Oppressed In My Own Car

Don't get me wrong; I love my Volkswagen Passat, but sometimes I feel like I am living under a Nazi regime when operating the vehicle. It has very strict rules that I must abide by. I can picture the engineers in Wolfsburg, Germany creating the car in a very rigid manner.

For instance, the driver's seat belt must be fastened for all the functions to work. The car has a really neat feature called "auto hold" where you can take your foot off the break and the car stays put and then you can just hit the accelerator when you're ready to roll. The car will not allow me to do that without my seat belt on. I believe Hitler had similar policies.

And when you are low on fuel, the compass is replace by a big yellow low fuel indicator. "You must put in ze gas or else no compass for you!" (What if I'm looking for a gas station that is northeast of where I am and I don't know how to get there? Wouldn't the compass be helpful?)

If I unlock the car and don't open the door within 30 seconds, I hear the little "beep" indicating that the doors have locked again. If you don't move fast, you've lost your unlocked door privileges bucko. Sorry that you had five bags of groceries in your hands and your cell phone rang. VW-1, Me-0.

My father's fancy-pants Mercedes has similar rules. Before the engine even starts you have to read this long warning on the lawyer...err navigation screen and agree not to operate the navigation system while driving.* His car has even more high-tech wizardry that neither he nor I know how to use and I'm sure it's even more oppressive than my (in comparison) humble Passat. The owner's manual on that car is the size of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina.

Meanwhile in BMWs equipped with the dreaded i-Drive (which most have), one can't even adjust the climate control without going through the entire menu on the navigation screen and scrolling through thousands of options. What a pain in the ass.

People that drive Buicks don't have these complaints. They turn the key (a real key, made of metal and everything!) and start the car and go. When they want to change the radio station, they press a button on a clearly defined radio. When they want to turn the heat up, they turn the knob to the area clearly marked in red.

What happened to the German automotive industry? When did the lawyers take over? Or is it possibly still the Nazis? Since most Jews I know drive German cars**, maybe this is their way of subtly torturing them by making them insert a plastic key fob device into the dashboard, reading the warning about the navigation system, depressing the brake, fastening the seat belt...

*So sad for all those wealthy folks.
**Because, according to Sarah Silverman, it's the "opposite of Fubu."

Question of the Day

Why are there so many Latino men named Nelson?

Hell's Kitchen

One of the most inappropriate business ideas I can think of besides trafficking young women from Southeast Asia and forcing them to work in seedy massage parlors for little to no pay (which has been done to death already) is to open up a restaurant that only serves species that are classified as endangered or generally unacceptable to eat. Below is an example of what my prix fixe dinner menu would look like. I think the price would be somewhere in the $25,000-30,000 range per person not including wine. (Overhead is going to be just a bit high for this type of establishment.)

APPETIZERS

Baby Seal Ceviche
chilled with fresh tomato, coriander and cilantro

Dolphin Tartare
served with crostini on an edible Monarch Butterfly

Florida Manatee
seared rare with a sweet roasted onion puree

Arctic Peregrine Falcon Wings
smoked and sauteed with a savoury hickory sauce

Sea Turtle Soup
with porcini mushrooms and shaved brussel sprouts

Horned Puffin Salad
on a bed of radicchio, endive and arugula with aged balsamic vinegar

Smoked Orca Whale
house smoked with horseradish crust, tender red beets and locally grown organic herbs

ENTREES

Roasted Loin of Red Panda*
in a green peppercorn sauce served with broccoli rabe and pine nuts

Braised Bald Eagle
in a red wine demi glaze served with roasted rosemary infused new potatoes

Prime Aged Wild Mongolian Horse Steak
16 oz charcoal grilled with fresh asparagus and roasted turnips

Poached Humpback Whale
with marinated artichoke hearts and a Meyer lemon sauce

Filet of Polar Bear
pan seared and served "Antarctic Style"

Force Fed Hudson Valley Foie Gras
with fig jam and brioche melba toast

Spotted Owl Risotto
in a creamy chanterelle mushroom sauce with shaved Parmigiano Reggiano

Cioppino
fresh orca whale, stingray, pink river dolphin, shrimp, scallops and clams in a hearty tomato broth served with rustic bread

DESSERTS

Coming Soon

So, if anyone wants to be my business partner and/or benefactor for this venture, let me know. I think Smith Street in Carroll Gardens would be a fantastic location or perhaps DeKalb Avenue in Fort Greene. Manhattan commercial rents are too high and ultra-PC Park Slope would never go for such a thing.** If it takes off, I might even consider doing Sunday brunch too. I also will need a good sommelier - one that knows which wines would pair well with endangered species.



