Smoking mad.

I got into an absolutely infuriating argument last night with somebody about what was essentially harm reduction 101. So this lad was making the not entirely original case that the goverment tax on cigarettes, especially one as high as New York City's, is a violation of smokers' civil rights- "facist" even. This is a sloppy regurgitation of the stance of Professor Ronald Bayer, who is apparently imagined by some MPH candidate smokers to be their personal super hero. (Even though I have seen Dr. Bayer speak, and he is by no means suggesting that measures such as high cigarette taxes are a bad thing)

I heard a similar case this week in response to this article about Bill Gates and Michael Bloomberg's latest assault on tobacco: "Bloomberg hates poor people. Doesn't want them to have one of their only pleasures in life."

As a huge fan of anti-smoking campaigns, and an admirer of the progress that has been made at least in our country against the tobacco industry, my blood is boiling.

First of all, the reason governments use taxes as a means of reducing smoking, is because it works. Education and public interest campaigns can not say the same. As for injustice to the poor people, who is really inflicting greater damage? The government who wants them and all other people to stop smoking, or the tobacco industry who funnels millions of dollars into ad campaigns in poorer countries as their market in the West is diminishing? And who, I might ask, is more screwed if they get lung cancer in New York City, land of high cig taxes? Certainly not a rich guy who smokes his Cubans on the Upper West Side.

As for bans on smoking in public places, my little friend has a point- it does create a stigma. Smokers are forced to go outside in the rain and snow in New York to get their fix. However, does this amount to an abuse of civil rights? The use of that language is offensive. Smokers are allowed to enter these establishments, they are just not allowed to smoke inside, so as to RESPECT THE RIGHTS OF NON-SMOKERS TO BREATH HEALTHY AIR. There is a very important distinction between this and restaurants that would not service people based on the COLOR OF THEIR SKIN before the civil rights movement.

The root of these arguments are that most smokers have a very real addiction that they are afraid to confront. One criticism that I will concede on the tobacco taxes is that it is unfair to impose a heavy tax without helping users, especially those with limited financial resources, to quit. More than merely Bloomberg/Gates' proposed patches, I would like to see a beefer package with quitlines, support groups- public health works.

That said, I love going to bars in New York and not waking up with my hair smelling like smoke. I hope Bloomberg and his cronies continue to jack smoking taxes around the world, and to discourage more young people from stopping before they start. The tobacco industry made its bed with years of lies, deceit, and cold blooded profit. Let them sleep in it.

I want to ride my bicycle

I wrote a very positive (giddy even?) post the other day about how much I was starting to like life in New York. My computer ate it. How ironic that what was probably the most glowing account I will ever offer about life in the Big Apple was swallowed into cyber space, never to be seen or heard from again.

So what did I have to say in this oh so cheerful post? Buy a bike if you don't already have one. Why is biking glorious, you might ask? One trip to the New York subway should make the answer to this question painfully obvious. Suddenly, all of Manhattan is not only accessible, but, dare I say...beautiful? Well at least the view of the Hudson from the GWB and all down Riverside Park is very pleasing indeed.

Not to mention that all your interactions with New Yorkers are reduced to 5 second drivebys, sometimes even accompanied with a smile (or an "idiot" as I received from a pretty portly jogger this morning, as the case may be).

Using a bike, you save on carbon emissions, get in your morning workout, and might even get to spend some QT with your significant other. My point is, biking gives New York the equivalent of glazing on a donut- you can eat it without, but for for the added sweet deliciousness at no added cost, why ever would you?

For further green fun, I highly recommend a trip to Habana Outpost in Fort Greene. All of their power is solar generated, and they water their plants with rain water that apparently they gather themselves. But the real selling point of this place is their chill bbq ambience that makes it feel like you're drinking margaritas in your neighbor's backyard. Which is exactly what you're doing, except all of Brooklyn is invited. Last, but not least, if you're lucky occasionally hot celebrities bike by for a burger (no names mentioned, this isn't gawker.)

So get on your bikes and ride!

Hi HO Hi HO It's off to work we go!

The other day a coworker, head in his hands, informed me he was leaving early to go get a massage. "This place is just different," he lamented. When I asked what he meant, he sighed that he had just never worked somewhere where people so actively avoided leisure time.

I've thought for a while that there was something kind of special about NYC work culture. And not like, the good kind of special....

