Novelist. Editor. Journalist. Business Writer.
Overheard in New York.
Lady 1: I think I’m gonna go for a pedicure.
Lady 2: What?
Lady 1: If I have time this weekend, I’m gonna go get a pedicure?
Lady 2: A pet store? What do you gotta go to a pet store for?
Lady 1: A PEDICURE.
Lady 2: Ohhhhh.
I just hate it when a alternate-reality, ghost, fantasy book with a great premise turns out to be a third-rate love story larded up with flabby writing and half-assed political critique.
I’m not going to name the book, partly because I don’t think it’s the sort of thing my few readers would usually read, partly because why harsh some dude’s holiday buzz if he goes Googling his name and finds a negative review. But I’m at the age where I feel like an ass for finishing books that aren’t good. This one gave fair warning–the early pages, instead of moving the plot along, would bog down in description of such fascinating things as the weather and people walking by on the streets. Now, this sort of thing can be good reading, in the right hands. This was just blah. But the premise kept me going, and there were sections where I felt I was being taken somewhere cool. Almost. The book ended with a whimper, lots of build-up resulting in a “resolution” more befitting a college kid’s idea of how a New Yorker short story should end. It was “deep,” man. Deeply disappointing.
I can tell by Amazon reviews that at least a couple of people have had the same experience with my stuff. Such is life. I just feel used. SOMEONE HOLD ME!
I do not think that word means what you think it means.
With all the emotion involved with the recent shooting, I’m trying really hard to, in the words of Pat Peoples, be kind instead of right. On the other hands, in the words xkcd, SOMEONE IS BEING WRONG ON THE INTERNET! But, I just have to say that for those of you wanting to have a “gun control” argument, note one of two things.
1. If you actually want to make all guns illegal, just say so. Doesn’t help your argument to pretend otherwise.
2. If you actually want stricter control of guns, you need to know about the laws already on the books and about guns. A lot of people are using words like “assault” and semi-automatic. Assault is almost meaningless. And semi-automatic? Pretty much all guns–with the exception of muskets and certain shotguns–are semi-automatic these days. Semi-automatic simply means you don’t have to reload anything between shots (and, honestly, in some circles “automatic” is used in the same manner). Semi-automatic does not mean machine gun. Not even close.
People seem to be under the impression Lanza (and these other types of shooters) used a military-grade machine gun and sprayed the room indiscriminately. In a way, that’s easier to believe. But if the last reports are to be believed, Lanza used pistols as his primary weapon. Even if he fired the Bushmaster, it still requires a trigger pull for each shot. Which means–and this makes thinking about the shooting even worse–Lanza did not walk in and sweep a gun back and forth. He walked into a fairly secure school with legally purchased and registered guns, aimed them at children and fired. Over and over again.
Me? I find myself not interested in arguing about guns. My mind’s kind of full=up with the sort of person, the sort of brain capable of committing such an act.
So there I was at a bar last night, enjoying a post-dinner drink with a friend. We sat at a table along the wall. A large group of people stood between us and the bar.
Suddenly, one dude broke away from his friends and made his way toward the bathroom, passing by our table.
In his wake? A noxious, invisible cloud of stank.
We were cropdusted.
Not cool.
A thousand years from now, when archaeologists are sifting through the remains of our civilization, they will determine that we worshipped a deity called SHELFELF. From the fake future report:
Twenty-first century inhabitants of certain parts of the North American continent who believed in SHELFELF seemed to have an odd relationship with the god. Much like the other deities he is associated with — Jesus H. Christ and Santa Claus — he was a seasonal god who appeared only once a year. Indeed, SHELFELF may have been a synthesis of the other two gods, combining their powers of surveillance and control over nature. While primitive Americans ignored him for most of the year, as winter approached, their thoughts turned to SHELFELF. Typically, his first appearance coincided with a celebration of thanks for the previous harvest, during which giant representations of SHELFELF — as well as Santa — were dragged down the streets of a major city for all to see.
