Good Enough

I live in NYC and I love it.  Living here does not come easily, though, and sometimes I question why I fight so hard to continue living here, even raising my kids here.  So I am creating this entry as a bit of reference material,  to remind myself, in those moments of doubt, the advantages of raising your family in NYC.

Smells

I only recently realized that my children do not recognize the smell of freshly mown grass.  Mmmmm – when I smell it, it really brings back childhood memories (blah, blah blah, smell is most powerfully connected to your memory, blah, blah), mostly of my father mowing our enormous lawn on his riding mower, while wearing a pith helmet.  You know, the way everyone’s father wears a pith helmet when they do yard work.  But my kids smelled freshly mown grass for the first time several weeks ago and they literally quizzed me on that novel scent. 

At first I felt bad for my poor, deprived children – what kid does not know that smell? As I pondered that question, I realized that they were fluent in other scents, maybe even more important ones.  As the warm weather descends on NYC, it is accompanied by a menu of new odors.  Specifically, a magnificent trio – garbage, urine and vomit.  And before you can even start to gag on a stench, my kids can identify it.  “Ewwwww… garbage!” Or “Vomit again?!” Honestly, being able to distinguish among these stenches is a useful skill – it alerts you to what you are just about to step (or sit) in.  Identifying the smell of freshly mown grass only alerts you that there is likely a 6’2” white man in a pith helmet in the vicinity.

Subways

We don’t have a car and we rarely rent one or ride in taxis, so my kids are just not used to cars.  This is just so odd to me.  If you don’t have a car, where to do you toss your fast food wrappers? And my kids don’t get riding in a car; nearly every single time we ride in one, they cannot figure out how to open the door from the inside.  For years they spent every ride we did take with their noses plugged, those same noses that are so finely attuned to city stench, convinced that all cars have a simply unbearable smell.  Many a driver was insulted (or pleased – I am still uncertain).  And when my kids are old enough, I have literally no idea how they are supposed to learn how to drive.  They are going to be those people who, when traveling to other parts of the country, constantly get asked the question I constantly get asked when people learn I am from NYC – “Do you even know how to drive?” And they may have to say no.

OK – but they can ride a subway or a bus like no one’s business and it has taught them very valuable character traits.  When I first arrived in NYC, I was actually timid about pressing the tape that alerts the bus driver you need to get out at the next stop.  Why? No freakin’ clue.  But one day I pick up my 18-month old to get off the bus only to find the doors have already closed.  Before I can say a thing, the tiny snowsuited bundle in my arms shouts out “BACK DOOR PLEASE!!”  Riding the bus breeds assertion! As preschoolers my kids were allowed to sit in the seats up front, seats reserved for the handicapped or elderly, but each knew that should a member of one of those groups board, that kid had better remove her tiny tush from that seat pronto.  Riding the subway breeds manners and respect!  

Sports

When I was a kid and it snowed, we went sledding. My house was on a corner and on one side was “the little hill” and on the other side was “the big hill.” (It took us years to come up with those names, finally holding a statewide contest.)  Five or six kids would join us on the big hill and we would take turns sledding down the gentle slope until our hands felt raw or we were no longer sure we had feet, since it had been a good hour since we last felt them.  And then inside for hot cocoa with marshmallows. 

That’s not how things work here in the big city, not by a long shot.  Sledding here requires your kids to be fully engaged, all senses on alert.  Here, since the entire neighborhood shows up at the nearby park, and sledding is not as simple as you go, then I go.  It’s literally 200 children, teens, and, so help us all, dogs, all at once sledding down an ultra-steep hill transformed into ice by the 2000 kids who got there before you. (In NYC there is always some lunatic who arrived at 4 AM – to do anything first, whatever it is.) Sledding here is more like some kind of sick video game where you are crossing 10 lanes of other sledders, all of various ages and skill levels, fully half of whom are facing backwards while another 50% cannot brake, and not one of those sledders is looking out for anyone but himself.  As you shoot down that hill, you gain speed with each foot you cover, only to slam into a fence at the bottom.  That’s right – the sledding hill ends abruptly in a 10-foot tall chain link fence.  Sure, the city has put out bales of hay (where does the city get bales of hay, in the middle of a snowstorm, no less), but you are still hitting those bales at your maximum speed.  In NYC, sledding is a contact sport and to survive it, your kids had better be running on all cylinders – but think of the great preparation it is, should they ever learn to drive. 

