1. Babies
Blow up your cheeks like a puffer fish and cross your eyes.
2. Toddlers
Pretend to be really stupid so they feel really smart. Get the lyrics of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” wrong, and let them correct you.
3. Children
Take all the games you play very seriously and be a humorously sore loser after you let them win. Know the words to every song on the radio.
4. Teenagers
Pretend to be heavily invested in their personal lives. Make fun of them, but make sure you also make fun of yourself in the process.
5. College Students
Complain about how tired you are. Ask them if they know Todd P.
6. Twenty-Somethings
Ask them if they’ve seen Girls yet and how much they pay for rent. Offer them a drink. Don’t ask them about their families unless they bring it up first.
7. Adults
Talk about your family and how much you love them, even if you don’t. Compare phone service providers and the pros and cons of each.
8. Senior Citizens
Constantly ask them questions about anything. Don’t speak to them too loudly or slowly. Never tell them how young you are. Don’t be patronizing. Let them repeat certain things and don’t be bored.
4. Dashing Diva // 41 E. 8th Street
This place is too clean, too shiny, too suspicious. Everything is pink and new, and I would have been scared were it not for the wonderfully familiar Asian woman there. But even she didn’t help much. First of all, they take credit card — a harbinger if there ever was one. A credit card machine is too futuristic for my taste. Secondly, they made me drink tea after I refused twice. That much forced luxury makes me anxious. I never went back.
3. Green Point Nail Inc // 782 Manhattan Avenue
Yelp reviews always make me sad, but few make me angry like nail salon reviews. People get very petulant and entitled when it comes to not receiving hand massages or aromatherapy. This place does not have stellar Yelp reviews, and I suppose that’s why I perversely chose it. At the very least, I didn’t walk away with any fungal growths, but I was loathe to admit that the reviewers had a point. But I still went back once more to prove to myself that I couldn’t be swayed by the melodramatic claims of “Zuba C,” “Sally A,” and “Jill C.”
2. Jay Nails // 50 E. 8th Street
There were a plethora of Asian ladies here to make me feel at home, and they all seemed to be best friends. They kept up a rapid-fire conversation with each other the whole time, which never bothers me, as it frees me to ruminate over how self-indulgent I am to get a manicure during lunch. But the ladies here are BFFs to the point that I was left soaking my fingers in that pot of mystery blue liquid until my fingers were pruned. I didn’t take my fingers out because when I tried, they yelled at me.
1. Black Pearl Nails // 173 Greenpoint Avenue
This is everything I want out of a nail salon. It could double as someone’s apartment, complete with the owner’s toddler son screaming in the corner. There are poemson the wall that the owner wrote about the joys of acrylic French tips. All in all, the charms never stop. Best of all, they never chastise you for having disgusting cuticles or unruly nail beds. This is truly a no-judgement zone, and there are very few of those left in this world. An appropriate epithet for this salon can be found in the same one used on Machiavelli’s grave: NOMINI NULLUM PAR ELOGIUM (“so great a name (has) no adequate praise”).
5. Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl
My main reasoning behind finally hunkering down and reading this book is that I had finally gotten around to reading The Secret History a few months ago. I loved that book, and people (ie: Amazon) said Calamity Physics was similar. I suppose it is, in the same way that Gone With the Wind is similar to the Sookie Stackhouse series. It was entertaining enough, but all the literary references grew tedious. And this is coming from someone who usually laps up insufferable literary references like Hemingway with a hot toddy.
4. All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers by Larry McMurtry
Hurrah, someone wrote about humid, muggy Houston in a way that is both sincere, adoring, and brutally honest! The end of this book is a mess, but it was amusing enough to follow. It wasn’t the fanciest of prose, but I suppose that’s why I liked it. The female characters do little to hold their own, but I suppose that’s what the protagonist is going after. But again — finally, a book that does Houston right.
3. Rameau’s Niece by Cathleen Schine
The summary on the back of the book sounded right up my alley. A young woman becoming morbidly obsessed with an obscure book? Sign me up. But I quickly grew bored with this. I did, however, enjoy the bits about the disgustingly intellectual group of people she was forced to be around thanks to her husband. They were straight out of a Dorothy Parker story.
