I Have Some Suggestions for You LIRR!

I understand Long Island Rail Road.  You operate a complex system responsible for getting hundreds of thousands of people between New York City and Long Island every day.  A moment of half-hearted research in the interest of factuality in this blog tells me it's about 300,000 people a day.  So I get that it may not be easy.  But quite frankly you've also been doing it for almost 200 years (again research!) and after all this time, you would think you would be pretty good at it.   Yet you've got pretty low confidence ratings from your customers, who probably believe that you don't care much about making major efforts to improve because hey, how else are they going to get into Manhattan every day?  Full disclosure - I am a daily commuter who pretty much does believe that.

However, being a generous person I have decided to give you some tips that might help you look just a wee bit better.  Please note these are not intended to solve all of your problems or to even turn you into a moderately okay train system that comes close to being worth the exorbitant prices you charge to get in and out of the city.  They might however minimize the number of people who at a given moment are collectively thinking that you are populated by idiots.

• When the train comes to a stop in the station, open the doors.  Seems simple but it's just simply astonishing how often you can't seem to do it.  When us passengers are on the train waiting to get out at our stop (be it Penn Station or home), it's mildly annoying and garners some head shakes and mumbles over your bumbling behavior.  When we are on an elevated platform that is a frigid wind tunnel in the arctic cold of February at 7:00 in the morning, our hearts freeze and we harbor thoughts of dark vengeance against you and your spawn. It all contributes to an overall aura of thinking you suck.  Just open the damn doors.

• When the train is crowded, tell the bag on the seat people to move their bags so people can sit (have a read to see what I think about them).  And, no the little announcement you make during the train ride about being courteous to fellow passengers doesn't count.  I mean if you are walking through a crowded train where people are standing, as you come to people who have their bags on a seat, do us all a favor and tell them to their face right then and there to move their bag so their fellow passengers can sit.   I have been riding the LIRR for about 25 years and not once in all that time, no matter how crowded the train and no matter how many people still have their bags on the seats, have I ever heard an LIRR conductor say "the train is crowded you're going to have to move your bag" and that contributes to the overall aura of thinking you suck.  Just start saying it and you will immediately get points in the positive column.    

• Use the air conditioning when it is hot out and the heat when it is cold out.  When it is unseasonably cool and pouring rain outside at the beginning of September I don't want to get into a train car that is about 55 degrees.  Similarly, I expect that if the temperature strangely soars to 70 degrees on a day in March you can adjust the thermostat so the heat isn't blasting.  These things might even save you some money so you don't have to increase my ticket cost every year.  And again, there's that contributing to an overall aura of thinking you suck.

• Give some purpose to the fact that you make the monthly ticket a different color every month.  If my peach colored ticket happens to slide down into my front purse pocket a little bit and you can’t quite read the November on it, why do you need to wake me to pull it out further?  It’s peach!  Last month it was light green and the month before that it was powder blue and the month before it was some other highly identifiable pastel that is completely different from the prior month.   If you can’t tell it’s the right ticket by the color – if after seeing that exact same color on the previous 200 hundred tickets you just checked you still have to wake me because you can’t see the NOV - then why don’t you just make them all the same color?  Waking passengers from their nap because you can’t use your own color coded system contributes to the overall aura of thinking you suck.

Just four little things LIRR. A bar so low even you might be able to crawl over it and look like you suck a little less.  

Ebola!

And then there was one.  One case of Ebola in the US and suddenly the four horsemen have been spotted on every corner.

Not to get too dark, in what is mostly a lighthearted blog (although I do feel this topic is in line with my content goals as I like to point out the absurdities of human behavior) but death and sickness are awful, random and everywhere.  Illnesses kill, people kill, accidents happen in ways one could never possibly imagine.  For example, in an incident of almost unspeakable...irony, the owner of the Segway company died driving a Segway off a cliff (I felt the need to provide proof on this one).  If that can happen, as far as I'm concerned, nothing is off the table when it comes to the cosmic equivalent of the universe suddenly picking you to say "that's all folks."  And of course it is awful and scary to think about the fact that any of us could go at any time.  Cue the existential angst.

And along comes Ebola.  In a pantheon of killer diseases, it's the star since the plague moved off the stage.  Just its name conjures up images of a horrific death that apparently involves your organs just like melting out of your orifices.  Apparently, it also conjures up images of Outbreak, a movie that is breathtaking in its scope of scientific inaccuracies, yet for some reason serves as *the* source of contagion possibilities and, even worse, probabilities.  We freak at images that clearly, obviously, most definitely demonstrate how easy it could spread.  "Look, the people carrying the deceased ebola victims are wearing hazmat suits!"  "That nurse giving an injection is wearing gloves and a mask!"  Of course, we don't think about the fact that conversely, in the third world countries where it does spread, there are no hazmat suits, gloves, masks or quite frankly any containment or basic medical cleanliness procedures whatsoever because, basically, they are really poor and can't afford them.  That little fact would interfere with the glorious fiction of the impending epidemic that just may destroy the US population.

We in the United States love our impending pandemics.  SARS, swine flu, ebola; every single one is going to be the big one - the one that will project us into the landscape of Stephen King's The Stand, the second must know reference for US citizens' study of the disease-ridden end of life as we know it.

Day in and day out people of all ages die in tons and tons of different ways, often in seemingly unfair and (I'll use this word again) random tragedies, and understandably, this kind of stresses people out.  Then along comes comes the news (and more news and more news and more news - holy shit does it ever stop?) of a killer disease that has reared its ugly head (well, reared it in the United States - we seem to be okay with it as long as it is somewhere over, under, down there, somewhere, other than here).  And in an instant, and with an illusion of control over the universe, we swarm to capture, contain and slay that very identifiable monster. And when the end doesn't come, it's all due to our diligence, and never the fact that there really wasn't ever much of a threat at all.  Yeah us!  We kept SARs from our shores and the swine flu wasn't all that bad thanks to those expensive, specific vaccinations the pharmaceutical companies developed really quickly (the fact that swine flu, like every other version of influenza since the beginning of time was most deadly on the very old, the very young and the already sick is irrelevant, thank you very much).

