Posts Tagged ‘Damn’

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Get Out of My City! Out!

September 7th, 2010 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Damn, I love New York, mortification, yummy eats

The weather on Sunday was perfect – sunny and in the low 70s. Husband and I set out for a stroll around 2 pm. We began by heading to Central Park. Upon entering at 72nd Street, I overheard a visitor to my fine hometown talking on his cell phone.

“Yeah, there’s some kind of upscale McDonald’s on Columbus and 77th Street. I’ll meet you there,” he bellowed.

I scratched my head. While I knew that many McDonald’s locations in Manhattan had undergone renovations in the last year and were pretty snazzy, I couldn’t think of any on Columbus Avenue, let alone 77th St. We walked on. Then it hit me. This douche bag was talking about Shake Shack!

Yes, Shake Shack is a burger joint. It is not any fancier than the Golden Arches. Yet for the same price as a quarter pounder, Shake Shack serves us some serious quality meat, custom blended for them by a renowned butcher shop. It’s like comparing Long John Silvers to, uh, Red Lobster. Or something like that.

I wanted to turn around and slap him upside the head. Upscale McDonald’s! Tourist, be gone!

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New York Stories

March 23rd, 2010 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Uncategorized

Three separate New York-y stories in the New York Times caught my attention today. The first warmed the cuckolds of my dark little heart. The second reminded my why my little heart is dark. The third made my head explode.

The heart warmer came from yesterday. A diamond dealer who fled from Belgium to New York with this family in 1946 befriended an Indian newsstand vendor who came to the US from India 20 years ago. Every Sunday morning, the diamond dealer brings the newsstand vendor breakfast and mans the newsstand while the vendor takes a bathroom break. Their affection for one another was lovely. Neighbors appreciating what the other does and helping out is just awesome.

On the flip side, we have the story about JetBlue. JetBlue is the only airline with a headquarters in Queens. Although they claim to love New York, the company threatened to move to Orlando, where the government fell over themselves to build them a new HQ and give them all sorts of tax perks. New York City then fell all over itself to give them $30 million in perks to stay. One concession is to let them use the iconic “I♥NY” logo on their planes. Now that the taxpayers of NYC are pitching in so JetBlue can show their love, the company noted that they also save $75 million by not moving.* Thanks.

Finally, I discovered that my alma mater, NYU, plans to destroy Greenwich Village and other parts of the city by expanding their campus by 40% and creating superblocks of NYU facilities. I will say one thing: the reason I wanted to go to NYU was because it was so integrated into the city. If I fucking wanted a regular college campus, I’d have gone elsewhere. Why do they have to ruin the city by turning it into NYU? Gah!

*This whole thing is emblematic of the severe public policy problems posed by one state/municipality luring business out of another. It’s just a race to the bottom for which area can most enrich the private corporation and the taxpayers lose. Bah!

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Another Disturbing Ripple in My Universe

March 4th, 2010 by Suzanne | 8 Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, Damn, fuck, Jewishness, mortification, What is wrong with people?

>My mother and I are planning a trip to Warsaw in mid-June. We will visit the Jewish cemetery and try to find my great-grandfather’s grave. (He died before the war, so he probably is lucky enough to have a burial place unlike my grandfather’s sisters and mother.) We will see the few remnants of the wall of the Warsaw ghetto. We will visit the Jewish Historical Institute. We will do a records search. We will pass by the address where my grandfather’s family owned a butcher shop and/or lived.

We will also go to Treblinka.

I always assumed that my grandfather’s family died in Auschwitz, if they even lived to be deported from the ghetto. But, one of the dangers of Holocaust hagiography is that the fame of Auschwitz dwarfs reality. Deportations began in 1942, and when Warsaw’s ghetto was liquidated in the spring of 1943, everyone left was sent to Treblinka, 2 hours outside of Warsaw in an isolated forest. There was no work at Treblinka. People died within an hour of their arrival.