2. Terms of Endearment by Larry McMurtry
The story isn’t anything groundbreaking: mother and daughter love to bicker at each other, mother has an all-star line-up of suitors, and a Nicholas Sparks-esque twist at the end. (The book’s summary doesn’t mind telling you Emma dies of cancer, even though none of that takes place until the hurried last couple pages.) Again, this was a book that embodied Houston well. The only thing missing was the occasional hurricane and a higher risk of diabetes.
1. We Need To Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver
The most effective form of birth control.
5. Brunchers
On a weekend morning, people having brunch love to see people walking dogs. It adds to their experience. Sometimes they’ll coax you and the dog over and try to feed it some water or eggs benedict. If the dog doesn’t cooperate, the walker gets the dirty look. Basically, the world is the bruncher’s Seurat painting and we’re just living in it.
4. Poop Voyeurs
You’d be surprised how fascinated people are by dogs defecating. Once I was walking a little pekingese whose poop dance consisted of emitting a single tiny turd, hopping forward, releasing another turd, another hop, another turd, etc. until there was a succession of neatly lined up little pellets. When she was done, there was practically a group of people applauding her performance.
3. Joggers
Lots of dogs, especially ones that have once suffered abuse, hate joggers. To a sensitive canine, joggers are just a sweaty flash of spandex and flapping headphones. When I have an unruly dog, I find myself glaring at joggers, mentally commanding them to stay away from the dog. I guess now I hate joggers, too. What are they trying to prove?
2. Doormen
Most of the empty-looking mid-century modern condos on Wyeth and Berry have bored doormen who are eager for the slightest distraction. (No one lives in those condos. I know that for a fact.) When they see a dog coming, their faces light up, and they’ll even pet a rottweiler, just to feel something again.
1. Other Dog Walkers
If I’m walking a dog that’s a bully, I feel like Typhoid Mary. I shouldn’t be there. I give other dog walkers a guilty look that says I am a blight and should be avoided. But when I’m with a friendly dog, I happily allow all the exchange of butt-sniffing and nose-kissing. It’s nice to be an accepted member of society, and you should never take it for granted.
4. Rent
When I told her how much I currently pay, she told me she wanted to slap me. She paid $50 a month to live in the West Village for about 20 years. It was a fifth floor walk-up, but still.
3. Museums
She hasn’t been outside in five years, so she doesn’t know what’s going on in the art world. She’s never liked MoMA much (too modern) and prefers the Met. She laughed at my mispronunciation of Rodin.
2. Restaurants
She used to work at the Waverly Inn, the one that existed before it was re-built by Graydon Carter. The food was so good there she once swallowed a tooth during a meal and didn’t even notice.
1. Movies
Her favorite movie theater was Film Forum, which was one of the few theaters that showed foreign movies. It was also one of the few places she could find like-minded people who were also “married to beauty.”
4. Took a Nap in a Park
I have a difficult time relaxing enough to fall asleep in a park because I’m worried about waking up with my bag emptied of everything but my emergency clementine. But on Friday afternoon at Bryant Park, I managed to do it. When I woke up, I felt like the inside of a cat’s mouth.
3. Went to a Self-Serve Yogurt Place
I’m a pro at when it comes to self-serve soft-serve, having practically been raised by Chinese buffets. I know just when to pull up the lever and create an elegant swirl rather than a drippy mudslide. That said, I can see how places like this are addicting. It’s not everyday I have full autonomy when it comes to an obscenely decadent toppings bar.
2. Touched a Chinchilla
I was volunteering at a hospital, and we took a bunch of chinchillas and rabbits around to the patients. Since chinchillas are nocturnal, it felt cruel to play with them during the day. They just wanted to sleep, but instead, were subjected to poking and cheek nuzzling. I can only imagine how exhausting it is to be the source of such unrelenting adoration.
