Tis The Season For Re-gifting, Fa La La La La, La La La, Blah

As dawn breaks in the Atlanta airport and I sit en route to xmas in the sun, I didn't want to miss the chance to leave you with some parting thoughts prior to the end of the year. And, with the holidays in full swing and the Christmas around the corner, this week I finalized the many gifts I had to send to family before leaving town. As I packed the gifts and wrapped them in boxes, I smiled as I looked at the many lovely things I had collected over the past year, each one unique - for that special someone who's name popped into my head when I spotted the item originally. But in the process, I also lamented the other pile of gifts in the closet that I still have no idea what to do with… my heart skipped a beat thinking about what might be coming my way this holiday season. Yes, it reminded me of the many things related to the holiday gift giving that drive me nuts. Not that I don't love to get gifts. I do. People who say they don't are lying. What they mean to say – which is what I mean to say – is this. Please, if you want to give me a gift, just make it something meaningful. It doesn't have to be expensive. Just meaningful. It's doesn't take a lot of money to make or give the gift of something meaningful. It might even not cost any money at all. What I am trying to say is, please, keep the crap for yourself. I really love to find something unique and giving it to that special someone. I spend vacations shopping, nights with catalogs, and other times searching online to find unique, practical things - I think you all will really like. But every year I have that sinking feeling as the holidays approach and I head for the gift closet for the wrapping paper – that something I don't want to deal with lies on the other side of the door. I open it - and KABOOM. I see it. Right there in front of me. It looms above me like a stack of books on the top of the Cat In The Hat's Hat. The piles and piles and miles and miles of the "other gifts." Yes, the "other gifts" - you know, the the slew of other things amassed over the past few years – those less special, odd, to be politically correct, things that have come across our threshold from those less interested in finding that unique gift for us. Yes, those re–gifted gifts. Let's just call them what what they are. And just because you bought it for yourself and changed your mind (as opposed to getting it from someone else and then giving to me) does not mean it's not re-gifted. It is. So, in the spirit of less is more, in these final days before Christmas, I'd like to take a moment to offer some friendly advice. I know we are all busy – so let's keep this entry short and sweet. 1) Leave your crappy bottle of wine on your own bar. I don't need it on mine, and no one else does either. And PS – if you just buy a nice bottle of wine, even the re-giftee will be happy to get it. 2) If you don't like it – donate it to charity or offer it to someone with full disclosure for what it is – and see if they want it before you wrap it up and try to pass it off as something new to me. 3) No, I do not need another lingerie bag. I couldn't possible have that much lingerie (and the same for "cashmere" scarves from Hong Kong). 4) Go with a gift certificate. Yes, it's always hard to choose the amount – and yes, it might give away just how little you have spent on me – but really – I would rather pick something out that I need or want, than have you wrap up your sloppy seconds and pass them on to me. 5) If you are going to re-gift no matter what, then mark down who originally gave it to you – because there is nothing quite as insulting as getting back the very thing I gave to you last year, and having to smile and say thank you. 6) If you are going to pass on a corporate gift, make sure it doesn't have a logo embossed inside that will make it totally clear to me that you re-gifted your corporate gift and tried to pass it off as your own. Yes, especially NetJets stuff – because it's especially insulting to know that you spent enough chartering jets this year that they sent you such a lovely gift, and yet you still couldn't spend your own money on me. 7) I don't want the contents of the gift bag from the awesome benefit you went to last week. Unless it came from the Oscar's or the Grammy's, keep your second rate swag. 8) If you're going to give it, don't fake it. I don't want your fake Hermes or Channel. Even if it looks real, at some point I am going to find out. So don't embarrass me by forcing me to take a watch to Channel for a battery change, only to find out from them (who now think I am an idiot, by the way) that I have been thanking your profusely for a fake. 9) Keep the crap you found in some third world market that you thought looked so cool when you saw it there – got it home – and only then realized just how cheesy it is. If it's too cheesy for you, it's too cheesy for me. 10) Simplify your life and mine. Make a donation to charity. For your sake, mine and the people in this world who really need the help. Yes – that's it – it's very simple. I won't torture you anymore. But I will say this – if it's top shelf, unworn, gorgeous stuff – feel free to pass it on. Things that fall into this category – think good champagne, good wine, unused Hermes, Channel and of course, Jewelry (as long is it's the kind you did not get in Goa – the one that the jeweler will ask my why I am fixing when I take it to him in two years… But really – as I said – the simpler the better. You can even ask me what I like. What the kids like, what my husband likes. Or – just tell me you didn't have time to get anything and send a Starbucks card. Really – it's all good. I will still love you – and I will still be your friend. Especially, by the way, if you keep that absolutely heinous pat work pillow that I would NEVER put in my living room… I hope I have helped you in these final days. Be safe, travel well and here's to a happy and healthy 2013. Crank Out (for 2012).

