The Lure of Local News

I love to read the news. Here's the caveat, though - I'm not well-informed, to say the least. Each morning at work, I peruse the news outlets for articles about autism; I'm very well-informed when it comes to autism. Other than that, I primarily read (skim) CNN.com, Newsday, The New York Post and sections of the New York Times.

I'm a sucker for a sensationalist headline - anything that grabs my attention or has the potential to appear in Reuters "Oddly Enough" section. Pretty much, if it's peculiar or ridiculous enough, I've read it. On the other hand, if it has to do with politics, world issues or anything notable, I probably haven't read it.

Even more interesting is that I went to school for journalism. I can plead ignorance with one saving grace - my concentration is in advertising. Guess what? I really hate commercials. Possibly even more than significant world news.

In my opinion, the best news stories can be found on CNN.com in its "US" section. On the bottom left, the site catalogs stories from around the country, culled from local publications. I also should point out that I have a soft spot in my heart for the mostly atrocious quality of local journalism. Local TV journalism is actually the best - go get an ill-fitting suit and some anchorwoman hair. You now have a license to mispronounce names of politicians, countries and diseases while attempting to appear completely legit.

Yesterday, this was my favorite article. Do you think the writer was just praying his editors would let him keep that headline? Either way, awesome.

Today's winner is not chosen for journalistic prowess, but rather for content. Take the time to appreciate the details in this story (i.e. rental car) because they're all really important. I'd personally like to give this guy some type of award. Bravo.

The Customer is (Sometimes) Always (Maybe) Right

[Bobby wants plain toast, which isn't on the menu]
Bobby: I'd like an omelet, plain, and a chicken salad sandwich on wheat toast, no mayonnaise, no butter, no lettuce. And a cup of coffee.
Waitress: A #2, chicken salad sand. Hold the butter, the lettuce, the mayonnaise, and a cup of coffee. Anything else?
Bobby: Yeah, now all you have to do is hold the chicken, bring me the toast, give me a check for the chicken salad sandwich, and you haven't broken any rules.

- "Five Easy Pieces"

My morning began with a craving for home fries, a particular kind of home fries made by a chain cafe near my office. I honestly wanted them enough to venture back out into 20-something degree weather. Here's the catch: they don't sell individual sides on the menu. Once before, I made the attempt to order home fries, bacon and toast (three separate sides), only to be given enough food to feed my entire office. There had to be an easier way.

I looked over the menu and saw an option for "three eggs any style, home fries, bacon and toast" for $5.25. Perfect. I ordered the "#7" and asked her to not include the eggs.

She looked at me blankly.

"I'm allergic to eggs," I replied, "I just want home fries, bacon and toast."

She stares at me, more intently, and then looks down at the register. No verbal acknowledgment.

"I just want the three sides, not the eggs," I repeat, hopefully that would offer some clarity to the situation.

"We can't do that. A number seven is a number seven. They'll get confused in the kitchen." Mind you, there is no one else on line. Business isn't exactly overwhelming at this point.

I then ask her if she can ring the three sides separately. I honestly don't care what it costs. I was more than willing to pay the full amount and not take the eggs. She pauses and starts ringing - I see the first item light up on the register "Platter of bacon" - $4.28.

"No," I interrupt, "I don't need nine pieces of bacon. I'm one person. All I want is a side of bacon, a side of home fries and toast. Can you please just ring the #7 and tell them 'no eggs'?"

Now she is visibly annoyed. Clearly, I've requested a service far outside the boundaries of her job description.

She acquiesces and rolls her eyes at me. I watch (and half listen) as she and the other employees talk trash about me in Spanish. My Spanish skills aren't that strong - I mostly can read ads for divorce attorneys on the subway. I could definitely tell this lady didn't like me, though.

I have had a number of customer service jobs in my lifetime (waitress, hostess, store manager, low level store lackey ...) and have yet to figure out when the concept of polite customer service went by the wayside.

On Saturday, I was walking through Roosevelt Field Mall when I spotted a cute shirt in the window of Hollister. I do realize, before I even relay this story, that perhaps I'm too old for Hollister. Perhaps once you hit size 6, you shouldn't consider buying clothes in Hollister. I swear, there are shorts in that store that could possibly fit my calves (triple-zero, anyone?)

