Random bikings in Jersey City

So last weekend I was jonesing for something new-ish to do with myself. The last couple of weeks before, I had been bouncing the idea of owning a bike around in my head; the last time I owned a bike, I was about 12 or 13... the paleolithic era of my life, when everything was simple and good, and people didn't just up and die on you; they were eaten. Good old days :).

So anyway, my jonesing led me to accompany 2 friends, who were apparently experiencing the same 1/3-life crisis I was, to Target to admire, and possibly throw some money down on some bikes. We spent about an hour pulling bikes off the racks, riding up and down the isles, possibly pissing off the Target staff, and getting the whole of Jersey City suddenly interested in bicycles (Target should have paid us that day for the bikes we probably sold to all those biters). At some point, we came to the conclusion that Road Bikes were too expensive, Hybrids were even more expensive (but there was this really sweet one I wanted, The Schwinn OR2! *Sigh*.), and Mountain bikes were awesome. So we got 3 26" Schwinn Rangers for $179.00 a pop. Tangent Alert: F#*@ing Target ripped us off! The next day I looked at their web site (don't know why) and realized that they were selling them for $154.00 on there!!! I was am pissed! But I'm also too lazy to go argue with them, so they can keep the damn $25 they STOLE! Tangent Over. We rode the bikes out of there, looking like two punkish cowboys and a punkish cowgirl, into the sunset... it was about 1pm.

My butt still hurts from all the riding that ensued that day. And my shoes are still wet from getting our a$$e$ kicked by the rain later that evening as we tried to escape from Hoboken. But it was all good times. I plan on posting a blog from now on, the day before we go out riding in Jersey City (or wherever else we can). If you think you'd be interested in riding around with a few random people, subscribe below, and you'll know where we'll be!


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The key to love? Sound a little gay.

God bless her soul, that tiny little woman of mine. She really is the cutest person I've met (except for her cousin's baby...you just wanna eat her up!), but her fashion sense-- well, that's another story. It's not that she couldn't develop a fashion sense if she wanted to-- she just doesn't care about fashion... and I guess that is one of the reasons I was attracted to her to begin with. There's nothing hotter (to me) than a beautiful dorky girlfriend walking about the house in gym shorts and my over-sized sweatshirt.

However sometime during the course of our relationship I realized that gym shorts and over-sized sweatshirts were not meant to be worn with pink and blue shoes, or slippers one size too big. And that combination of clothing was certainly not meant to be worn out of the house! So I put my foot down! I would no longer tolerate her terrible outfit combinations!... And she turned me into her personal shopper. Sometimes I think this was her plan all along-- to goad me into doing her shopping, by dressing like someone kidnapped Macy's and left no ransom note.

Anyhow, this experience of being a personal shopper hasn't been at all bad. In fact, its been quite enlightening-- I can now understand why some women spend such a god-awful  amount of time shopping (though I personally pull off my fashion miracles in under 45 minutes!).

Over the last few months, we've been planning what this summer will look like. Something about beaches, camping, and more beaches came up... I didn't listen that closely, but it's on my calender so it doesn't matter. Then sometime a few weeks ago I received an e-mail with the subject "homework assignment". It turned out the my assignment was to follow the included link to Victoria's Secrets, and find a bikini for her to wear, "because there were too many choices and it was overwhelming".....seriously? Well, I can't say I wasn't happy to oblige... it's not everyday you get asked to go peruse photos of sexy models (though some of them are too damn skinny!) in bikinis.

SO I dove, eye-balls first, into page after page of  scantily clad Victoria's Secret models.... and if you'd walked up beside me while I was doing this, the intense concentration you would have found on my face would have led you to believe that I was genuinely trying to discern what the timeless Secret of Victoria's was, instead of buying a bikini for my Lady. Good times :D.

When, after a few dozen pages, I had narrowed my selection down to about 4 sets, I gave this woman a call to report my victory. In my report, I detailed the methodology by which I had decided upon those 4 sets. I explained about body type and sexiness factor; about color coordination and skin tone; about flaunting goodies that I'd like to see flaunted... you know, stuff like that. After several minutes of giving my detailed report, I went silent to give her a chance to tell me how awesome I was etc. etc.