Cranky New Yorker's New Years' Resolution

I want to start by wishing you all a very happy and healthy 2012 - I hope this year brings you great happiness and peace.

Now, onto my new years' resolution. If you are hoping or even thinking that my new years' resolution is to un-crank, well, sorry, not going to happen. After a brief respite on the right coast, returning to the southwest corner of nowhere, specifically at the intersection of laid back and off kilter, has made me sufficiently cranky. So let me resolve to set a resolution that I can keep. In the year 2012, I do solemnly swear not to forward any chain letters of any kind to my beloved family and friends, acquaintances and colleagues.

I hate chain letters. Really. I hate them. I know you do too. I mean, who starts these things anyway? Do they just go around and around in circles? Is there a point at which they just stop? Do the same people get them all the time? Has anyone ever actually had a tangible improvement in their life post sending one? So many questions. So few answers. But one consistent feeling. Hate. We all hate them! I got one the other day. Second one in a month from the same person. She must hate me - right? I think so. I told her (no names of course Keri), not to do it anymore. The entire concept of chain letters is completely unnerving to me because I am incredibly superstitious and riddled with Jewish guilt. So not only are they annoying to begin with, for me it's a double burden. First, I feel completely guilty not sending them because I'm certain I will be the only one to break the chain. (Oh, and by the way - same for those silly recipe and book buying clubs for those of you have been sending those - oops, I didn't send on). Second, I am convinced that if I don't send them on, I will be the victim of some terrible circumstance, like having the Ronald McDonald float at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade knock over a light post and land on my head (also horrific because I'm terrified of clowns). Rationally speaking we all know chain letters don't work, and that they have no real relevance. But it's unfair to send a chain letter to an obsessive compulsive, abnormally superstitious, guilt-prone person like me. It's just plain mean.

So today, I have decided to break the cycle. A new year, a new day. I am done with them! So, to you who sent it to me the other day - hear me now. The buck stops here. You can no longer prey on my guilt and my devout superstitiousness to proliferate your karma Ponzi scheme and manifest your hypothetical good luck. You are on your own. And, by the way, I don't believe that the simple act of pressing "forward" on your outlook, and then pasting in eight names of people who you think won't mind that you have sent it to them, will bring you good luck. And, FYI, we do mind. All eight of us. So DELETE me from your "chain letter distribution list." And for those of you who have me on your list as well, take me off - because I will not be your good energy mule. And for all of you who have been on my list in the past, you are off.

Ah, the list. So interesting. When I got the email the other day it got me thinking. How sweet - she always thinks of me for these things. She must really want me to have good luck. Hardly. She had the same thought I did... Crap. Crap. Crap. I can't be the one to end this thing - this, THIS is bigger than me. This is karma we're talking about, and it's a new year. Crap. Who am I going to send this to...? It has to be the exact list of people who won't block me from future communication because they are so annoyed that I sent it to them. So, hmm. Well, first, it can include that group that always sends them to me, ex the one who just sent it to me - annoying. Second, it should definitely have that element of people who are big enough suckers that they will continue to perpetuate the myth of the letter. And third, most importantly, it can be people who like me, but don't really hear from me that much - so they'll be happy just to hear from me no matter what the content. Ah yes, my friend. I know why you put me on that list. So here's a tip, I am NOT excited to hear from you. I don't really care. If you want to send me an email, in the future, give me something to chew on. Something with substance. I saw a great video with a catchy tune called "fry that chicken" on you tube. My friend Dawn sent it. It made me laugh. Why couldn't you send me something like that? Or Justin Timberlake's "Dick In Box" video from Saturday Night Live - a classic. I wouldn't mind getting that link.

And so, this allows me to address one of my biggest problems with email in general. It's too easy. It breeds no character, and it makes communication, good or bad, too simple. Think of how many things you might not have said in 2011 if you hadn't had immediate access to email in order to vent your frustrations. Think of how many controversial emails you saw that you weren't supposed to, until the sender accidentally hit "reply all." And think of how much nicer, how much more subtle and respectful all of those conversations might have been in person, if you had had to see them face to face in order to say what you wanted to say. Of course I am not saying I don't love email. I do. I love it. Hate chain letters, love email. After all, I would be stuck in this corner of the world alone and talking pretty much only to myself, stuck with all these thoughts roaming around my head if I couldn't access you all so readily. Twitter and Facebook, love em. Al Gore - love him. After all - where would the internet be without him? But with the good, comes the bad and the annoying. Chain letters, they are annoying. Imagine what would have happened to the chain letter if you still had to Xerox them (yes, I used the word Xerox), write out eight actual envelopes, stamp and mail them. The answer is, they would be dead. Who in the world would go through all that trouble. Certainly not the internet generation. If you said to a young kid today that you were going to mail a chain letter - you'd be dead in the modern world.

