Top ten reasons why New York is the worst place in America:
1. The whole city smells like piss.
2. In the rest of the country, when fully ambulatory people notice they’re in your way, they generally step aside without hesitation – this is the norm. Your average New Yorker, on the other hand, will stand in the middle of a grocery store aisle, watch as you approach him, and refuse to budge until you come to a complete halt and say, “Excuse me.” I think that transplants from other parts of the country should take their shopping carts and start mowing down the natives, but I’ve yet to convince anyone else to sign on.
3. The New York Dialect is Stupid Part I: New Yorkers can’t ask questions properly. Instead of saying, “She wondered when he would change his shit-stained underwear,” like everyone else in the Anglophone world, New Yorkers say, “She wondered when would he change his shit-stained underwear.” Unacceptable.
4. New Yorkers Relish Confrontation Part I: Someone holds open the door for you as you’re walking out of Starbucks, and you give a nod of appreciation before walking away. What you, the outsider, fail to understand is that to the New Yorker, holding the door for a stranger is a selfless act of kindness on par with donating a kidney. Therefore don’t be surprised if, as you’re walking away, the irate door-holder screams after you, “YOU’RE WELCOME.” Just consider yourself lucky that he didn’t chase you down for a face-to-face. Roughly 1 in 50 will.
5. New Yorkers get most of their information about life between the coasts from the movie, “Deliverance.”
6. New Yorkers Relish Confrontation Part II: You encounter a person you know vaguely by sight, but not by name. Since you really have no idea who this fucker is, you think that if you’re unfortunate enough to make eye contact with him, a little smile will suffice. Not so. New York etiquette dictates that you must greet with great volume and enthusiasm people whose names you not only don’t know, but will never know. Deviate from this etiquette, and this virtual stranger won’t hesitate to give you a good dressing-down. Apparently New Yorkers fail to recognize the irony in combating (perceived) rudeness with rudeness.
7. The Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) Sucks Part I: A few weeks ago, I was sitting on a crowded subway train, idling in a station. So there we all were, waiting and waiting and waiting, not with patience per se, but without too much howling and weeping. Finally, a voice came over the PA informing us that our train had in fact been out of service for the past half hour, and would be going nowhere, a fact the MTA hadn’t seen fit to share at any point during the first 30 minutes of our adventure. One disgruntled passenger vowed to punch an MTA employee in the face. I hope he stuck to his word.
8. New Yorkers earnestly believe that visitors and transplants find the city exciting, which is retarded considering they also believe we wouldn’t bat an eye if forced to squeal like a pig while getting anally raped by an inbred psychopath (see # 5). You can’t have it both ways, dickholes.
9. The Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) Sucks Part II: I pay $104 a month for the privilege of riding trains and buses in New York City. As recently as 2008 I was paying only $76 a month, but the MTA, strapped for cash as per usual, ups the fares roughly every three days. So given these inflated fares, where is their money going? Obviously not on new trains, or on maintenance, or on cleaning, or on automating announcements, or on setting up stations as wireless hubs; that much is clear. The money goes to salaries, big, fat, bloated salaries. It’s not unusual for rank-and-file MTA employees to be compensated to the tune of $100,000 a year. In this dismal economy, I’m surprised more of them aren’t murdered.
10. The New York Dialect is Stupid Part II: How do you say the word, “radiator?” Well, if you’re one of the 300 million Americans not from New York, the first syllable is pronounced, “ray,” as in “a ray of sunshine.” If you’re one of the 8 million people from New York, the first syllable is pronounced, “rad,” as in “when you were hanging ten out there, it was totally rad.” Whenever a New Yorker says radiator, a little part of me dies.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Teach your children well.....
The 80’s was a great time to be alive. Teenage girls thought Boy George was sexy. Charlie Sheen was intermittently coherent. Our President was an actor who had once shared top-billing with a monkey. The UK, meanwhile, was governed by a lady robot. There must have been other world leaders, too, and I’m sure they were equally improbable.
Of course having been born in 1982, I couldn’t tell my Ronald Reagan from my Ronald McDonald, which isn’t to say that my generation missed out on all this lunacy. We most certainly didn’t. From Super Mario Brothers we learned that mushrooms make you big and turtles make you small; Fraggle Rock introduced us to paganism and trash heaps; some of us even had dolls that could crap into a diaper.
As weird as all that was, I submit that the picturebooks of the period were the ultimate embodiment of 80’s insanity. Deviousness, gluttony, misery, pent-up rage, and unwarranted aggression were no longer off limits, and the purveyors of kid-lit went nuts, churning out creepy book after creepy book. So my question is, was that a bad thing? My mind was undoubtedly warped, but was it perhaps warped for the better? What follows is something of a guide to a selection of picturebooks plucked from my personal collection. As an adult – which I sort of am – can I determine which books are good for kids and which are bad? Join me now for a trip down memory lane…
“Begin at the Beginning” by Amy Schwartz
The heroine of this book, Sara, is a second grader who’s chosen to paint for a school art show a subject that would tax the genius of DaVinci. Eventually, Sara’s mother manages to teach her daughter the difference between healthy ambition and unrealistic ambition; aim for the stars, but know your limits.