She stayed silent with me for a few seconds.... then she burst out with a giggle in her voice, and all the excitement of two 14 year old bff's at a Justin Bieber concert, "I love you because you sound so gay!"

WHAT?! Besides the fact that I don't believe I sounded gay, I couldn't believe that, assuming I did sound gay, that would be the reason she'd site for loving m!? It wasn't the time I took to look at all those models; it wasn't even the time I took explaining the process to her so she could one day replicate. No, it was simply how gay I sounded to her....lol. Well, besides questioning her priorities when it comes to loving someone, I don't know what else to say. But I figured since I have a pretty awesome relationship, there might be something to be said for sounding a little gay. SO guys... have at!

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Hey Jackass! Tips aren't compulsory.

O.k., let's get this out of the way before I begin: I have no problem with tipping. What I have a problem with is idiot servers/delivery people who feel entitled to a tip.

Sometime last week I read this article in the metro news paper about some jackass delivery guy/ designer/ developer named Larry Fox who created a web site to out bad tippers. I personally hate the idea so much, I refuse to mention or link to the web site. If you're interested, I'm sure you can find it through a simple google search with little skill. Anyway, this idiot Fox is the worst manifestation of a narcissistic sub-culture of the "service industry" that feels like they should be taken care off, pampered, and cajoled, just because they've chosen to do a job that, well, sucks!

Why should a person (i.e. a banker, dump truck driver or elderly caregiver) have to work hard at their job (without receiving a tip), sometimes from 6am to 11pm, only to go to a restaurant (or go home), order food, and be EXPECTED (sometimes guilted into doing so) to pay a tip?! Why has it become an unquestioned norm that when you order food, you HAVE to pay a tip? I think that is stupid. And I'll tell you why.

When I visit the doctor's office (or any other office for that matter), I don't tip the secretary or the doctor. When I fly, I don't tip the air hostess. When I do my job, I don't get tipped. SO why the hell should I tip someone for doing theirs? I've heard all the arguments for why tipping is mandatory, and none annoys me as much as the one that goes, "Servers/ [delivery people] get low wages [or no wages], so you MUST tip them." With all due respect, who gives a crap how low your wages are? I have low wages too, maybe not as low as a server, but low nonetheless, and I don't get tipped. Who forced anyone to become a server? In fact, I will go as far as saying that in my opinion, the ONLY people who can make a sensible enough argument for being a server/waitress/waiter/delivery person are students.They are trying to make a life for themselves by getting an education, which will probably lead to a better career. And even they should not be tipped as a matter of course! It is NO ONES DUTY to garnish the wages of another just because they've accepted (for whatever reason) a job that doesn't pay well. Isn't that capitalism, and aren't we in the US?

See, people get paid in this world in one of several ways: by your boss, for working for him; by your organization, for working for it; by customers who buy something directly from you ( a good or service). Now some servers seem to believe that they fall in that last category, but they're sorely mistaken; no one comes into a restaurant because they want to get waited on. They come into a restaurant to get food, and the server just happens to be part of the service the restaurant provides. When a customer pays the fee for the food and service, that should be the end of them shelling out money UNLESS they feel inclined to leave a little extra money as if to say, "Thank you for being so nice even though you're in a crappy job that no one forced you into." to the server. Delivery: no one orders that extra $5 of food they don't really need (to reach the $15 minimum for delivery) just because they also want to pay a tip. They order that extra $5 because it's logical that the restaurant needs to pay the delivery guy something ($5) for the delivery. If that money doesn't go to the delivery guy, why is it being charged, and shouldn't the delivery guy be asking for more from his employer? The situation with a delivery guy is slightly different from the waiter, but draws essentially the same conclusion: A tip should be at the discretion of the tipper. That leads me to my next point.

In case you haven't been following my argument, let me say this in plain English. Again: I do believe that tips should be given, BUT only if the customer feels like it. Tips should not be seen as an entitlement. Rather, they should be seen at best as a charitable donation,or at least as something someone does to be polite, because that is in fact what they are. When looked at in these ways (and these really are the only reasonable ways to look at it), how can you expect tips to be compulsory? It's not compulsory for someone to say "Thank You."But it's nice. Neither is it compulsory for someone to make a donation to help victims of war. But that's nice too.