Sightings

Today a high school friend of mine who still lives in our beautiful hometown posted about a sighting.  She had seen a bear! In her town! But she was sorry to say she had been too slow to grab her camera.

Well, today my ten-year old saw Tina Fey, her total idol, as we passed in her in an intersection.  And, like my friend, my daughter was was also disappointed that she had not been able to snap a quick picture, despite the iPhone that is practically grafted to her hand.  But, let’s be honest with ourselves - which would you rather see when you are out and about?  Hint – Tina Fey will not turn over your garbage cans or talk to you about whether toilet paper sticks to your bum. One hopes.

Any Way You Want It

OK, so I am overly proud of the fact that I have been working 4-5 times a week for the last year.  Yes, I know for some of you that is an utterly unremarkable feat, as once upon a time it was for me.  Then kids interfered.  Also – laziness.  However, I consider myself back on track. 

Sometimes when I go to the gym to run on the treadmill, my friend laziness stops by for a visit and I never quite make my target.  Or set a target, for that matter.  For that reason, I have taken to attending classes at the gym.  It’s much harder to just quit mid-class, pretending that was your intent all along, than it is to do the same thing when you are running (or, as I sometimes like to call it, ‘running’).  Note that later in this rant I will contradict that very statement. Taking these classes has opened me up to a whole world of bizarre social mores, as gym classes are truly their own world, not entirely different from, say, how a prison has its own set of rules.  So I have been approaching my trips to the gym somewhat the way I envision anthropologist might, and here is what I have learned.

Do you hate a cool breeze playing across your supple, limber self as you work out? Then what you want to do is set up your mat and weights squarely in front of the air conditioner and argue with any sweating, panting classmate who comes over begging you to, for the love of all that is good and holy, turn it on.  I see this all the time.  In recent weeks, this placement of a non-a/c lover in front of an a/c unit has resulted in the following scenes:

• A non a/c-loving classmate (is that what we are? Yes, let’s go with ‘classmate,’ it will come in handy later)  who, as prescribed above, had situated himself directly in front of the a/c vents, chasing after another classmate to scream at her because she dared suggest he let us have just a hint of fresh, cool air.  As the rest of us continued with our lunges.
• Another non a/c-loving classmate who arrived extra early, presumably to make sure she was right on top of the offensive device, and not, say, 50 feet away on the other side of the room where the air remains still no matter the a/c setting, responding to the use of the machine by donning a down coat for the remainder of her workout.  And a wool scarf. Over her waist-length wig.

The class is all about you.  When planning your day’s itinerary, don’t for a second consider the time your gym class begins – or ends, for that matter.  Consider the class schedule as mere suggestions – I mean, the class isn’t really underway until you begin contracting your abs, anyway, regardless of when the other 30 people showed up.  So whenever you are ready, join the class already in progress.  The other people don’t mind that they have to stop mid-squat to let you by as you make your six trips to get your equipment and set up shop.  Really they don’t.  And if you should choose to leave early, it is just as much fun for your classmates to stop their cool down to allow you to make those same half dozen trips to the back of the room, this time in reverse.  Yes, they carved out the time to get there before the class started and stay straight through to the end, but that’s because their lives are just not as interesting or important as yours.  

