Pat Kiernan is my favorite person on TV.
Apparently, I'm not the only person who feels this way.
There are countless Facebook groups (complete with fan art) dedicated to supporting Pat's popularity goal to replace Regis Philbin. I can see it.
The best segment on TV news ever is "In The Papers." For those of you who do not live in NYC—or, worse, think that you can get a better deal through Verizon instead of TWC—you have never seen Pat Kiernan grace your screen during NY1.
This is how the segment goes:
-Pat Kiernan collects all the daily papers (NY Times, NY Post, Daily News, etc.)
-He (let's be honest, his staff) carefully combs through them to pick out the most interesting and pertinent articles in each paper
-He reads the headlines and explains the gist of the article
-He looks adorable while doing so
It's amazing. It makes you feel like you've read the entirety of all the newspapers and wisely selected which articles were worth your time to read. Now that you have "read" them, and now you know everything that people will talk about that day.
As Jon Stewart put it on his show this past Wednesday 1/29:
"NY1 is the pulse of our city...Just literally sitting there reading you the paper. They read it to you...NY1 is always there for us."
I couldn't agree more.
And, it saves me the cost of a daily NY Times subscription.
"Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?"
That was my opening line as I boarded a rush hour Metro North train.
I think it's a little presumptuous of any passenger to take an entire row (aka prime real estate) to yourself, forcing others to stand.
I actually would have sat down without even asking, but this current seat-occupier's fur coat (sorry PETA) was overflowing onto the bordering seat, where I was hoping to sit.
After I asked to join her, she nodded nonchalantly, but made no effort to move her coat.
So, I sat down.
Of course, I tried to be courteous, but the narrow seats only allot for so much room, and I inevitably ended up touching some of her dead animal.
She started huffing and she aggressively grabbed her coat and yanked it back to her side (which she should have done in the first place).
I didn't really feel bad, at all.
But, for those few seconds, the fur felt very nice to sit on.
"Excuse me, miss. Do you have a minute to save the world?"
I'm positive that the average New Yorker has been accosted a minimum of 2-3 times per season by dedicated young individuals devoted to [insert cause].
Just last week, I was approached in Grand Central Station by a young guy who started off by saying "Hi, we're talking to people wearing purple scarves today."
Yea, right.
I didn't buy that for a second. But I had a few minutes to kill, so I decided to humor him.
He started asking me all these questions about how much money I spend on essential living (food and water) every day. I knew the purpose of this was to make me feel guilty about how much I spend and how I could afford to live on 50 cents less a day and instead donate that money to [insert cause].
I wasn't having it. He could tell. His approach wasn't even original, and he was representing an organization that I had actually never heard of. When I asked him for some literature, he couldn't even show me a packet. I was calling bullshit.
He tried a new approach—he asked me about the ring that I was wearing on my middle finger, and if I knew what that represented. (I did not.) He then told me that wearing a ring on my middle finger indicates that I "know what I want to do in life but go about it in a chaotic way."
I told him that he couldn't be farther from the truth. There are very, very few aspects of my life that could even be considered remotely chaotic.
At this time, I decided that it was time to leave him. No, I did not want to give him my credit card information. I was positive that I would be subscribed to some unbreakable contract that would extract monthly payments from my account for the rest of my life.
Fact: Nearly everyone in middle class America has access to Netflix.
Why is this? Because there are virtually no limits on how many people with whom you can share your password. Of course, there are limits as to how many people per account can watch at a time, but that rarely seems to be an issue.
Netflix is one of those services that seems to be a superfluous expense, and yet everyone seems to pay it —just like smart phone data contracts and manicures. At one time, we all thought it was ridiculous to spend that amount of money, but after communication became seemingly impossible without an iPhone/you realize you suck at doing your nails, it was much easier to cave.
If you read my recent post about the importance of TV as a conversation initiator, you would (correctly) assume that Netflix works the same way. It is now possible to watched an entire series in a matter of days (depending on episode length and the extent of your dedication). Excuses like "I was too young when the show came out" or "It conflicted with Grey's Anatomy" are no longer viable reasons as to why you are not an expert on Boy Meets World or Mad Men. It is unfathomable for current teenagers to imagine how sick days were spent with only the possibility of daytime TV shows to pass the time; they now have a virtually endless library of quality shows for viewers of all ages, thanks to Netflix.
It's safe to say I'm very jealous of opportunities, so I have no choice but to make up for lost time.
And, for the record, if/when Friends comes to Netflix, you'll know. I won't have the time to write posts; I'll have succumbed to the pleasure cycle that is binge-watching.
22) Poor Gifting
I pride myself on being a courteous gift giver. What does that mean? If I give someone a gift (and modestly admit that it may not be to their liking), I make sure that:
a) it is from a regularly-patronized store*
b) I attach a gift receipt
*A regularly-patronized store is a place that has multiple locations and/or is located close to the gift recipient's residence. (Example: Target)
You should not be gifting a shark tooth necklace that you got from a street peddler while on vacation in Sedona unless you know that the recipient will love the gift. (In this case, unless they are a member of an aquatic species or a dentist, they probably will not.)