1. Ate Mussels for Breakfast
This was an accident since the menu was in French. I just saw the word “chorizo” and pointed to it with a dopey smile and nodded. When my food arrived, I thought it was a mistake but the waiter schooled me. Pro tip: Mussels aren’t commonly served in the morning because they give you a slightly nautical-tinged hangover afterward.
3. St. Alp’s Teahouse // 39 3rd Avenue
I have a rapport with the woman who works here weekday afternoons. I come in the moment they open, she nods at me, I sit down at the same table as always, and then she brings me my food. The uncanny thing is that some days I want my tea cold, and other days I want it hot — and I never have to tell her. She just knows. I wonder if I’ll ever have that kind of relationship with a boyfriend or a friend, where we can not exchange a single word and know that the other person wants for nothing. Except for a generous tip.
2. God Bless Deli // 818 Manhattan Avenue
The man behind the counter isn’t as intuitive as the woman at the teahouse, but he knows my patterns. I only order two things at this deli, and when I come in, he tries to guess which one it is. Usually he’s wrong. Or maybe I just don’t want to give him the satisfaction of predicting my wily ways. He only began to remember me when I started to regularly contribute to his tip jar. Before I did, they were always mysteriously out of rolls, so I’d have to order my sandwich on a hero, which was $1 more. Weird.
1. Ramen Setagaya // 34 St. Marks Place
When it starts to get warmer, I’m afraid I’ll stop frequenting this place as much, and the thought makes me a little sad. The woman who usually serves me laughs when she sees me and laughs again when she takes my order. It’s a patronizing laugh that says, You live a sad existence if you can’t change up your order once in a while. I think having someone laugh at you at least once a week is good for you. But the laugh that goes for the jugular is when I leave and she tells me to come back soon. She knows I will and that there’s nothing I can do about it.
3. The “Rule of Law”
Last weekend I helped a group of elderly Asian immigrants prepare for the U.S. citizenship test. I got to ask them questions like, “Have you ever been a member of the communist party?” and “Are you now or have you ever been a prostitute?” But when it came to the Civics part of the test, I was woefully uninformed. Do you know the “rule of law”? It sounds like a John Updike novel but it’s just the rule that everyone must follow the law. Why is that even a thing? None of the senior citizens in my group seemed to be into N.W.A or Rancid, so they didn’t question this.
2. My U.S. Representative
All of my “students” have been cramming for weeks, so they knew the answers without even thinking. When I asked them who their U.S. representative was they all answered differently, and when one woman replied uncertainly, I just nodded officially, like I was besties with Sunset Park’s representative. I wasn’t always ignorant. In Texas, everyone knew their representative. They had the signs all over their lawns. People don’t do that here. Maybe because most people choose to voice their complaints in the Gothamist comments section.
1. The Federalist Papers
At trivia night, any time there’s a presidential category, I sit back and enjoy the spinach dip. My mind is completely devoid of American historical facts, and the only thing I recall about the Federalist Papers is that it was the Flava Flav to the Constitution’s Chuck D.: just a hype man. On the test, you have to name one of the writers, which is easy enough. (James Madison — the president I did my 7th grade report on. Did you know he only weighed 100 lb?) But one of the answers is “the public.” It’s a cop-out, but I suppose even the citizenship test has freebies.
5. GREENPOINT AVE = NEGATIVE PRONE
4. MYRTLE-WILLOUGHBY AVE =WARMLY UGLY LOVEBITE
3. BEDFORD-NOSTRAND AVENUE =A REDUNDANT, OVER-FED SNOB
2. FULTON ST = FONT LUST
1. HOYT-SCHERMERHORN =HENCE: HORROR’S MYTH
3. Blick Art Materials // 1 Bond Street
When I first got my current cubicle, I thought it should at least be aesthetically pleasing. I went to Blick and bought sheets of printed paper and tacked them around my cubicle like wallpaper. The end result was a small success in the name of caged animals everywhere. The cubicles near me took notice and started doing the same. Each time someone started to paper their cubicle, they would come by and say, “You inspired me!” I never knew how to respond, as “thank you” didn’t make sense and “you’re welcome” is just an asshole thing to say.