Meanwhile, as we're searching for the next cause of the end of our world, boring old stuff like cardiovascular disease and car accidents are actually creeping around killing most of us. But addressing those would require things like exercise and safe driving and maybe even an eradication of McDonald's so we'll just ignore those.  Ebola is much easier, thank you very much.

The Construction Site Flag Guy

So, the guy that holds the flag at a construction site.   I can’t help but wonder: coveted position or source of shame?  It’s really hard for me to say (but sadly impossible for me to let go in my obsessive way of focusing on things that really don't matter *at all*).

On the one hand, it seems like a pretty cushy job.  You hang out at the edge of the site, flag by your side until you receive the signal (maybe you think you’re like batman) at which point you stand up straight (shoulders back!  It’s go time!) thrust your flag in front of the oncoming pedestrian traffic while also holding up your hand in case we didn’t get the hint (STOP!).  And there you keep us, until you get the all clear sign.  Down goes the flag and you wave us on, free to walk on our way without worrying about a giant dumpster full of wood and concrete falling on our little heads.  It’s really very protective of you which must feel good.  Saving all of those citizens from certain doom.  Maybe he asked for the position; maybe there's even a waiting list or bribes involved.

Stop!  You don't have a hat like me to protect you
from that thing the size of a car falling 100 feet!

On the other hand, the average guy can’t even walk by a construction site without stopping to peer in at what’s being done, lured by the siren song of men using tools (I’ve blogged about this before – I've been walking by the same huge construction site for like a year now).  What’s to say flag guy doesn’t feel the same way -and he’s a little embarrassed at being so close to the action yet having this kind of job.  Moving a danger flag for pedestrians up and down, up and down, while less than 100 feet away his buddy is putting on his safety glasses and helmet and grabbing a jackhammer.  

Dan didn't invite us on his boat this weekend;
flag duty all week for him

I don’t know how his fellow workers feel about him, but I don’t think he is well liked by the pedestrians he has stopped.  I have sometimes waited there for as long as two minutes (that’s the equivalent of two hours in rushed city commuter time).  Personally, I wait there patiently, as a one ton object dangling at the end of a chain (under which I care not to be) passes over the covered walkway that smells like pee (guys, guys -also another blog topic).  I'm lost in deep thought about the flag guy’s job (which I will later share with you, my valued readers, all six of you).  My fellow walkers, who clearly don't have such an inner hobby, seem a little more anxious to get going and would clearly brave possible death if not for this annoying fellow who, like Gandalf, will not let them pass.  You even get some that try to make a power move through, not breaking stride like they can pretend they don't notice him standing there with his flag or the other 10 people waiting.  It's one of the few times people are willing to be blind and dumb.  "Oh, I have to stop?  Geez didn't see you - any of you - at all.  Ok, guess I'll just wait.  Here at the front where I'll be first through when the flag goes up."  I don’t know if they are late to perform surgery or what, once that flag goes up they take off, and there are definitely some dirty looks and mumbling.  Directing all of this negative energy at our little flag-wielding friend, who has either brought it upon his own lazy self or is being publicly shamed in this sad task right outside the shrine to manliness, the construction site.

Actually, now that I think about it, I'm going to go with pathetic job.  Because over the course of 25 years walking in the city, I've seen a woman or two doing it.  If they're willing to give it to a chick on a construction job, it can't possibly be a coveted position.  So next time I see you flag guy, I'll be pondering what you did to get a construction job they would give a girl.

Aaaahhh...shit Moments

So recently I participated in the positivity challenge on Facebook.  I don't usually do these things (I'm really not into the social media/chain letter/peer pressure kind of thing) but I went with this one for a few reasons which are too boring to list here and not really relevant.  And it was kind of fun and nice to do - despite my snarkiness I am grateful for many things and the good definitely outweighs any bad in my life.  I am also proud to report that I had a 100% non-response rate from the people I tagged to participate and continue the challenge.  I am oddly comforted by the fact that many of those I know looked at it and exercised their right to say "is she insane?  F**k no, I'm not doing this."

But I did it and it was nice -but it also got me thinking of all of those times in my day-to-day life when I think something is going to be incredibly, positively awesome...for about two seconds before it goes bad.  I like to call these aaaahhh....shit moments.

Epic aaaahhh...shit moment

You've gotta love those times when...

• You see your bank account balance at the bottom of your withdrawal receipt and it looks pretty damn good...and then you realize none of the automatic bill payments have gone through yet and for that matter you actually haven't paid *any* bills yet.  Sorry, you are still broke.
• You are the first one awake in the house and sit to have a peaceful cup of coffee alone in the blessed silence of a weekend morning...and then a voice comes from the couch in the living room "Hi Mom - can I have something to eat?"  Or a smattering of footsteps (that do not belong to an adult) echo in the hallway upstairs.  Or there is simply a crash.  There are a few options for what is formally interpreted as "nope, sorry, not today."
• You have decided to be a couch potato and are flipping channels, desperate to find something, anything worth watching, joyfully see one of your favorite movies (that you haven't seen in *years*) starts in a few minutes and hit select...only to realize it is on the Spanish channel.  

No me llame Shirley.

