What Happens When You Are Dating Facebook.

Having a Facebook account is like being in an emotionally abusive relationship. You can't see the pain it is inflicting, but it permeates your life in a mentally exhausting, ego-bruising way you can't describe to someone until they've experienced it for themselves.

At first, it seems so easy to get involved without becoming attached... a few bits of personal information here, a photo or two there, and voila! you have created your account. Just like a one-night stand, it is fast, easy, and forgettable.

You think you can keep your distance and not get invested; you are just here to 're-connect' with a few friends from college and do some networking for your home candle-selling business. As you enter your basic information and privacy settings, you realize there is barely a thing you can add to your "info" section without creating an automatic link to your hometown, college, sorority, or other potentially embarrassing information about your past. While this will automatically connect you to people who you most likely couldn't stand when you knew them the first time, you convince yourself these links will miraculously create better social connections and in turn grow your candle business. Never mind that your social life is already overrun by assholes both past and present, and no one wants to buy your stupid candles.

One lonely night, you find your "un-attached" self sending Facebook a booty call. The apartment is quiet and there's nothing on the Food Network besides a crappy re-run of "Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives." As if drawn by a magnetic need to connect to something human, no matter how virtual, you log in to Facebook... "just for a few minutes, to browse around." You are suddenly drawn into a vortex of other peoples' virtual lives which instantaneously makes you realize how much you suck. At everything. How does Facebook manage to make everyone else so incredibly busy and cool? They all have these extravagant and exciting lives, complete with mobile uploads that document just how busy and cool they really are. You are not busy and cool. Suddenly you realize no one on Facebook will ever want to buy your crappy candles.

But you want them to. Suddenly you want them to like you and buy your candles more than you ever really cared to admit before. You become obsessed, knowing that the only way to validate your existence is to gain as many friends as possible. Your affair with Facebook becomes more intense as you hop from friend to friend, praying each one will accept your request. You pull up every bit of personal information possible about people you had already forgotten about and can't believe you've waited this long to reconnect with them, despite the fact that you barely knew them or couldn't stand them in high school. If someone does not accept your Facebook request, you are disturbingly crushed. It is the ultimate rejection, seeming to come directly from the entity of Facebook itself.

By the time you have extracted your crushed soul from the computer, TVLand is deep into re-runs of "Three's Company" and it is way past 3am. You lie in bed, exhausted yet wide awake, wondering when Facebook will call to you again. When will you get the much-awaited Facebook message that a Friend Request has been accepted? Or even better, that a Friend Request has been sent to you?! And when you do receive this message, will you re-enter the dangerous territory that is Facebook, exposing yourself to the potential pleasure and/or heartache that is in store? Deep down, you know you will continue to take the risk, even though 9 out of 10 times you will logout feeling hurt and dejected.

After each affair with Facebook you are not left with bruising or scars visible to the outside world, but there is a deeper wound left behind - a rich distaste for yourself, your life, and everything that makes you..."you." To make matters worse, you have also lost hours of your life stuck in the Facebook Coma. You know it is all a waste of time; you know you will never be as busy or cool as Facebook would like you to be... but somehow, you are back logging in again tomorrow, waiting for the approval that never really comes.

you can take the cast out of Jersey, but South Beach kinda seems like Jersey anyway, so....

GTL is baaaaack!

I could barely contain my excitement as I prepared for the premiere episode of Jersey Shore's new season in Miami. I nervously sipped my wine and munched on my roommate's delicious homemade bruschetta, wondering what the next hour would hold. What adventures could possibly be in store for these crazy kids? Would they be sufficiently tanned and toned to meet Miami's standards, or might their Jersey ways get them kicked out of South Beach? Would Sammi and Ronnie's love conquer all and bring them back together? And most importantly, how long would we loyal viewers have to wait to see a fight?

Well, I wasn't disappointed at how long it took to see a fight (approximately 42 minutes), but I was bummed about the context: Angelina picking a fight with JWoww from the back of a cab?! Come on, nobody even got hurt! I mean, does anyone really care about Angelina? Why is she back on the show anyway? She must have had some serious remorse about leaving season one when she realized all of her former "castmates" had become hugely famous almost overnight. MTV was gracious to give her a second chance at her 15 minutes, but she really just sucks the life out of the show and everyone in it.