Back at my old job in Latin America, colleagues would think I was crazy if I spent lunchtime huddled at my desk shoving food down my mouth as quickly as possible, feigning to still be getting work done whilst eating. Similarly, I might get some surprised and horrified stares if I informed my boss I would be opting out of my vacation time this year- as for Semana Santa and Navidad- nah, won't be necessary.

A sharp contrast indeed from here, where I have not had a work free vacation since moving back last August. Granted, being a student plays some role in this. However, even when I attempted to leverage some vacation time at one of my two offices, the mini (albeit much needed) break ended up getting pushed off for another 2 months, despite my humble presentation of the facts: no days off since last August, plus grad school and marriage, make Homer, go cRaZy? Don't mind if I do!

What has changed about the nature of work that we can no longer afford just the 45 minutes to sit down with some of our coworkers and chat while eating our leftovers? Why are we so overwhelmed that parting with our part-time research assistant for 3 days of QTwith her man sends us into a panic?

I'm going to go out on a limb here: we are less productive. That's right, I said it. I don't know about you, but if I know my boss is going to be stingy about my vacation no matter what, I haven't seen any meaningful raises recently, and I'm probably going to be shamed into staying late whether I need to or not, I sure as heck am not going to bust my ass while I'm at my desk. Not to mention the trillions of chat vehicles we are allowed, sometimes even required, to keep open at all times.

With no lunch to look forward to, no upcoming trips, and miles to go before you sleep, it is no wonder we're in a vicious cycle of "working" all the time, but less efficiently with each pop.

I think the Europeans hands down have us beat on this. By mandating vacations, and keeping those mealtimes sacred (maybe even throwing in some attractive extras like maternity leave and day care), you don't just get productivity. You get a life.

Cheeburger cheeburger

You had to know I would bring this up. So apparently the French have now made hamburgers trendy and chic. I think this captures everything I dislike about food snobbery. Please read the exact description of how these gourmet ($56) hamburgers should, nay, must be prepared:

“A hamburger is the architecture of taste par excellence,” she explained. “The meat needs to be a mix of fatty and lean. Not raw, not rare. It must be medium rare. At the same time the bread needs to be smooth, tepid, toasted on the sesame side. I like to brush the soft side with butter. There needs to be a crispy chiffonade of iceberg lettuce. Everything plays a role.”

Frankly, when I read this description of hamburger prep, I was downright offended. Hamburgers, much like their cousins, hotdogs, are not a cuisine. They are more part of an experience- what we from New Jersey like to call "the barbeque." Barbeques have coleslaw made with Hellman's mayonaise, water fights, and, if you're lucky, killer margaritas. This is not quite the venue for blackberry ketchup substitute.

If the French are determined to usurp the burger, so be it. We did, afterall, prance off unapologetically with the *fries* and *toast,* though their origins are subject to question. However, I would like to see a new name for these little dandies. For example, "French burger," or "Burger francaise," just so we can make clear we are NOT talking about the same thing.

Love and the City?

In the latest Sex and the City movie, Carrie Bradshaw hires her personal assistant because she offers a satisfactory response when asked why she came to New York: she was looking for love. Carrie confesses that she too came to New York for just that reason, half implying that that's why all girls move to the Big Apple.

Let's bring in that willing suspension of disbelief for a second and suppose that that is in fact true, and single women come to NYC to fall in love. If that is the case, then it is social Darwinism at its best, because New York is one of the hardest places on the planet to meet decent straight man. These romantic idealists will die out like the dodo, because it is highly unlikely they will find their soulmate and reproduce starry-eyed spawn. I've heard mixed accounts of the actual single heterosexual women: single straight men ratio, but can tell you from experience it is NOT pretty, ladies.

What ensues is a strictly observational account of why straight women should not move to New York looking for love. I strongly suspect that many a lonely lady out there will read this and nod her head knowingly. Consider this your virtual bear huge and cyber "there, there."

Exhibit A: My text message, email, and voicemail inboxes, overflowing with tales of woe and pleas for advice from my girl friends. Despite the motley crew of gentlemen involved, the stories are shockingly similar. Hookups with no phone call. No time for love, too much work. MIA for weeks at a time. Not over the ex. Not ready to get married. Doesn't want the others in the office to find out.