• At the end of a long productive workday, you have actually made a dent in the pile of crap in the middle of your desk...and at the bottom discover the "must do first thing in the morning!" item you put there the prior night and covered with another pile when you arrived this morning
• It is Sunday night and you have had a wonderful, fun but busy weekend and are tired and ready to put your feet up for some needed recharging before the work and school week...and a kid announces "Mom, we never did my [fill in the blank with some project due on Monday that absolutely does require your assistance]." Bonus aaaahhh...shit:  you drank all the wine in the house during the fun weekend.

Well played universe.  Well played.

42 and Hot (Any Other Age You're Not?): Thanks Feminism!

Perhaps you have heard of the recent pro-old lady article in Esquire, In Praise of 42 Year-Old Women.  If not go ahead and give it a read (and a look - there's lot of pictures!) and come on back.  I can wait a bit...oh back already?  Yes, I agree - it was very superficial.

Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but I did not look like those ladies when I was 42.  But there may have been some very logical reasons why.  For one thing, my second kid was 5 months old at the time I turned that awesome age so perhaps I was still reeling a bit from that trauma to my body and my beauty sleep.  Or, considering that was almost 6 years ago (holy shit - sorry - I just realized that I will be 50 in a little over two years) perhaps it was still in that long ago, awful time period when, to paraphrase this author, there was something tragic even about beautiful 42-year olds. Feminism had not yet come and rescued us from sinking into the swamp of old-age.  

This was 42 before plastic surgery...um, I mean feminism

But enough about me and back to his wonderful premise about the amazing awesomeness of 42 year-old women.  My, my that is a short window he's allowing there.  Not older women, not women in their 40's but *42 year-old* women.  Every single one of the average looking, representative of their age women profiled is exactly that - 42 years old.

Meanwhile, poor Melissa McCarthy and her bad luck at being 43.  Because I am totally sure had she been 42, she would have been included in this pro-feminist article praising 42 year-old women.  I mean, come on, he emphasizes the comic skills of his chosen ladies, so surely that is one of the main reasons for their being included.  She's smart, she's funny, she's pretty, she's successful - she's the whole package.  Well, everything but that pesky age.  It really is a shame that the shelf-life of awesomeness for a woman is so short.

43 is the new 42

And let's give thanks again to how far we have come thanks to feminism.  As the author points out, back in the day (the day being 1967) 42 year old women, unattractive sloths that they were without the yoga and pilates that feminism has thankfully brought to them to make them hot for a whole year, only had dowdy old Mrs. Robinson as their role model.

Remember, there was no feminism when this was
taken so she is definitely not a hot 42 year old.  

Yes, we've come a long way baby.  No one smokes in photos anymore.

So What if Big Brother is Watching?

Red light cameras, car speed signs, illegal parking technology - people are really getting riled up these days about the intrusion of Big Brother in their day-to-day lives.  Now, I'm all for liberty and a life free from prying eyes and unreasonable restrictions on personal choices.  Theoretically, I'd really like to be on board with all of this rah-rah individual freedom chanting.  But when it comes down to it, logically and practically - I can't be on your side if you're basically bitching about getting caught doing something you know is wrong.

"I got a red light ticket - friggin' Big Brother all up in my life.  It's not fair.  Leave me alone!"  "Did you go through the red light?"  "Well, yeah but that's not the point!"  "Um, okay."

I'm doing my best to understand people's point of view on this, but it seems as though the complaining is coming from those who have either gotten caught or are concerned about being caught.  That's like when my kids think if they do something they're not supposed to be doing where I can't see them, it should be okay. (“But Mom you weren’t even there when I ate the six cupcakes!” What's the big deal?).  People will raise the issue as though it is on par with something like denying freedom of speech, passionately declaring "aren't you worried about them taking your picture?  your rights as a person?"  Um, no to the former since I don't run red lights or speed in school zones so I don’t see any of these pictures in my future.  Yes to the latter - I'm worried about my right to be driving and not be broadsided by some schmuck zooming through a red light or my kids' right to walk safely by their school.  As for the parking technology, I really applaud that one.  Let the cops go catch dangerous bad guys in person and let some computer figure out when someone is too lazy or their time too important to walk from a block away to get a coffee so they leave their car where it is not supposed to be “just for a minute.” 

 I had a really good reason for parking right below that very visible "no parking any time" sign. 

The spots without the signs were very, very far away from where I wanted to be.

My other favorite anti-light camera argument is how it increases rear-end crashes.  Is that so?  Well maybe the person behind you shouldn't have been planning on running that red light too or just following you so closely in general.  The rear-end is the most avoidable accident on the planet and there is no way I'm letting it be a valid point for anything.

As for the "they're only doing it for the revenue" argument - I say go for it.  I am all for raising revenue from people running red lights, speeding and parking illegally – again, doing things they are not supposed to be doing.  They’re not walking up to random people just taking money.  That would be wrong.   Hell, they raise revenue from me by taxing me for simply living legally in my home in my town.  I’d like them to do less of that income through taxes on regular, law abiding things like owning a home, shopping and just existing and more from this law breaking.  Let it come from someone doing some shit they're not supposed to be doing. If you don’t want to pay for it, don’t do it.  I can't take a dress I like from the store as long as the salespeople aren't looking.  A little thing called an alarm will go off.  Are you against those too?  You really should be if you want to be consistent in your ideology. 

So let's just give all of this freedom loving, rights hugging, revenue is bad bullshit a rest when it comes to technology for traffic violations.  Just admit it - you're pissed your’re going to get caught doing some shit you’re not supposed to be doing.  I don't get it - but my kids probably do.  Of course, they still have time to grow up.

Doilies, White Chairs and the Table of Death: Visiting the In-Laws

Now, before I even get started explaining what it is like to venture out to Big Guy's Dad's house to visit him and his wife (heretofore to be known as the FIL and the FIL's wife - have I mentioned before I stink at nicknames), let me be clear they are nice people and great to the mini-me's.  However, I can't help but make some observations on the quirks of their personalities that always make it such an exciting trip to Queens.  Plus they are most definitely not anywhere on the internet reading anything so this will stay just between us chickens.