So, in reviewing the events of 2011. I thought to myself, what can I do to improve the world in 2012? In the era of the rise of Tim Tebow as an NFL sensation and a new Presidential election cycle, what can I do to make an impact? Kill the chain letter. That's right, we all know it would make people happy. Out with the occupy wall street movement, and in with the kill the chain letter movement. It's a portable kind of movement and you don't even have to leave your house to fulfill its mission. All you have to do, is do nothing. It's perfect! Do nothing. Just don't forward those letters. Let's simplify our lives and give ourselves one less thing to do.

So, while I wish you a happy new year, at the same time, I would like to appeal to your good senses. I urge you to make a commitment to make other people's lives easier and not prey on those more superstitious than ourselves. No more chain letters or emails of any kind. And if you send them to me, you can bet it's going nowhere... I will not pass it on. This house of cards ends with me.

Happy 2012. Re-gifting is the next topic. It was a fruitful Hanukah. Just think, one of those too-hot-to-hold-onto gifts may be coming your way soon... :)

Crank-out.

CRANKY NEW YORKER ON SPANDEX

There is an epidemic of bad decision making affecting Americans en masse. Worse, it may even be a global phenomenon. I hate to call further attention to it, but, as we all know, before you can fix a problem, you must first admit you have one. Here it is, plain and simple, Spandex. I know, maybe not what you were expecting in this age of east coast earthquakes, New York City hurricanes, and hippies occupying Wall Street (talk about an oxymoron...)

But as I live in the land of amusement parks, tourists and churros, I feel it's a critical problem to tackle. And no one is immune, as you will see, to this problem. The fact is, mainstream American clothing trends that celebrate the use of spandex and lingerie as everyday items worn as the backdrop, or worse - to accent one's outfit choices - is adding to our universal laziness and overall lack of personal responsibility. There, I said it. My grandmother, who was raised by a strict Austrian mother said it best, "It doesn't matter how you feel, it matters how you look." So, let's talk about how we look.

Let's start with Spandex. Don't get me wrong, I like spandex a lot. For working out. Yes, I said, for working out. The very nature of the word Spandex - which is an anagram for the word "expands" reflects its intended use. Spandex is meant for use in exercise. It was made so that you can be covered while your clothes expand with your yoga bends, your cross-fit lunges, and your boxing kicks. Spandex was not created and not intended for use as a permanent independent fashion item. Sure, plenty of clothiers include a percentage of spandex in their fabric blends for added comfort. But, clothing that is 100% Spandex is surely not intended to replace the "pant" in your pantsuits. I assure you, you do not look as "cool" in that Spandex as you think you do. And if you think we don't notice that you have replaced your "leggings" with standard yoga pants - think again. We do. Change it back.

Spandex is being abused by masses of Americans. The masses, if I may add, who really should not be wearing Spandex to begin with. I witness this daily - and I assure you it's a breach of the social contract. Oh come on, don't be so tame. You agree with me 100%. There are rules and etiquette that apply to the use of spandex (as an aside, these are the very same rules, by the way, that should apply to bikini use - but that's a summer topic). People somehow have fallen under the impression that Spandex is a right. It is not.

Plainly put: Spandex is NOT a right, Spandex is a privilege.

It is not fair for me to have to see the outline of your overly curvaceous backside, not to mention your aggressive muffin top. And what of the FUPA? I can't even go there. To quote Cindi Lauper - Gag me.

I fear we Americans have slid into a culture that has lost a sense of discretion. When I was growing up, my parents wouldn't even allow us to wear denim on an airplane. It was a special passage, a passage reserved for a skirt and stockings, or, at the very least, a lovely pantsuit. I remember the first time my father and mother spotted a family in matching sweat-suits (we were flying to Newark of course), blasphemy! They covered my eyes, and spouted "never-evers" to my siblings and I. But then, as time passed, we became the exception and sweat-suits became the rule. And then they started showing up everywhere. Brunches, dinners, teas (well not teas - most of those well mannered enough to appreciate tea do not wear spandex or sweat-suits as a rule). You get it. It was a slippery slope, and we went down fast.