The rest of the episode was all the same crap we saw in the first season: "The Situation" continues to make up derogatory names for the women his roommates hook up with, but still never gets laid; Sammi and Ronnie fight like an old, drunk married couple; JWoww, despite now making 10 grand an episode, still dresses like a hooker; Vinny doesn't really do much except laugh, display his huge eyebrows, and make up words such as 'obliviated'; and Snooki, if she is able to form sentences, delivers such quotable quotes as "I feel like a pilgrim from the 20s." Even the clubs seem to have the same trashy, half-dressed, drunk girls and Addiction Tshirt-wearing guidos.

The difference here is that all that "crap" was what made the first season genius. It was so trashy, so blatantly awful, so disgusting to see real people behaving like this, that we couldn't help but watch. Now it just feels like we are seeing the same old thing, except this time it's being put on by a cast of bratty celebrities who are pulling "Friends"-like negotiations with the network; season three will net the main stars $30,000 per episode.

It's certainly true that money can't buy class, but at least maybe it could have gotten us something more entertaining. Next week I better make sure to have my Ron Ron Juice ready so I can make it through the episode.

a breath of fresh...

I know I bitch a lot about the quirky trials and tribulations of living in New York. Reading these blogs, one might assume that I am jaded by the many idiosyncrasies of the myriad idiots aimlessly wandering the streets... but I had a truly New York moment today that brought me back to why I love it here so much.

It was 90+ degrees today and humid as hairy balls trapped in a pair of sweatpants after taking my BOSU class. I was walking to take the F/V, which I never take because it's just a little too far away, a little too dirty, and it NEVER comes. But I took it today. I walk down into the tunnel and of course it is even HOTTER than it is up above; and in typical NYC subway style, it smells AWFUL. It's like some wretched combination of public toilet, hangover vomit, and a touch of your grandmother's awful musky perfume.

And then I hear this sound floating up towards me as I walk down the steps, like a breath of fresh air out of the underground abyss...

I identify the song right away... it's Radiohead "Exit Music (For a Film)," which I am already stoked about because I happen to *love* Radiohead. But I can't quite place the instrument. I take a few steps further down and see a woman playing the accordion. I feel instantly the haunting beauty and underlying melancholy of the song, and it becomes emotional for me - something I don't think I've ever felt when listening to music created on this instrument.

She played with such grace and beauty that even this jaded New Yorker was so touched I had to throw $1 in her case. Looking back, I should have given more. She transformed a mundane, sweaty, Wednesday into something pristine and beautiful. And that, in New York, is priceless.

Terrifying Tales of the NYC family, Part I

It is a picture of family bonding that would tug at the heartstrings of even the most cynical urbanite: a young father with his 4-year-old son, enjoying the first warm Spring Saturday of the year; Father pretends not to be able to catch up as Son sprints away into the distance; Father eventually 'catches up' to Son, completely out of breath, picks him up, swings him around freely, and spins him into a loving embrace.

Just one problem with this picture: this is happening on 14th St. between 4th & Irving on a Saturday when 14th street also happens to be overrun by Bridge & Tunnel pedestrians, buses and traffic congestion due to seasonal street fairs in the area.

I watch in horror, thinking that at any moment this child will dart out into traffic and Daddy will be picking up his lifeless body and spinning around looking for someone to call 911 rather than spinning him into the prescribed 'loving embrace'. Luckily I am wrong, and Daddy catches up to Son before the inevitable horrors of New York City street and pedestrian traffic have a chance to interfere with his Father/Son bonding time.

But it leads me to wonder... do people not realize the rules of raising children are completely different once you set foot in Manhattan? Don't get me wrong - I give Kudos to anyone who has the balls (and money) to go about raising children here. I have a hard enough time finding a way to get boxes of cat litter into my walk-up apartment building without breaking my back while still carrying my gym bag full of sweaty clothes, mic, shoes, and whatever other crap I've been schlepping with me since I left this morning to teach, in addition to a likely bottle of pinot grigio I just had to pick up on the way home.

But I know my limits; I know what I can handle. I am constantly shocked and appalled by the way parents allow their children to behave (and how they behave themselves) here.

PART I: The Subway

In the Stroller.

The MTA explicitly recommends that parents fold strollers and carry babies or infants in their arms for safety. They go on to say: "Never place a stroller between closing subway car doors." (http://www.mta.info/nyct/safety/) I cannot tell you how many frantic mothers I've seen running with their pram and using it as a veritable *weapon*, not only to catch subway doors (WITH baby in the stroller), but to knock over other riders to get onto the train, and/or blocking riders as they attempt to exit the train. Not only is it irresponsible for a parent to use their child as an offensive weapon, it is dangerous and unfair to put the child (and fellow subway riders) at risk for injury just because you happen to have a weapon-on-wheels, complete with Devil Child in the seat.