The visit always consists of three parts.  The first takes place in the house where we make small talk and the mini-me's open any gifts from the most recent holiday or birthday.  The gifts usually go fine (save one humiliating meltdown from the younger when confronted with clothes and not toys) and they move into a back room to play for a bit (there's a bunch of rocks back there that hold their attention for awhile as they've created a pretend restaurant game with them); the small talk is a little more challenging.  Big Guy talks to his Dad most of the time and I chat with the FIL's wife.  She is a lovely, lovely Peruvian woman who is incredibly sweet to me and the girls, but in all honesty, I really can't understand most of what she is saying.  I feel as though I am just one head nod and an "um hmm" away from unknowingly agreeing to go on a seniors' bus trip to the Poconos for outlet shopping and dinner theater.  In the midst of trying to use my useless years of high school and college Spanish (you'd think I would have retained something, anything) I am warding off offers of food while keeping an eye on the clock in preparation for Part Two of the evening:  going out to dinner.  This is not to be impolite but rather to maintain the delicate balance of just enough hunger to survive a restaurant visit with Mini-me the Younger.  Too hungry, and she melts down at the start of the meal; not hungry enough and she wants nothing to do with sitting at the table during the meal and keeping her occupied is a chore.

We go through restaurant phases.  For a while, we went Chinese (always the same place) while we heard raves about a local Peruvian place which we longed to try and which turned into a bit of a joke.  They were always talking about how great it was and then would take us to the Chinese Place.  Why couldn't we go to the Peruvian Restaurant?  Weren't we good enough?  Was a secret membership required?  Oh, Peruvian restaurant how we longed to visit you.  We finally made it (this took some delicate maneuvering on Big Guy's part) and it was really good.  Which was a good thing, because then that's what we got every time we visited, while we heard about a great Columbian Place.  We finally finagled our way to that one; sadly it is not so great and there are no other raves (I think they might just go to these three places) so we are trying to get back to Peruvian.  It is not easy.  We've been stuck in Columbia for a while now.

But the restaurant selection is the easy part of the restaurant adventure.  Each time we go, Big Guy drives, and being kind and considerate he drops us off in front of the restaurant so the five of us can get a table and sit while he finds the elusive Queens parking spot.  Bullshit he is being kind and considerate.  He is conveniently avoiding the chaos that each and every time is the first 15 minutes in the restaurant.  First the table.  No booth in the front - too noisy.  Not too far in the back either.  Preferably a table for eight even though we are only six to allow plenty of room.  Then the seating.  The mini-me's always want to sit by me (yes, yes it's very sweet, whatever).  But this needs to be accomplished within the confines of the FIL's seating requirements which come out as we try each iteration of the seating chart.  How about this?  No head of the table or middle seat.  Ok, mini-me the elder, move here.  No, he would be facing a giant TV. The wife moves a chair and we now have four chairs on one side and two on the other.  Too crowded for him and and just looks dumb to me.  How about if the younger moves here?  No, need to be next to the wife to share.  How about if I move over here?  Okay.  No wait - TV still in view.  Two more chairs moved.

Finally, we are all seated and the waiter (who has started to come over about 10 times and always backs away as we engage in our awkward dance around the table) comes over to take drink orders. This then entails a few minutes back and forth between me and the FIL as I assure him (as I always do) that we can indeed order a drink for Big Guy and some appetizers as he is hoping (expecting!) that they'll be there waiting for him when he arrives from the trials and tribulations of searching for parking.  Meanwhile I'm pretty sure he has found a parking space and is just biding his time, relaxing and listening to the radio to make sure everyone has settled in. No need to arrive too quickly.

We then return to the House for Part Three of the Evening:  Dessert, coffee and closing remarks n  Sometimes we bring something, sometimes they have something, but in any case it is sweet and filled with sugar.  At which point, let me introduce you to: The Doilies, the White Chairs and the Table of Death.  The children (aged 6 and 10) have now been in a Queens apartment, a restaurant and then back to a Queens apartment for a few hours. They have likely had soda or juice with dinner and now sugar for dessert.  They are searching for activities; making pretend soup with rocks has run its course. The apartment's couches are black leather which is very child friendly but draped over all of them are these delicate, white, hand crocheted lace doilies made and mailed with love from a relative in Peru.  The children like to play with them - pretend they are hats, veils, jackets, magic blankets - oh the creativity, which all involves endless touching and draping all over themselves while I twitch and try to get them to move on to something else (what?  I don't know.)   I'd tell them to come sit back down, but the dining room chairs are made of white fabric.  Yes, white *and* fabric.  Extra bonus points when dessert is chocolate cake with raspberry inside.  The wife keeps saying "eet's okay, eet's ok.  Eet will be fine."   Eet will not be fine.  The law of averages tells me the doilies' days are numbered  (stuffing a chocolate blotched doily into my purse is in my future) and the chairs aren't far behind.  I have nowhere to fit them.

And so we come to the table of death.  It's actually been there lurking the whole visit but as they get more cabin fever, it looms larger.  The table of death consists of two giant triangular slabs of marble on top of each other.

Think two of these, 5 feet long each, on top of each other

But wait, as they say, there's more.   They rotate.  That's right - two slabs of marble with three pointy ends each sitting on top of each other, ready to spin at the touch of a little hand.  Or knee. Or head.  If you spin the top one just right, you have six points of death ready to take out an eye or crush a skull.  Keep in mind, this is in the middle of a small living room in an apartment.  Where two kids are beginning to get cabin fever.

That bus trip to the Poconos is starting to look pretty good. Can we leave now?

