I Saw the Sign... Unfortunately.

There it was, written in black & white:

"If it's broke, fix it."

While the incorrect grammar in the above statement combined with the purely obvious nature of this message make it seem like it came from one of the pre-schoolers I teach, no such luck. It is yet another brilliant statement by the New York City Metropolitan Transportation Authority which I had the pleasure to read on a recent ride on the downtown 6 train. In the eloquent way only the MTA can do it, they go on to say:

"Instead of waiting to fix everything in a station at once, we're fixing critical parts as soon as they need fixing. We're now at over 100 stations and counting."

Wow.

Impressive, MTA.

So instead of letting an entire subway station go to complete and total crap and getting sucked into the vortex under New York City, you fix things in dire need of repair and ignore the rest of the myriad issues contributing to subway riders' daily stress and discomfort. Is this really something that needs to be advertised to the average subway rider, who already has to endure jacked-up fares, terrible weekend service, and dirty subway cars and stations? Are we supposed to be impressed that if something is broke(n!), it's getting fixed?

In most cases I am all for honesty, no matter how brutal. However, the moment when I'm late to work because the train comes every 20 minutes on Saturday, and I am 'being held momentarily because of train traffic ahead' (which is virtually impossible since I just departed a station that was a ghost town), I do NOT want to read a sign assuring me that the MTA is only fixing things it deems crucial. If I only did the things that were 'crucial' at my job, I would be fired!

If anything, LIE to me and tell me that everything is getting fixed. All the time. At least it would give me false hope. I mean, I would still see the dirty subway cars and endure crappy weekend service, but I would think, "I saw the sign that said: 'everything is getting fixed. All the time.' Maybe I just caught the MTA on a bad day. Maybe I'm being held because they're fixing everything right now!" Ignorance is bliss, right? All that extra money I'm spending to ride the train is actually going towards something... right?!

I would like to know who is (really) in charge of the MTA, because I cannot believe they are an "Authority" on anything except how to waste my money and yours. Metropolitan Transportation Authority, or Money-Taking Assholes? Fares have been hiked three times since 2008, while the quality of service has decreased as trains run less frequently, and many maintenance and other workers that kept the subway running (somewhat) smoothly have been laid off. Take the money used to print these idiotic signs and put it back into the budget!

Maybe I should see if one of my pre-schoolers wants to balance the budget - I bet they would do a better job. At least they can form a proper sentence.

the 'other blog'... again.

Rules of Fitness Class Etiquette at Examiner.com!

http://www.examiner.com/group-exercise-in-new-york/who-moved-my-weight

subscribe there to follow my NYC Group Exercise Updates! Comment or e-mail me with ideas and suggestions for your favorite classes, instructors, and trends in Group Fitness.

the 'other blog'...

check out my first article on Examiner.com!

http://www.examiner.com/group-exercise-in-new-york/what-resolution

Therein you will find less sarcasm and more information... but stay tuned to THIS blog for the dose of NYC reality you've come to love and expect. Next up? DON'T FEED THE PIGEONS!

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...