Underground ads

The thing about subways is that you get up close and personal with billboards. That means everyone else does, too. And let me tell you, a spare square of white space doesn't last long in this city.

Most times it's not very creative graffiti tags all over the billboard. Once in a while you see something exceptionally odd, such as the proclamation that Nazis are going to wipe Iran off the face of the earth in 2008 and call this number to find out more: Number goes here. I've also seen notes to seemingly lost loved ones scrawled on billboards. (There is one to My Angel from Your Beating Heart at 23rd Street.)

The smartest billboard designers are the ones who use loads of black, such as the X-Men 3 ads. It takes the taggers more time to find white markers and paint, so the billboard stays cleaner longer.

The billboard designers who missed out are the ones who designed the New York Sports Network ads. Not only are they mostly white, they make direct references to the platform culture. Sure, it's witty to see an arrow pointing to the platform saying "Get your army of white headphone-wearing people here," and another pointing to a TV saying "Get your New York sports here." But when the billboard says "Get your wrong-side-of-the-platform tourist here" and is located no where near the platform, it loses a lot of punch and mostly seems stupid.


And of course there are the visual jokes, such as various mouths and facial accessories added to the "Silent Hill" poster. But my absolute favorite is the "Pepper Dennis" billboards. I've tried to recreate it for you here. It's not easy being beautiful!



Until Wednesday, remember to brush your teeth!

Chicken Little, or The Bugs Are Still Here!

Well, two weeks after they were supposed to come, the exterminators are allegedly to come this Thursday. For those of you keeping score, as of Tuesday I have been dealing with this bed bug situation in one form or another for a month. It feels like much, much longer.

This past Thursday I came home to find that, yet again, the exterminators had not come. That launched a fury I did not anticipate -- and the obligatory call to my sister to calm me the heck down. But first I called the Super and sort of chewed him out (not really him, but vented how frustrated I now am). He told me the exterminators were now supposed to come at the beginning of this week and that they believe the bugs must be living in the cardboard boxes in my bedroom. This is a load of bull. First, when the white powder was down, I was still being bitten. Allegedly the bugs cannot cross the white powder and live. Yet, there I was with bites. So clearly they are in my bed. Second, I broke down all those boxes after the Super told me this. Not one hint of a bug.

So now I am irritated because I feel I am being ignored, that the exterminators don't know what else to do so they are just going to call me crazy. And apparently no one else is still having a problem.

Anyway, I talked to my landlord's office today and they called the exterminators and supposedly the exterminators are coming Thursday. I am calling tomorrow to confirm this. The exterminators wanted me here so they could "talk" with me, but -- hello? -- I am at work during the week. Plus, it sounds like an intervention.

The exterminators and landlord keep trying to feed me this line that I may see bugs for up to two weeks after a treatment. So riddle me this: It has been over two weeks. I don't see the bugs. And I am still waking up with bites all over. What do you think it is?

I feel like Chicken Little. No one believes my sky is falling.

Oh well. Tomorrow I'll try to put together something entertaining and not just complain about my life with the bugs. Until then, ya gotta believe.

P.S. Welcome, R, to The List. Also, congratulations to R and K for passing their comprehensive exams so very swimmingly! Just keep swimming, just keep swimming ...

Cleopatra, Queen of the Night

Today’s story is one of heroism. Well, loosely about heroism. It is about how a stranger (me) saved a small pooch from uncertain death:

W, A and I were out walking to Toasty’s so they could buy lunch. I needed to mail something so I tagged along. And it was lucky I did, for there on the corner of Seventh and 21st, a drama of less-than-epic proportions played out.

We were just crossing 21st when we saw an older woman on the corner preparing to cross, even as the walk sign hand was beginning to blink. She had a small dog who was in the process of escaping from his collar. The woman was trying to pull the pooch across the street and clearly the pooch did not want to go. Swoosh! Off came the collar. Panic raced across the woman’s face. The leash dangled from her hands. The pooch stood free of any earthly ties. Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, free at last!

But wait … what is this?!