Speaking of setting up, that is a whole megillah unto itself.  Don’t arrive for the Sunday 9:15 class after 8:45 or there will be no space for you.  Not because your classmates have already gotten there, but because one classmate has appointed herself class parent and set up gear for her 15-20 closest friends.  And you are not one of them.  She is standing there, all alone, surround by equipment, and the only space left for you is that one spot where you cannot see the instructor at all – but you can see yourself from four different angles, each less flattering and more torturous than the next.  This is an experience I would wish on my worst enemies (I totally would – I am not nice enough to not wish it on them, but I am honest at least.  And, not coincidentally, those enemies are some of the very people whose faces I picture during my kickboxing class.  One day I’ll thank them for the great workouts they contributed to – hopefully while I am also turning them down for a loan to buy their dream house or rejecting their kids from their first choice college or whatever other, non-violent revenge fantasies I hope to live out).

Of course, most of the class is showing up in Lululemon, but that is not actually the required attire (in my neighborhood you have to read that more than once).  You should really wear whatever you want.  A tube top is a great option.  Just to be sure you understand me, I mean a six-inch stripe around your torso that almost entirely covers your breasts.  Pair that with see-through leggings and no underwear.  No one will stare.  Might I also recommend workout clothing you wash after every 6^th class.  See if that doesn’t make the non a/c classmates change their tune real fast.

Reread these rules until you feel comfortable you can live by them and then I’ll see you at the gym.  I’ll be the one in the tube top. And waist-length wig.

Don't Do Me Like That

I posted this on my other blog a while back, but it still rings true – especially after being told today by someone taking up multiple seats on the bus that my small bag is in her way, when it was clearly on my seat.  Moooooom, she's on my side! I will repost the one about my “one ass one seat” policy if you keep this up.

At the risk of making you think I am one of those people who loves animals more than people (I'm not) and revealing myself as a misanthrope (I am), here are some of the reasons I sometimes like my dog Stella better than people.  

1. After she has removed that plastic ring from around the neck of a milk container, Stella rarely just leaves it on the counter.  That thoughtfulness saves me the passively aggressive task of placing it inside a briefcase, serving it with dinner, placing it in the bottom of a sock which is then replaced in the sock drawer.
2. Not once has Stella left her homework in school, forcing me to call another parent and ask that she fax it to me my work fax number (that’s why I have a work fax, no?).  She's just good that way.
3. I have never, ever found my good Mason and Pearson brush entangled in the disproportionately long and unreasonably platinum locks of one of Stella's Barbies. She is so careful about this one, she even runs at the mere sight of a brush.
4. I have never seen Stella nearly shove a person down the steps of the Chambers Street subway station running to get a train that clearly she, and she alone, is the only one interested in boarding.  Yes, woman who refused to look me in the eye, having missed the train after all last night, I am talking to you.
5. When I ask Stella to take down the recycling, she has never answered with, “Why would I want to do that?! It’s not fun!” or “NOW?! But I was just about to watch that episode of iCarly I have seen only four other times,” or, a personal favorite from my very own childhood repertoire, “I bet you had me just so I could do your chores.”
6. When she is in a store and people ask her where to find the french fried onions, which are best eaten by the fistful directly from the iconic canister, it is extremely rare for Stella to shrug her shoulders, say "Dunno," and return to texting her friends.  Of course, her lack of thumbs may at least partially explain this one.
7. Stella has never been embarrassed when I call her a nickname in front of others.  Not even during her paper training days, when I regularly referred to her as ‘Smella.’

To be fair, I did just have to wrestle a brand new pair of ballet flats from her jaws.

Too Much Ain’t Enough

This week I am reading Tim Gunn: A Guide to Quality, Taste and Style, and as much as I love my kind, wise, and charming neighbor, he left out a couple of sections.  Allow me to fill in those gaps.

Boots…

For the non-sandal months, there are really only two choices in shoes: boots and ballet flats.  Boots really deserve an entire entry (or blog).  For now let’s just say you need an extremely wide variety of heights, textures, styles, formalities, and heels.  When it comes to color, nearly any shade of brown or black is acceptable.  Take a lesson from me that purple boots, while totally adorable, will be relegated to walking the dog. Oh, the lovely outfits, completed by my purple suede peter pan boots, that only the doormen on my block have been lucky enough to witness. 

… and Ballet Flats

Ballet flats, what can I say? You can pretty much buy them in whatever color and texture you want.  Because you will always choose to wear boots instead.

