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Notes from the Soggy Underground

April 7, 2015 in City Matters, Etiquette Matters, Style Matters

Four seemingly unrelated observations that consumed my soggy journey home tonight. (No doubt a Jungian scholar could tease out a few useful connections.) 1. Regarding John Travolta’s nonresponse to “Going Clear,” I’d love it if just once a zombie-celeb actually read or watched some criticism of Scientology before rushing to the defense of their cult. 2. Umbrella, subway, smartphone, tipping, and sidewalk etiquette certification should be required of all NYC residents and visitors. 3. This spring’s fashion can best be described as Blade Runner Chic. It’s all futuristic noir, 1940s-style punk, Victorian blouses, white-blond shocks of hair, dark pompadours, impossibly narrow silhouettes, bright lips, black-rimmed eyes, platform shoes. I dig it all so much that I cut my hair and bought (more) red lipstick. 4. I’m still laughing about people’s responses to the shearing of my mermaid tresses: “Your hair was far too long before.” Even my shrink said this. Word to Mattel: Can the plans for Fortysomething Barbie.

The Fairest of Them All

November 23, 2014 in Etiquette Matters, Feminist Matters

I woke up laughing today. I’d dreamed that someone had (nastily) said to me, “Your ass is getting fatter” and I’d replied, “Thank God.” I’m still laughing as I write this–the person was so devastated I wasn’t devastated!–but it does make me think. What would happen if we all, especially women, unplugged from caring what others thought of our looks? A negative (hell, even a positive) evaluation of our attractiveness is often the most powerful weapon in a saboteur’s arsenal. Imagine how much we each could get done if we stripped others (and ourselves) of that power.

Putting the Pee in Passive-Aggressive

November 11, 2014 in City Matters, Etiquette Matters

A one-act play to describe the general vibe of this day.

Scene 1: Chase Bank, 8th Avenue. Me, laden with three bags. She: Clad in workout gear, very high ponytail, mirrored glasses. Her head and hands buried in smartphone, she cuts in front of me and then lets bank door hit my face before I can rearrange my bags to catch it.

Me: Rude.
She: You know what’s ruder? Telling someone they’re rude!
Me: You know what’s ruder than telling someone they’re rude? Letting the door bang on them and then telling them they’re rude when they say you’re rude.
She: Get a life!
Me: I have one. And it’s not rude!

Scene 2: Subway entrance, 8th avenue, three minutes later.

She (appearing out of nowhere, cutting in front of me again): I hope you’re less crazy now.
Me (walking behind her half a step, deliberately): Sooo much less crazy. Thank you! It’s because I have you as a model. And you’re so sane, so pretty, so gracious, so kind….(I am still listing positive adjectives as she hurries away).

Epilogue:

Me (addressing imaginary audience that follows us all in the age of social media): Yes, I have put the aggressive back in passive-aggressive. No, I am not proud of my role in this story. Yes, I am still laughing. (Giant hook appears and yanks me offstage. Obviously.)  Om-shanti’d, I’m sure!

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy