Know Thy But

“Andrew’s a nice guy but he chews with his mouth open.”  “Arthur will give you a great haircut but he talks too much.”  “The subway is efficient but it smells like urine.  “Bali is gorgeous but the flight is too long.”  "Golden retrievers are great dogs but they shed like hell."   Every person, place and inanimate object has numerous favorable qualities and then several “buts” that annihilate any attempt at supremacy and transcendence.  If you think that you don’t have any “buts” or are unaware of them, just ask your friends.    Chances are that if you are married or in a relationship, your partner has made you aware of your “buts” several times daily.  To “know your but” is the only way to improve and become a better person. 

A successful businessman that I know recently attended a sales conference and the keynote speaker addressed this necessary and essential need to recognize your weak points.  In a corporate setting, a boss should ask his or her employees their biggest complaints, just as the boss reviews his fellow subordinates. Rather than take offense to the honest assessments, take them to heart, analyze them, and then decide whether a change is in order.  Of course, certain qualities are beyond alteration such as a nasally voice, short stature, or poor taste in music. But constant tardiness, conceit, a bad temper, and poor hygiene can all be worked on and improved.   We should strive to better ourselves and shrink our "but" down to the bare minimum.  

 

One Dumb Groom

This morning at the gym, a fellow member told me that he was working out with a trainer specifically to look better than his fiancee on their wedding day.  He explained, “She’s working with a trainer to look her best, so I hired one to look even better.  We have a competition going!”  One word came to mind—idiot.  There is a reason why “Say Yes to the Dress” exists and “Say Yes to the Suit” does not.   There’s a reason why the bride comes out last and everyone rises for her and not for him.  There is a reason why the guy gets down on one knee to propose with a ring and not the other way around.  On the wedding day, the groom takes a back seat to the bride and should feel lucky to be in the car at all.  

He said, “I have a month to get a six-pack” and I’m thinking “Why?” Nobody cares what your abs look like and nobody is going to see them.  You are wearing black, the most flattering color ever.  Your bride, on other hand, is wearing a carefully fitted white dress that displays her body’s shape to the maximum.  This guy needs to do himself a favor and end the competition now.  She wins by a landslide.  Go ahead and work out, eat right, and get in great shape if you want—just don’t try to upstage her.  It will be the stupidest decision you ever make.  

 

The Holiday Weekend Wedding

Everyone loves Labor Day and Memorial Day because of the long weekend that the holidays provide.  That is unless of course, you have a wedding to attend.  Holiday weekend weddings should be illegal due to the severe inconvenience and disappointment that they cause 90 percent of the guests to experience.  First off, the "save the date" postcards are sent out eight months in advance, far earlier than the typical six month window, and thereby affords each guest two extra months to live in trepidation.  The deluded couple figures that since everyone has that time off, why not give them the option of going home Monday instead of Sunday night?  This is faulty logic because three day weekends are designed for one of two things— a quick getaway or three days of sleep.   The Sunday wedding on a holiday weekend is the ultimate selfish act because it’s smack in the middle and ruins any and all plans. You spend the whole day Saturday filled with contempt and a good portion of Monday recovering from the five-hour drunken affair.  Do your friends and family a favor and pick an ordinary weekend to book your wedding when plane and hotel fares are not astronomical and the guests do not feel like they have been taken hostage.  

 

 Aging is a question of what doesn't hurt. After you turn 30, you wake-up each morning and assess the damage.  Does my knee hurt? No?  Great, I can walk.  Does my back hurt?  No?  Cool, I can stand up straight.   Does my shoulder hurt?  No? Wonderful, I can open a door.  Nevertheless, I love getting older and waking up achy, passing out early, plucking the grays, watching my friends become parents, and some other ones go bald. 

Every obnoxious 23-year-old has that moment in which they realize that they are older than the athletes on television. Immediately, they go into a panic and root against every player their minor. These days, I turn on the TV and see the gifted spawn of players that I grew up watching such as Stephen Curry, Tim Hardaway Jr., and Patrick Ewing Jr. Their fathers can usually be spotted sitting courtside with a big grin on their face that says, “Been there, done that, it’s Junior’s turn."   Sometimes the children are better than their parents, but most often, they’re not.  If you're jealous of those younger than you, you are forgetting how ignorant you were at that age. With a little luck, I hope to see and root for the grandchildren of players that I grew up watching. 

 

 

Hot Shower and Pajamas

“I wake up dreaming about going back to sleep,” said a friend of mine.  “There’s nothing better than a shower followed by pajamas,” said another.  To many of us, going to sleep at night is the highlight of the day. Of course, some may take exception to this and voice the hackneyed phrase, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”  Great, you enjoy that posthumous nap.  I’ll sleep when I’m alive, thank you very much.  You know, just in case.  

After monitoring my stress level for the past few years, I can declare the following conditional statement  — The earlier I am in pajamas, the happier I am.  I find nothing worse than getting home late at night and having to jump in the shower and then go right to bed.  On the other hand, being in pajamas by 6 PM is pure bliss.  If you find yourself stressed out and feel like you never have a chance to wind down, you need more pajama time.  Cancel happy hour, dinner plans, and that Off-Broadway play that you don't really want to see, and go home, take a shower, and get in your pajamas.   As I type this, I am  sprawled on the couch in my blue Superman pajama pants and gray t-shirt and have never been more relaxed. The secret is out--happiness is found in pajamas.

 

  

A very smart, successful friend of mine gave me one of his many tips to maintaining a loving, happy relationship with your spouse or partner—as soon as they arrive home and walk in the door, greet them with the same excitement and unhinged exuberance that a dog greets their owner.  It doesn’t matter whether you had the day from hell at work or they just got off a plane that was stuck on the tarmac for five hours—be that schnauzer that’s been waiting with bated breath for their master to return home.  In other words, think “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,  I can’t believe it’s really you! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, this is the best day ever!  Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, maybe I’ll get a treat!”  Obviously, you don’t need to jump on them or hump their leg, but display that same enthusiasm in an adult, human version.  No matter how angry and frustrated they were when they walked in the door, they won’t be able to fight off that smile.  Only after, should you discuss dinner and what to watch on TV.

 

 

 

A Warped Reality 

When the audience became the actors, television fell flat on it’s ass.  Twenty years ago, to get on TV you had to study Shakespeare, take voice lessons, learn movement, get an agent, go to an audition followed by a callback, and sometimes even a screen test.  Now you just have to get drunk, flip over a table, and call your best friend a slut.  Like George Carlin said, “Everyone loves a train wreck” and the high ratings of these shows confirm that.  On average, “The Bachelor” is viewed by 6.5 million people each week. The appeal of reality television has long baffled me but I have developed a theory—women like to watch other women cry.  They watch “The Bachelor” to see single women get rejected and cry.  They watch “The Housewives” to watch women with botched plastic surgery cry and they watch “America’s Next Top Model” to watch young, attractive women cry.  But no baseball—there is no crying in baseball.  Obviously, the heavy tears and running mascara are not the only reason women watch these shows.  “The Bachelor” presents a fantasy world where first dates involve private jets and cruising down Hollywood Boulevard with Ice Cube in the back seat.  Roses are handed out in a castle over a candlelit dinner in which the bachelor looks deep into his damsel’s eyes and whispers poignant, poetic remarks such as “You’re fun to have fun with.”  Of course, this melts her heart and she kisses him profusely until the director yells “cut!” and they go break for commercial.  

If you question whether reality television has had a positive impact on society, ask yourself this: Is Donald Trump an ideal choice for president?  Is Kim Kardashian a healthy role model for women? And are “The Bachelor,” “The Bachelorette,” “Dating Naked,” and “Married at First Sight” a recipe for long-term marital success?  I would to love continue the questions but my favorite episode of “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo” is about to air.  

 

 

WESTERN BEEF

For 12 years, I have lived on the Upper West Side and enjoyed the beautiful architecture, family atmosphere, and wide sidewalks that display a healthy array of double strollers and dog shit. Though my address has changed several times, my supermarket choices always remained the same– Zabar’s, Trader Joe’s, Westside Market, and Fairway. The latter has always been my pick due to the wide selection, decent prices, and convenience in location. Yes, Fairway is a 24-hour earthquake that will raise your blood pressure and give you arrhythmia, but if you can evade the obstacle course of strollers, walkers, wheelchairs, and old, indecisive Jews sampling the grapes and seeking out the ultimate cantaloupe, you have a fighting chance of getting in and out in under ten minutes. The first rule of Fairway: Know your route. If you need apples, chicken, oatmeal, broccoli, tin foil, and water, you can move from left to right through the store without breaking stride–which is the second rule of Fairway. Without fail, you will encounter an argument–if you are on the express line, people will lambaste the person who broke the rule and stands their with a shopping cart instead of a basket. One time on line, I witnessed a 90 year old woman yell at an 85-year old woman for cutting her on line. The situation quickly escalated and the 90 year-old took a roll of Bounty Paper towels and slammed it over the head of the other women. Thankfully, nobody was injured.

A month ago, my wife and I moved to West 63rd Street, making the usual stroll to Fairway on 75th street a much larger chore. I explored the area and found “Gracefully,” a gourmet grocery store with a poor selection and sky-high prices. Knowing that this would not work for me, I ventured south and discovered “Western Beef,” a block down from our building. When I walked in, I quickly realized how different it was–Naughty by Nature’s “Hip Hop Hooray” rocked the airwaves and instead of old Jews, Blacks and Hispanics walked the aisles and filled their shopping carts. I loved it immediately. The prices could not be beat–49 cents for bananas, 2 dollar-a-pound chicken breasts, and Swiss-Miss Hot Chocolate - 2 for 3 dollars. In fact, nearly everything in the store was either 2-for or 3-for. The problem was that in almost every case, there was no discount! A gatorade would be two dollars but the sign would read “3 for 6″, and everybody would grab 3! Oatmeal was 4 for 12 dollars (or 1 for 3). The faux deal signs worked as drinks and snacks flew off the shelves in bulk.

When I was finished shopping, I noticed one long line at one of the cash registers. Though six registers theoretically could be in operation, only one was open until close to 40 people stood on line. At that point, another cashier yelled “6 is now open!” In pure anarchy, we bolted to the new register paying little attention to the previous order that existed. From daily trips over several weeks, I would learn that this was a normal day at “Western Beef” I also learned not to ask the cashier how he or she was doing, after one snapped at me and said, “How the fuck you think I’m doing? I’m here!”

This afternoon at Western Beef, I put my ground beef, crate of eggs, 2 onions, 4 sweet potatoes, 8 bananas, and box of white rice on the conveyor belt for the cashier to tally up. When she put the bananas on the scale, she realized that the scale was broken. I said, “Oh man, that’s not good.” She said “That scale’s been broke for over a week! I keep telling them to fix it but no, they don’t do nothing. You know what, just take it, it’s free. It ain’t my money and if they don’t care, I don’t care!” With that, she placed the onions, bananas, and sweet potatoes in a bag. I did not argue. She said, “That’ll be $18.05.” In shock, I thought to myself “Had I known all produce was free, I would have stocked up even more.” Still, I had come out a winner and will return to Western Beef tomorrow for yet another crazy adventure.