Before we knew it, sweat-suits and spandex had become high fashion items with entire sectors of the fashion industry dedicated to them and once exclusive store fronts on Madison Avenue showcasing them. Surely we never imagined in the 1980s that sweat suits would earn a section in the coveted corners of Bergdorf Goodman. So where did we go wrong? I keep asking myself when it happened exactly. Was it the late 80's? The mid-90's? And what was the tipping point? Was it the deregulation of the airlines? (My least favorite Ronald Reagan move, FYI). I get the comfort level, sure. They are easy to move around in when you travel. But the low rise sweat-suit on an oversized behind on a commercial aircraft? Yuck. Just what I want to have in my face when you bend down to re-tie your shoes in the security line, not to mention the eye-level shot of your plumbers crack as you slide by my extra leg room seat on the airplane.

And what of lingerie as external to your sensible clothing fashion? Today, young girls leave the house in boxer shorts and bras, barely covered by the offensive "wife-beater" tank top that pretends to hide their young, still buoyant, chests. Newsflash, that is not clothing. It is underwear. Not that I have anything against underwear. I just don't want to see it. Sexy lingerie was meant for the bedroom or the brothel. Not the street. As I say on other subjects, if you can't keep it in your pants, then keep it at home.

But these are not just problems that plague the masses. Manhattan struggles with its own spandex dilemma. So let me just come out with it: The Birkin Bag does not an outfit make. There, I said it. I feel better. So here's my message to all of you Birkin Bag owners. You cannot pair the Birkin with spandex and lingerie. It doesn't matter that your bag is $12,000 if you dumb it down with spandex - yes, even if it's LuLu Lemon. FYI: It's just NOT chic. Not at all in fact. You can carry your uber-expensive bag around all day, but it still does not give you carte-blanche to dress like a slob around it.

Carrying the Birkin is a responsibility. It doesn't just deserve respect, it commands respect. Would Jackie O have paired a Birkin with Spandex? Would she have ever worn Spandex in public at all? I say NO! And I think we should all abide by Jackie O. Wouldn't the world just be a much prettier place if we all thought to ourselves every day, "what would Jackie O do?" Perhaps in the absence of Jackie O's influence it's time for Hermes to release a set of rules to go along with the purchase of Birkins. Yes, a Birkin Bag Code Of Conduct, if you will.

Here are some suggestions:

"I the undersigned, in purchasing this $12,000+ bag, agree to adhere to the following rules of engagement when wearing my Birkin Bag".

While toting my Birkin bag, I will not:

1) wear Juicy clothing (Couture or otherwise)
2) wear sweat pants, sweat shirts, or full sweat-suits
3) wear spandex
4) take my Birkin Bag to the gym with me (even if it's a private gym)
5) where it with extra tall Ugg boots in warm weather with a short skirt and no stockings (seriously!?)
6) wear it with still visible Botox injection marks on my face
7) take it to birthday parties in an attempt to compete with the other pre-school parents
8) make it the topic of conversation at a dinner party, luncheon, discussion, cocktail or any other venue where I open my mouth and try to make it a topic of conversation - even if the other person initiated said conversation.
9) wear it when I am volunteering in an area of the city where the cost of the bag is more than the annual household income of the families I am trying to help
10) Oh, and of course, I agree to abide by the "forced casual terms of the Birkin look" and therefore, will keep the bag detached from its locking mechanism, placing the upper flap inside the bag, leaving the bag essentially unsecured so that any pick-pocket on Madison avenue can have easy access to my wallet (after all, that's okay, at $12,000 per bag - I can afford to periodically give up my wallet to someone who needs it more).

But, back to spandex. My final thoughts, a plea if you will. For those of you out there who are currently parenting the young, sassy tween and teen set - please - break the cycle now. Just say no - NO to spandex, NO to the external use of lingerie, NO to these items in your core wardrobe. Say yes to stockings, leggings, tights (preferably with skirts that travel past the lower buttocks) and pants. Travel only in jeans at the very least (besides, who wants to be separated from those dirty seats by a material as porous as spandex anyway). And be diligent about these rules. Sure, debt is a HUGE problem in this country, but let's start with the problems we can truly affect in our daily lives. Let's start with personal, visual accountability. If not for you, do it for the sake of your children and their future.

And PS - one glaring contradiction, or shall we call this my indemnity clause, if you come to visit me in San Diego, do give me a heads up - because I definitely break the Spandex rule every day all day... What would Jackie O say? What I always say in SoCal: If you can't beat 'em, join 'em...

Cranky out (for now...).

Culture Shock

Greetings from the left coast. I recently returned to San Diego after a trip to the east coast. After a week of the hurried pace, the intense meals and the long (albeit fun) nights, it was hard to reset my internal compass to the slower pace, the not so good food, and the 10pm deadline for bedtime. It all resulted in a huge dose of culture shock. It's just SoCal I'm sure you are saying - it's not like I live in Mexico or Asia or anything like that. Chill out. But trust me, the transition is extreme pretty much every time I come back. That's not to say that there aren't some lovely things about returning to a more low key, more casual environment. Sure, here, no one asks what you do for a living (a major social taboo in San Diego by the way), no one asks where you are going or what you are working on. No one asks anything, and there is rarely anything more to talk about than how recently you have been to the car wash, how bad the weather has been compared to normal, or how often you work out.