Cardigans

Do you have a closetful of sleeveless dresses but a calendar of sleeveful events? Purchase a brightly colored cardigan to extend the usefulness of the dresses you already own.  Thrifty, huh? Only marginally less so when you buy six of them, all in varying red and purple tones. 

Novelty Items

Buy them! Buy them all! You will never get tired of a skirt with a Monet style landscape painted on it.  It’s like a classic men’s suit; You can wear it every day and no one will even notice! Ditto for the eyelet ombre skirt in shades varying from extremely loud yellow to very angry orange. 

Bags

A nice, classic, well-made bag is a must-have, that finishing touch that completes any outfit.  Invest in one.  Or 17.  Change your bag pretty much every day to match that day’s ensemble.  In theory this approach ensures that you carry only true necessities with you, as you are constantly reassessing the contents of each bag as you transfer them from one bag to the next.  In reality you are more likely than not leaving a lipstick behind in each bag.  But as lipsticks are made only to be purchased and not applied (a personal philosophy of mine), leaving one behind in an orange suede bag, because today’s outfit calls for a brown fringed one, will have little impact.

I Want You Back Again

I like my things.  They are like a family to me.  And my children's things, they are like extended family.  Sadly, the life expectancy of these family members is very low, often measured in mere days, and, in some especially unfortunate instances, hours. In our busy lives we sometimes move on quickly after these losses, but right now I’d like to stop, take a breath and properly memorialize some of them. 

Single navy Ralph Lauren sneaker We miss you more than you can ever know.  You know, since you are a sneaker.  You had just joined our family when you were taken from us so abruptly.  Your departure was especially unexpected since you were on my daughter's foot at the time.  One minute you were enjoying a ride on a swing and the next minute you went flying over the playground fence.  Or so I have been told.

Single navy Payless replacement sneaker O, cruel irony, you met the same fate as your predecessor, pushing the limits of fairness.  And credibility.  

White denim jacket Alas you did not make it to first period on the day of your very first wearing.  You disappeared from sight, right there in the gym, before the Pledge of Allegiance was even pledged. Through no fault of the wearer.  Yes, after many visits to the official lost and found and several ad hoc lost and founds (piles of clothes and pencil cases throughout the school) you were eventually recovered, streaked in grime.  You, apparently, had been run over by a motocross fleet.  While we gave you the best sartorial care possible, you never regained your original luster.  So young, so sad.

Light blue anorak You were so adorable. And so flexible – the way you could fold right up into yourself.  You didn’t even make it through your first school day.  Perhaps you folded yourself so small, you became invisible to the naked eye.  Certainly you were not just forgotten in a hallway between periods

Purple plaid lunch bag Oh, you were beloved.  Your purchase had not been planned, but you were the object of love at first sight, and, subsequently, intense lobbying.  A matching backpack was even purchased to keep you company.  And then, one sad day, very soon after you joined our family, you did not make the long trip from subway station platform to subway car.  Helplessly we watched you, scared and alone on the platform, as our train gained speed and pulled out of the station.  There was no trace of you, not even a purple thread, when I returned less than 10 minutes later.  I am sure some lawyer was pleased to find you and give you a good home.  At least that’s what I tell myself.

Have Love Will Travel

My last post featured my latest resume, but I left out a key talent, namely doing things and going places while drinking a diet coke.  I use the term "diet coke" generically, to mean diet coke or diet pepsi, as I am what I call "cola agnostic." That means that if I am in a "pepsi shop,” I will order a large diet pepsi, light on the ice, without a second’s hesitation. At the Food Emporium I will buy whichever is on sale, lugging home several cases on foot, much to the consternation of the cashiers and annoyance of the delivery men.