A heroic stranger (me) swooped in and scooped up the doggy, possibly saving it from the oncoming traffic. The older woman thanked the stranger profusely while putting the dog’s collar back on. She kept saying thank you, then asked the stranger if she lived around here. The stranger said, no, I work around here. Then she said she lives right there [gestures at a building on the corner] in 1212 -- just come by any time and ask for her, Cleopatra Queen of the Night.

I swear to God that is what she said. And the thing is, you would have never expected Cleopatra Queen of the Night to look like your favorite great aunt. Or maybe you would …

Until Thursday, my pets!

Underground activities

I spend a lot of time on the subway, probably about 50 minutes a day, sometimes more. And I've noticed there are about a million ways to spend your time on the underground love train.

The very industrious read things such as The Wall Street Journal and the New York Times. But let's face it, a broadsheet is difficult to manage; it's just so ... broad. And sheety. That is why the Post and the freebie tabloids around the subway station are big faves. Also, the Post and the tabs are just more hard-hitting. For instance, I bet the NYT story about the coyote in Central Park lacked any reference to Wile E. Coyote, a journalistic transgression the Post would never, ever commit. (http://www.nypost.com/news/regionalnews/65817.htm) [Sadly, Hal the Coyote died in captivity. Now he is a martyr. For more extremely reliable breaking news you absolutely need to know about Hal, Google "coyote Central Park New York Post."]

In short, the folding factor plays a big part in reading choices. I see more magazines jammed in people's bags and in people's hands here than I ever saw in a doctor's office. Also popular: used paperbacks (usually fantasy or action/intrigue/adventure) and the Bible. (Minus the Book of Judas ... http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/nationworld/2002916272_judas07.html ... a tip from Dad.)

But not everyone reads. Some sleep. Some sing to themselves, oblivious we can hear them over their MP3 players. And they are out of tune. Some meditate, which I have tried while sitting, but it is hard to focus with someone's bum in your face.

Mostly, we all just sit there, gazing off into the ether in a pre- or post-work daze. I spent a whole ride home one night trying to remember the last name of Maggie on Northern Exposure (O'Connell). I spent another trying to remember all of the main characters from King of the Hill. (I was stuck on Dale's last name -- Gribble -- and Bill's -- Dauterive.) So you can see I'm really making good use of my time.

Speaking of Time, G often gets a copy of that magazine from his place of employ for me. And here is what I learned last week while actually reading on the subway: Alaska and the British Isles are on the same longitude, so if the Gulf Stream shifts, it's going to be mighty cold in the motherland. Also, the polar ice caps are melting at such an astonishing rate, polar bears are turning up drowned because they have no place to swim to. Extinction is on the horizon. (If you are interested, I recommend the Time with the sad polar bear on the cover. And if you are spurred to act or learn more, I recommend undoit.org. If you buy Silk, Clif, Odwalla or Stonyfield Farm products, you're already supporting the cause.)

So now you've learned just about everything I've learned on the subway in the past month or so, plus a little more. Feel educated? :)

Until Tuesday, I'll be taking reading recommendations.

P.S. The bugs appear to still be here. Something is biting me at night. I'll assume it is bugs. Grrr, bugs. Grrrr.

My Semi-Brush With TV Fame & Fortune

My Semi-Brush With TV Fame & Fortune
Starring ….
SG as The Idea Man (er, Woman)
SS as The Recruiter
NYM as The Gun For Hire (minus the being paid part)

Our story opens at the beginning of February, deep in the offices of the Worldwide Leader in Sports. While surfing the Interweb (copyright S. Ohri), young SG happened upon a casting call for The World Series of Trivia. Curious, she sent SS an email asking if he’d be interested.

Then things got interesting.

SS quickly became the team captain, but the team (Freaks & Geeks) needed a third. They asked G’s brother, but he couldn’t do it because he has two family members working for Time Inc. So he pointed SS in my direction. He sent me an email asking if I would be interested, but the recruiting had spread far and wide, including The Schwab (if you don’t know who he is, you aren’t missing out).

In the end, I couldn’t think of a reason not to do it and no one else agreed to, so I became the third and final member of Freaks & Geeks. We had one Triviathon at B&A’s (most gracious hosts) and then last weekend, the casting call was on.