Verdict: Bad. The general message is positive, but that’s not the whole story. On every other page Sara’s shoveling more junk into her greedy little mouth: butter and jelly sandwiches, chocolate chip cookies, pretzels, chocolate cake. The snacks are described in loving detail, the illustrations are of fat characters, and the effect is altogether jarring. “Begin at the Beginning” is less about learning to achieve, and more about Sara’s burgeoning eating disorder.
“Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs” by Judi and Ron Barret
While we’re on the subject of eating disorders, let’s explore this gem. The story centers around a town called Chewandswallow, a typical town but for its weather (and its name). Three times a day, the sky opens up and pours onto the town’s citizens a bounty of food – it rains soup, snows ice cream, hails pizza, etc. Everyone seems pretty pleased with this arrangement until the weather shifts. The food itself gets bigger, and begins to fall more or less constantly; the supply far outstrips the demand. After some poor saps are chased down the street by a pack of giant donuts, the townspeople take action. They fashion rafts out of massive peanut butter sandwiches, and sail away, never to see Chewandswallow again.
Verdict: Good. Yes it’s all about food, but the overriding message is that gluttony isn’t all it’s cracked up to be; as glorious as it sounds, you wouldn’t actually want to be buried in delicious food morning, noon, and night. Well, that’s the theory anyway…
“Love Helps You Grow” by Hedvig Johnson
This choice item from the “Rose-Petal Place” series opens with some dreadful poetry about the new day dawning, so you can tell right off the bat that no effort was spared. Sunny Sunflower and Orchid visit their pal, Rose-Petal. Sunny asks Rose-Petal if she likes her new dress, and as it turns out, Rose-Petal’s fondness for the dress borders on the unseemly. She and Sunny become so immersed in their mutual love-fest that they don't notice Orchid skulking away, sad and alone.
Enter the obligatory villain, an opportunistic spider named Nastina. Upon learning of the rift between Orchid and her friends, Nastina spies her chance to take down those twee flowers. She convinces Orchid to drink an evil potion, assemble her flower brethren, and complain to them about the grave injustices she’s suffered. Unfortunately for Orchid, it soon becomes apparent that the more she whines, the more she shrinks; desperate, an eensy-weensy Orchid turns to Rose-Petal for help. "Push jealousy away," Rose-Petal advises. And push Orchid does, until she’s returned to her original size. Our heroes triumph and our villain is foiled, at least until the series’ next installment, “Lily Fair Learns a Lesson.”
Verdict: Bad, mostly because it’s a treacly turd, but also because it champions repression. Show me a kid who represses his feelings, and I’ll show you a kid whose future involves a clock-tower and a gun.
“Frog and Toad” by Arnold Lobel
The Frog and Toad series is one of the most terrifying entries into the pantheon of kid-lit. These books center around two friends named Frog and Toad, who conveniently happen to be a frog and a toad. Frog is tall and green and trim; Toad is short and brown and squat. Frog is a leader; Toad is a follower. Frog is something of a renaissance man; Toad is neurotic and clinically depressed. So far, Frog sounds like a pretty affable guy, but this illusion is quashed after just a few pages of one of these stories, when it becomes apparent that Frog is in fact a twisted sadist, and Toad his preferred victim. These amphibians’ relationship is straight out of “Blue Velvet.”
Essentially, each story shows Toad miserably sleeping away his life, while Frog dreams up passive-aggressive schemes that, once carried out, play Toad for the fool without casting Frog in an overtly negative light. Just for shits and giggles Frog might give Toad a too-big hat and suggest that the warty, little nitwit think big thoughts to make his head grow. Or he might, noticing that Toad is for all intents and purposes suicidal, write a cheerful note to his friend, only to entrust its delivery to a snail. As every pretty girl needs her ugly friend, every Frog needs his Toad. So, are these stories unhealthy for a child’s mind?
Verdict: Could go either way. It really all depends on the lessons you hope to impart. If you want to show your kids what horrors await if they don’t stand up to bullies, these books could be just the ticket. If, however, you want your kids to believe that the meek shall inherit the earth, these are not the books for you. Meek little Toad is not the lovable underdog who ultimately gets the girl. He’s the tragic figure who gets the girl, then finds out Frog’s fucking her behind his back.
Of course having been born in 1982, I couldn’t tell my Ronald Reagan from my Ronald McDonald, which isn’t to say that my generation missed out on all this lunacy. We most certainly didn’t. From Super Mario Brothers we learned that mushrooms make you big and turtles make you small; Fraggle Rock introduced us to paganism and trash heaps; some of us even had dolls that could crap into a diaper.
