A (Rhetorical) Question for the Ages:

Are Japanese guys taking their fashion cues from Jon Bon Jovi, or is Jon Bon Jovi taking fashion cues from Japanese guys?






















I was pondering this, then I started getting a headache like the one I got when I tried to make sense of "The Lake House". I had to stop and focus on something less complex - like string theory - before my brain collapsed on itself like a dying star.

When Did I Get So Lame?

When I was 22, I found myself in the backseat of a sportscar that was tearing through dark, winding back roads, going about 80 mph. I was with my brother and his friends, who were all about 17 or 18, and I was the only one in the car that was genuinely terrified. As I clutched desperately to the door handle and fumbled to make sure my seatbelt was securely fastened, a realization hit me with the force of the oncoming semi I fully anticipated to be coming around every corner we whipped past. The halcyon days of youthful indistructability had somehow slipped by me. I hadn't even noticed. For a moment, my fear was replaced by an unfamiliar, aching longing - I think they call it nostalgia - as I tried in vain to muster up some teenage bravado.

Somehow, six years passed between that moment and the moment I experienced last night (no, we didn't get hit by a semi that night, but you can be sure I never got in a car with that lunatic kid again). I was online, and I came across a video of Mandi Moore doing a cover of Rhianna's "Umbrella" song. "I like Mandi Moore," I commented to my boyfriend as it played. "She's so wholesome." When it was done, I turned to him and said, "I liked that!" He turned in his chair to look at me with a bemused look on his face. He didn't have to say anything. Like a bolt of lightening, it struck me: "Oh my God. I'm lame."

My inner cool kid chafed at the suggestion that I might not be as hip as I used to be, and struggled to find evidence to the contrary. I'm still cool! Right? Right??

Hm. I had forced the boyfriend to sit through "Under the Tuscan Sun" earlier that day. That wasn't very cool of me. As I pondered it, more and more examples of my stodgyness sprang to mind:

I read labels. Not designer labels - the labels on food. I give a crap about calorie and fiber content.

I actually pay my bills. (Usually on time, too.)

I can't do shots of booze anymore. My body started rejecting the sudden influx of alcohol. I haven't yakked yet, but I always come close and vow Never To Do That Again while wiping the I-almost-just-puked tears from my eyes.

I go to the gym on a quasi-regular basis. I sometimes do yoga.

I normally don't get drunk on week nights. Sometimes, I just don't feel like going out. I'd rather stay at home and watch boob tube.

I go to the dentist twice a year.

I recently took down the Twister mat I was using as a wall hanging and replaced it with Actual Art.

I have a steady, corporate job that I don't actively hate. For the first time in many years, I don't dread the thought of going to work. It's not that I love it, I just don't mind it. Plus, it has a bitchin' 401K plan.

Maybe I have gone soft. Maybe I have lost the edginess of my youth. Know what, though? I don't really miss it. If you'll excuse me, I have to go floss now.

Welcome to New York (Now get the hell out of my way)

Welcome, Tourist, to our fair city. What in God's name compelled you to come to New York during the sweltering, stinking month of August is none of my business. Since there seem to be throngs of you filling the streets these days, I thought I'd do my part to make your experience better (for all of us). Below please find some Helpful Tips for Tourists:

1.) Have a plan. Eventually, the escalator or staircase will end. On the street, you will come to a corner. Do you go right? Left? Straight ahead? Gosh, Dorothy! So many choices! Here's a thought: Pick one. Any one. It's not a life-long committment. Pull over, then decided where you are and where you're going. Just get the hell out of my way.

2.) Praise the Lord and Pass The Ammunition. Maybe your church group has come to the city to spread the Good Word. Good for you. That's nice. But if all 15 of you decide to walk abreast down the sidewalk, I will push through your mass of matching t-shirts audibly muttering some decidedly unholy vexations that will have you praying for my mortal soul. You do not have a monopoly on the sidewalk. It's bad enough trying to weave through native stoller brigades - don't make the situation worse.

3.) You ain't in Kansas, anymore. You will pay AT LEAST $5 for a (domestic) beer, unless you happen upon an awesome Happy Hour (or you get lost and find yourself in a borough). Let that fact marinate in your brain for a bit before you arrive. New York is one of the most expensive cities in the country - hell, in the world. I understand that back home, you can get a sirloin steak with two sides, a beer, and a hooker for $12.99, but here life is different. You're lucky if you can get 2 beers for that price. I'm not condoning it, I'm not condemning it - I'm just letting you know. Don't let me hear you bitch about it, or I'll drag your ass to my friend's $1800/month studio apartment in the Village that could fit into your broom closet.

4.) Branch out. Please, Lord, don't let me see you in T.G.I. Friday's unless you're fresh off the plane from East Slavickstan and this is the first meal you haven't raised and butchered yourself. Same goes for McDonald's. It's the same crap you have back home, only it's overpriced. Your first step to getting some real food is getting as far away from Times Square as possible. If you're too scared to wander very far, try going to Hell's Kitchen (not as bad as it sounds. Really, it isn't.). Ninth Avenue isn't called "Restaurant Row" for nothing.

5.) Embrace your touristy-ness - Bust out that full-sized, MTA-issued Subway Map with gusto (provided you've Pulled The Hell Over first, that is)! Snap away with that FunSaver! Go to a Broadway show (please see something that didn't originate as a bad 70's concept album or something. I recommend "The Drowsy Chaperone". You can thank me later.)! Do the Statue, the Empire State, the Met! You are in one of the greatest cities in the world! Do a bunch of touristy shit, and do it with full-on, Gosh-This-Town-Sure-Is-Big enthusiasm. As much as I outwardly mock you, inwardly, I give you a Slow Clap.

6.) Don't be a sucker! Well, I'll modify that: Don't be too much of a sucker. Stick by the old adage: If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. So, while the twitchy guy with the shifty look in his eyes down in Battery Park can give a hell of a sales pitch, the odds are extremely slim that those are real Oakleys. But you already knew that, right? So here's another hint: Wow. That copy of "Knocked Up" is only $5! What a steal! Yeah, if by "steal" you mean "hand-held theater recording with the bonus features of a built-in audience laugh track and the guy in front of the camera getting up to take a leak". Sweet, man. Oh, and buy that $2 "I Heart NY" t-shirt with full confidence that you will get exactly one wear out of it before your washing machine disentegrates it into pulpy mass of poly-thread.

7.) Don't be shy. If you find yourself strolling along in the West Village and suddenly realize that, while you thought you were headed north, you now seem to be headed south (or is it west? are you headed west?? how did that happen?), and wait, are there two Broadways? Where are you?? Ask someone. New Yorkers love giving directions. Just march right up to that guy wearing the mesh t-shirt and leather chaps and ask him to point you in the right direction. If he's any kind of New Yorker, not only can he set you back on the right course (usually giving you several options), but he can also recommend a great pizza place that you'll pass on the way.

I don't want to sound un-welcoming. I'm not - I know that tourists are the life-blood of This Great City that I love. I only hate you when I'm late for work and a hord of you are blocking my path. Bastards. Get the hell out of my way. Othewise, welcome. Enjoy your freakin' stay.