Swimsuit Tips for Men

Ah, summer.  The time of year when the days grow longer, the sun shines brighter and the pool and the beach are beckoning.  And we all know what that means - time to don a swimsuit!  I happened to be wearing one upon a lounge chair poolside when I came upon an article in a little local magazine, which sounded like a million other articles I have read, providing me with tips on how to conquer my fear and anxiety and purchase a bathing suit that will flatter my body type and suit my personality.

As I skimmed this article chock full of information on how to look my best as I pranced nearly naked in public, I realized something.  Not once have I seen an article advising men on how to select a swimsuit that will best suit their physique and deepest self.  Since I am sure that anyone with a y chromosome is desperate for this type of information as they surely must be drowning in self-doubt and oozing self-consciousness thanks to the years of people judging them by their looks, I decided to perform a selfless public service and provide some tips on bathing suit shopping for men.

Know your body type.  The law of averages and my eyes on the beach tell me this is probably not yours.  Too harsh?  Try looking at the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue every year.

First of all, let’s just agree off the bat that unless you’re a competitive swimmer or are stepping onstage for a bodybuilding contest, you need to avoid the banana hammock.  Don’t tell me they wear them in Europe.  If you want to bring the banana hammock over the pond, you need to bring paid maternity leave to the table as well.  Then we can talk about what they do in Europe.  The same goes for the boy shorts sported by the man we have chosen to be our sample for what all men should look like.  Here, let me show you a picture of him again.

·         Have a large chest?  No, not like our friend Daniel up above –I’m talking a full-on set of man boobies.  A large t-shirt will work best.  It’s like they tell us women, don’t for a second be ashamed of your body – but in the meantime here’s a cover-up.

·         Love handles bringing you down?  First of all be thankful you have love handles and not a muffin top.  It’s sort of romantic, as opposed to referencing your sex parts or the food you overindulged in or both.  As for your suit, no spandex and no tight fitting or tightly tied Board shorts. Leave those to the professional surfers of the world. Elastic and other loose fitting materials are your friends.  Take it from us ladies – spillover just makes things worse.

·         Big belly swelling you out?  First of all, thank your lucky stars you don’t need maternity swimwear.  For some reason they only make them with giant flowers and ruffles on the lower half and extremely low cut on the top half.    As for slimming tips, you’ll also want to go with loose fitting, elastic waists but you should also add a tank top to the mix.  This will draw the eye to your bulging bicep muscles.

·         Just a little thick through the middle?  For women this means no tankinis so for men I’ll say no belly shirts, tee or tank.  Make sure that bad boy comes a good few inches down from the top of the suit.  You don’t want to be reaching up for something and expose your less than perfect belly.

·         Pear-shaped?   I don’t think this is even a thing for dudes.  I’m going to skip it.  But I will just randomly pop in another picture of some dudes in bathing suits because I would hate for you to forget just what the ladies are looking for.  We want you to get that same pressing sense of motivation we do when we are inundated with bevies of beauties in bikinis. 



·         All-around plus sized?  Women are advised to keep it simple and I would suggest the same for you.  Just say no to flowered shirts and shorts (and most definitely not together).  Women who feel they are on the large side (you know, above a size 4) tend to go with all black.  It’s a little hot in the summer but on the plus side, you may sweat off some water weight and there is no downside to that (well, other than dehydration and the accompanying dangers to your health).

·         Find a suit that suits you perfectly?  Buy several of them in as many colors as possible.  This may not happen again in your lifetime and you should take advantage of this tiny miracle.  Feel free to celebrate with food and drink, but not too much because you want the suit to still fit when you get home.

Remember boys, do not for one second let your concerns about your body stop you from having fun this summer.   Once you have taken my advice to find that perfect swimsuit that hides all of your imperfections, and the cover-up that you can wear whenever you need to leave the blanket for a nano-second, you will feel really, really confident.  Until this walks by you at the beach…

Good luck.

Train Garbage

As I was leaving the train, the gentleman next to me had left his newspaper on the seat.  Being a kind and helpful person, I said "excuse me you left your newspaper" to which he replied "oh I'm done with it."  If we did not live in a crazy world where people kill other people for no good reason I would have then said what I was thinking "oh, then you left your garbage."

"Why is everyone leaving without us?"

And he's not the only one who doesn't think the cleaning up of one's own garbage is a passenger's responsibility. I had the misfortune of getting on a train the other day that had just pulled in and let out passengers (some come in empty).  There was crap everywhere.   A guy next to me when I sat down said with a straight face "you'd think the LIRR could do a better job with what we pay - and they just keep increasing it." Now I have no overwhelming love for the LIRR (I've written about them before) but the train just pulled in - this wasn't them (and you know what - even if they have hours to clean a train, they should be doing maintenance and general cleaning not picking up shit people leave behind).  So my snarky self couldn't help myself - I responded "well it would also help if people weren't such slobs and picked up after themselves."  He looked a bit taken aback that I had questioned his firmly held world view and returned to his phone, ostensibly to text a sympathetic friend as opposed to some strange bitch, that LIRR workers suck at cleaning, minus the context that LIRR passengers do too.  Clearly he did not agree with me that adults should have to take their garbage off the train themselves.  

I can’t comprehend what is going through your mind when you spend an hour on a passenger train, drinking a coffee, eating a doughnut and reading a paper and then when the train pulls into the station you get up and just leave your empty coffee cup (dregs inside which will likely spill onto the seat at some point), crumpled, crumb filled bag and crinkled newspaper.  If it is an afternoon train, substitute an empty Budweiser can for the coffee and the rest is the same.  Meanwhile, this is after the conductor has announced at least once, and usually more, to please help keep our trains clean and use the trash bins on the station platforms.  There are trash bins everywhere – and they do have garbage in them so clearly they are used by people who understand you clean up after yourself.   Yet still there remain the few, the privileged, who think someone else should clean up after them.  Hey, I understand.  The mini-mes, aged 10 and 6, think me and Big Guy should clean up after them.  But we are teaching them otherwise so that they don't grow up into the kind of crummy adults who leave their garbage behind in public places, assuming someone else will take care of it.