I won’t go on and on about the bliss of a diet with lemon, or the quenchiness of a cold diet coke on a cold day, or my strong preference for fountain, followed by can, followed by two-liter bottle, followed by those awful plastic 20-ounce bottles.  Just know that I feel intensely about my diet coke, enough that I there is pretty much always one in my hand, at my side, in my handbag (closed, the ones in my bag are usually closed, except for on one fairly notable occasion when it didn’t stay that way – and while the bag, sadly, was brand new, at least it was caramel colored). If you are not sure it is me coming toward you on the street, let’s say because I have gone through one of my hair color changes or due to an absence of fringed clothing, check out my left hand; Is there a diet coke in it? It’s me! Hello.

Let’s start there. The diet coke is always in the left hand.  That means the right hand must manage all manner of other items: typically the handbag, the bag(s) of returns, the smartphone, and at the outset of the outing, the omnipresent aviator sunglasses. Yes, it does seem to unfairly burden the right hand, but rightie is up to the task.  And leftie needs to focus on keeping that can fairly level.

It can be tricky to go everywhere with that can of diet coke, but with practice you, too, can do this.  Shopping for boots? Place the can next on the shelf next to the boot of interest, then pick up the boot to examine it.  It’s a sort of boot for cola exchange, the kind the US is always trying to broker with Brazil. Wait, in that illustration I am not really sure I could okay the US handing over either good. Let’s stick with guns and butter.

There are times you must place the diet coke can at your feet, strange as it may sound.  To tie a shoe, to pick something up off the ground. I know you are asking, “Won’t it get knocked over?”  Well, yes, once in a while it will get knocked over and you will scurry around cleaning it up.  That is the price one must pay for being fortunate enough to have that beloved drink at your side at all times.  Your children sometimes make messes, do they not? And yet when they spill something, you clean up after them, wordlessly and without complaint (most of the time – ok, some of the time).  At least the diet coke does not require diapers.  This, however does not mean my diet coke does not have a wardrobe – it does have a lovely 70’s inspired t-shirt. And a hoodie.

Runnin' Down a Dream

You know how they tell you that every so often you really need to rewrite your resume? Well now is one of those times for me.  I am an especially talented and experienced individual, so it may take a while to record it all in this condensed format, but a resume is really a work in progress, a living document, in the parlance of our times.  I offer you this first draft - obviously I have left off Tom Petty song title consulting, chocolate cookie baking and a host of other experiences that I hope to incorporate shortly.

Jayn Levy, VIB

Summary

Strengths include:

·   Purchasing Boots	·   Hanging Up on Telemarketers
·   Loud, Off-Tune Singing	·   Obsessive Smartphone Use
·   Love of Suede Fringe	·   Tracking Packages
·   Sibling Relationship Management	·   FIFO Food Storage (Refrigerator and Cabinet)

Experience

Senior Returner

Develop and execute complex plan for return of varied purchases from both bricks and mortar and online merchants.  Plan takes into account differing return policies, stores’ geographic locations for maximum efficiency and frequent buyer and/or store card benefits.  Often advise store cashiers on establishments’ rules.  Serve as frequent consultant to others’ on return strategies

·         Strategically plan purchases to minimize time spent in USPS office.  Average fewer than once per quarter

·         Specialize in difficult returns, including a single child’s boot, Target without a receipt, and Amazon

·         Utilize proprietary, proven methodology for organization and packaging of returns to speed third party processing

·         Subject matter expert at Sephora; returns maximize VIB points while minimizing cash outlay

·         Thought leader and evangelist of Anthro card; introduced sophisticated, veteran returner, as well as returning novices, to value of card

·         Recognized by Gap staff throughout Manhattan

Expert Television Watcher

Watch and critique TV to a degree that astounds most productive human beings.  Regularly view a great number of widely varied shows and moderate discussions on plot, casting, and continuity ad nauseam with anyone who can be incentivized to participate

·         Expertly multi-task TV viewing with a wide variety of co-activities, including but not limited to: cooking, baking, laundry, working, homework assistance, cleaning floors, eating, shopping online, riding mass transit

·         Maintain complicated DVR schedule to accommodate four people, while ensuring my shows receive highest priority

·         Utilize variety of devices and technology to maintain DVR including DVR, satellite boxes, website, Netflix (streaming and discs), Amazon, iTunes, and ipad and iphone apps