Husband has a friend who lives in Warsaw who is very kindly helping me arrange my trip. He sent me a link to the Treblinka Museum. One of the things that fascinated me when I first learned about the Treblinka site is how noncommercial it is. Auschwitz, to me, is tourist attraction at this point. Tour groups go, people gape at the convent built on site, they exclaim over the signs proclaiming how much the Poles suffered* because it was initially built for Polish political prisoners. Treblinka was completely destroyed by the Nazis, so there’s nothing “fun” to see. It is a sober monument to the 800,000 Jews and thousands of Gypsies and Romani murdered there.

Anyway, as I read the museum’s website, I was taken aback by this statement:

The memorial should be visited with due seriousness and respect.
Within the area of the museum it is forbidden to bring dogs, smoke or eat ice cream.

Damn, I can’t eat ice cream there? Well, I guess I’ll have to pack ham and cheese pierogies and chocolate kolacky.

I hope that this was a translation error and in Polish it says, “no eating.” Otherwise, WHAT THE FUCK? How weird is the focus on ice cream? Even weirder, it reminds me of a fucked up Hasidic monument I visited in Israel:

I mean, they are not the same thing, but the utter randomness of what is forbidden strikes me as similar. (In case the photo does not appear, it is a sign that says that it is forbidden for women to dance at this site.)

Anyway, it is going to be an intense trip. I believe we will also take a trip to Krakow, as Husband’s friend recommended.

*Oh yeah, and some Jews, gypsies, and homosexuals died there, too. But whatever. (This is written in the vein of signage at Auschwitz, so pardon my bitter glibness.)

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The Tipping Point

February 25th, 2010 by Suzanne | 12 Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, Damn, fuck, What is wrong with people?

>One of my former bosses told me that she always knows who has had restaurant experience when she goes out with a group of people based on how much they tip. She said that people who’ve never worked in the food service industry generally give tips of up to 15%, but people who have worked tables give closer to 20%. I am fortunate enough to have been able to go through life thus far without waitressing (I guarantee that I would be awful*), but I tip 20% unless service was utterly abysmal (i.e. – the staff was actually rude to me). My ex-boss said I am an exception.

I find that in NYC, most people are calculate tips in one of two ways: they double the tax (which is 8.75%) or they give 20% of the subtotal. Either way seems right to me. The minimum wage in the restaurant industry in NYS is $4.60. In theory, if staff do not earn enough tips to average them out to $7.15 an hour, the restaurant must cough up the extra dough. But how likely is that? Not very.

I rant about this now because I have gone out with some people a few times who consistently refuse to acknowledge that they have to pay tax and tip. It is so bad that I’ve actually pulled out a calculator to show how their $15 entree is really over $19 when you add tax ($1.31) and tip ($3), so putting in $20 is fair. Even after this, people have argued with me that they overpaid.

Not everyone is good at math. I understand that. I’m no math genius myself. But when I fucking run through the numbers and explain them, and my co-diner still doesn’t want to pay his fair share, I am going to be very angry. Because I’m not going to short restaurant staff because my companion is too fucking cheap to pay what he owes, I get stuck paying for it. And it adds up over time. Eventually I just focus on how the person is going to screw me or someone at the end of the meal, and I don’t enjoy myself. It makes me not inclined to dine out with certain individuals any more.

*Maurice, the hamster who runs on the wheel that powers my brain, would never be able to keep up with all the orders and I’d always forget to bring people drinks or who ordered what and all that.

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BOMB and Explosion

January 26th, 2010 by Suzanne | 6 Comments | Filed in Damn, hilarity, I love New York, random

>My friend Mark and I went to check out Brooklyn’s Other Museum of Brooklyn (BOMB) after work this evening. (If you visit the website, note that the BOMB we went to and the BOMB depicted are different buildings. BOMB moves with the real estate market.) It is open every Tuesday from 7 – 9 pm.

The new BOMB is in a building that is not heated or necessarily finished. As I went up the staircase, I was slightly fearful that I would plunge through the boards. It was sturdy, though. When we were upstairs, the curator, Scott, offered us beers. When I said I don’t drink, he sweetly said he also had cranberry juice and various flavored seltzers.