Then, after three days, there's the moment of "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!" And what better way to fit back in then to take a trip to the gym, not to work out though, but to shop! In San Diego, Lulu Lemon is not a brand, it's a life style. To put it plainly, LuLu Lemon is to San Diego as Louis Vuitton is to New York. Before moving from NYC last spring, a friend encouraged me NOT to bury myself in a wardrobe of Banana Republic, despite my instinct to do so. "Dress cute," she said. "Be the hot mom at school. Where a Prada dress." "What a waste," I told her. "No one will appreciate it." And how right I was... On the first day of school I decided to heed her advice and dress up for the occasion. LOST on the audience, as anticipated. Lesson learned: there are places where ked's shoes are still a household staple, where people don't understand the negative impact of high fructose corn syrup, and where the trans-am is still considered cool. After much Lulu Lemon and seven sessions with the trainer, life gets a bit boring again, and 10pm seems like a great time to go to sleep.

Moving someplace new is always a challenge. I, for one, make friends pretty easily. I am not bashful (those of you who know me are laughing now) and I am not intimidated easily. Not that I am here, by the way. I would say it's more like a fish out of water scenario. I guess then that the problem is a misalignment of incentives? Or maybe goals? No, aspirations? All of the above? Yes - the latter. I come from a world where the incentive to exceed expectations is commonplace, almost unappreciated. In San Diego, ambition is a dirty word. My friend's father once said that Southern California is the land of fruits and nuts, and certainly, he was not referring to the crop production. Here, for example, expectations and ambitions are mainly reserved for the pursuit of plastic surgery (oh yeah, it's that bad). That's not to say that there are not any ambitious people here, or that people are not successful, smart or inventive. Some are. It's just a difference in the over arching attitude. I constantly remind my husband, who continues to be surprised by the San Diego work ethic, that this is a place where people move and then get a job. Not a place where people move for a job.

When I first arrived here, I tried to "dial it back," not be the aggressive New Yorker. I started to cook, I didn't bring my nanny to birthday parties (or g-d forbid send her without me - sacre-bleu!), and I stopped honking in the car (Okay, well at least I tried to stop honking). Why not fit in, right? Cooking was a great idea because the restaurants here are pretty terrible and I love the Food Network. Therefore, one plus one equals three. Problem? Despite my discerning palate, my ADD makes me a problematic chef. Some dishes are good, but others are forgotten, and therefore, overdone. I cooked for the first three months that I was here. I searched high and low for really high quality fresh foods (the dirty little secret of San Diego is that they send all the best fish and produce out of state, because most people here don't appreciate it, won't pay up for it, and don't care how it tastes). Anyway - I cooked to the extent that when my grandmother visited last summer, she was freaked out. She came with my mother to my house for a home cooked meal (already they knew they were in trouble). When she arrived she insisted that I must be short handed with help. I insisted, of course, I had little else to do, and cooking was a great outlet. That was until... Until the night that my ADD and my cooking ambition collided. I was on the cell phone talking to my husband, while making a pork roast at the same time (shh, don't tell the rabbi). The smell from the oven was overwhelming, and it was time to remove the Iron Clad and let the roast rest. Lo and behold, I grabbed the roast from the oven. But, the hand with the oven mitt remained on the cell phone, the bare hand stuck to the 500 degree roasting pan. In a split second of extreme pain I realized one thing that was paramount. I needed more help. Oh, and I needed to go to the emergency room...). In the emergency room at 11pm (an hour past the local bedtime deadline) with ice on my blistered hand, I had an epiphany. After the young doctor on call told me he'd be back after he looked up on the internet what to do, it hit me. Don't try to fit in... Be who you are. In my case, that is a person who doesn't cook, who has a 24 hour a day nanny, and who would really like to hire a driver.