I have found a million different ways to repeat what He's Just That Not Into You says in its title. If a guy/girl/cat/dog is "into" you, there is no mystery to it. Yes, he will call. Yes, he will make time for you, no matter what. He will follow you around with his tongue hanging out and probably want to make you dinner. He will not be able to keep his hands off you, because you have sufficiently screwed up his hormones to the point where he truly believes you're the best he's ever had. That is what love looks and feels like. If your story resembles more the previous paragraph than this, dump him. Do not wait for him to do it- you're not happy anyway, trust me.

Exhibit B: My male friends. Oh wait, that's right, I don't have any. My entire life I have had mostly male friends. In fact, I think that was what made my transition into dating so easy. I speak man fluently. Yet, despite my almost off putting comfort level engaging in raunchy guy talk, guys in New York do NOT want to be my friend unless it is in the couples context. I think this is a reflection of more than the mere paucity of men here. My personal theory is that it has to do with the goal-oriented nature of most New York City men. I am off the market, and therefore a waste of time. However, this Machiavellian attitude does not only harm potential friendships: it makes it nearly impossible to get to know someone you might be interested in dating. Dating is not easy, folks, and people are rarely what they appear on the first date. Unless you're willing to get to know someone as a friend who might become more, chances are you're setting yourself up for little more than a few hookups followed by mass confusion on both ends.

In conclusion, do NOT move to New York for love. Move for your career, move for the nightlife, move for the fashion. Move for the Astoria beer garden. When you want to settle down and have kids, hit up Minneapolis.

A dabbler's dilemma

When I was 10 I quit piano. For the first time. I was destined to quit twice more before my piano playing days were officially over. Would that piano were the only hobby I have taken up for a few enthusiastic months, or years, only to gradually abandon it, or at least lose that initial spark. To date, my impressively long dabbling record includes ballet, clarinet, latin dance, Greek language, knitting, tennis, blogging, softball, track, guitar, Latin language, French language, yoga and photography. In the interest of my career's well-being (and my readers' patience) I will not delve into my professional life, which also could be considered an exercise in dabbling.

All of this was fine. Until I moved to New York City.

If nothing else, New York certainly accomplishes one thing: making people like me feel woefully inadequate. See, the problem with dabbling, or rather, dabblers, is that we rarely focus on one thing long or intensely enough to excel at anything. Do I love cooking? Yes. Am I willing to subscribe to twenty cooking magazines, only shop at the freshest farmers markets, and try at least 2 new recipes a week. Negative. Do I love tennis? Absolutely. Am I a good player? If you consider playing high school varsity and about twice a year ever since, then sure. How about Greek? Great language, and I can tell you that I speak a little ("milao poli ligo") and that would almost use up the entirety of my vocabulary.

Despite my own deep-seeded belief that enjoying something is reason enough to try it, New Yorkers have often made me feel pretty embarassed about my lacsadaisical attitude toward my leisure time. In fact, whenever I talk about my hobbies, I feel like I am unwittingly pulled into a pissing contest with fellow enthusiasts who are, well, more enthusiastic than I am.

Take the last meeting of a knitting circle I recently joined. The de facto leader of the group took advantage of our growing interest in the craft to inform us of not 1, not 2, but 5 great knitting communities we should join online (one even has a knitting live journal), as well as a weekly knit in the park outing she attends. In order to participate in the latter, you must submit a knitting resume detailing your lastest project and what kind of yarn you're using. "It's just better not to have beginners, you know?" Maybe this type of superiority is common in the knitting community; I was shamed out of another knitting circle for similar quips.

Then there are my foodie friends. Oh, the foodies. Now, I grew up in a big fat Greek house. Let's just say I can do food. However, foodies have a way of making something I love as much as cooking unfun. Not only do foodies feel the need to keep their pantry stocked of exotic, expensive ingredients the likes of which would make my grandma cry, they feel the need to announce every ingredient used, as well cooking techniques employed. When someone has made you a 5 course meal with duck bacon and Ethiopian spices, how do you exactly return the invitation with your old faithful chicken parm? Again, dinner preparation for foodies resembles more training for an olympic sport (with commentary) rather than breaking bread with friends.

