On Wishin' and Hopin'

And Thinkin' and Prayin'

Although we may deserve love, life, and the pursuit of happiness, We Can't Always Get What We Want when and how we want them, but that doesn't mean we won't cross their paths. This just means we should Be Careful What We Wish For because pennies thrown into dilapidated fountains and wishes made on the occasional urban star just might, like the infrequent fairytale, come true, and then we're stuck with the consequences. Enjoy!

On Oil and Vinegar

(Marriage and Religion.)

When my mother walked my five-year-old self into the synagogue and asked if I wanted to stay for the next seven years, the mass of nameless kindergarten-age faces was enough to send any pre-elementary-school-age child in the direction of Sunday morning cartoons and barbie-doll orientated play dates. And in spite of my ill-informed decision to choose the familiar over the strange, the fate of my own unborn children has yet to be determined. Chances are, it will consist of Christmas trees, Hanukah prayers and a whole lot of Thanks(giving) for having the freedom to decide. Enjoy!

On Muses of the Past

The Local Library.

I spent the majority of my elementary school years writing reports on two topics: George Washington and the Dominican Republic. By fifth grade, the tracing paper was an insult to my flag-replicating skills, and I knew the exact shelf (in the back, on the right-hand side in the Children's Sections) of the 9th Street Public Library (see photo to the right) on which the usual, dusty DR books awaited my annual check-out. Today, I imagine those books still sit, dustier than ever, since most children have abandoned the back, right-hand side (perhaps rightfully so) for google/bing/kindles and the chance to learn twice as much, twice as fast. How lucky and unlucky they are, without even realizing the double edge of the (electronic) sword with which they trace their own flags today. Enjoy!

On Human Decay

Embracing the Inevitable.

An entire beauty industry has preyed on our fear of the inevitable: the aging process. What if, instead of worrying about the wrinkles that can't be stopped or the gray hairs that pepper our youthful brown/gold/blond locks, we embrace these changes as a sign of wisdom and experience instead of despair and regret? The long life still ahead of us would most definitely be more pleasurable and, chances are, the aging process might even be slowed down a bit. Difficult, I know, but words of wisdom far superior to the alternative. Enjoy!

On Maslow's (Insulting) Hierarchy of Needs

Another Longitudinal Hierarchy Gone Wrong.

While there is ample scientific evidence to support the intrinsic causes of human motivation, we pride ourselves on our individuality and the subsequent unique paths we carve out for ourselves. So when psychologists start spouting theories about - brace yourselves - the ultimate human desire to procreate, it's not surprising that folks have something to say about it. Still, there's also evidence about thinking before speaking and, so, a word to the wise to hear out both sides of the debate before casting yourself aside as a Maslow outcast. Enjoy!

On New Joisey

A Rivalry that Predates Reason.

Leave it to Jersey to get bent out of shape over a nickname that isn't even Dirty Jerz. We let your origin-of-childhood white lies slip by since, hey, anyone north/south/east/west of here probably can't tell the difference, even though we know the truth: You Are Not From New York City. And when Tony Soprano gave Sunday night a new sense of hope, we refused to fast forward through the opening credits because deep down inside us, we felt a budding respect for the New Jersey Turnpike. And, if given an opportunity, we'd gladly exchange a day at Brooklyn's enticing yet dingy Coney Island for a once-in-a-summer chance to lay out on the clean, well-kept Jersey Shore. So cut us some slack, read your history book (or this article), and know it ain't personal. Enjoy!

On Being Impolite

NYC Subway Etiquette 101.

One would think it's an unspoken rule that subway comradery is a misdemeanor since, as most New Yorkers can relate, transit commuters tend to err on the side of straight-up-rude. During rush hour, Grand and Canal (Street) stops are notorious for riot-like bombardments during which patrons hoping to exit the car risk the possibility of missing their stop. When seats actually are available, the joyous feeling of having won something unexpected (synonymous with winning five cents on a scratch-n-sniff) is quickly dissipated by the realization that hours-old droplets of an inconsiderate coffee drinker have tainted the well-deserved (and much-needed) prize. Pregnant women? Don't get your hopes up. Feeling sick? I dread the day. And yet we suck it up because payback's a biatch and it sure beats the Wheels on the Bus. Enjoy!