And let me add for the record, that this may be a train related rant but it happens in lots of other places.  Food courts in malls – people leave their trays filled with garbage on the table.  Movie theaters – people leave their empty cups and popcorn buckets.  Or even better, half filled so the other people in the row kick them over, leaving a particularly lovely mess for the well-paid theater workers to clean up before the next showing.  Anyone who has stepped in a sticky mess on the theater floor knows how well that turns out. Sporting events – empty beer cups and cardboard food holders scattered all about.  Just like the LIRR, in each of these places there are *huge* trash cans available for garbage.  Yet people persist in acting like they’re in a restaurant and the busboy will be along any moment to clear the table.

Have a little courtesy for your fellow humans.  Clean up after yourself.  And if you can’t or won’t, whatever your reason, then be generous enough to leave a nice tip along with your trash for the staff that have to clean up after you, the responsible adult.

As I was leaving the train, the gentleman next to me had left his newspaper on the seat.  Being a kind and helpful person, I said "excuse me you left your newspaper" to which he replied "oh I'm done with it."  If we did not live in a crazy world where people kill other people for no good reason I would have then said what I was thinking "oh, then you left your garbage."  

"Why is everyone leaving without us?"

Can You Change the World If You Don't Make Your Bed?

So I recently saw this article on facebook and was immediately interested.  I'm a sucker for motivational tips on how to live a better life; especially those that include things I already do so I can feel awesome about myself and not really have to do anything extra.  And these were from a Navy Seal!  I will feel even more awesome when I see things I am already doing on his list!

My excitement grew as I began reading and the first lesson started with "if you want to change the world."  I really do want to change the world.  This would be a particularly enjoyable motivational list.  I would do good, while improving myself (while still hoping it would mostly be things I’m already doing – I’m pretty busy and not looking to add much to the to-do list).

And then I finished reading number one and my hopes were crushed.  The Navy Seal’s life principle number one?  Make your bed every morning.  Epic fail.  I never make my bed, unless people are coming over.  Wait, let me rephrase that.  Unless people are coming over who will be coming upstairs and will see my bed.  That’s right – I only do it if someone will see it.

And he really put a lot of stock into this bed-making thing.  Apparently, making my bed is step one in accomplishing anything else that day.  It is the springboard from which accomplishing all of my other tasks will, well, spring.  My pride in my well made bed will spur me on to accomplish other things all day long.  If I can’t get this little thing right, I’ll never get the big things right.

And I don’t want to make my bed.  On my list of things I need to do in the morning before I leave the house, making my bed wouldn’t even appear.  It’s not like it’s #23 and sometimes I get to it if it’s a good morning.  It’s not even a remote thought.  I might accidentally make it if I throw my comforter around while I’m looking for a lost sock or kid’s toy or something and it ends up kind of covering the bed.  But that’s as close as it is going to get to being made.

But then I decided to turn this whole thing upside down and find a way to make it work better for me (my snarky self is very adept at doing that).  I realized I should not get stuck on the first principle and that although I choose not to make my bed as a part of my being very efficient in the morning (see, things are looking up already, I’m efficient not lazy), it’s not a particularly difficult thing to do and I should move on to the other principles so I could find something with which I could change the world (and again, hopefully something I was already doing).

This was a good plan.  Numbers two and three gave me hope. I’m paraphrasing here but they seem to be let other people help you and short people are just as good as tall people.  I like to tell people what to do and I’m pretty short so those really resonated with me. 

I now had two out of the first three (so what if this was based upon some very loose interpretations) and decided I should quit while I was ahead.  

I’m very aware the Navy Seal would not consider quitting while one is ahead a life principle that will result in changing the world, but if you will recall about two paragraphs ago I changed this to playing by my rules, so it counts. 

Construction Porn

Now I don't want to brag, or make a promise I can't keep, but I think I have come up with a surefire solution to the country's deficit.  Don't believe me?  Have a look at this...

Stay with me here...there is more to this, I promise

That is a diamond-shaped piece of plexiglass in a wooden wall.  On its own, it is not my solution (that would be ridiculous).  Now let's look at the next piece of the income producing puzzle...

Yes, this is the same wall that has appeared in another one of my blogs.  

I know it is hard to see (there is only so long you can spend on the streets of Manhattan snapping pictures of stuff like this before people start looking at you like you're a lunatic) but that wall has one of these diamond shaped plexiglass pieces every thirty feet or so.  So to recap, we now have a bunch of these plexiglass diamonds.  Now let's introduce our target audience (every good business plan needs a target audience)...

Yes, it's a guy.  Our ideal consumer is just a guy.  Simplicity rules

Now the most important part of our plan - just what is on the other side of those little pieces of plexiglass.  Why it's a construction site!  A big giant pit of dirt in the ground filled with giant pieces of machinery, tools, cement mixes, more tools and men working.  You know what else it is?  A gold mine.  The business idea of the 21st century - construction porn.

Every day, twice a day, I walk past this long strip of green wall (yes, it is boring to traverse the same path every single day but I'm on a schedule) with its little diamond shaped windows looking down upon this world of wonder.  And every day I pass men peering into this little window, apparently desperate to see what is going on in there. I don't know why they have this need and I don't really care.  All I know is the city should start charging them to look.  Every city, every town in the United States should make sure that every single public construction site has a wall built around it and that these little windows are built into those walls, and just like a peep show, charge a fee for the dudes to have a look at the splendor inside. 