Regardless, I found the shirt and waited behind a gaggle of high school kids to try it on. Upon buttoning the shirt, I realized that the anti-theft sensor was inside the shirt. The inch or so of plastic was pressing against my ribcage and jutting out sideways - just enough to make me question whether or not the shirt was buttoning properly.

I asked the salesgirl if she could remove the sensor - no offense, but I don't fit the profile of "shop thief" at Roosevelt Field Mall. She came back with the shirt and told me that she wasn't allowed to.

I pointed out the location of the sensor to her and asked her if she could at least move the sensor to the outside of the shirt. She, again, walked away with the shirt and returned momentarily with an even more unsatisfactory response.

"My manager said she can't move the sensor. She also said that the shirt probably doesn't fit you and you should just try a bigger size."

Thanks, Hollister staff, for saving me $55.

On a brighter note, the Silo sushi man and I are back on speaking terms ...

The Olives of Holidays

I have a theory regarding olives - I believe that olives are the only food that people either love or hate. I honestly have never met anyone who is ambivalent about olives. And if you're curious, I count myself among the haters.

Valentine's Day is the olives of holidays. The only other holiday that I see as equally loved and hated would be New Year's Eve. Coincidentally, both holidays are geared to couples, but it's not to say that all couples love either. I think the similarity lies in that both have "expectations."

One of my co-workers adamantly declares Valentine's Day (along with Halloween) as his favorite holiday. My best friend hates Valentine's Day; in her words, "I don't believe in Valentine's Day. If you expect the person you're with to give you flowers, take you to an overpriced restaurant or any of the other jacked up crap associated with that day, then your relationship probably sucks. It's a day like any other day. I like a nice card, and that's it." In defense of her comments, she provided a column by someone who appears to be her Valentine's Day soulmate.

One of my closest friends (who recently got engaged) and I have a five year tradition of sending each other flowers on Valentine's Day. It began when we worked in retail together and we've kept it up ever since, whether we were single or attached. My most memorable Valentine's Day took place my senior year of college. I was newly involved with someone who lived in a different state and we weren't spending the day together. In his absence, he sent me flowers and a card. Surprisingly, what made that particular Valentine's Day memorable was going out for a somewhat fancy dinner with some of my girlfriends. After all, we were impoverished college students who rarely dined at places that favored reservations and dressing up. Needless to say, it's not always whether you're single or attached that makes Valentine's Day what it's worth.

You can go out with your friends, as the oh-so-awesome e-card above suggests, to meet undatable alcoholics. You can go out with your friends and possibly meet the guy or girl of your dreams. You can go out with your friends and simply be grateful that you have such amazing people in your life.

You can go to the movies, walk the streets, take yourself out to dinner, or celebrate "friend n fried" style - as Gawker so humorously suggests.

No matter what, be happy and enjoy Valentine's Day tomorrow, and while you're at it, enjoy a new favorite from the NYT's Modern Love archives.

Karma Chameleon

"Life is complicated. Remember the good things that you do. Keep thinking about that. Keep building on that and you'll come to an answer." - Mychal Judge

I woke up today on the right side of the bed - or at least it felt like it. While most days I start the day on an even keel, I rarely feel or appear outwardly happy when I leave for work. This morning, for reasons unknown to me, everything felt just a little bit better. In contrast, my week had been mediocre and slightly disappointing at best; I definitely couldn't pin my good mood this morning on some type of external happening.

In trying to explain it to myself (sad but true, I actually was wondering what inspired my content state of mind), I first attributed the weather. It was over 60 degrees in New York today. Any day that I can wear sunglasses and short sleeves, I'm destined to be in better spirits. Blame that seasonal affected disorder, whatever. I'm always calmer and happier when the weather is better.

But it felt good this morning - taking my morning nap on the train, getting an iced caramel macchiato rather than a hot drink at Starbucks and most significantly, not being cold on my walk to work. Even the normal things which really bother me didn't seem to affect me as they usually do - the guy typing on his Blackberry as he bobbed-and-weaved down the sidewalk on 33rd or the woman who inadvertently blew smoke in my face at a crosswalk.

I was talking to a co-worker this morning and I commented that I was in a really pleasant (yet unexplainable) mood. I was also waiting for the other shoe to drop - for something to stress me out, for something to go wrong, for something to make this much better than average morning go awry.