There are some other important things I have learned as a resident of San Diego, and if you decide to come visit me (and please do - there is a great hotel down the street), these are some of the things you should keep in mind:

1) Don't ask people what the "do", rather, ask them only "what they are in to" (answers, by the way, range from hiking, biking and surfing, to smoking pot - yes, that is a sport here)
2) You can spilt a restaurant bill ten ways at a lunch where woman only eat salads, not to mention that you will pay extra on your one-tenth if you add chicken (Oh, and don't offer to pay the whole bill, they will think you are showing off)
3) Mall is a verb here, as opposed to a noun, which it is in most other places
4) The mall is also not a bad after school activity for the kids. They have a bouncy castle and choo choo train.
5) If you honk, people will just give you the finger
6) It's acceptable, here, to get naked on the street as long as it's because you are changing from your surf clothes into your work clothes
7) Il Fornaio's food is not half bad (that's a lie)
8) Don't cite articles from major news publications, you will just be met with blank looks and empty stares
9) Restaurants close on Monday nights
10) It's okay to shower every third day

Oh, and if you are a New Yorker and you try to fit in, you are bound to stand out even more...

Welcome to the World!

It's the most joyous time in our lives, welcoming a new little one into the world. We are brimming with excitement, we have boundless emotion and we promise with devout earnestness that we will make the world a better place for our new arrival. We enroll in infant music, yoga, martial arts, and we promise them they will be bi-lingual by age three. We will re-direct all of our own misfortunes and make a better life for our future world leader.

Go for it! I am SO happy for you. I promise to get you a gift, a donation, a onsie, whatever it takes, just please DO NOT SEND A PICTURE of your baby by mail.

You know what I am talking about. That perfect print of your infant, the cutest creature on earth, the one of him or her with their eyes as wide as saucers, their perfect smooth skin, that adorable little outfit (the dorky one they will never wear again and hate you for at high school graduation). The "bundle of joy" picture. KEEP THE PICTURE! I don't want it, no one wants it, and no one knows what to do with it.

For years, I had a drawer full of them. I was riddled with heavy guilt. I could not throw them away. There was another drawer next to it,the Yarmulke and goody bag drawer. That was where we kept all the monogrammed yarmulkes from dozens of wedding and bar/bat mitzvahs for fear that if I threw them out, I'd be stricken down by a swift bolt of lightening from the sky. There were also plenty of odds and ends from showers, christening and the occasional bris. (By the way, isn't it an oxymoron to give a gift at a bris? I always imagined it would be accompanied by a note that said, thanks for coming to our snip; here's a little gift to remember the occasion, forever.")

Last year when we were moving I emptied both drawers. I took the yarmulkes and "goodies" to the temple and left them on the Rabbi's door step. I was afraid if I declared my gift, I would have been sent away, with the box. So, if you should find yourself in the temple next fall on Erev Rosh Hashanah in a yarmulke that says "Gary's Bar Mitzvah," please, do not send a thank you note, especially if it has a picture of your baby with it.

There is one exception, the picture of the baby by email. I love it. Perfect. I can comment. I can say things like. "Oh! Pure joy! She's truly one of the most beautiful babies I have ever seen." Or "He is gorgeous. You should model him, now."
Email is perfect, because you can observe, comment, delete, and you don't have to kill any trees in the process. In fact, that's what you can do. Send an email with the picture, say you are trying to start respecting our planet by teaching the next generation how to save trees by NOT sending out a picture that all your friends will throw away because it's creepy to have a picture of someone elses baby around when you are not related to them.

It's just food for thought. I hope you don't take offense. I am really so happy for you and I cannot wait for the email. Just trying to save you a stamp.

Hey Cabbie, Got Change for a Twenty?

Change for a $20 will be given. No bills more than $20 will be changed.

Isn’t that what the sign says in the taxi cabs? So why is it that eighty percent of the time that I hand a $20 bill to a cabbie he asks me for something smaller? “I don’t have change for that – you got to give me something smaller” – he snickers from the front seat (a comment barely audible over the back of his head through the thick plastic divider). Despite the fact that I’m in a rush – we drive to six street vendors begging for change before he’ll release me from the slush covered cab. I am late, and I have a $20. Give me change – or let me out and you worry about it. It’s your problem anyway. Or is it?

There are many inconveniences of everyday life in New York. This is one of the more frustrating ones. Why do cabbies think that we should walk around with $20 in singles? After all, we are the fare – by definition – our only obligation is to come up with the money to pay for our ride. In fact, we are already subject to strict rules of monetary conduct. $20 is the largest bill for which change will be given.

And yet, even with a $20 in hand, we are made to feel guilty, unprepared, disrespectful! Don't they understand that it is actually their job to make sure they have that change. When I was working in an office, I made sure that every day I was prepared with the tools I needed to complete the day. I’d bring my computer, my cell phone, and all appropriate paperwork. For meetings, I did my research and I came prepared. So it seems that to prepare appropriately for the day, a cabbie would have wads of change ready to go. Maybe a trip to the bank at the end of your shift? You're already in your car. And don't tell me you don't have time. You all play that "I'm off duty game" on your way back to your garage, you know, the light says OFF DUTY, but the man in the car still roles down the window and asks: "Where are you going?" "To the bank, with you" I'd like to say, "to get change for tomorrow." Or what about those lunch hours when I see all the cabs idling in the 20's off of Lexington Avenue. I've seen lots of ATMs in that student filled neighborhood. Surely the banks have singles in those locations too.