*I am fully aware that I am going straight to hell in a hand basket or a bucket or maybe even a wheelbarrow.
**Park Slope doesn't even have a pork store that I'm aware of.

Ordinary People

Some celebrities seem like they are just ordinary folks like you and me. Billy Joel, despite being married to a 23 year old, seems like the kind of guy that still you could talk to on the street. Howard Stern talks about his mundane life all the time and Larry David is most likely, well, Larry David. These are extremely high net worth individuals that became famous beyond their wildest imaginations and I'm not so sure they are comfortable being extremely famous or rich, but they seem like regular guys.


Here are some celebrities that are certainly not "regular guys."

• David Letterman - We all know he is a work-obsessed recluse that may or may not live in Connecticut with a woman and a child. I think he is a truly bitter and cynical man that has very little social interaction outside of his show.
• Jerry Seinfeld - Completely unapproachable. I would not feel comfortable asking him for an autograph. The problem is, he seems like he would be a nice, normal guy, but he's just not.
• Rod Stewart - This man is so in love with himself that he recorded a song titled Do Ya Think I'm Sexy? If that's not narcissism, I don't know what is. He exudes sexuality, but I think he loves himself so much, he could never truly love a woman. I can't picture him just kicking back with the guys over a few pints.
• Michael R. Bloomberg - I am a huge supporter, but does this man ever loosen up?*
  Tiger Woods - Perhaps the most driven and focused man in the world. His purpose in life is to be the greatest golfer that has ever lived. I'm surprised he's even married and has a kid - less time to perfect his lob wedge.
• Van Morrison - He can vocalize like no other white man alive, but do we know anything about his personal life at all? Do we want to?
• Michael Richards - Even before his racist rant, he was reclusive and altogether strange. Not at all like the charismatic Kramer character he so perfected.
• Marv Albert - We all thought this guy was normal before we heard about his affinity for cross-dressing and biting his mistress on the back whilst singing show tunes. I'm not sure I want to know anything more about him.
• Michael Jackson - Well, duh.

I think if I were a celebrity, I would be delightfully eccentric. I think I may be a tad eccentric now, but my bank account just isn't big enough.

*Perhaps he loosens his tie during fornication.

No means no - even at Christmas.

Many people find the song Baby, It's Cold Outside to be a light-hearted and cute holiday duet, but is it? Let's take a look at the lyrics and decide for ourselves.

I really can't stay. (Baby, it's cold outside.)
I've got to go 'way. (But baby, it's cold outside.)
This evening has been ... (Been hoping that you'd drop in.)
So very nice. (I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice.)
My mother will start to worry. (Beautiful, what's your hurry?)
And father will be pacing the floor. (Listen to that fireplace roar.)
So really I'd better scurry. (Beautiful, please don't hurry.)
Well, maybe just a half a drink more. (Put some records on while I pour.)
The neighbors might think ... (Baby, it's bad out there.)
Say, what's in this drink? (No cabs to be had out there)
I wish I knew how ... (Your eyes are like starlight now.)
To break the spell. (I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell.)
I ought to say no, no, no sir. (Mind if I move in closer?)
At least I'm gonna say that I tried. (What's the sense of hurtin' my pride?)
I really can't stay ... (Baby, don't hold out.)
Ah, but it's cold outside.
I simply must go. (But baby it's cold outside.)
The answer is no! (I say that it's cold outside.)
The welcome has been ... (How lucky that you dropped in.)
So nice and warm. (Look out the window at that storm!)
My sister will be suspicious. (Gosh, your lips look delicious ...)
My brother will be there at the door. (Like waves upon a tropical shore.)
My maiden aunt's mind is vicious. (Gosh, your lips sure are delicious.)
Well, maybe just a cigarette more.* (Never such a blizzard before.)
I've got to go home. (Baby, you'll freeze out there.)
Say, lend me your comb. (It's up to your knees out there.)
You've really been grand ... (I thrill when you touch my hand.)
But don't you see? (How can you do this thing to me?)
There's bound to be talk tomorrow. (Think of my lifelong sorrow ...)
At least there will be plenty implied. (If you caught pneumonia and died.)
I really can't stay ... (Get over that hold-out.)
Duet: Oh but it's cold ... out ... side!