·         Coordinate TV schedule across TV, ipad apps, and websites

·         Show unerring taste in selection of shows across a wide range of genres, including: The Wire, The Sopranos, Kourtney and Kim Take Miami, Downton Abbey, Life on Mars, The People’s Court, My So Called Life, Parks and Recreation, Homeland, Dog the Bounty Hunter, Cougar Town, Friday Night Lights, Veronica Mars, and 30 Rock

·         Often undertake repeat viewings of a single episode to ensure optimal enjoyment

·         Able to identify with unusual discernment actors behind voiceovers.  Recent accomplishments include: Richard Thomas, Julia Roberts, Jeremy Sisto, David Eigenberg, Jon Hamm, Susan Sarandon, Jeff Bridges

·         Successfully socialize Freaks and Geeks while adjusting messaging according to audience; vary emphasis on freaks, geeks, eighties-style clothing, and James Franco’s looks as appropriate

·         Strive to emulate Connie Britton’s strawberry blonde mane

 Credentials

·         VIB status, Sephora

·         Card-carrying Anthro member since 2010

Hobby

Management consulting

Don't Come Around Here No More

So, it occurred to me today, and not for the first time either, that there are a great number of service people out there who would totally enjoy their jobs that much more if only the damn customer would stop getting in the way.  Let me describe the scene that triggered this thought for the bajillionth time.

I was in Loehmanns, with hair on my head, looking through the sale rack.  The hair's relevance will become clear in a minute.  See, I was about to arrive somewhere early, and I am "on time chick," so I can never get there even a minute early, and must find a way to eat up that minute.  I am pretty sure that is why Loehmanns was created by God, in his infinite wisdom and unwillingness to pay full retail.  Also, it is important to note that my father-in-law was "2 hours early man" and if you arrived only on time to meet him, you may as well have shown up the next day. And despite having been on time, you would come home later to find 20 short, loud messages inquiring, not politely and not in English, just exactly where you were - messages that he left in a span of no more than 3 minutes, before you arrived to meet him right on time. He had mad phone dialing and message leaving skillz, y'all. 

So I was looking through a sale rack and there were salespeople moving the contents of my sales rack to another.  As a salesperson walked by with a stack of hangered clothing, one of the hangers ensnared itself in my hair. It hurt like a bitch, and not a fun bitch either, and I gasped.  But if you heard the sigh the salesperson let out, you would have realized that the true victim here was not me, but him.  I mean, how much easier would this task be if I did not waste his valuable time while I plucked what remained of my hair from the hangers? If I was not an obstacle he had to walk around to get the next batch of clothes? If I did not have the gall to select an item from the rack, look at it and then put it back?

I began to ponder the customer-less store and the many benefits it would offer the employee.  Let's see - you would never have to refold things! That would be a huge time saver right there.  And no more stupid questions about where the hosiery department has moved to.  I mean, the freaking department moved days ago - why can't these customers keep up?!  And you know how sometimes you want to just chat with the cashier at the next register, but some ass of a customer insists that you take money in exchange for an item - that's a thing of the past too.  Now you can have that conversation about your latest piercing entirely without interruption.  

If the customer-less store works out, by all means let's move on to the holy grail - the customer-less restaurant.  Ugh, the way those customers want you to come back and take their order, when maybe you have some lipstick you need to reapply.  And can you believe how they signal with their hand in the air that they need the check? It's almost as if they did not understand that your entirely avoiding eye contact with them was a signal that you did not want to be disturbed.  They can be so obtuse.  And then there is that weird obsession they have with getting what they ordered.  Much easier if the customer stays home and you hang out and in the kitchen, chatting with the cook.

In all fairness, I must disclose that I was a salesperson and a waitress for years.  And not once did these thoughts ever cross my mind. 