As winter solstice approached, smaller physical manifestations of SHELFELF were placed throughout their homes. Suddenly, a god that they had little time for during good weather was omnipresent. He stalked the home and, in particular, the children of a household. If the children, likely sequestered inside on long winter days, behaved, they were given gifts. If the children misbehaved, SHELFELF would not only deprive them of gifts, but preliminary research indicates that Americans believed SHELFELF had the power to make winter longer, make summer hotter and destroy the next season’s crops.
So, after 13 years of living in New York City (NEW YORK CITY!!), last night marked my first visit to the Radio City Christmas Spectacular. And boy was it spectacular!
But first a few words about assholes, because there are entirely too many at this show. Late people? You’re assholes. Look, I understand that you’re selfishness makes you believe that the entire world runs on your schedule, but it does not. Want to be five minutes late to a work meeting? Fine, we’ll start without you. Want to be ten minutes late for a dinner reservation? Okay, then. But I won’t be meeting you in public for food every again (Kenny gets hangry). But there’s not much I can do when you enter a show fifteen minutes late and make the entire row in front of us stand up — because late assholes ALWAYS have middle seats.
Continue reading “Radio City Music Hall Is Full of Jerks”
“If marathon’s were easy, they’d be called ‘Your Mom.'”
So read my favorite fan sign of the day as I ran 26 miles and change through Philadelphia on Nov. 18. I was half tempted to stop and take pictures of some of the funnier signs: “Smile if you’ve pooped your pants already”; “Run like you stole something”; “Chuck Norris never ran a marathon”; “There IS a finish line. I checked”; “Hurry up, we’re getting cold.” And others I can’t now remember.
But I did not stop for pictures. Or even the bathroom. And that’s a good thing. This was my third marathon. Or, as I like to say just to annoy people who really don’t care about the marathon details of yet another marathoner they’ve had the misfortune of starting up on the subject, this was my second and a half.
Continue reading “Philadelphia 2012: If Marathon’s Were Easy”
This morning’s commute? A 6.25 mile run from Park Slope to our office on Third Ave. between 44th and 45th. Took me exactly one hour. (Tips for runners below.)
Subway wasn’t an option unless I wanted to just ride back and forth within Brooklyn. Or I could have caught a ride in one of those car things. Judging from what I could see — and what I’ve found out from coworkers since arriving in the office — traffic this morning wasn’t quite as bad as yesterday. Apparently the city is being really serious about the three-person to a car rule. Don’t have at least three people in your car? You’re not getting anywhere near a bridge.
But why sit in a car when I have a pair of working legs AND the Vanderbilt YMCA was open so I had a place to shower? So I ran. The only drawback was that my little backpack wasn’t waterproof so my dry clothes got a little sweat on them — the clean underwear took the biggest hit, so yeah, totally going commando at the moment.
One of the coolest things was, after getting off the Brooklyn Bridge, having Lafayette Avenue all to myself. This is what it looked like.
There were shuttle buses from Brooklyn to Manhattan. But you tell me which looks better, that wide open expanse of Lafayette or this.
If anyone does want to run, note that I have a pretty easy route: Bergen to Boerum, over the Bridge, up Lafayette to Astor, over to Third and up to 44th. I didn’t have to cross any Avenues downtown. There are more police down there than there were yesterday, but probably is still dicey trying to Frogger your way across Avenues with no working lights. If you’re heading to a west side location in Midtown or aboe, best bet would be to follow my route until you get above 40th street and into the land of working traffic lights before heading west. If a lower Manhattan location, might be best to get as far west as possible before getting to Canal street.
Also, do NOT wear headphones. What are you, stoopid or something? With not traffic lights, you need all your senses. Pay attention. Be patient. It’s not a race, just a cool way to get to work.
You know something has to have gone wrong when the coffee-cart guys aren’t on the streets. But it makes sense. They all live in Queens or Jersey, likely in areas still without power or underwater. Not that any sane person would try to drive into Manhattan today.
But plenty are. Which is sort of ridiculous. There are no traffic lights from the Manhattan Bridge all the way to 39th Street.