Granted I don’t know what constitutes an average peep show fee, but even just a couple of bucks for a few minutes has extraordinary income producing potential.  I even feel pretty confident in the return customer potential because if you have ever had any construction done on your house you know it takes forever for the smallest job.  These city ones go on for years (the site in my photos has been there for like a year now) but even at their snail’s pace, there is some progress from time to time that our Y chromosome friends will just need to check in on.  And let’s not forget about the opportunities for an upsell.  I see some real possibilities for installing phones that for a fee could connect our gentleman friends to a worker for a five minute chat about the day’s work plan and even, if they fork over some big dollars, the chance to touch a tool. 

Construction porn.  I’m not sure – but I may be a genius.  Who’s in?

Divorce, Gwyneth Style

So this isn't a blog about celebrities or show business, but every once in a while something catches my attention and won't let go (case in point Nikki Minaj's Boobs).  And right now, it's Gwyneth Paltrow's divorce from Coldplay front man Chris Martin.

Whoops, sorry!  Not supposed to call it a divorce.  Sure, that's an okay word for the peons of the world who are making $25,000 a year.  Gwyneth, however, is above all of that and is "consciously uncoupling." It just sounds so lovely, so ethereal, so...bullshit.  Seriously.  Let's take a closer look at some of the key concepts in this avoidance of reality and any ugliness enlightened approach to divorce.  Luckily for us, in addition to posting a letter informing the entire internet of the uncoupling on the front page of her website (in which she also - of course - asked for privacy in dealing with it), she appended an in-depth article explaining this approach.  I'm assuming this was so everyone could read it and therefore, the fully informed public and media would have no follow-up questions or enduring interest that might invade said privacy.   Because between the website, the books, the media appearances and the interviews with ridiculous quotes, Gwyneth is clearly all about privacy.  (Of course, there could be other reasons for its inclusion.  She has shown time and again her generous spirit in sharing pearls of wisdom from her experiences as a learned traveler of the world with us lesser beings).

Anyways, back to conscious uncoupling.  First of all, we should all know that humans did not always live as long as they do now (there's a shocker).  Why, back in the 1900's, men only lived to 43 and women to 48 so no one had to deal with these long-assed 25 and 50 year marriages.  Um, well, I'm pretty sure they also got married when they were about 20, so they kind of did make it over 20 years.  Gwinnie (I hope she doesn’t mind the nickname, Gwyneth just sounds so pretentious and we know she wouldn’t want that) you only made it 11 years (and if I recall correctly you had a short dating period so this 11 years is really the whole enchilada of the relationship).  I'm going to have to give this biology and evolutionary excuse a thumbs-down.

Next up is the "End of the Honeymoon" excuse.  This is where the experts break the news that at the beginning of the marriage (or relationship) we idealize our partners; they are the loves of our lives and can do no wrong (the honeymoon phase).  Then reality sets in, we start seeing the negatives in them, and suddenly we start fighting with our mates in an awful repetitive pattern.  Well, no shit Sherlock. When you live with someone day in and day out for 10 years they can really start to annoy you.  Even if they are the lead singer of a famous rock band or an award-winning actress.

It is at this point in the article that, rather than offering any explanations or solutions, the authors veer off into a long, boring, barely comprehensible section on insects.  Yes, that's right insects.  After that they return to the concept of how after the honeymoon is over in ten years you can call it conscious uncoupling and it's all good because you have learned something from this other person that made you a better person and this breaking apart is nothing but personal growth; it’s a relaxing of the rigidity of our human lives and a willingness to embrace positive change.  I’ve thought about this *a lot* and have decided that the whole insect section was just to make this explanation look good.  After 10 illegible, irrelevant paragraphs on bugs, endoskeletons and exoskeletons, people will buy into anything.

But perhaps the best part of this is when Gwinnie’s experts say that although it is easier if both parties participate, it isn’t necessary for a successful conscious uncoupling to take place.  If your ex just simply can’t see the positive and grow with you as you are separately together in a fulfilling wave of un-love; if that poor, un-evolved human is hurt, devastated, angry, fights you, whatever, as long as you get what you need from them to improve yourself chalk it up as a success.  I don’t know about the rest of you, but I can’t wait to hear what Chris thinks on the next Coldplay album.

   

Polar Vortex, My Ass

This is Anchorage, Alaska this week:

Isn't that all pretty and green?

And this is my hometown on Long Island:

It's only picturesque if you don't have to walk in it

It has been like this for weeks.  Some speak of a polar vortex that is the root cause.  I don't care what it's from - all I know is that it sucks.

I understand that I live in the Northeast United States, which isn't exactly a tropical paradise.  But it is supposed to be warmer and less icy than, say, Alaska (I'm going to keep coming back to that because I can't let go of that pretty green grass they have, while I have their arctic wasteland).  Snow storms are a weekly occurrence and school has already been closed three times.  Yes, my kids think this is really cool.  Yes, they know it means they are losing three vacation days later in the year.  No, I don't think they really understand what that means.  Yes, on each of those days I plan to wake them up and say "if there hadn't been all of that snow you would be off today - frolicking outside on this sunny, 70 degree day.  Now get up."

Mind you, I walk to work from the train station to my office - 20 minutes each way.  And I am normally quite the trooper - rain, cold, heat, whatever, I pull myself up by those proverbial bootstraps and do what I gotta do.  But I'm getting pretty damn tired of literally pulling up my boots every single morning to climb little snow hills, slip on spots of ice and slosh through slush (that would be New York City slush - gross, brown and sprayed by cabs, cars and buses at the corners so stand back).

And there are green lawns in Alaska.  