Lo and behold, my work computer knew how to do it. One thing after another seemed to spiral from that and my mood went south. It wasn't a bad day; it was definitely an average day by the time it ended, though. It seemed like bad karma.

I don't know much of anything about karma in the philosophical-spiritual sense. Rather, I think of it in the most simplistic terms that what you put in, you deserve back. When life seems to throw me curveballs or things aren't going exactly how I want them to, I often think about karma. When I look at my life in a "big picture" sense, there is one thing that I ultimately hope my friends and family believe - that I go out of my way to help people and to make people's lives easier and/or better. I find it personally rewarding to help people who need me, especially those who are important to me.

I go through phases of trying to attend church more regularly and I'm not always so successful. Each year, my attendance seems to spike around Lent. There is a gospel reading about helping people that always seems to resonate with me, even when I hear it reflected upon, year after year. The essential message is this: help people when other people don't see you do it. Give money to someone who doesn't know it came from you. Do something small to brighten someone's day who needs you, not because you expect something from that person in return.

Which brings me back to the concept of karma (and brings me full circle to my opening quote) ...

Although I don't expect anything in exchange for helping those close to me, I hope that the world thanks me for it - hence, good karma. I liked that quote when I stumbled upon it in a book because it lent clarity to what many of us feel: life is complicated and messy. There are many days when we have no idea where it's going or the direction it seems to be headed isn't the one we hoped for.

So what can you do? Just like the quote says. Remember the good things you do. Be a better person and not just because you expect something in exchange. The world may not change, but maybe your attitude will. And hopefully then, you'll come to an answer.

Protecting Your Talent

I wrote half of this post on my Blackberry at 3 in the morning, after waking up from a somewhat strange and surreal dream. The bizarre part wasn’t the dream, but rather what thoughts it inspired. As always, I knew if I didn’t write them down, (or put them in the oft-used “Notes” section of my Blackberry) I wouldn’t remember them this morning.

So here goes the dream: I dreamt that I was swimming laps with a number of people, one being an ex-coworker who was both arrogant and competitive. I remember thinking in the dream that although I was a good swimmer, I wasn’t good enough. I was mentally critiquing my own strokes, expecting that he and others would be doing the same. It wasn’t until later that he asked how I learned to dive, admiring that possibly I could have been better than he was at something.

Here’s what makes the dream interesting: While I can swim well, I’m not a great diver. I swam because my mom didn't let me take dance. Somehow, my intrinsic clumsiness (a.k.a. “bull in the china shop syndrome”) didn’t seem conducive to ballet. With swimming, I was never close to the best but better than many people I knew. I secretly enjoyed knowing that people who could outrun me or do other sports well couldn’t often swim better than I could. I always wanted someone to be in awe of my talent. In anything.

Now for the interpretation: whether you can dive, write or call football plays nine out of 10 times before you see them executed, we all tend to protect our talents for fear of finding out that, well, maybe we're not so unique. Even worse than being common is finding out that perhaps you’re not good at “this” after all, this being what you thought your talent was. For this reason, we tend to end up dating people who aren’t necessarily good at the same things – you want to share interests, but fear that someone could be better than you – and then you won’t be as special anymore.

Since I was a kid, I was always told that I was a good writer. I was used to being complimented by my family, peers and teachers for my creativity and writing ability. Then one day, it was essentially hinted at by someone who is important to me, that maybe I’m not such a great writer. And it stuck. I’ve never been able to reflect upon myself as being as talented anymore and find myself afraid to commiserate with people who are good at the same things as I am.

Some of my best friends are amazing writers, and perhaps, that is one of the pillars that our friendship stands on – a common interest. However, we have a mutual appreciation for each other’s talent and what each of us knows and can bring to the table. There is no inherent fear of competition.

Recently, I dated someone who possessed the complete opposite skill set as me. He was very smart - mechanical, analytical and thought in numbers. On the other hand, he considered himself “functionally illiterate” because he didn’t have the same fluidity with language as I did. His admiration of my talent made me feel special – that I could intellectually bring something to the table that he couldn’t.

After that dream last night, I was reminded that my ability to recognize my own talents is fragile. I will question “if I’m any good” when I compare myself to others, especially others who excel in writing. I’ve never been a competitive person; in some ways, it could be a detriment to me. But just the same, the fear of seeming “less” to someone you want to seem “more” to, will also reign supreme.