I think what bothers me the most about competitive leisure time is that for me, it defeats the point. I think I've always enjoyed spending time with friends more than I've ever enjoyed what we're doing together. Likewise, I like to relax- do I care HOW I relax on a given day? Not especially. And see, the reason I'm bringing this up in the blogosphere is because I'm sure I'm not alone out there.

All you folks who love karaoke but can't sing, you belt it out! Everyone who jogs super slowly in the park with the marathon runners, you get your workout in! And last, but not least, novice knitters UNITE!

I have my fingers in a lot of pies and I'm proud of it. This blog happens to be one of the pies for now, and in all likelihood it will not be the best blog you have ever read. But goddammit I'm going to write it with a big shit eating grin on my face.

Saying a lot in a little

So the theme of the day is saying a lot with a little. This is a slightly ironic choice for someone like me, who is a huge fan of what my 3rd grade teacher would have called "chit chat." However, in some arenas in life, the value of being laconic, or at least selective in your word choice, has come to be underappreciated in my humble opinion, and thus worthly of my second blog post.

Let us first examine the most obvious area where I have noticed a tendency for unnecessary verbage: the web blog! Call me an irritable person (you wouldn't be the first), but I think there is a tremendous difference between a web blog and a personal diary, and this is a distinction that many a misguided blogger has not yet realized. Does anyone really read those blogs that drone on for pages and pages, exploring every little detail of the blogger's day? Or worse still, about their inner confusion at the state of humanity, and how they should go about the pursuit of that ever-elusive happiness. You know, I am as boring as the next guy in what I do every day- I wake up, I drink my coffee, I go to work and probably socialize less at the workplace than I should. I also am just as confused as any angsty blog super star about what I ought to do with my life. However, I look in the mirror every day, remember I'm not Angelina Jolie or Oprah, and therefore can not expect housewives or even bored blog readers out there to care about my new brand of cornflakes. That is why I spend my hard earned money on therapy and keep a personal (as in nonelectronic) journal.

Venue #2: the staff meeting. I know we are all longing for a closer sense of connection in this big bad world, especially in New York City. However, that does not mean that staff meetings should become a free for all of updates on everyone's family and musings on what the most appropriate way to celebrate the next big holiday in the office should be. This type of desperate, albeit inappropriate, social "cramming" had been a frequent frustration of mine in my last two jobs, but reached new heights recently, I am happy to report. In order to illustrate the complexity of a decision we are now faced with in the office, a colleague compared it to the same dilemma his teenage daughter faces in deciding whether or not she will get the HPV vaccine before all the evidence is in. I get it, really, I do....but was the anecdote really necessary, for the love of God? Remember people: less is more. Sometimes. Really.

I could go on, but I think I have made my point. In the age of oversharing, maybe it would be healthy for us all to keep our need to spill in check with some good old capitalist values. Keep your eye on the prize. Be efficient. Don't waste your words on ears that were not even remotely curious to hear them. Little blogging Billy out in Iowa doesn't give a rat's ass about your Shepherd's pie, I promise.

if you can't beat 'em, join 'em

So today I have started a bit of a personal experiment, and we shall see where it takes us. The truth of the matter is, I hate blogs. I have always hated blogs. In fact, I hate blogs so much that I began one two years ago and abandoned it after the second post, despite being abroad and having all the makings for one of those adorable, witty travel blogs.

This simple truth may lead one to believe that my decision to launch a new blog is evidence of one of two things: profound self-hatred or boredom. We can exclude the first possibility right off the bat because I really do not hate myself, as will likely become evident in the self-righteous overtones of this little dandy. As for boredom, I work 2 jobs and go to grad school full time, making option two highly unlikely.

If we are inclined to be less negative (why not?), we may also attribute this peculiar decision to the handsome hoard of snarky material that I have been accumulating since I moved to New York, the likes of which I am simply itching to share shamelessly and semi-anonymously with the world. The dating scene (in which I do not directly participate, thank goodness- see, ring finger of left hand), election 2008, NYC office culture, NYC graduate school culture, and NYC subway lack of culture- these are daily realities, among many others, that will probably make frequent cameos on the pages of this pristine outlet for oversharing.

First and foremost, I am a people watcher and avid commentator on the charming/infuriating inconsistencies that characterize mankind. I hope to be true to these identities without becoming too much of what my brother has dubbed a "blog superstar."

So there is my introduction! Must go tend to my pot of vegetarian chili, so more soon.

Ciao ciao