When it's all said an done however, it's never a bad idea to tip your waiter or delivery guy, especially if you visit, or order out often... else you risk have this all up in your next order of Duck Confit!


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Quickscope: verb \ˈkwik(-)skope | Definition: One of many sucky things about MW2

A long time ago, when I was first introduced to first person shooters like Duke Nukem and Wolfenstein, I thought to myself, "This is how wars should fought**; winner gets bragging rights... and also gets to make policy decisions which the looser has to adhere to." Of course, you couldn't hope to get someone like Osama to abide by policy created in that fashion even, if he got severely owned by Obama in a good game of Black Ops... which is when you break out the MW2:

Obama quickscope

**I've heard a few horror stories from friends who lived through wars, and for that reason, death and war are not things I particularly encourage... but I just had to do this!

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A Bugger's Delight...

The two highly coveted "lean-against-the-doors" spots

I stood on the crowded PATH train headed for 34th St. and Work this morning-- blurry, trivial thoughts entering and leaving my mind like faceless rush hour commuters going through turnstiles at NY Penn station. I was trying hard to ignore the passenger to my right who, despite the fact that I had outmaneuvered him to get the last of two "lean-against-the-doors" comfy spots on the train, continued to try to squeeze himself behind me with half his body awkwardly leading the way. I couldn't stand how he kept rubbing himself all over my right side each time the train jerked, so I stuck my right elbow out stiffly, and began to read my Metro news paper (I wasn't giving up that hands-free spot-- I hate holding onto the gross subway poles!). That worked to calm my nerves, knowing the discomfort I was causing him. And he eventually backed off-- halfheartedly re-positioning his torso to disguise his failed attempt at usurping my comfy spot, for a casual re-adjustment of his stance.

On page 4 of my Metro, I read an article on Latina teens and suicide rates. Then I read a shorter piece on a "several hundred" person pillow fight that took place on Saturday in Union Square. Did you know that the Union Square Pillow Fight Saturday is part of an international event -- International Pillow Fight Day? Well, neither did I, but this past Saturday marked it's sixth anniversary. Cool beans. Next page.

I took a cursory glance at page 5 of my Metro, fully intending to move on to page 6 (because I could care less about "Eco-conscious kids' clothing", or whatever anyone has to say about it.), when something big, rectangular, red, and bordered in yellow caught my attention:

I quickly flipped my paper back around to page 4 again and looked, with a touch of manic amusement, at the pillow fight piece, my disbelief growing with every passing second I processed the information. Seriously?! Had everyone forgotten that NYC was Camelot for these indomitable, armor clad blood suckers a.k.a BED BUGS?! I guess they had, since even I, with my past experience with these creatures, had failed to notice how this pillow fight was a HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE idea (unless the goal was to help spread Bugger* love...) until this brilliantly placed ad. Good job Metro.

For the remaining two stops to my final destination, I felt my skin crawl and itch. I suffered in silence because I am morally against scratching in public... unless you're sure you're on a deserted street, and sure no one (a hot girl/guy?) will walk around the corner the exact moment you decide to scratch certain part (don't act like you don't get an inopportune itch every now and again!). I wondered how many of my fellow commuters had been given a good dusting of bed bug eggs this past Saturday. Was that annoying fellow rubbing himself all over me, a walking Bugger hive? Ugh!

"G'morning pretty! Here's a love bite for ya!"

The train arrived at 34th St., and I spilled out. I walked briskly to work, into the restroom and washed my hands. Absurd, since washing my hands has no effect on buggers, I know. But seeing as how I couldn't fumigate myself (because I don't have easy access to Bugger fumigants, and because I'd probably die in the fumigation process), I figured I'd do the next best thing and cleanse myself of NYC/NJ subway grime.

Happy Monday....

*Since our experience with them, my ex-roommates and I have called these delightful little darlings, Buggers.

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