Also - why must 13 people move out of the way just because *you* choose to bring your child on the train at rush hour? You didn't take the MTA's recommendation to fold your pram properly and carry the child, so now you are taking up an entire end of the subway car and I am squished in Working William's dirty armpit, who has been wearing the same suit since he left the house at 6:30am but thinks that just because he is taller than me he can get away with grabbing the subway pole directly above my head, while I am left with the stench of whatever he has done in the past 12 hours, including (but not limited to) running to work because he missed his bus, going to the gym at lunch without a shower, eating from the Halal guy on 50th street, and grabbing a quick happy hour beer before heading back to Jersey.

Not fair. I pay the same ridiculous fare to travel as you do. In fact, technically I pay MORE, since I am paying for one mere mortal, but you are paying for two humans and a Stroller from Hell.

Out of the Stroller.

What ever happened to the idea that children should be "seen and not heard"? I know I'm getting older, and perhaps this phrase is becoming dated, but many of the parents I see bringing children on the subway are barely a wink older that I, and some (many, actually) are younger.

I am constantly appalled at the way parents allow their children to:

• run up and down the train car as if it is their own personal outdoor track
• hang on the train poles as if they are monkey bars
• talk loudly to parents, each other, and generally make a spectacle of themselves
• talk to complete strangers who want nothing to do with children

Half the time I see children on the train, I want to smack them. Actually, I want to smack their parents for giving them no sense of discipline whatsoever.

Unfortunately, I can't do either without risking arrest, so I am resigned to write this blog instead. Dammit.

PART II: STREET TRAFFIC coming soon...

Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dirt: A Letter to the Food Network

This is a real letter I e-mailed to the Food Network in the wee hours of the morning on Saturday, April 17th when I just couldn't take it anymore. I'll post an update if/when I hear back.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Food Network:

While I thoroughly enjoy your show, "Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives," I am appalled by the host, Guy Fieri, and his complete lack of regard for any type of sanitation whatsoever. For instance, at this very moment, 12:53 am EST on Saturday April 17th, I am watching a chef who is wearing bright blue sanitation gloves walk Guy through his recipes. For some reason, however, Guy does not take a cue from this chef that perhaps wearing gloves is proper protocol. I watch this show on a regular basis, and Guy never wears gloves yet is always sticking his fingers in the food. Can you honestly say that he is washing his hands each and every time he touches someone else's cooking? I have seen numerous instances on this show of this "host" putting his hands in others' dishes, and even worse, sticking his dirty fingers in his mouth to taste whatever it is he can get his hands on.

I can honestly say I would never eat at any of the establishments that Mr. Fieri frequents on this show, as I am disgusted by the way he puts his hands in their food with no regard to cleanliness or sanitation. The fact that these institutions would allow this to occur without incident merely to promote their business on a nationally televised production is sad. Further, I am nauseated by Mr. Fieri's continued insistence on speaking with his mouth full! Between watching him stick his dirty hands in the food, then into his mouth, then watching that food be macerated by him as he attempts to speak, "Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives" is a thoroughly unpleasant experience.

Perhaps you should look to the Travel Channel's Adam Richman, who represents the "Everyman" middle America is searching for, without their disgusting sanitation habits (or lack thereof). While I understand Mr. Fieri represents a certain demographic to which you are trying to appeal, I do not appreciate the horrendous representation of restaurant hygiene. How does a person who runs a restaurant of his own not succeed in representing what a proper restauranteur should present in terms of, at bare minimum, basic hygiene requirements? Perhaps instead of using a dirty finger or hand and stealing bites of food from these chefs, he could consider using a clean utensil, i.e. a fork, spoon, chopsticks, and the like.

Please tell Mr. Fieri to stop sticking his dirty fingers in the food, into his mouth, then repeating (a.k.a "double dipping") as he has done so many times on this show. Not once have I seen Giada, Alton, Paula, Tyler, Bobby, Ina, Mario, or even Michael Chiarello stick a dirty hand into their dish in order to taste it. Just because this guy won "The Next Food Network Star," why is he allowed to get away with this abhorrent behavior? He looks like a greedy child who can't wait to get his greasy hands all over everyone else's meal.

Please consider putting a new host in charge of this show, or at the very least, re-training him in the basics of food hygiene.

