Today I left work at 6:01pm. I went to the grocery store, snacked on pita chips while cooking dinner, watched a few episodes of Law & Order and read an essay about Babor the Elephant and French society in a September New Yorker before settling in to watch the Phillies play in the word series.
Watching the game tonight reminded me of how into baseball I once was, and how on Saturday night I had no idea what game of the series it was. While attending Bayard Intermediate School (grades 4-6), I loved the Atlanta Braves. I had David Justice's card hanging up on my wall, and the newbie Chipper Jones had stolen the spotlight. Later I come to find out that Chipper Jones wasn't all that impressive, considering he had an affair with a hooter's waitress, but at the time it didn't matter to me - at 9-years-old, how could I really know what baseball players' lives were like outside of the diamond? We didn't have Google yet.
In 4th grade I was given an Atlanta Braves Starter jacket for Christmas, and I loved it. I felt so cool, a true fan. I walked proudly into class after the Christmas holiday to find that one of my classmates, Brad, had received the exact same gift. But not to worry, I had the almost-complete set of Upper Deck baseball cards.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Marketing
My headphones only play music in one ear, and I have been walking, traveling, running, etc. with music in one ear for many months - before August to be sure.I surprised that I haven't been more annoyed by it and even more surprised that I've gotten comfortably used to my device. I think of them as the opposite of noise-eliminating headphones. The thought has crossed my mind to counter-market this pair of headphones to the percentage of the population who wants to stay semi-alert without looking like they are constantly plugged into their bluetooth. Speaking of marketing, now that I have spent two years learning to think, breath, sleep, and eat (maybe a few other vitals) marketing, and I can't help but put together an assessment of various advertisements on the subway, streets, and just about everywhere else. I think the most memorable subway advertising campaign was Intercontinental Hotel Group's Grand Central shuttle ads - which took up more than a few panels. The subway walls were covered in a decals of different geographic locations (think beach, rain forest, urban metropolis) that covered every inch of the car, like giant life size decals for paper airplanes.
On a more somber note, I think one of the reasons that I've decided to eventually market my passive aggressive one-sided-looks-like-I'm-intently-listening-in-both-ears headphones is because I work too much. Whenever anyone asks me what I've been up to lately, all I can say is I go to work, come home, and go back to work. Someone in the office asked me if I slept at the office last week. Another person told me that they had a discussion with someone on how many minutes of the day I didn't spend working. I didn't switch over my rental insurance to my new apartment for seven months because I kept forgetting to call during working hours. The same goes with the Doctor, dentist. I've recently decided to go to a food allergist but haven't made the appointment and probably won't until I finally decide enough is enough... I'd like to know whether my stomach has caught up with the gluten bandwagon.
However, not all hope is lost in the self-improvement section. I do notice that my ability to "tough it out" has improved since I began my office lifestyle. Today I made it through the entire without my chapstick.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Wikitaxi
Instead of taking a cab last night on the way home from the bar, we hailed a black towncar instead, whose driver agreed to take us downtown for $20. I considered it a deal, especially now since the weather is starting to get a bit colder and people don't want to walk or take the subway, myself being one of them.
About halfway through our ride we came to a stop near City Hall and heard some shouting from the right side of the street, where a group of guys were about to start a fight. It was three against one, the one having already taken off his shirt and swing it around his torso to appear more aggressive or threatening. It reminded me of those fighting beta fish that, when you put their bowls next to one another (or a mirror if you were slightly cruel-minded), puffed up their fins to reveal colorful iridescent blues, greens and purples to warn the challenger. Sadly, the young mans t-shirt was a common grey which did nothing for his image. The opposing party of three walked away, towards the subway entrance across the street, laughing and joking with one another. The young man followed and weaved through the traffic which had now congregated at the halted intersection. Behind our car, he had stopped after treading about 60% of the way across the street. Green light. We drove on, the honking cars behind us finding it a bit more difficult.
Our driver shared our amusement, but added that he "had seen everything, and this was nothing." Perhaps it wasn't really anything, I mean, they hadn't thrown punches or pulled out weapons.