If you buy an item from a regularly-patronized store, attach a gift receipt.
Failure to do so is not only impolite, but increases the suspicion that you are re-gifting something that you got a long time ago.
Note to sales associates: When a customer asks you for gift receipt for an item, that means that said customer is likely going to be giving that item as a gift. Ergo, you should remove the price tag. I cannot tell you how many times a sales associate has wrapped my gift up in beautiful tissue paper in a box (with an expertly-tied bow), only to have me later ruin all of it because I have to open it up to remove the price tag.
I have this theory that TV exists for two forms of entertainment: primary and secondary.
The primary form, of course, is the joy we get from laughing out loud/cringing in horror as we watch the latest twists and turns on our favorite shows. We are also entertained by the regularity of it; you know that every Thursday night from 10 — 11 PM (with the exception of this horrible winter hiatus) you will be at the mercy of Shonda Rhimes' writing, subject to any emotions she forces you to feel. And you love it.
The secondary form, however, is less obvious (at least at first). TV exists so that we–as Americans–have something to talk about, argue, and bond over that is not politically charged or controversial. The biggest arguments are usually whether or not so-and-so deserved to be eliminated on Dancing With the Stars (no, she didn't) or how much nudity was in the season premiere of Girls (an expected amount). We can go to work/school each weekday morning eager to discuss with our colleagues/classmates what we think about the latest plot, what we think is going to happen next week, how we would do it differently if we were the writers of the show, etc.
It's crazy, actually. I know television has been part of our society for a long time now (and of course, for my entire lifetime), but seeing as it occupies so much of our current conversations, I can't help but wonder what people talked about before the existence of primetime television shows.
I would spend more time thinking about it, but I have to catch up on Parks & Recreation before someone spoils it for me.
Have you every made an appointment for a manicure? Have they ever told you no?
I bet not.
Here's how it usually works:
"Hi, can I make an appointment for a manicure?"
--Oh, we're very busy......how about 15 minutes?
"Ok!"
If you don't have the foresight to call ahead, and instead just walk in for an appointment, here's how it goes:
"Hi, can I get a manicure?"--Oh, we're very busy......how about 15 minutes?
"Ok!"
See the difference?
(Answer: there is none)
There is no such thing as "wait time" or an "appointment" in the world of nail care. Seriously. They will always welcome you with open arms (and sometimes hugs), and will never, ever, ever turn you away.
Note: If you do make an appointment, there is no such thing as a guarantee that you will actually be taken at the time of your appointment. Most likely, they will send you to a pedicure chair and let you experience a "back massage" until they are done with the most recent walk-in customer.
This quote is so powerful that it deserves its own post, all by itself. No explanation needed.
From a post on Facebook (originally from a chalkboard sign outside a bar)
"A bird sitting on a branch is never afraid of the branch breaking, because her trust is not in the branch but in her own wings.
Believe in yourself."
Go outside. Look around you. Find the women. What are they wearing?
(Hint: The same exact thing)
Over the past few months, I have come to notice an unspoken "uniform" that most stylish New York women sport, especially in the winter months. Though never explicitly stated, the women in my neighborhood buy the same brands, the same items, and–quite often–the same color. While some would think this makes them look like clones, the real effect is that I secretly want to go out and get all those things to look just like them.
The Uniform
-Longchamp bag
-Burberry quilted coat
-manicured nails
Yes, these things are all expensive, and I realize that the sampling I've taken of the women in my neighborhood is probably not representative of the average population. But, it's fun to fantasize, and it gives me things to try on (just for fun) when I go into Bloomingdale's.
21) The World Is Your Living Room
Why bother fixing your hair at home when you can just brush it while riding the subway? Why eat your tuna fish sandwich at home when you can just unwrap it in the movie theater?
Why schedule your gynecologist appointment at home when you can list the symptoms of your UTI while standing in line at Chop't?
It's no secret that there are certain things that should be done in secret–or at least in the privacy of your own home–that many New Yorkers fail to identify. True, most people go about doing their own thing and ignoring others, as we are taught to do, but that makes it no less disgusting when you are settling into a 3-hour movie with the smell of fish in your immediate vicinity*.
It's definitely funny (and provides great material for my blog), but it's pretty inconsiderate to other people. Here are my suggestions:
Ran out of time to fix your hair? Stop in a Starbucks bathroom (JK, they'll never give you the key), so use a store window to brush your hair to perfection.
Craving a tuna fish sandwich? EAT IT AT HOME.
Need a snack for the movie? Bring a non-smelly sandwich, OR be a normal person and buy smuggle in some popcorn.
Desperately need that gyno appointment? At least wait until you're standing outside of Chop't so the average passerby has a decreased chance of hearing the entirety of your symptoms.
*However, I will share with you a fantastic travel tip I always use. Booked a ticket on a bus or train? Want the double seats all to yourself to stretch out?
Pack a tuna fish sandwich. Sure, it's rude and everyone will think you're a horrible human being, but I guarantee no one will sit down next to you. Enjoy the ride.
