I love my dog. Further to that, I love most dogs. However, my dog doesn't always love other dogs, and conversely, other dogs don't always love my dog.
As a somewhat fitness-conscious dog owner, I often try to avoid the lazy option of simply letting my dog out in the yard by taking him on long walks around the neighborhood instead. I happen to live on a relatively dog-populated street, as evidenced by the fact that every time my little buddy and I go for a walk, we experience at least 3 or 4 doggie encounters. Sometimes these go well, but other times, my dog will start barking like crazy and lunging towards the other dog, or vice versa, causing a situation that's uncomfortable bordering on potentially dangerous for the smaller dog at hand (usually mine).
When I can tell that my dog isn't going to get along well with the dog up ahead on the street, I do what I'd like to think is the smart thing: I hold him firmly by the leash, stop him from running down the block, and embark on an alternate route to avoid an unpleasant encounter.
Unfortunately, not all dog owners are smart enough to employ this type of thinking.
Case in point: just yesterday, I was walking my dog back towards our house when we saw a rather large member of the canine family coming towards us up the block. The dogs began barking aggressively at one another from afar, but at this point, a change in course was not an option for us as we were pretty much in front of my house.
As I fumbled for my keys and struggled to hold my dog in place as the much bigger fellow approached, I tried making eye contact with the owner as if to say "Hey, could you be a pal and maybe take your giant of a dog over to the other side of the street? Normally I'd move my guy out of the way, but clearly, I live here, and even more clearly, your dog looks like he's about to make my dog his dinner." Instead, all that owner could come up with was a futile tug at the leash as his dog came charging towards me and my fourteen pound companion.
I'll admit that I got kind of pissed. As the guy struggled to calm his dog down, I scooped my little guy up off of the sidewalk and held him so that this barking beast couldn't touch him. Now keep in mind that if it weren't for the fact that he was trying to rip my doggie to shreds, I would've actually found the monster dog to be quite wonderful. After all, I love big dogs; what I don't love is idiot owners who don't have the common sense to move their big dogs to the other side of the street so that an owner and her little dog can safely enter their house without getting clobbered.
In the end, the guy managed to control his dog long enough to remove him from my lawn and eventually make their way down the street and away from my home. Still, throughout the encounter, the guy said nothing. No "sorry 'bout that," no "don't worry, he won't bite." Nothing.
You'd think that someone with a dog the size of a motorbike would be a bit more considerate when it comes to dog-related boundaries. But you know what they say about thinking...if you're the only one doing it, then it really doesn't help.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Speed limits
I don’t think most people truly understand the concept of the speed limit.
This statement is based on the idiots who grace the roads of New Jersey and have a tendency to slam on their breaks and come as close as possible to a complete stop every time they see a cop on the road. Can somebody please explain to these people that as long as they slow down to the posted speed limit, they will not receive a ticket for speeding unless they were already caught doing the pre-cop sighting speed, in which case they’re screwed anyway and might as well not hold up the rest of us?
Seriously, what is wrong with these people? If the speed limit is 65 and you spot a cop up ahead while you’re cruising along at 80, then slow down to 65, not zero. It’s a very simple concept that many drivers do not seem to get.
Of course, then you’ve got the opposite extreme: those people who decide to view the speed limit as more of a recommendation than a legally-enforceable guideline. Now I usually don’t have a problem with the people who choose to do 90 in a 65 zone since a) they help maintain the flow of traffic, and b) they serve as a benchmark in terms of my own speed limit abuse.
However, lately I’ve come to get annoyed at these people too, because what inevitably happens is that they do get caught for not only blatantly ignoring the speed limit, but for basically saying “screw you” to the often-vigilant enforcers thereof. The result is a pulled-over speed demon on the side of the road, coupled with the warning lights of a police car flashing away. This, in turn, prompts the moderate speeders to engage in the aforementioned “slam and stop” method, which ends up causing heavy delays for the rest of us who are actually in somewhat of a hurry to get to wherever we happen to be headed.
It’s a vicious cycle really, and the only way to break it is to educate drivers on what the words “speed limit” actually mean and how flexible they can usually be with the term.
I wonder if the root of the problem is poor driving skills or poor language comprehension…when it comes to New Jersey, it can really be hard to tell.