Why not go to the bank to assure this level of preparation? Or install change facilities in all taxi outposts in New York City, so that all cabbies have the option to get change in their garage before they head out for their shift.

So what is the revenge...what could we do to get back at them! Do I have anything smaller? Sure I do – I have lots of quarters… Last week, I decided I was going to bring my twenties to the bank, and arm myself with change just in case the cabbie refused to change the twenty and asked me for something smaller. Less than $20 for an $8 fare? Sure – I have change, and here it comes, 44 quarters out of the Zip-lock bag labeled “change revenge” in my purse ($1 tip included of course).

Try giving that change to your next passenger – and try getting a street vendor to take those quarters. It's enough we have to listen to you on your cell phones when you're not supposed to use them while on duty. For the love of New Yorkers, could you just bring some change?

Cranky Out! (for now).

Sharing Is Caring

Sharing is caring, unless of course you don't care to share. The complicated issue of sharing is ever present as you go through life. We must share the roads, share our space, share our time. As a toddler, human instinct dominates and things seem pretty straight forward. But the "S" word has become something of a dirty word in progressive toddler programs and parks across America. Taking turns, standing in line, and first come first are all means by which people have tried to suffocate the basic human need to horde and say "mine!". This daily dilemma leads to many sticky situations. The old, "no, you first, after you, really you were here first" scenario with a stranger at the bank or the supermarket; or the awkward division of the overhead compartment space on an airplane. Over time, socialization tempers this basic instinct and we grow into sharing, thoughtful adults. But at the heart of it all lies that same personality tempered by years of reprimand by our parents and teachers. And rarely is the issue quite as humorous as when you are dining with friends and family. Sharing, in a meal setting, becomes an almost arcane game of chess, one that exposes the most basic instincts of people you think you know well, and demands clarification. First, some background on personality.
There are all kinds of eaters. The aggressive eater, the disgruntled-aggressive eater, the passive eater, and the passive-aggressive eater. A foray into the large group meal dynamic exposes the sharing tendencies of each category of eater.

My great grandfather, for example, was an aggressive eater. He hated to share, but he loved to eat. He would order a duplicate of whatever he wanted for the table just so he didn't have to share. That way, anyone who wanted some could have it, while he could be left in peace to enjoy his meal. An aggressive eater also describes the eater who wants more than just his or her own meal, often ordering an extra dish or two outside of their primary order so that he or she can have a bite (or in some cases almost that whole extra dish). The aggressive eater is a great dinner companion, so having him/her around is always an added bonus, if you like food that is. Not only do you get your meal, you also get lots of other things on the menu.

A sub-category of aggressive eater, is the disgruntled-aggressive eater (me). The disgruntled-aggressive eater is the highest form of aggressive eater. The person who loves to eat, loves the food and is quietly exhilarated that the extra dish is being ordered. The difference between the true aggressive eater and this person, though, is that the disgruntled-agressive eater hates to waste food. His/She is the person who wants the extra dish, loves the extra dish, but almost never orders the extra dish, because they know they will end up eating all the extra food from the aggressive eater who orders the extra dish that is not eaten by everyone at the table. The aggressive-disgruntled eater is usually the person who heard a lot of phrases in their childhood like, "your eyes are bigger than your stomach", "order only what you can eat", or "some little boys and girls have nothing to eat." You can also call this person the guilty eater. And they are great to have around in order to fully maximize the value of your shared meals.

Then there's the passive eater. The passive eater is the person who really doesn't care about the food. They think two bites are delicious, but unlike the aggressive eater, food doesn't permeate their daily decision making, and they are happy to go anywhere and share anything (boring!). Nonetheless, they are always happy to come along and provide good company. The passive eater does sometimes come with quirks, however. They are often, ironically, the one who says they never eat dessert, but will always take a bite when it arrives. You know, the "I never eat sweets, but this is so good" person. So having them around is a bonus too, even if the bonus is just the hilarity of listening to he or she say the same silly thing meal after meal about sweets.