Basically, BOMB is a museum dedicated to promoting the historic preservation of Admiral’s Row, which is a set of buildings in the Brooklyn Navy Yard that the Mayor’s office wants to tear down, and a place for the curator to store things that he rescues from the trash. Here’s what Mark and I saw (apologies for the blurry pics – I used my BlackBerry phone):

If you squint really hard at the upper right, you can make out a canister used during Prohibition to make alcohol. The twisty spigot is wrapped around a gumball machine. Near the furnace to the right, sort of behind the fireplace, is a long black cylinder which is a rusted out sewage pipe. The window shade is pulled back by a paper mache puppet that looks out the window and admires the neighborhood.

The bathroom counter is covered with items that Scott, the curator of BOMB, found on the beach. This includes a femur, many pieces of broken china, coins, and rocks.

This portion of the wall was part of a church steeple in the 1800s. I love it. Yes, that is a cow skull hanging in the center of it. The Disgruntled Cow uses Scott to express her displeasure at how the Mayor milks the City dry. The object with wheels is a racing car from 1920 that reminds me of a go-kart.

This torpedo used to hang outside the museum. I sort of like it in the niche at the top of the staircase.

Mark and Scott are far more knowledgeable about Brooklyn than I can ever hope to be, so I mostly listened to them chat as my feet went numb from cold. Scott gave us all kinds of goodies to take home. Of course, I loved every second of my visit.

The explosion on the subway ride home, though, was terrifying. As we sped through the tunnel, a passenger with a wispy white goatee suddenly blew up at another rider. He jumped in the man’s face and bellowed, “Why are you staring at me? Get your eyes off me! Do you have a problem with me. I said stop looking at me. Are you sweet for me, huh? Are you a homo? DO you want me to shove something up your ass? Fuck you!”

A few months ago, someone was randomly stabbed on the subway under very similar circumstances, and even though I was at the other end of the car, my heart thundered away. The other passengers watched the scene unfold and looked nervous, but only I changed cars when the train stopped. The man who was harassed got off, whether it was his stop or not. I hadn’t been that nervous on the train since I was caught in the middle of a fight during rush hour and a guy broke a glass bottle and brandished it at someone.

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Go Figure

January 21st, 2010 by Suzanne | 1 Comment | Filed in Damn, random

>Yesterday my grandmother finally recovered enough from the sedatives given to her before her angiogram/angioplasty for my mom to tell her what happened. We expected Granny to be upset. My mom assured her that we would find her another doctor.

Upon hearing that her doctor forgot which stents he was supposed to use, my grandmother, apparently, shrugged. “Well, I like him. He doesn’t talk to me like I’m senile or a child.”

My mom was confused. “So do you not want a new doctor.”

“No,” Granny said. “I’m happy with this one.”

While I hope that he does not commit a much bigger fuck up in the future, I’m relieved that she is not upset about what happened. This doctor got lucky. That’s all I’ll say.*

*Except that if he does anything to hurt Granny in the future, I will come after that fucker with everything I’ve got.

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I Don’t Even Know What to Title This

January 19th, 2010 by Suzanne | 6 Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, Damn, fuck, mortification

>Granny is mostly OK. Sunday the cardiac doc came to discuss her options. Her blood work indicated that she had a very small heart attack, so he wanted to do an angiogram. Depending on what he saw, he would insert balloons or stents into her arteries. Everyone agreed that because she needs oral surgery soon, he would use nonmedicated stents because the medicated ones would basically cause her to bleed out if she had dental work.

On Monday morning, the doctor told us that the test went well. He said that her heart was strong and that there was no damage from the heart attack. Then he said he saw a lot of heart disease and inserted a balloon and two medicated stents.

My mom and I recoiled. “What do you mean medicated stents?” she asked.

“Oh. Ooops. I forgot. I even wrote it on the board and I forgot. Sorry about that.”

Yes, that is actually what he said. “Ooops… sorry about that.”

“What about the oral surgery?” my mom asked. She was trying not to punch him. (She later told me that she was more angry about his flippant tone than the fuck up, not that she condoned the fuck up.)