And speaking of the train, this is what the platform looked like the other morning:

It adds a whole new meaning to the
 "careful it's slippery out there" announcements

Yeah, they just gave up. "Whatever, more snow, just leave it.  Spring will be here in about 2 months and it will melt."  Because you know what - this stuff is not melting until spring.  Because along with the constant snow, it is frigid.  Like 12 degrees every day frigid.  (Yes Alaska people, I understand 12 degrees is warm for you; I also understand the strange weather is disappointing to you as well.  I read in an article that you are upset that you cannot enjoy your usual winter sports, I guess like that biathlon thing where you cross country ski and then every once in a while stop and shoot something.  Boo hoo, it must be very difficult on you watching them enjoy this sport in the Olympics this week). Lest I despair, this week it is supposed to go up to 36 degrees at some point and which will be a veritable heat wave.  I may wear my lighter hat to celebrate.

Back to the walk.  In addition to the boots, I pack on about 40 pounds of clothes every day so I don't freeze while I’m out there (no, it is not “brisk” or “bracing” or “invigorating.”  It is frigging cold).  I look very attractive, if I must say so myself;  boots, full-length down coat, gloves, scarf up to the tip of my nose and hat down to the tops of my eyes.  And, of course, I must dress in layers because once I have enjoyed my time out in the fresh air, I arrive at my office, which with its old-time steam heat, is about 80 degrees.  For about the first 10 minutes it feels really, really good. Then it doesn't.  When I leave this sweatshop and first get outside into the 10 degree air, amazingly for the first ten minutes it feels really, really good.  Then it doesn't.

And there are green lawns in Alaska.  I try to keep this a relatively PG blog, but I don't mind saying "Fuck You Alaska."  Now excuse me while I go snowshoe in my backyard in the invigorating air.

Walking Can Be Hazardous to Your Health

Hello Walkers of the World (or at least Long Island and New York City where I spend most of my time)!  First of all, I commend you for engaging in this beneficial activity and getting your body moving.  Sure, I know some of you are probably only walking about 20 feet from your car to the train or maybe a block in the city, not to arise from your tush again for the rest of the day - but you have to start somewhere right?  Meanwhile, it is a good thing and that is why it pains me to tell you that a good number of you are likely going to get yourself or someone else killed.  Since I believe in helping others, I have some tips for you to avoid this.  I assumed most of them were common sense, but apparently not, so here we go.

• In a parking lot, the paved area between rows of parked cars is driving space for cars looking for a parking space or leaving the area.  Don't meander down the middle of it.   This may come as a surprise, but some drivers don't pay attention when they are driving and here you are just walking around in the middle of what is essentially their road.   Extra dumb points for those who are looking at their phone and can't even walk a straight line (the poor drivers look drunk, swerving back and forth trying to avoid this wandering bozo).
• You cross at a corner, but then walk diagonally across the road to about ten feet further down the sidewalk and block the road for about 10 times as long.  This happens at the entrance to the train parking lot all the time.  This is annoying for me because I am sitting there waiting to turn into the parking lot and you are taking oh so long to get out of my way (it might be because I am just sitting…there…waiting but the people who do this are excruciatingly slow).  This is dangerous for you because one of these days someone is going to turn in from the other direction, no pedestrian in site, and cream your slow ass that’s wandering out in the middle of nowhere because you wanted to shave a few feet off your walk.
• Cutting through gridlock in the city against the light is not a good idea.  Yes, I understand it is unbearable to be waiting when those cars aren’t moving.  But more often than not, there’s a BMW just as impatient as you that is pulling around that bus on the other side where you can’t see them.  Or a motorcycle.  Or a moped.  Or a kid on a scooter.  Or a Mom with a giant stroller.  Any one of these things will really hurt when they hit you.
• Don't run across a six lane, 55 mph highway against the light or smack in the middle away from any lights.  You think you have all the time in the world but guess what - 55 mph is really fast and six lanes that can each fit a truck is pretty far.  Unless you are a champion sprinter, you are playing russian roulette (and must I raise the possibility of tripping?).  And (I can't believe this even needs to be said) don't do it at night in the rain wearing dark clothes.  Yes, I’ve seen this more than once.

And then there’s this:

Yes, I understand I am posting pictures of real people without their permission.

If they see this and choose to pursue me through legal channels, I can only

say “Hurray! Someone I don’t know read my blog!”

That large green wall to the far left is a construction wall that covers most of the sidewalk.  The short white wall is a barrier they considerately built to create a walkway for pedestrians – which the vast majority of them are using.  That lane to the right with a graphic of a person riding a bicycle is –surprise! – a bike lane.  And that guy walking to the right with the briefcase is an idiot.  I think there is another idiot a little bit ahead of him.  Every day I see a couple of idiots walking in here who almost get hit.  They also get cursed at (loudly, flagrantly and violently) because I imagine a bike rider who suddenly (some of these suckers ride fast and furiously, or slow and poorly as I’ve mentioned in the past http://mysnarkyself.blogspot.com/2013_06_01_archive.html) comes upon a pedestrian strolling in the bike lane doesn’t appreciate that their only options are to swerve into either a wall or moving traffic, or to hit the bike lane walker (and likely fall into a wall or moving traffic).  These are not good options.  For those who can’t bear the suspense, they pretty much all swerve toward the traffic (is it wrong that I wish one would take down a walker?) and have been okay so far (the cursing usually occurs when they realize they have not been creamed by a car). I don’t know if you people are doing this because you can’t bear to go slowly in the crowd or you were really too dumb to realize you were in the wrong place (“wow those bozos over there don’t even notice how empty it is on this side”) but for just this once follow the herd.

And last, but not least, if none of the above means anything to you, let's just confirm your status in the jungle out there.  Cars weigh tons.  Even with the obesity problem in America, you do not.  Therefore in any scenario involving contact between you and a car, the car will win.  Keep that in mind.  Now get walking.