Thank you,

Deborah Horton

www.deborahhorton.com

www.deborahspeaksthetruth.blogspot.com

Walk Like a New Yorker

Every holiday season, New York City is overrun by sloppy, loud-talking, site-seeing, Serendipity-eating, Central Park carriage-riding beings who appear as if from nowhere. They arrive en masse and steal the holiday spirit right from under the feet of humble New Yorkers who are simply attempting to get through the season without going broke or killing someone.

I, for one, like to think that on the whole, we city residents are rather tolerant of this phenomenon. We give subway directions when asked, offer restaurant and nightlife suggestions, and allow blatant displays of tourism to go by the wayside. Sometimes, we'll even take your photo and not run away with your camera.

However, come the New Year, my patience begins to wane. I have to get to work. They don't. They are still "on vacation in the big city" (insert Southern accent here). They have shows to see, Max Brenner to visit, and a cube to turn. But seriously - I have places to be.

In a city overrun by traffic congestion, useless traffic rules, even more useless traffic cops, bus lanes, "don't block the box," etc, we have forgotten the most important type of traffic here in the grid - the type of traffic that consumes New Yorkers' lives on a daily and sometimes hourly basis: people traffic. People are simply everywhere in New York. So why has no one come up with an appropriate guide on how to navigate this most essential and important function of surviving a visit here? Not only are those visitors who come unprepared putting themselves at risk, they are endangering any thread of sanity New Yorkers may still hold on to!

To help alleviate this pain in EVERYONE's asses, I have come up with the Rules of People Traffic. Many New Yorkers would agree that these are all unspoken rules that any idiot would know and agree with, but I beg to differ. Anyone walking the streets of New York should get friendly with these rules; they are designed primarily for visitors, but also apply to residents who simply feel like being assholes, or are just too entitled to care.

Pedestrian Rules

Rules for walking on the sidewalk mirror rules for driving on the highway; i.e. FAST LANE is to the left, and SLOW LANE is to the right. Much to my dismay, there are no pedestrian traffic cops to give you tickets for walking too fast (or too slow) or being in the wrong lane. Therefore, it is of utmost important that pedestrians adhere to the following:

1. If you want to walk slowly (a.k.a. "mosey").

a. You are in New York. You may get run over.

b. Be aware. The person behind you probably wants to pass you. They also have a much more important reason to be going wherever it is they are going. And they have to get their Starbucks before they get to Said Important Place (SIP), which takes priority over your Broadway matinee or window shopping at Macy's.

c. STAY TO THE RIGHT. If the sidewalk is small, Starbucks-fiend may knock you into the street. Be careful.

2. If you need to cross the street.

a. Crosswalk signals are meaningless; you need merely check the traffic coming in your direction. If there is a car flying towards you, jump back - they will not stop if you are in the way, especially if you look like a tourist.

b. Don't "mosey" through the crosswalk. Self-important Starbucks guy is likely right behind you, on his way to SIP.

3. If you want to stare at landmarks.

a. DO NOT walk and look up. Not only do you look like a jackass, Starbucks guy may smack you upside the head with his iPhone if you run into him. You may also instantly be sucked into a group of Asian tourists wearing matching yellow hats and clicking their cameras in your face.

b. Find a discreet place to observe the beautiful New York scenery or landmark you are trying to take in. Move out of the way of pedestrian traffic, take your damn pictures, and move on. No one needs to see you catching flies and other debris as you ogle the Empire State Building. It's just not attractive.

4. If you want to stare at people.

a. Don't. They are probably crazy.

Subway Rules

1. Entering & Exiting

a. do not, do NOT, DO NOT stand still on the stairway for ANY reason. Examples of idiotic reasons why people stand in the stairwell:

• Starbucks guy, who has been like a bug in your ass during the entire walk to the subway, suddenly HAS to finish his conversation before he loses the precious signal on his iPhone
• Upper East Side Nanny has two children in a stroller but chooses to use the non-elevator entrance/exit, blocking traffic in both directions and requiring help from a number of chivalrous strangers
• Idiotic Rich Couple from Greenwich do not know if this entrance is exactly the one they need, launch into a 5-minute conversation with one another during which they debate the pros and cons attached to this particular entrance, and have to ask three to five random streetwalkers if this is the best way to get to Times Square.

b. Observe same rules as listed above for pedestrians: slowpokes to the right.

2. Waiting for the Train

a. The EXACT spot where you get off the staircase is not the only place you can wait for the train. There is an entire platform of space to choose from (shocking)! If your area is crowded, move somewhere else. You've been walking all day anyway.

b. Don't stare at people. They are probably crazy.