Pre-casting call I needed to get a headshot (!). Luckily, one of G’s friends agreed to take one for me. So on my lunch hour last Thursday, R, G and I were out on the patio across from the Time Inc. building, businessmen flocked around us eating lunch – just like the pigeons. R kept cursing them because he couldn’t find a flat background, but he managed all right and, voila!, headshot.

The plan was for Freaks & Geeks to meet at a hotel in NYC at 3, then eventually head to the Hilton on 6th Ave for the casting call. But Captain SS was caught in traffic, so we all just met at the Hilton, keeping our fingers crossed that he would make it in time. Then we waited in line with about 30 other teams for our 6 p.m. appointment. Apparently they had been running tests every hour with about 30 teams a pop. We were finally ushered into a room very much like testing facilities you experienced in college. We were handed envelopes and forms and Very Official things to sign because They don’t want you to know “how Their selection process works.”

I figure I got more than half of the test questions right. The ’80s movies saved me.

We had to sit and wait while they graded the tests in another room. We were quite antsy, despite being distracted by trivia questions and bad jokes. Finally, they announced only four groups had passed. Four! Slowly, they named off each team, our chances getting narrower and narrower with each name called. Then the last lucky team was about to be named. We were on the edge of our seats. Would our journey end here? Would we make it to the next round? Chances were slim.

The last group was … Freaks & Geeks!

There was a little celebratory fist bumping and then we had to wait in the hall – again – with the other three groups. We were each ushered into another room for a team interview, which is where the wheels came off the operation.

We were the last group to be interviewed. And I should have known we were in trouble when SG gave very detailed information about “The Bachelor.”

They asked why we should be chosen for the program. So SG said, and I quote, “Well, I’ve got big boobs and I’d be willing to wear a tank top.” She knows what sells!

Then they asked why we would be good at this game. SS launched into how I am “The Machine” and I just know answers right away and SG is “The Detective,” you give her a clue and she hunts down the answer. And he described himself as sometimes taking a long time to come up with the answer, but eventually he would come up with it. I have to say, I was beginning to sound like the Terminator.

They followed up by asking what our specialties are. That’s when the nails were driven into the coffin, I think. SS went on a very, very entertaining 5-minute rant about how he loves ’80s music and how Terrence Trent Darby (that’s right, of “Wishing Well” fame) is totally underappreciated and he is still recording today and how dare Entertainment Weekly list him as a one-hit wonder! It was quite passionately argued. I did not know Mr. Trent Darby had such a following.

So that was it. The VH1 people called us at dinner about an hour later and said they had seen a lot of people and had decided to go with a different group. Thus ended my burgeoning TV career. I can’t say I’m sad about it. It did allow me to do my taxes on Sunday instead of going through the next all-day elimination round (which actually did earn me money). But SS and SG seemed bummed. It was a fun experience and I’m glad I did it. Even if you won’t be seeing me on the little screen some day.

Until Monday, be ready for your closeup!

Beat Down by the Bugs

Several minutes have ticked by and still now word from NYM. What could have happened? Has she been eaten alive by bed bugs? Is she being held captive deep in the underbelly of the Naked City by the Rat King? Or is she just tired and depressed?

I'm afraid the much less interesting answer is the correct one. And not a very good excuse either for not emailing, but there it is.

A recap: Last Wednesday I came home to a coke fiend's dream. The exterminators had been in and dusted my bedroom with white powder. For two days my home seemed bug-free. I didn't wake up with bites all over and there weren't droppings in my sheets. On the third day I was feeling so good, I even let G come over and help me hang up my sheet curtains. Alas, that night the bugs came back. I have had bites every morning since. Mom says they cannot resist my sweet meats. The exterminators were supposed to be back today, but apparently they didn't keep their appointment. Who knows what is next or if I am stuck with bugs forever.

I'm at my wit's end about these bugs. I feel very isolated, since I can't have people over. And I am so tired of living among boxes and out of bags and not having a real home. I am going back to CT this weekend to my mom and dad's, even though I am afraid of spreading the bugs. I need a little escape and a little sleep.

So that's what's up with the bugs and with me. I have more to tell about my brush with TV stardom (even though I signed a paper that said I wouldn't talk about it), but I'll save that for another day. Tonight I just wanted to drop by and say "Hey friends, I am thinking about you and I am OK."

Until tomorrow, chin up!