would want what her big sister had but she insisted she wanted the Rapunzel braid while Mini-Me the elder got the light up butterfly wand – which the younger then coveted for the rest of the evening (the elder kindly shared and several nearby people were frequently in danger of being clunked in the head).  The same thing happened with the snow cone cup.  She can’t be trusted to make (and stick with) her own decisions.

·        Jeers to the people who sat in Row A in front of us (you know, the first one in the section where you can put your feet up on the wall) before the show even started knowing it was not their seat (I heard you declare so).  Granted, who among us has not searched out better seats once something is underway and it is clear they are available (ball games, airplanes).  But before the show even started?  And there were like 10 of you – you occupied the whole row.  Gosh, who would have thought that five minutes into the show (about 10 minutes after you *finally* settled into the seats) the actual ticket holders (who also had the entire row) would show up and you would block our view as you moved out your entire posse (and they stood there waiting for seats that were theirs and should have been waiting for them)?  Oh, that’s right – me.  I thought that, My Snarky Self.  But I am not allowed to say these things to people in public because *I* would be considered rude.

·        Lastly (and I know this is a cliché but it is such a problem that I will say it) – every public space should be required to build restrooms at a two to one female to male ratio.  I don’t care if this means that every woman’s restroom has twice as many toilets, or if there are twice as many restrooms – I am flexible on the details.  It is cruel and unusual punishment how you make us females wait (and remember we usually get the boy children as well).  There are tons of building requirements in the world – one more can’t hurt.  I am really tired of waiting so long to pee (while holding two overpriced souvenir cups half filled with sugar laden slush, a Rapunzel braid and a butterfly wand).

Nicki Minaj's Boobs to Judge on American Idol

Nicki Minaj's boobs are going to play a *huge* role on American Idol this year!  Now, don't misunderstand me.  There's been no official announcement.  But, I saw my first commercial for the new season last night.  They were so prominent in the promo that there is no way they are not giving them star billing.  In just about every shot, there they were.  There was no escaping them (on the other hand, *they* were very close to escaping -those puppies were getting ready to pop out any time - I smell a wardrobe malfunction and a selling point for advertisers looking to reach the 15-80 male target population).

I'm a little concerned about this new season.  Between Nicki's Boobs, Mariah's seventies hair (seriously, has she *ever* had a contemporary hairstyle?), Keith's blazing white smile that is sure to blind viewers whenever he is on camera (do not put a black light on that man), and whatever word Randy uses along with dawg this season, how will we focus on the singing?  Although if the past seasons' trajectory is any indication, the singing is inconsequential.  First of all, the judges have pretty much stopped offering any critical commentary whatsoever (and depending upon your own personal standards, any meaningful English whatsoever).  Secondly, the anticipation is gone - all you have to do is pick the cute white dude in the top 24 and there's your winner.  In the first few seasons, Idol showed some signs of diversity but then it settled down (and the advertisers targeting young girls ponied up) - as long as he shows up and his performances don't totally suck, the white dude wins.

But back to the boobs (which I'm sure will be a standing instruction for the camera guys this year).  The lack of scintillating musical commentary and the inevitability of the winner aside, the boobs alone may derail my family's musical appreciation experience.  We have always watched American Idol.  My kids love it -we DVR it and watch it together. Mini-me the Younger continues to ask for 'Merican Idol long after the season ended.  Mini-me the elder still recognizes the winners (and the also rans that we liked) from the past few years (by sight and by voice).  She always wanted to know what we thought when someone finished before she said anything (you know, developing her opinions in line with what we think and all that developmental crap - and we always encouraged her to say what she thought).  They even liked the judges and when it begins this year I'm sure they'll ask where that girl Steven went.  But they're boob obsessed (please don't judge me).  The younger is just at that age where they fascinate her and the older gets caught up in it pretty quickly because, well, it's funny to hear the younger go on about boobs so she eggs her on.  If the promo is any indication, the conversation in my house will be all about the boobs.  And I think we can all agree that Big Guy will be no help whatsover.

Granted Idol hasn't been great these past few years, but we've hung in there.  But if I have to dedicate four hours a week (of which it seems there are maybe 20 minutes of singing) to hearing about Nicki Minaj's boobs (and then in all likelihood Mariah's - there is no way Nicki's are getting all the attention) then sorry - it's Snarky Self OUT.

Angelina Jolie Plays Doodlejump

So the Big Guy is nourishing a new addiction to Doodlejump.  This follows closely on the heels of the shortlived Angry Birds obsession (which I think had more to do with the Mini-Me's than anything else).  Between these games and listening to Adam Carolla podcasts, it's a good thing he has an iphone - I don't know how he would get along in life without it.  Totally worth the $300 or whatever it cost for the phone.