My favorite though (or maybe just my favorite to watch), is the passive aggressive eater. This is the person who says they aren't really hungry, doesn't really want any of the extra food being ordered, but in fact, is hungry and really wants most of the extra food on the table. This is the most annoying eater. You will know a passive aggressive eater is at the table almost immediately. This is how. When the extra dish arrives, this person will take a quick (usually the first) bite, then pass the plate quickly, watching it attentively as it makes its way around the table, until it ends up back in front of them, where they can continue to consume it until the last bite, which they will coyly leave on the table to make it look like they haven't really eaten that much (a point we can get into a little later). Sometimes, this person will forgo the first bite, waiting to see if anyone notices the dish has arrived. The end result is the same though, he or she will instead grab the plate and pass it quickly so it makes its way around the table and ends up back in front of them (if it stops somewhere along the way, as often happens, they will do a subtle reach to make sure it gets to them, or they will ask the person that it has landed in front of to pass it on, after, of course, asking them if they've had a bite).

If you don't order the extra dish, the passive aggressive eater will want a bite anyway. My mother (who I adore) is a passive aggressive eater. A typical exchange with this type of eater is characterized by moments where, at a meal, they stare longingly at what you are eating. The exchange begins with the passive aggressive eater offering you, and the entire table, a bite of what they are eating - even if it's tripe (which they know you have no interest in eating). Next step is to glance again ever so slightly at your plate, and around the table to the others, usually settling back into a long stare at one particular dish. Then he or she will offer a second taste targeted to the diner whose food he/she really wants to taste. To the unwitting diner, this might not be apparent. The unwitting diner will take the bait, offering a bite to aggressor, who then, in true passive aggressive form, will coyly pause, wonder and then say, "it's okay - you don't really have that much there." The unwitting diner will say "really, I have plenty" to which the passive aggressive eater will agree, and then carefully watch the construction of the bite for him/her, making sure the size is right, and that all elements of the dish are included in the bite being passed to them. When you endure this torture often, you may end up like me with my mother - where the receipt of the stare is often accompanied with a snide sidebar such as, " I know you want it - so just pass me your fork", or an up-front intervention to avoid the exchange, such as asking the passive aggressive eater for his or her bread plate as the entree arrives. One thing is clear though, without the passive aggressive eater, the aggressive eater could not thrive, and vice versa.

The most noteworthy topic that involves the passive aggressive eater has got to be the last bite. Truly one of my most cherished dynamics. What is it about the last bite? No one seems to want to eat it, no matter what. It's a thing of folklore really. Surely Seinfeld should have done an episode about this, if he didn't. No one seems to want the last bite, not only when it's not your own, but especially not when it's shared. You can eat an entire bowl of spaghetti Carbonara, but if you leave the last bite, it's like you have somehow not eaten the whole thing, and you've mentally shaved 500 calories off the dish. I am sure when nutrition gurus came up with the idea of leaving something on your plate to practice self control, they didn't mean to leave one-twelfth of an inch of a square of pasta.

My favorite last bite dynamic comes into play with the shared plate for the table. I tracked the incidence this weekend while I was traveling friends to be sure. At each large group meal, we ordered several shared dishes. Inevitably at the end of each course, when it came time for the waiter to pick up the dishes, there was one bite left on each plate. In a few restaurants, we'd be offered the last bite by whomever was clearing the table - at which time, each person (who admitted to paying attention) would look around and see if there were any takers. Usually, the person who really wanted the last bite would ask each person at the table if they wanted it, and then watch disheartened while the plate would disappear in the bus boys' uncaring hands into the kitchen with the last bite still intact. And, of course, there is usually more than one passive aggressive eater in the big group, so its even more fun to observe. The second passive aggressive eater behavior is manifested as the person who pretends to ignore the waiter or bus boy when they ask the last bite question, so as not to let on to the other diners at the table that they too would love to eat that last morsel of that delicious extra dish (often the one dish they really wanted to order, but felt to guilty to order on their own). If you watch closely, you can see that person fidget and actually move in their seat. You can see them slowly lose attention and become distracted. They are like contortionists, keeping there head directly targeted to the conversation most closely at hand, while their eyes dance widely around the room following the bus boys' clumsy movements as he grabs the dish with the last bite, and recklessly stacks another on top of it.
But one thing is certain, even with the aggressive, and agressive-disgrunled eater at the table, the last bite will never be eaten. Usually it would be taken on by the aggressive-disgruntled eater, but by the end of multiple course dinners, even that eater is filled to the gills - leaving him or her not only uncomfortably full, but yes, disgruntled to be wasting the shared plate.

So be nice people. Be sensitive. When sharing a meal, try to be more be conscious of the food sharing personalities of your fellow diners and attend to their needs. Chances are, if you listen and watch at your next shared meal, you will see exactly what I am talking about. So try to cut back, offer a bite, or get ahead of an uncomfortable passive aggressive food confrontation by ordering the extra plate. It's a no win game, one which can only be rivaled by the division of the bill at the end of the evening. But that's conversation for another day. Until then, eat well, play nice, and don't forget to save the last bite for me...