Wednesday, February 27, 2008
So as some of you know, or maybe don’t know, I have been seriously thinking about adopting a dog. I know it's a big responsibility, I know it costs a lot of money, I KNOW so you all can stop reminding me, I've thought about it all and have made my decision and that's final! So the past few weeks I have been doing considerable research trying to find a good match for me. I have spent a lot of time looking at animal shelters in the New York area and have come to a conclusion. Finding a suitable dog is much like trying to find a suitable man. Don't worry, this is not going to be an "all men are dogs" rant. But there are a lot of similarities in my search for a perfect pet and my search for the perfect man. In my search for a pet, there are a lot of factors to take into consideration. Size of the animal, breed, Pedigree, Age, Maintenance (do they shed, or need to be taken to the groomer), Personality, can they easily be trained, and most importantly if they are housebroken or not. And then, at least in my experience, just when you find the dog that has everything you've been looking for, you call up the shelter and find out that, of course, he has already been adopted. So for now, the search continues for the perfect companion, both human and canine. But lets face it, a dog is way more fun than a boyfriend.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Yesterday a great friend made her move to the big city and officially became a New Yorker. However, it seems to me that simply moving in New York does not automatically make one a “New Yorker” per say. There are certain rules and codes of conduct that come along with this prestigious title. These include things such as walking as fast as possible even though you don’t have anywhere to go; knowing that Time Square is a disgusting hell hole that must be avoided at all costs; and perhaps most importantly somehow being able to avoid eye contact with all 200 people crammed on your subway car. So my friend and I took at trip to the Upper East Side for dinner last night, and while waiting for the train I mentioned something about the 3rd rail. She did not believe me when I informed her that if one touches said rail, one would instantly be vaporized into a toasty pile of ash. Apparently thinking of something so hilariously gruesome gave me a little smirk on my face so I didn’t appear to be all that sincere. She volunteered to prove my wrong. However, crawling down onto the tracks with all of the mud, rats and trash only to inevitably be burnt to a crisp did not seem like a good idea to me. So I advised against it. Having her here reminds me of when I first came to the city and how magical and perplexing it seemed to me. One must take all of these little encounters, and bits of information and fit them together like pieces of a puzzle, until it reviles the final picture that is life New York City.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Last night, Vh1 had a going away party for our fearless leader Michael Hirschorn. Of course in true Hirschorn style he picked quite possibly the hottest place in New York, the Beatrice Inn down in the West Village. Normally filled with ultra chic, artsy fartsy hipsters, and celebs, I am sure that the bartenders and ridiculously skinny waitresses (One with quite possibly the worst nose job I have ever seen, even worse than MJ) were a little taken aback by the casual and generally "un-cool" Vh1ers. We all agreed that this will probably be the only time that we would ever be able to go to a place like this, and we only were there because someone rented it out. Miss-matched furniture and a low ceiling of about 6 foot 4 inches gave the place the feel of a depressing New York apartment. Maybe that’s why it’s such a draw for Celebs, for a few hours they can experience what us commoners have to deal with all of the time. Apparently the place is frequented by all of the bestest celebrities; one of my bosses was excited to tell me that "Heath Ledger was there the night before he died." She used it in a way that was meant to complement the Beatrice Inn, as if it was some badge of honor. In the small VIP lounge there was a hilarious black pleader armchair that I just had to try out. I went to sit down for a second and then promptly returned to my group of co-workers when one of them joked "Now your ass has been in the same place as Lindsey Lohan’s" Around 11pm they opened the bar up to the "public," and myself and what co-workers were still left must have stuck out like a soar thumb. I’m not quite sure how to describe the crowd, but I did see a girl with a leopard fur coat and matching pillbox hat. In New York, being stopped by a "dress code" means that you are either under-dress or uninvited. At the Beatrice Inn the dress code states that suits and ties are required, but (surprise) almost no one I saw inside was wearing either (oh, the ironies of New York nightlife).
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Sometimes real life is so much more exciting than the movies. Sure we all enjoy the movie Armageddon, you know, that one about the blue-collar deep-core drillers that are sent into space to nuke a Texas size asteroid that is on a collision course with Earth? Well as we speak we have a situation that is much more perilous and not even Bruce Willis can save us. US 193, a US Spy satellite launched in December 1996, lost power and its central computer, leaving it uncontrollable. Now this 5,000-pound spacecraft is tumbling towards earth and the kicker is that we can’t even figure out where the damn thing is going to hit. BUT FEAR NOT! In one of the most audacious moves that the US government has made in years, we are actually going to try to use our missile defense system to shoot it down. We have never used our system, but I figure this is a pretty good excuse for a trial run. However, it does seam like something that a ten year old boy who has enough Play Station experience could easily take care of. On the news today they were interviewing a Psychologist about the paranoia and mass hysteria that this kind of thing will cause. Then they interviewed some New Yorkers to see how they felt about this terrifying threat to mankind. Not surprisingly no one was really too worried about it. Not because our cowboy of a president ordered the satellite shot down, but because there is only a 1 in 2 billion chance of being hit by it. Just to put that into perspective, odds of myself being canonized are 1 in 20 million, so I don’t think I have anything to worry about. However, if this brilliant scheme does fail and we are all doomed, I’m just going to pop a bottle of Champaign sit on the roof and drink with my friends because “I don’t want to miss a thing.”