I don't even know what Doodlejump is (although I do recall the commercial with the basketball player who I can't name as being pretty funny, so kudos for making me laugh when I don't even know the product). In defending the doodlebug addiction (we can't teach the girls boundaries on the electronic toys if we don't practice them ourselves, honey) he insisted that other really cool people play this game too - in fact it was highly possible he was playing against Chris Cornell (we are big Soundgarden fans), Angelina Jolie (how did she make the list?) and Brad Pitt (I am a longtime fan - although he took a big tumble off the pedestal with the whole Angelina thing -but Big Guy definitely said Angelina first so I suspect he just free associated to Brad, still leaving me wondering how the hell Angelina came up - are no men safe from her?). 

This is a spectacularly poor defense (I may disagree with you 100% but I respect a good defense).   Aside from the fact that as a person and a parent I don't think you should argue that it is okay to do something because cool people are doing it (and yes I understand that my self proclaimed status as a nerd makes my opinion on this highly suspect), I seriously doubt that people at the very top of their field (subjective opinions and taste on the above people aside, they are all very successful) are spending a lot of time playing Doodlejump.  Yes, I understand that it is an incredibly popular game with hundreds of thousands and perhaps millions of people playing it (I really have no idea as to numbers but I was told that it is incredibly popular as part of the defense).  I am going to go out on a limb here and say that I don't think Chris Cornell, et. al are among those hordes.  This is not intended to be snobbish - I just think to get to that level in your career, you need to spend most of your free time doing things like, you know, writing music and studying scripts.  Now, I do think it is highly likely he is playing against the likes of the people on Jersey Shore.  I think Reality TV people very likely spend plenty of free time on things like Doodlejump and their level of success following the end of their show will prove this out (please, if there is some sanity left in the universe it will prove this out).

Apparently now he has bought the Doodlejump app for the full game experience.  I don't know what a full game experience is, but I'm pretty sure the only people this really means something for are the ones who created Doodlejump.  Who I am pretty sure are not spending all of their free time playing Doodlejump.

P.S. In full disclosure of my own gaming experience, I have started to play Words with Friends (but only with two people so far).  No, I don't think it is the same thing at all.  There is spelling involved, for starters.

I Have Some Suggestions for you Starbucks!

Dear Starbucks - as a frequent and loyal customer (I have a rewards card!  On my phone!) who is willing to pay $3 for a cup of coffee because you have ruined me for Dunkin Donuts (who actually aren't so cheap themselves anymore - thanks for that too), I have a few suggestions that I think will improve the experience for your customers (and by customers I really mean My Snarky Self).  There's not that many so I think implementation will be simple. Here they are (and you're welcome!)

1.  Have two separate lines - one for those who know what they want and one for those who haven't a clue.  Mind you, this isn't a problem for me your customers on weekday mornings, but on weekends you get the coffee shop equivalent of Sunday drivers.  They cruise on in with not much else to do (always in groups of 2 or more and, to be honest, usually of a certain age), spend the entire time on line chatting with each other and then when they arrive at the counter look up at the giant board of drinks THAT HAS BEEN THERE THE ENTIRE TIME THEY HAVE BEEN WAITING to decide what to get.  After a million questions about what each drink is, they inevitably get a small coffee (and complain about the price).  Once everyone has their coffee there is a group consult on where to sit.  At the counter.  In my way the way of the rest of the people waiting patiently on line who know what they want.  Separate lines will fix this problem you don't realize you have.

Lest you think I am being mean to the Sunday coffee buyers, I am going to help them as well with my sage advice.  GO TO MCDONALD'S PEOPLE!  You can get a coffee for a dollar (you had to have seen the commercials and the ads - they are everywhere!) and they have seating too.  Plus we all know that every time you take a sip of Starbucks you will complain it tastes burnt ("burnt coffee at these prices" you'll exclaim).  You'll like the Mickey D's joe so much better.  And I promise if I'm on line ahead of you, my kids will know exactly what they want and we'll be quick.  It's a win win.

2.  This is probably specific to the Starbucks on 23rd off Fifth but just in case it is rampant across locations I'll share it.  You know the little green sticks that go in my coffee top to keep it from spilling that you keep in *one* mug next to *one* register?  Get a second mug, put some in there and put it next to the other register too.  I am tired of being at the register without the sticks and having to reach around another customer to get it or ask the other cashier to stop what they're doing to get me one.  It's not a hard concept.  You don't even have to get more green sticks (if it is an inventory control issue) - just take another mug off the shelf (I know that's where you got the first one - I've seen it there) and move half of the sticks from one mug to the other.  There are only two registers - this is not that hard.  I have even joked with the cashiers "you guys need to grab a second mug and put these at both registers" and they always laugh and say things like "yeah right" or "I know, really" but then they don't do it.  Does it need managerial approval?  Corporate approval?  Is there a staff meeting at which it can be discussed?  To paraphrase the incestuous creep in Gladiator, it vexes me that they can't put out a second mug of little green sticks.