In actuality, the song is about date rape. The entire song is about a girl trying to escape the bachelor pad of a seemingly charming yet testosterone-filled man who is trying to get laid. And he just won't take no for an answer. She even refers to the fact that he may have slipped something in her drink which he dismisses by mentioning the scarcity of cabs out there.

Although when the song was written in 1944, I'm sure rohypnol had yet to be invented but there had to have been an equivalent.

On the other side of the spectrum, maybe she was asking for it. She shows up on a cold night, probably wearing her most revealing wool sweater, having drinks and paying him compliments. After all she is the one who stopped by. "So lucky that you dropped in," he says. What was she looking to do exactly? She had most likely told her parents and siblings that she was going ice skating with Rose and Ethel and would be home by eight.

I believe at the end of the song, she succumbs to his advances and he proceeds with the date rape. A happy holiday for all indeed. I beg the question: Is inclement weather a good enough reason to submit to date rape?

*Contemporary versions omit the cigarette and replace it with "a half a drink more" because I suppose that having non-consensual premarital sex under the influence of alcohol is more family friendly than smoking a non mind-altering cigarette.

Lonestars vs.Gardens

Having just returned from the Republic of Texas, I would like to make a few observations. The most interesting thing about Texans to me is that they are really into Texas. There is just so much pride there.

It got me thinking about how miserable everyone in New Jersey is in comparison. In Texas, everything is in the shape of Texas. There are Christmas lights in the shape of Texas, clocks, tables in Hooters, Texas shaped branding irons and countless other things. Hell there are even Texas edition Chevy Silverados. And Texas flags? Oh there are Texas flags. Everywhere. They are as ubiquitous as American flags and more prevalent than Confederate flags.

Growing up in New Jersey, I have never seen anything in the shape of New Jersey, which is a nice curvy shape unlike, say, Pennsylvania. And regarding state flags, most New Jersey residents would hard pressed to recognize their flag, nevermind display one prominently on their home. And Jersey edition cars? No.

True Texans love where they live and don't want to leave. They have the best of everything in their minds. The best barbecue, the best Tex Mex, the best music, the best women, the best sports teams, political leaders, etc. While over in Jersey, everyone is pretty much miserable. Every Jerseyite mutters bitterly that they "have to get out of this godforsaken state" at least once a week. The complaints just never end (and rightly so).

Jersey has ridiculous property taxes, congestion, an exorbitant cost of living, blighted inner cities, the highest auto insurance in the country, pollution and other factors that make living there undesirable. Texas has its share of problems but its residents seem to overlook them.

I have now made two trips to Texas over the past few months and have spent time in Austin (which is like the Park Slope of Texas), College Station, Huntsville, Navasota and Houston and I must say that I like it but probably wouldn't want to live there - not that I would really want to live in Jersey right now either. So, Brooklyn it is for the time being. We've got pride there too.

We Salute You Mr. Wisecracking MTA Bus Operator

This evening I had the most entertaining bus ride of my life. I was coming home on the B-61 bus from Jay Street and had a refreshingly humorous bus operator. I was on the phone with my beautiful and talented girlfriend* and discussing the improv classes I would be taking on Tuesday nights when I heard the driver say into his microphone, "Tuesday nights...Tuesday nights, what time?"

I burst out into laughter and replied "probably eight." I soon ended my phone conversation because I really didn't feel like him repeating the potential side effects of radiation treatment that I was going to tell my girlfriend to the B-61 community.

He then said, "Next stop Court Street and the B-63 or whateva." I laughed aloud again and even turned off my iPod so I could enjoy the rest of his humor.

A woman was on the phone and giggled about something and the driver mimicked her. I laughed again and noticed that I was the only person on the bus that was enjoying this. He then proceeded to say something else which elicited laughter on my part and followed up with a "just keepin' it real."

Turning down Kane Street towards Columbia he admonished a woman against standing near the rear door saying that the last person that did that fell out and that he didn't want to have to stop the bus to pick her up off the ground.