3. Riding the Train

a. Let people exit before you knock me over to get on. Don't worry, everyone at Times Square will be able to get in. The conductors have your back; they know you're a tourist and probably an imbecile.

b. If there is an ENTIRE ROW of open seats, don't come sit next to me. I will shoot you a dirty look, roll my eyes and possibly spit at you. There is no such thing as "strength in numbers" when it comes to riding the train. The further away you get from me (oh yeah, and everyone else), the better.

c. THERE IS A SUBWAY MAP RIGHT THERE, JACKASS. Why are you opening out your own full size, full color subway map and slashing Upper East Side Nanny's eye? She may have stopped traffic on the way into the station, but don't punish her by blinding her. Even real New Yorkers occasionally have to peruse the train's subway map. Be discreet. Take a look. Confirm with your spouse or group of Japanese tourists that you are indeed going the right way. If not, simply exit at the next stop, take a look at the HUGE subway map in the station, and get it together!!

d. Don't talk LOUDLY about the show you just saw, the sites you took in, or the restaurant where you just "got a little crazy" with that extra martini. Believe me, the entire train does not care or need to hear about it. Someone might elbow you in the stomach and make you lose your martini.

e. Don't talk across the aisle. It's just plain obnoxious. Either sit with your companion, or if there is no space stand your ass up next to them if you HAVE to continue your conversation.

f. Don't stare at people. They are probably crazy.

General Rules to Remember

1. Wearing gym sneakers with your dress and full face of makeup for the matinee is a dead giveaway. Don't be a target: either spring for a cab or suck it up and get blisters.

2. Don't stare at people. They are probably crazy.

3. If you can't follow these rules, take a fucking cab.

Reality Bites.

At the risk of giving away my age, I will take a moment to reminisce about sitting in my Communications classes in college and discussing the "new age" of reality television. I remember thinking: "What about the Real World New York?" After all, that was the original reality show. In retrospect I realize we truly were talking about a new age of reality television: the era of "The Mook."

In those college days (i.e. Phoebe's days of 'yore'), we discussed "The Mook" as a douche-y, lazy, beer-guzzling, classic fraternity-type guy who draws the ardor and empathy of Middle America. More generally, dictionary.com defines a mook as "a contemptible, incompetent person." Most of us would be hard-pressed to find a reality character who is not at least contemptible OR incompetent; generally they are both of these and then some. Hence, the only way they can succeed in life is playing the role of a "reality" TV star on a completely unrealistic television show.

Let's take for example the latest horrific addition to the reality scene: the quickly hated (I mean loved... I mean hated...) "Jersey Shore." In an era so saturated with reality shows that we no longer remember how NOT to live vicariously through some stranger's TV life, everyone is looking for the next recipe for reality success. The new formula turned out to be an oldie but a goodie:

1. Throw a bunch of 20-somethings in a house
2. Make sure they have plenty of access to alcohol
3. Mix

They will inevitably butt heads, fight, and generally cause drama. For this version, we simply remove any semblance of class, intelligence, and 'politically correct' character variety in exchange for guidos and guidettes. No one is gay, "ethnic," or particularly interesting (no one is from the Jersey Shore either - a fact that apparently only Seaside Heights residents seem to care about).

Well... apparently they became interesting, wherever they were from. From a slow start debut episode with 1.375 million viewers in the 12-34 age range, the "bad car accident syndrome" (as I like to call it) progressed to a season finale with 4.8 million viewers, up 33% from the previous week (http://tvbythenumbers.com/2010/01/22/jersey-shore-first-season-ends-with-series-high-4-8/39816). Even the Reunion show pulled in 4 million viewers.

So what does this say about us? What kind of world do we live in when "GTL" (that's Gym-Tan-Laundry for the less informed) becomes part of daily vernacular? When Mike wants to trademark "The Situation" (his nickname for his abs)? When Snookie's hair clip from circa 1988 becomes popular again?!

In short, I believe it means that we are eternally fascinated... by ourselves. It is a strange, narcissistic need to understand the "me" that is not really "me" but someone else. Who doesn't see a bit of themselves in JWoww's slutty shirts? Or Pauly D's spiky hair? Or Ronnie's inexplicable "one punch" violence?

OK - well I don't see myself in any of those things. But, at the minimum, maybe I harbor a bit of Ronnie's hopeless romantic; or Samantha's sweet bitch. They like to drink. They like to dance.

I may not fist pump the way they do, but I'll be the first to admit it - I, for one, couldn't get enough.