3.  Lastly, stop letting people buy smaller sized drinks in larger cups.  I get a veinti coffee with no room since I don't take milk but if you don't fill it to the brim, and I ask you to please do so, you look at me like I'm cheap while you serve the chick next to me a grande in a veinti cup with a smile as she works the "make the customer happy" system - I know you know she's heading over to the milk bar to fill it to the top so she now has a veinti drink too - but she paid less than me and I'm a customer too - and now I'm not happy.  Hey, if she is choosing to replace some of her coffee with milk that's her choice.  Milk isn't free - I know you know that because if I buy a veinti Misto (half coffee and half warm milk which the entire rest of the coffee world calls a cafe au lait but you're special) you charge me more than you do for my regular coffee.  Let's just agree to charge by the cup size not the amount of liquid you put in it. 

Let's start with these and we'll see how things go.  I don't want to have to go to McDonald's.

Damn You ITouch!

Raising children in this day and age is challenging.  So many things going on in the world and in their lives - how to talk to them, set boundaries, when to say yes, when to stick with no, when to talk about sex, drugs - my god the list is endless. And I laugh at every one of those things because I think they will be cake compared to my nemesis - technology. 

No, not office stuff like the internet and word and excel and powerpoint.  I own those.  I can either do it or figure out how or figure out how to get around it.   I am talking games (like Nintendo DS and the Wii), tech toys (like a fidget friend), phones (ask my friend how she had to help me do an emoticon) and the Itouch.  There are few things in this world that make me feel "not smart" and along with physics, calculus and car mechanics these things complete the list.  There has yet to be one of these friggin items that enters my home or my life that does not slay me in trying to set it up or figure out how to use it.  My kids may be some of the least adept at video games ever (it also doesn't help that I get bored within about 2 minutes of starting to play). 

In fact I can't even spell them - and if I can't spell it then you know it's game over (if the Terminator or Matrix movies ever come true don't count on me to help save the world unless there is a book which needs to be read to find the secret to defeating whatever needs to be defeated).

The Itouch is the latest and perhaps the greatest.  It was a used one from my brother and I had to switch it to Shayna for messaging (that's all your getting from me - I don't know how else to explain it).  You would think that my techno savvy brother who owned the damn thing along with every gadget known to man-geek could have helped - but for some reason his abilities stop when it comes to actually helping someone else do something (or perhaps just helping me - my lack of patience and, um somewhat authoritative manner, don't bring out the best in him).  Either way he was no...help...whatsoever. 

I finally got it done so I guess I beat it after all.  But it was torture every step of the way and I am afraid of what is coming down the pike.  Yeah, bring on the sex and the drugs and the angst -  just save me from anything that has a power switch, a user name or a control box.

The Maiden Blog - Thanks Sandy

Many people make New Year's resolutions and I guess I am no different.  I have been planning to start a blog for quite some time since I love to express my opinion on topics that take hold in my brain (and those ramblings are usually quite snarky).  I feel like I have plenty of potential content between my partner of 20 years (we'll call him Big Guy), my two daughters (we'll call them Mini-Me the Elder and Mini-me the Younger since I can't think of any good fake names), my assorted pets (two cats and a bearded dragon), my daily commute to the big city and my traveling companions (none of whom I know personally but all of whom I know their type and they will pop up here now and again) and my job.  Plus did I mention that I like to express my opinion on things?  I tend to do it in texts, emails and random conversations - so a blog seemed the logical next step.  Which I never seemed to take.

Then a series of incidents began to occur which I refer to as my dark cloud.  It began with my bike being stolen from the train station (monumental at the time and now a minor blip on the radar screen), peaked with the entire first floor of my home being flooded (by salt water and an oil spill) and destroyed by Hurricane Sandy (my home which I had just completely renovated just four years ago so it was essentially brand new), and then had salt poured on the wound when I moved into a one bedroom apartment (graciously loaned by my sister) with my four person family, my brother, my Mother (no we don't get along and I have since shipped her out to stay with another brother - yeah that's harsh, if you lived it you would have done the same), the dragon (the cats have been left to survive in our bedroom in the house - don't worry, we visit and feed them) and my brother's dog (we'll call her Mookie since that's her name and I don't care if someone tracks her down).  The insufferable indignity of this seems never ending as my contractor moves at a glacial pace (but he did my house the first time and I trust him in all his slowness) and other assorted calamaties (among other things we also had an oil spill in the loaner apartment - no I'm not kidding and no we didn't do it - and I had a work mailing that was delayed because paper stock was delivered water damaged - WTF is it with oil and water?)  But I keep trying to laugh and keep forging forward.  And thought again about starting the blog.