The Best of Everything

Today a friend of mine posted a diagram outlining the traits of successful people versus those of unsuccessful people, and I have to take issue with it.  For starters, it did not note that successful people make a hobby of returning purchases.  OK, I can let that one slide.  But what I really cannot abide is the claim this post made that successful people do not watch TV.  It made me think about everything I would miss if I did not watch TV.  Then I got a little teary eyed.  Luckily, a quick shot of chocolate chips picked me up enough to write this entry (Calle Baut, my prescription for all ills). 

If I did not watch TV I would not know…

…of the existence of Tim Gunn.  Tim Gunn may in fact be proof of a supreme being.  He is a kind, warm, intelligent force for good.  He has a stellar vocabulary and he is not afraid to use it.  There is not a molecule of mean in him, and I still love him. That fact alone is proof of some sort of complex, overarching plan for humanity.

…how to pronounce ‘pivot.’ For, it is not just ‘pivot,’ but is instead always “PIVOT!” thanks to Ross Geller.  That includes, but is in no way limited to, “PIVOT! Tables.” For that matter, TV has also taught me that the response to any offer of chewing gum is “Gum would be perfection.” Without tv would you even know how to accept a slice of Juicy Fruit? You would not. You would also not have the always utile “We were on a break” and the almost never utile, but still a personal favorite, “Like me, like me, tiny doctor!”

…Tami Taylor/Rayna James (OK, Connie Britton).  These women are over 30, strong, funny, honest and forthright.  These are real adult women, who don’t undergo plastic surgery and all matter of injections and lip paralysis to pretend they look 25 – wrapping the whole package in a shiny, tiny skirt in an attempt to complete the illusion.  Also these women have an amazing head of flouncy strawberry blonde hair that I just may have shown my stylist on more than one occasion.

A Mind with a Heart of Its Own

You know how people hate watch? They hate watch The Bachelor, watching it only to be snarky.  They hate watch Real Housewives of Atlanta, just to feel superior.  While I am a huge endorser of both snark and superiority, and the synergy created by a pairing of the two, I watch my TV the way your grandma made cookies, with love. (In the interest of full disclosure, my grandmother did not make cookies, as doing so had the potential for making the kitchen less than spotless, and she once even scolded me for making toast as it “made the kitchen hot,” but still, I think you understand what I mean, especially if your own grandmother was a little less OCD and a little more TLC.)

So, on tonight’s schedule I had to choose between hopping the L out to Brooklyn with the Girls, heading across the pond to hang at Downton Abbey, and getting a little sun in South Beach with Kourtney and Kim.  And the winner was - - Kourtney and Kim Take Miami.  Because… that’s honestly what I expected to enjoy most.  It is straight entertainment, no nuance, no social commentary – just fun.  I laugh out loud when I hear Scott referred to as LD, short for Lord Disick, a reference to the time he bought himself an English title.  I follow his walking stick (that’s right, his walking stick) on Facebook, because it literally fills me with glee.  I discuss, with my boss no less, why he (that would be Scott, not his walking stick) and Kourtney have not gotten married, despite having two children (Mason and Penelope – I know their names!).

When I watch Hannah Horvath, I have to work through layers.  She is self-indulgent and utterly un-self-aware; do I hate her for that? Do I view her as representative of her generation? What is the statement she makes by never, ever seeming to have a bra on when she disrobes? Why does she disrobe as often as she does? But, even more importantly, why does she wear that romper shorts thing that, if we are being truly honest here, would look good on only one human on the planet, Taylor Swift, who would sooner appear on Kourtney and Kim than Girls. Although her appearing on Downton Abbey would be even more of a long shot. Back to the romper – maybe Hannah disrobes so often because when she is clothed, her body is enrobed in that heinous romper.  Problem solved! But see how hard I had to work?

So I watch Kourtney and Kim (and Khloe and Lamar and Keeping Up) because I like it.  I watched the Real Housewives of New York until my hatred for Ramona became an obstacle.  It was no longer fun, but just me seething at the bug-eyed monster that is she, and I get enough seething in real life.  Just watch the colors my face turns as I explain to the person who disingenuously cuts ahead of me at Duane Reade because she just didn’t realize the 7 people standing in a line with baskets full of items were actually waiting to pay.  She thought maybe we were all checking out the Us Weekly cover.  Well, one of us was.  They had a story on LD! 