I know this because I caught a ride in with Cara and her coworkers. My office has power and we have an old-fashioned print magazine to put out — unlike the website, we can’t do it from home. Cara, on the other hand? I just got an email saying they’re still driving around looking for parking. Not only that, they’re looking for a place to work. Seems the employers are sending them to an building site because their office is still without power. Nothing drives a boss crazy like the thought of you sitting at home collecting some pay for watching Magic Mike for the fifth time.
All the Starbucks are still closed. Walking around Midtown, I saw a frequently repeated scene. Individual would approach a Starbucks then stare in mute horror, unable to comprehend such a thing as a Starbucks closed on a weekday at 8 a.m. Perhaps this person has been to two or three other Starbucks, only to find they’re all shuttered for the day. Of course, there are plenty of coffee options open — most of them better than Starbucks.
It’s an odd thing how self-centered survival can be. We made it through Hurricane Sandy fine. Never lost power or water or internet. Our DirecTV signal — which went out for hours during Irene last year — never wavered. In fact, we got very little rain. This storm never worried me, to be honest. Sure, we prepared. Always pays to take these things seriously. But here’s the deal. We’re on the slope in Park Slope. It would take a Category 5 storm to push water into our neighborhood. And while plenty of trees snapped and fell around the Slope, we’re on the first floor, meaning — from a practical standpoint — there are three other apartments protecting us. Rain? We had a storm last year that dumped 10 inches in 24 hours and we didn’t flood — and oddly enough we got very little rain with Sandy.
So we were extremely lucky. A lot of people weren’t. Entire neighborhoods and towns are gone (for now). People will be without power for days. I’ve got a coworker, who lives in a high rise in Lower Manhattan, who’s got no power. And, what people may forget is that if you’re in a high rise with no power, that also means you have no water. They filled their tub with water for toilet flushing and the like but a tub full of water doesn’t last long. But he’s taking it in stride.
People may think this isn’t supposed to happen. People may think that New York is different. But nature is nature and sea water is sea water. And when sea water meets electrical transformers, it doesn’t matter if they are meant to power the grid for lower Manhattan. If water works its way into a sub-basement electrical supply system, it doesn’t matter if that basement belongs to a hospital.
And just because millions of people have business to do, that doesn’t mean that water will evaporate over night. In the wake of Katrina, a lot of people had held New York as an example of how things were supposed to work. Look how quickly we recovered from 9/11 and the 2003 Blackout. As I said at the time, there’s a huge difference between power outages caused by blackouts or even bombs — and power outages caused by millions of gallons of water.
New York is lucky in that the water came in and, in most cases, went back out — unlike in New Orleans, where water poured into a bowl and sort of sat there. I believe there are towns in Jersey where this has happened due to broken levees — and they’re going to suffer that hellish fate.
Weirdest thing I saw? This angel at the top of St. Augustine’s on the corner of Sixth Ave. and Sterling in Park Slope. 
Â
What’s weird about it? It’s missing something.
Robicelli’s — the world’s best cupcake in the world (I made that up, but it’s true) — has been bought out by a national conglomerate. And the new management is, uh, well just read this note from Peter I. Wankworth III, CEO of KRUMmy Cupcakes:
Some of you will no doubt notice that we are moving away from Robicelli’s, shall we say, unique ideas about what a cupcake is. Here at KRUMmy we firmly believe that when the good lord created cupcakes he never intended meat and other exotic ingredients to be involved. Fried chicken belongs in a bucket with French fries and olive oil belongs on pasta. Further, if a cupcake does not deliver two days’ worth of sugar, then it might as well be a muffin. And KRUMmy is not in the muffin business.
Okay, okay. I’m just yanking yer chains. Allison Robicelli had a bit of an accident last week and is under strict orders not to be farting around on computers and such. So some of us are pitching in to get their blog going. And I helped out! Yay me! Go read. And order some damn cupcakes. They’re the bomb. (Especially the Irish Car Bomb one.)
KEN WHEATON 