As weird as all that was, I submit that the picturebooks of the period were the ultimate embodiment of 80’s insanity. Deviousness, gluttony, misery, pent-up rage, and unwarranted aggression were no longer off limits, and the purveyors of kid-lit went nuts, churning out creepy book after creepy book. So my question is, was that a bad thing? My mind was undoubtedly warped, but was it perhaps warped for the better? What follows is something of a guide to a selection of picturebooks plucked from my personal collection. As an adult – which I sort of am – can I determine which books are good for kids and which are bad? Join me now for a trip down memory lane…
“Begin at the Beginning” by Amy Schwartz
The heroine of this book, Sara, is a second grader who’s chosen to paint for a school art show a subject that would tax the genius of DaVinci. Eventually, Sara’s mother manages to teach her daughter the difference between healthy ambition and unrealistic ambition; aim for the stars, but know your limits.
Verdict: Bad. The general message is positive, but that’s not the whole story. On every other page Sara’s shoveling more junk into her greedy little mouth: butter and jelly sandwiches, chocolate chip cookies, pretzels, chocolate cake. The snacks are described in loving detail, the illustrations are of fat characters, and the effect is altogether jarring. “Begin at the Beginning” is less about learning to achieve, and more about Sara’s burgeoning eating disorder.
“Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs” by Judi and Ron Barret
While we’re on the subject of eating disorders, let’s explore this gem. The story centers around a town called Chewandswallow, a typical town but for its weather (and its name). Three times a day, the sky opens up and pours onto the town’s citizens a bounty of food – it rains soup, snows ice cream, hails pizza, etc. Everyone seems pretty pleased with this arrangement until the weather shifts. The food itself gets bigger, and begins to fall more or less constantly; the supply far outstrips the demand. After some poor saps are chased down the street by a pack of giant donuts, the townspeople take action. They fashion rafts out of massive peanut butter sandwiches, and sail away, never to see Chewandswallow again.
Verdict: Good. Yes it’s all about food, but the overriding message is that gluttony isn’t all it’s cracked up to be; as glorious as it sounds, you wouldn’t actually want to be buried in delicious food morning, noon, and night. Well, that’s the theory anyway…
“Love Helps You Grow” by Hedvig Johnson
This choice item from the “Rose-Petal Place” series opens with some dreadful poetry about the new day dawning, so you can tell right off the bat that no effort was spared. Sunny Sunflower and Orchid visit their pal, Rose-Petal. Sunny asks Rose-Petal if she likes her new dress, and as it turns out, Rose-Petal’s fondness for the dress borders on the unseemly. She and Sunny become so immersed in their mutual love-fest that they don't notice Orchid skulking away, sad and alone.
Enter the obligatory villain, an opportunistic spider named Nastina. Upon learning of the rift between Orchid and her friends, Nastina spies her chance to take down those twee flowers. She convinces Orchid to drink an evil potion, assemble her flower brethren, and complain to them about the grave injustices she’s suffered. Unfortunately for Orchid, it soon becomes apparent that the more she whines, the more she shrinks; desperate, an eensy-weensy Orchid turns to Rose-Petal for help. "Push jealousy away," Rose-Petal advises. And push Orchid does, until she’s returned to her original size. Our heroes triumph and our villain is foiled, at least until the series’ next installment, “Lily Fair Learns a Lesson.”
Verdict: Bad, mostly because it’s a treacly turd, but also because it champions repression. Show me a kid who represses his feelings, and I’ll show you a kid whose future involves a clock-tower and a gun.
“Frog and Toad” by Arnold Lobel
The Frog and Toad series is one of the most terrifying entries into the pantheon of kid-lit. These books center around two friends named Frog and Toad, who conveniently happen to be a frog and a toad. Frog is tall and green and trim; Toad is short and brown and squat. Frog is a leader; Toad is a follower. Frog is something of a renaissance man; Toad is neurotic and clinically depressed. So far, Frog sounds like a pretty affable guy, but this illusion is quashed after just a few pages of one of these stories, when it becomes apparent that Frog is in fact a twisted sadist, and Toad his preferred victim. These amphibians’ relationship is straight out of “Blue Velvet.”
Essentially, each story shows Toad miserably sleeping away his life, while Frog dreams up passive-aggressive schemes that, once carried out, play Toad for the fool without casting Frog in an overtly negative light. Just for shits and giggles Frog might give Toad a too-big hat and suggest that the warty, little nitwit think big thoughts to make his head grow. Or he might, noticing that Toad is for all intents and purposes suicidal, write a cheerful note to his friend, only to entrust its delivery to a snail. As every pretty girl needs her ugly friend, every Frog needs his Toad. So, are these stories unhealthy for a child’s mind?
Verdict: Could go either way. It really all depends on the lessons you hope to impart. If you want to show your kids what horrors await if they don’t stand up to bullies, these books could be just the ticket. If, however, you want your kids to believe that the meek shall inherit the earth, these are not the books for you. Meek little Toad is not the lovable underdog who ultimately gets the girl. He’s the tragic figure who gets the girl, then finds out Frog’s fucking her behind his back.
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