2. Lee’s Art Shop // 220 W. 57th Street
When I used to work at a corporate publishing house, everything was perfect in the sense that everything in Dwell magazine is perfect. Everyone dressed in Kate Spade and smelled like IKEA. But most importantly, the only notebook anyone had was a Moleskine — but not in boring black. Usually in a Spring-y red or green. I went to Lee’s to buy three, and I went through all of them in a year. I wasn’t even taking important notes. I was just doodling and making crossword puzzles. And everyone else at the company seemed to go through their Moleskines at the same pace, as evidenced by the stack on every desk. What were they writing? I’d assume novels, but everyone knows publishing is a graveyard for failed writers.
1. Pearl Paint // 308 Canal Street
I think everyone feels like a shoplifter in art supply stores, but the feeling is the most overwhelming at Pearl Paint. There are entire floors brimming with untagged supplies that seem to be completely devoid of employees. I suppose they have security cameras, but I’m afraid to look for them, as it would only further damn me. Once I went in to buy a single colored pencil because I honestly needed one. It seemed like the worst front, and I almost felt compelled to buy more in an attempt to seem less likely to have stuffed dozens of more pencils down my tights.
5. Two Weeks in Hell
This show follows people in the Army as they endure the “grueling Green Beret selection process.” When I watch this show, I am suddenly knowledgeable on how to transport hazardous material across a jungle and how to survive a 10-mile night march. I know so much that I start to think I’m smarter than everyone on the show and write them off as pussies.
4. Parking Wars
Of all the shows on this list, this is by far the dullest. Every episode follows the same basic premise: people don’t like getting parking tickets. Everyone acts like a petulant child, and the traffic enforcement officer is usually “too old for this shit.” How this show re-runs more than Shipping Wars is beyond me.
3. Extreme Coupon-ing
Aziz Ansari once mentioned that he was in awe of Jay-Z because a club would serve him his own brand of champagne, so Hova was essentially paying himself to drink it. The women on Extreme Coupon-ing are in a similar boat. They save so much money that the store often has to pay them to buy their merchandise. (That shit cray.)
2. Swamp People
There’s a disclaimer in the opening credits that warns viewers about graphic images, and I suppose it’s referring to the fact that they often shoot alligators in the head. That’s obviously graphic, but were I to watch this show as a child, I’d probably be more scarred by the fact that everyone on this show seems to be barefoot. Trenchfoot is not an urban legend.
1. Shipping Wars
This is my suburban alter-ego’s favorite show, and by far, the best of all the “War” shows on A&E. (Don’t get me started on the vapidness of Storage Wars.) Everyone on the show is essentially a “Man with a Van,” and the best part of every episode is watching them compete online for jobs. It’s the most scripted part of the show, but I’ve always been a sucker for unbridled enthusiasm.
3. Chungking Express (1994)
Honestly, I could care less about the first half of this movie. I know that makes me a cinematic Philistine, but to me, it just pales in comparison to anything that has to do with Faye Wong. I have a feeling Wong-kar Wai would secretly agree. I like to watch this movie when I’m extremely depressed. It doesn’t cheer me up necessarily (You know they don’t end up happily ever after at the end — flight attendants are the velvet cowboys of the sky.) but it makes me slightly more optimistic about things. Maybe it’s the music or the sheer ridiculousness of the storyline. It makes me believe that I can run away and become a flight attendant. Even though I hate flying. And standing. And walking down aisles.
2. A Little Romance (1979)
I first saw this movie when I was 10 or 11 on HBO. Even then, I watched it with a detached sense of irony that was probably the reason why I was such an insufferable child. When I got older, I enjoyed it on a sincere level. The movie is about two “genius” 13 year olds who fall in love and get into European hijinks with Laurence Olivier. It has a very bittersweet ending, and I suppose it’s the most prominent movie to give me unrealistic expectations about romance. I don’t hold that against it though. Again, this movie makes me optimistic. I don’t intend to have a cinematic romance, but I’d like to befriend an old man who is also a pickpocket and lies about having a dead poet wife.