Considering it lucky that the scuffle hadn't been more serious, I did realize that I've been in this situation before. Where the driver knows everything. I honestly think it is a job qualification, or a goal to achieve when signing on as a cabby. I've only been in one cab in the last two years where the driver admittedly said he had no idea where he was going. We came to find out that he had just started his taxi career, and although he had no idea how to get us to Alphabet city, he explained the entire procedure for becoming certified as a taxi driver, getting your car, and so on. On the occasion that I did question a cabby on where we were going, I either had to sit and listen to the lecture on why we were going this way and how rude it was that I doubted his knowledge or in the extreme case, get out and run.
As a pedestrian, I've lived here for two years I hardly ever find myself giving directions. Ironically, when visiting a few summers ago and out on an interview I was asked six different times for directions, without knowing where I myself was headed. I've never been in a taxi where I thought that I might know more about the city or have seen more of New York than the driver, but since I moved downtown I have taught several cab drivers how to find William Street and consider that a small contribution to the wealth of their knowledge.
I took OzoCar, a green limo company to LaGuardia Airport, on the Friday of Memorial Day weekend this past summer. I didn't leave myself much time before my flight and the only way I knew how to get to LaGuardia was on the highway. However, no fear, we turned off the highway and wound around the broken streets in the outskirts of Queens. He must have know I was restless when he said he had been driving for 20 years, which did make me feel better, although I have no idea how he knew where he was going.
When taking a car to Westchester this past winter, our driver explained to us how he used to drive for Martha Stewart, has lived in over 20 countries and speaks five languages. I can't recall where he said he was headed next, I do believe it was India, but I do know that he can't get there by driving.
About halfway through our ride we came to a stop near City Hall and heard some shouting from the right side of the street, where a group of guys were about to start a fight. It was three against one, the one having already taken off his shirt and swing it around his torso to appear more aggressive or threatening. It reminded me of those fighting beta fish that, when you put their bowls next to one another (or a mirror if you were slightly cruel-minded), puffed up their fins to reveal colorful iridescent blues, greens and purples to warn the challenger. Sadly, the young mans t-shirt was a common grey which did nothing for his image. The opposing party of three walked away, towards the subway entrance across the street, laughing and joking with one another. The young man followed and weaved through the traffic which had now congregated at the halted intersection. Behind our car, he had stopped after treading about 60% of the way across the street. Green light. We drove on, the honking cars behind us finding it a bit more difficult.
Our driver shared our amusement, but added that he "had seen everything, and this was nothing." Perhaps it wasn't really anything, I mean, they hadn't thrown punches or pulled out weapons.
Considering it lucky that the scuffle hadn't been more serious, I did realize that I've been in this situation before. Where the driver knows everything. I honestly think it is a job qualification, or a goal to achieve when signing on as a cabby. I've only been in one cab in the last two years where the driver admittedly said he had no idea where he was going. We came to find out that he had just started his taxi career, and although he had no idea how to get us to Alphabet city, he explained the entire procedure for becoming certified as a taxi driver, getting your car, and so on. On the occasion that I did question a cabby on where we were going, I either had to sit and listen to the lecture on why we were going this way and how rude it was that I doubted his knowledge or in the extreme case, get out and run.
As a pedestrian, I've lived here for two years I hardly ever find myself giving directions. Ironically, when visiting a few summers ago and out on an interview I was asked six different times for directions, without knowing where I myself was headed. I've never been in a taxi where I thought that I might know more about the city or have seen more of New York than the driver, but since I moved downtown I have taught several cab drivers how to find William Street and consider that a small contribution to the wealth of their knowledge.
I took OzoCar, a green limo company to LaGuardia Airport, on the Friday of Memorial Day weekend this past summer. I didn't leave myself much time before my flight and the only way I knew how to get to LaGuardia was on the highway. However, no fear, we turned off the highway and wound around the broken streets in the outskirts of Queens. He must have know I was restless when he said he had been driving for 20 years, which did make me feel better, although I have no idea how he knew where he was going.
When taking a car to Westchester this past winter, our driver explained to us how he used to drive for Martha Stewart, has lived in over 20 countries and speaks five languages. I can't recall where he said he was headed next, I do believe it was India, but I do know that he can't get there by driving.
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