On Van Brunt Street, he said, "Next stop, Verona Street - gateway to the Red Hook Housing Projects - the magic kingdom!" At that point I almost lost control and realized that had the driver been white**, he never would have gotten away with saying that. I, on the other hand, probably shouldn't have been laughing, but it was one of the funniest things I've ever heard.

If I were a bus driver or a train conductor, I would be like him. Why does everything have to be so solemn? We're all miserable and have pointless jobs. May as well have a little fun while we're at it.

As I exited the bus at Wolcott Street*** , I made it a point to exit at the front and tell him how much I enjoyed the ride. He entertained me and I provided the laugh track in the background. I should ride the 9:22 p.m. B-61 from Jay Street more often.



*She reads this blog.
**I have never seen a white bus driver employed by the MTA.
***Also home to Hope & Anchor Diner which, according to the driver, should be renamed to "Hook & Anchor" being as it is in Red Hook. I agree.

Come and knock on our door...Actually please don't.

I share an apartment with two females, and whenever I tell people that, they say "oh, just like Three's Company." However besides the fact that I share living space with two women, our situation does not resemble the 70s sitcom at all. Here are the ways that my living situation is different.

• I did not have to pretend that I was a homosexual to be granted permission to live with two women.
• My apartment is much larger than the one that Chrissy, Jack and the brunette shared so we all have much more privacy.
• I barely communicate with my roommates and when I do, it's usually via email.
• I don't have a friend who is constantly over that tries to hit on my roommates.
• I do not meddle in their lives, particularly when it comes to dating. In fact, I know very little about their personal lives and don't really care.
• I do not try to get into their pants as Jack often did.
• We don't have an eccentric landlord that constantly pops in and interferes with our lives. He usually calls 48 hours in advance if he needs to get into the apartment to do electrical work.
• We don't go on little outings together to the zoo or the beach. In fact, the three of us have never spent time together at all.
• The two girls I live with do not share a bedroom. In fact I'm not sure if they even know each other's names.
• We don't have frequent misunderstandings.
• We don't really care about one another and worry if someone didn't come home the previous night.
• I never try to sneak into one of the bathrooms whilst they are doing their ablutions.
• We don't cook for each other.
• We don't try to set each other up on dates.
• We don't hang out together at the Regal Beagle (or whatever that place was called). In our case, it would be the Hope & Anchor or the Bait & Tackle. At any rate, we never go anywhere together.

So, really this is nothing like Three's Company and I'm perfectly happy that way. It's not a hostile, Wuthering Heights type of environment, but we maintain comfortably separate lives, which is the way it should be in modern roommate shares.

Jesus vs. Santa

No one has ever accused me of being religious but I have a strong aversion to secular, non-traditional Christmas songs. I don't know why it is, but I prefer Good King Wenceslas over Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree. We have all but lost the true meaning of Christmas with all that Santa Claus hype and Frosty the Snowman (who I am convinced isn't real). (I also do not believe that the songs should be translated from Latin to English, but I know I'm fighting an uphill battle on that one.)

What is the real meaning of Christmas anyway? We all know the basic plot: Jesus Christ was born in a manger somewhere in the middle east to the Virgin Mary and her husband. Then the three wise men came bearing gold, frankincense and myrrh. If not for the three wise men, we wouldn't be exchanging gifts for Christmas at all. It would be a hell of a lot easier that way. If those men were truly wise, they would have anticipated the insanity of commercialism and gift giving. They should have just sent a card. Son of God or not, the kid didn't really need gold, frankincense or myrrh - in fact nobody does.

And while I'm on the subject, holiday decorations have gotten obtuse. I am all for tasteful white lights on trees and candles in the window. Other than that, I think that holiday decorations should be banned in the United States. It seems that the crappier the neighborhood, the more offensive the decorations get.* Inflatable Santa Clauses and snowmen and blue lights. IT NEEDS TO STOP.

From now on when I see Christmas decorations that I find tacky or offensive, I am going to discreetly slip a note into the offender's mailbox telling them that I dislike their decorations. And if you think I'm kidding, just try me.

Let's keep Christmas tasteful and traditional. A simply trimmed douglas fir and a Christmas goose with plum pudding. Now that's what I call Christmas.


*My sister will be happy that I finally included this topic in my blog.