Makin' Some Noise

As I stated previously, you can learn a lot from The People's Court.  First and foremost, you can learn how to conduct yourself in a courtroom.  Well, more accurately, you can learn how people think they should conduct themselves in a courtroom.  (OK, let me say 'courtroom,' lest you think I do not realize it is not a real courtroom.  I have been there in person, more than once, so I know it is contact paper and plywood, but that is a story for another time. A bliss-filled story for another time.)  Let's start with language.  There is a language particular to the litigators in The People's Court. (Again – ‘litigators’.)

Longer words are always better. We all know this is a truism (not a truth, too short - see?). Why say 'historic,' when you can say 'historical'; so what if it's wrong? It's l o n g e r. How often do you hear 'incidences' when the speaker means 'incidents.' As you can imagine, I am a joy to be around when the news is on and journalists are ad libbing on the scene. I am not.

When it comes to The People's Court, the litigants insist on saying 'communicated' when they mean 'said' (look at the difference in number of letters!).  No one there ever drives a car, they all drive 'vehicles.' At least I am assuming they mean cars, and not souped up Roombas.  (OK, now I totally want a souped up Roomba.  I could make do with a DJ Roomba.) Also, they all lend money to deadbeat friends, but that is a lesson for another time.

Legalese spoken here.  When people appear on The People’s Court, they succumb to the irresistible urge to speak using legal terms they likely learned from watching daytime court shows (who watches those?!). For that reason, they invariably refer to the other person never by name, but as ‘the defendant’. And it is nearly always pronounced ‘defendANT’, as if in an attempt to make the word sound longer.

In addition, there is a frequent bandying about of legal terms that clearly the litigant learned from his former college roommate, who was briefly pre-law, before deciding on a career in golf course maintenance, only to eventually go to work for his father managing middle income housing.  Not to be too specific.  As I went to a liberal arts college where pre-law was not a major, I do not know these terms, but I can assure you they are always misused, according to the Honorable Judge Milian. And, as much as the defendANT and plaintiff may need to be reminded, she is the only person in that court room who knows anything about the World of Law. (Which is not a ride I want to go on at Disney, in case anyone reading this is involved in designing the next generation of rides there.)

Stay tuned for more lessons from The People’s Court, including: how to dress for court (it is not tight enough if it does not require a second person to secure your clothing, kind of like in Victorian times), how to lie (be sure to contradict the police report in which you were quoted directly) and how to ensure you end up in court in the first place (remember the above reference to lending money to deadbeats?). 

Too Much Ain't Enough

I watch The People's Court. Every day. I record it and then I watch it.  You are laughing at me now.  You feel superior to me now.  Wait until I tell you I have gone to see the show in person. More than once. Now you are so concerned for my well being, you are pretending that you are not laughing at me.  That's fine. I know you.  You are even stifling a snort.  As I would do if you told me you watch "Kourtney and Kim Take Miami." Wait - bad example.  If you told me you watched "Dog the Bounty Hunter." OK, forget this line of reasoning.

The People's Court, it can teach you many valuable life lessons.  Some are lessons you will be surprised to learn you need to be taught, they may seem that obvious.  Some are deeper, more subtle.  I think what I am saying is that The People's Court has layers. Like an onion.  And like an onion, it adds flavor to your life. You may not believe me, but keep on reading and I will make a believer of you too.  Even if you do not start to set your DVR, you will benefit from my People's Court insights.  I will do that for you. Because that's how much I care.

Welcome

Welcome to my blog.  Come on in and take off your boots and sit for a while.  Are you wondering about the blog's name? Probably not.  It likely does not even sound familiar to you, but it is song title.  You see, I have a side job, and that is Tom Petty Song Title Consultant.  I have three clients, counting me.  Below is a picture of my business card.  It is a real business card.  That tells you something about me.  I am fairly I certain don't want to know what, so just kindly keep it to yourself, if you would.  Thank you.