“Oh, she’ll have to wait at least six months, but I really recommend a year,” he said as if it’s no big deal to have a mouth full of rotting teeth. “Maybe you can find a dentist who would be willing to do a procedure while she’s on Plavix.”

I pictured some back alley dentist ripping up my Granny mouth and leaving her to bleed out when things went awry. I wanted to slap the doctor. (Husband suggested slapping the doctor – with a lawsuit.) I know it could be worse, but this really, really sucks.

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Swish

December 21st, 2009 by Suzanne | 2 Comments | Filed in Damn, random

>If I were a cat wearing corduroy pants, no one would need to tie a bell around my neck to warn the little animals that I was coming. The swishing sound that my pants make when my thighs rub together as I walk would alert them to my presence. Meow.

No matter what I weighed or looked like, “chub rub” (a term I learned from my friend Alex Elliot) has always bothered me. I can’t wear skirts without putting something (tights, shorts, whatever) between my bare flesh, otherwise my legs are red and burning within a few hours. Warm up pants are even noisier than corduroys. SWISH!

Now that I’ve got that out in the open, I’m off to pluck out my chin hairs. Such is life.

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Blizzard!

December 20th, 2009 by Suzanne | 4 Comments | Filed in Damn, random

>As of this middle of the night writing, New York City is expected to get up to 14 inches of snow. Husband and I had tickets to a Michael Jackson tribute show put on by my favorite cover band production house, The Loser’s Lounge. Before I left, I spoke with my family (via Skype – I feel so tech savvy, years after the fact…), and they suggested we stay in.

“Dudes, this is NYC!” I assured them. “The subway will be no problem.”

This was accurate. The subway came and got us there in a timely fashion.* It was actually nice to wander around as snow came down. The sidewalks and street were quiet, devoid of traffic. The show rocked. We had tea afterward, then journeyed through the blizzard home.

Anyway, the show was one reason why I hadn’t made plans to travel home this weekend. (Another reason is that my in-laws were supposed to come to our place in the afternoon and have a belated Hanukkah celebration, but that was canceled due to said blizzard. The main reason, though, is that I’m exhausted from school and work and writing and just needed to sit around and rest.) My sister and nephew are at my parents’ house this weekend, and I really wanted to go. Now I’m relieved that I didn’t make plans. Even if I got out last night or this morning, I can’t imagine being able to get back in time for work on Monday.

All that got me thinking about the passengers who are stranded at airports around the country due to the storm. I felt bad for them. Then I read an article on CNN.com that noted that Greyhound canceled 300 routes from New England to Jacksonville, FL, stranding lots and lots of people at Greyhound bus terminals. The Red Cross has been called for assistance. Yeah, that is one of my worst nightmares.

*This will no longer be possible in the spring. Thanks to gross mismanagement of the Metropolitan Transit Authority under 12 years of Republican “leadership,”** major service cuts are to be implemented.
**Although Husband points out that if Democrats were in control, the situation would be just as bad because the state is so fucking corrupt.

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On the First Night of Hanukkah Someone Threw Up on My Face

December 12th, 2009 by Suzanne | 3 Comments | Filed in Damn, hilarity, Jewishness


Actually, it only looks like a cat threw up a yarn hairball on my face. In reality, Husband found this crochet sleeping mask on etsy. He said it made him laugh so hard that it was worth the few bucks.

He also gave me an awesome Snoopy watch that was advertised on eBay as “for girls.” What it meant was “for giants.” It was even too big on him. I love it, though. I’ll just buy a new band. Fortunately, he assured me that it was very cheap.

The sweater I am wearing in the picture was a Hanukkah gift from him many years ago. When he first gave it to me I hated wearing turtle necks. However, it soon became my favorite sweater. It’s shrunk a bit, and I am fearful that it may not make it through this season.

Incidentally, I gave Husband a Kindle last night. At least I didn’t sell my hair to buy him a watch fob only to discover that he sold his watch to buy me fancy combs. Love is all you need.

Happy Hanukkah!

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