So we come to New Year's Eve.  We had a relatively decent holiday (although I missed doing it in my beautiful home as I usually do) and then spent New Year's Eve with a close friend of mine, sleeping at her house.  The big guy was ambivalent (he will never win the award for most social being, although once he gets somewhere he is friendly and personable) and both mini-me's were excited beyond belief - staying up late for New Years *and* a sleepover at their pseudo-aunt's?  Totally awesome.  The evening went well - good company, good wine and totally relaxing - the kids were having a grand old time and even Big Guy seemed to be having fun.  This was going to be the turning point at which I got rid of the dark cloud.  It was the New Year and at Midnight there would be a fresh start.  My friend and I even held a mini-exorcism as a symbol of it going away.  Hope was in the air.  Mini-me the Younger stayed up til 1:00 AM!  Mini-me the Elder till 2!  We went to sleep confident that this was it - the start of bigger and better things.  And woke up three hours later at 5 AM to Mini-me the Elder throwing up in the corner of my friend's guest room.  On her beige carpet.  She didn't make it to the bathroom (hell I don't know if she even knew where it was). Let me repeat this for those thinking "no.  no way that happened on top of everything."  Three hours into the bright new year in which things would start going better for me my kid puked on my friend's spotless beige carpet (for those who need details it was indeed a reddish/orange color, the worst color possible) and we had to clean it up.  It was, um, extensive.  She did make it to the bathroom for the second round of vomiting and that too was extensive.  Big guy did the inital clean-up (is it gross to call it chunk duty?) and I had detail.  I embarked on a quest to find cleaning supplies in the dark house without waking anyone (including the poor teenage girl sleeping on the couch in the living room open to the kitchen).  With the flashlight on my new Iphone 5 I looked through all of her cabinets (finally!  a good thing!  If I didn't have the iphone I wouldn't have a flashlight to rifle through my best friend's home at 5 in the morning).  I hoped the teenager would not wake up and freak out and scream thinking there was an intruder (actually just scream - she would clearly think someone in the dark with just a flashlight was an intruder).  Also, at a time like this you realize you never asked said friend if her husband had a gun.  As protection.  Against intruders who rifle through their house in the middle of the night.  Then you simply hope that the dark cloud could not be quite that dark...  You find most everything you need except carpet cleaner and do a damn good job of cleaning up and never wake anyone.  Of course not.  Everyone except you is sleeping deeply after going to bed so late and mostly drunk.  As a matter of fact you feel pretty sure that no one else in the country and perhaps the world is cleaning up an 8 year old's puke after a wild New Year's Eve.  WTF is it with this dark cloud?

In the morning I of course explained to my friend what happened.  Friend's husband insists the exorcism couldn't work because it was done by a Jew and a half Jew whose other half is Christian but not Catholic.  How could we possibly have expected it to work?  Big Guy insists he should have been there because despite being a very lapsed Catholic (like total non-believer) his 12 years of Catholic School would have counted in making him eligible to perfom an exorcism (apparently Catholics hold the patent on exorcisms and only they can do them.  Or only they actually believe in demonic possessions.  Feel free to accept whichever explanation you want).  I cannot argue against this because it would only mean arguing against my own lack of exorcism credentials as half Jew and half lapsed Lutheran.  However, Big Guy does finally come up with something acceptable- the exorcism did work and the vomiting was symbolic.  Mini-me the Elder took one for the team and dispelled all of the darkness in that one act, aided by the endless amounts of food and (non-alcoholic) drink she imbibed throughout the evening (in hindsight I don't know why I didn't expect the vomit after everything she put away through the course of the evening).

Hell I don't care if it makes no sense - I'm going to cling to that symbolic story like Kate Winslet to the floating wood at the end of Titantic.  I need something, anything here to think the cloud will finally leave.  If it needs to be on a river of vomit so be it (and is it so wrong to think that if someone had to do the puking better anyone than me? Including poor Mini-Me the Elder? I would have probably made it to the bathroom, but still.  I really don't like to vomit). 

And so with that story I have started my blog, My Snarky Self.  Thanks for sitting through this first long post (actually I don't know if it is long or short?  I don't know how long a blog should be). The snark will likely ebb and flow in amount, but rest assured it is always there ready to make an appearance.   As the home renovation, the living conditions and the usual and customary actions of my day-to-day life and cast of characters continue on, I think I will need to vent and this seems like a good place to do it (and I will try to be kind of regular about it).  Please feel free to comment and please come back.

Happy F-ing New Year!