1. Word Wars (2004)
I recently re-watched this Scrabble documentary for the umpteenth time, and for the first time, it made me cry. I think what did it was the part at the end when G.I. Joel introduces his father to the camera. “This is my dad,” he says. “He’s tough.” I know I have a soft spot for senior citizens, but can you imagine being the father of a man whose existence is validated by Scrabble? No wonder he looked so sad, despite the fact that his son had just reached the apex of his success. This documentary might serve to augment several negative Scrabble stereotypes (IE: professional Scrabble players are sociopaths), but it’s life-affirming nonetheless. Like a pre-Mecca Malcolm playing Scrabble.
4. Let The Great World Spin by Colum McCann
This book was a gateway to lots of Wikipedia researching. After I read it, I felt compelled to learn everything about Philippe Petit and watch Man on Wire. I suppose that’s a good thing. The book itself was depressing beyond belief, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. It’s written in different perspectives, and the Times said McCann’s prostitute voice wasn’t very convincing. I still bawled through that section though, so to me, it was convincing enough.
3. Lowboy by John Wray
I think this was the type of novel lots of people in my undergrad writing workshops wanted to write. It took me a long time to finish, mostly because it was written in a very stoic, very mysterious tone that occasionally frustrated me. I’ve always been fascinated by people who live in the subway, and this only made me more curious since it didn’t answer much of my questions about them. Also, I’ve been reading a lot of books centering on dysfunctional relationships between mothers and sons. Consider my tubes tied for now.
2. Music For Torching by A.M. Homes
Another book that was written in a tone that made me want to grab the narrators by the throat and yell at them for being so stoic. This book is about a suburban couple who sets their house on fire, and much of the story involves them living in quiet desperation and not doing anything about it, aside from getting crotch tattoos and having lesbian affairs. I read this book entirely on the subway, and I don’t know if it was the constant movement, but this book gave me a headache.
1. I Just Want My Pants Back by David Rosen
Ugh.
4. My name is Kate… and I’m carrying the wheel. I’m 15 years old and I live somewhere deep in the heart of Texas. I’m Christian and come from your typical Asian family: a dictator mom, a clueless dad, a genius sister, a Yu-Gi-Oh playing brother, a loud grandma, and a Wheel of Fortune fiend grandpa. I’m a freshman in high school. I do okay in all my subjects, expect for anything math-related, since the comprehending-numbers-gene seemed to skip me.
3. Give me a predictable ending, a hot leading man, and cheesy dialogue and I’ll watch it. Cheesy 80’s teen flicks and romantic comedies from the 50’s and 60’s are a must. My favorite actress is Audrey Hepburn since she’s the epitome of all things classy and stylish. I’ve seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s so many times, the dialogue is embedded into my brain.
2. J.D. Salinger is my favorite author. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read Catcher in the Rye. I could read his short stories, (which aren’t short at all, especially Franny and Zooey) especially the Glass family ones, over and over again. I’m usually carrying one Salinger book with me. Which one is it today? Nine Stories. “Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.”
1. Ho-hum, when I’m not obsessing over all of the above, I’m doing something art-related. I take painting classes even though I’m probably the worst person in the class. I lurve to draw, but I wish I were as talented as some other people. I also love to sew and re-vamp old clothes or my sister’s orpaned tank tops. When I get older, I would die happy if I were a cartoonist or fashion designer. Until then, I’m sticking to doodling in my algebra notebook.
3. Pockets
Check your pockets right now. Is there a clementine in there? Maybe two? If someone mentions that they’re hungry, do you pull a Cutie out and offer it to them? And when they refuse, do you call them a little bitch?
2. Fingers
Do your fingers have an overwhelmingly citrus-y odor? Are your nails caked with the flesh of a recently peeled clementine? Have you grown out your thumbnail, the same way cokeheads grow out their pinky nails?
1. Dealers
Do you know your dealer on a personal level? Does the woman at the Poland Fruit & Vegetable Stand see you and immediately ring up a bag of Cuties? Is the transaction made in silence, with only an exchange of furtive glances?