This statement is based on the idiots who grace the roads of New Jersey and have a tendency to slam on their breaks and come as close as possible to a complete stop every time they see a cop on the road. Can somebody please explain to these people that as long as they slow down to the posted speed limit, they will not receive a ticket for speeding unless they were already caught doing the pre-cop sighting speed, in which case they’re screwed anyway and might as well not hold up the rest of us?
Seriously, what is wrong with these people? If the speed limit is 65 and you spot a cop up ahead while you’re cruising along at 80, then slow down to 65, not zero. It’s a very simple concept that many drivers do not seem to get.
Of course, then you’ve got the opposite extreme: those people who decide to view the speed limit as more of a recommendation than a legally-enforceable guideline. Now I usually don’t have a problem with the people who choose to do 90 in a 65 zone since a) they help maintain the flow of traffic, and b) they serve as a benchmark in terms of my own speed limit abuse.
However, lately I’ve come to get annoyed at these people too, because what inevitably happens is that they do get caught for not only blatantly ignoring the speed limit, but for basically saying “screw you” to the often-vigilant enforcers thereof. The result is a pulled-over speed demon on the side of the road, coupled with the warning lights of a police car flashing away. This, in turn, prompts the moderate speeders to engage in the aforementioned “slam and stop” method, which ends up causing heavy delays for the rest of us who are actually in somewhat of a hurry to get to wherever we happen to be headed.
It’s a vicious cycle really, and the only way to break it is to educate drivers on what the words “speed limit” actually mean and how flexible they can usually be with the term.
I wonder if the root of the problem is poor driving skills or poor language comprehension…when it comes to New Jersey, it can really be hard to tell.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Mosquitoes
Mosquitoes suck.
I woke up about seven times last night to a series of intolerable itching sensations all along my left foot and leg. Then this morning I discovered the icing on the mosquito-branded cake: two itchy, visible mosquito bites along the left side of my face.
I don’t know what this particular mosquito had against me or the left side of my body, but right now, I’m as uncomfortable as heck.
I’ve already been warned by a couple of friends to resist the urge to scratch the bites. Sure, put it on me to exercise self-control. Meanwhile, my mosquito buddy spent half the night on an uncontrollable stinging spree, digging his way into the delicious goodness of my flesh over and over again while I slept. What an asshole. Yes, I know I just called a mosquito an asshole, and that that sounds kind of weird, but if you could really understand the extent of itchiness that I am currently experiencing, then you’d also have some choice words for the creature who put you in this position.
Oh, and if one more person gives me that line about how the mosquito went after me because I’m so sweet, I will seriously hurl. No, better yet, I’ll make a point of capturing a mosquito and unleashing it against he or she who dares to utter that trite load of bull crap, because despite the solid logic behind that line of thinking, I don’t think my mosquito buddy went after me because I’m sweet, I think he went after me because I was an easy target, a tired woman who wanted nothing more than to experience a few hours of solid REM sleep before waking up the next morning to tackle the world.
So yeah, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that last night’s mosquito was a real asshole, and if I dare catch him fluttering around my house today, then rest assured, he will pay. Oh yes. He will pay.
I woke up about seven times last night to a series of intolerable itching sensations all along my left foot and leg. Then this morning I discovered the icing on the mosquito-branded cake: two itchy, visible mosquito bites along the left side of my face.
I don’t know what this particular mosquito had against me or the left side of my body, but right now, I’m as uncomfortable as heck.
I’ve already been warned by a couple of friends to resist the urge to scratch the bites. Sure, put it on me to exercise self-control. Meanwhile, my mosquito buddy spent half the night on an uncontrollable stinging spree, digging his way into the delicious goodness of my flesh over and over again while I slept. What an asshole. Yes, I know I just called a mosquito an asshole, and that that sounds kind of weird, but if you could really understand the extent of itchiness that I am currently experiencing, then you’d also have some choice words for the creature who put you in this position.
Oh, and if one more person gives me that line about how the mosquito went after me because I’m so sweet, I will seriously hurl. No, better yet, I’ll make a point of capturing a mosquito and unleashing it against he or she who dares to utter that trite load of bull crap, because despite the solid logic behind that line of thinking, I don’t think my mosquito buddy went after me because I’m sweet, I think he went after me because I was an easy target, a tired woman who wanted nothing more than to experience a few hours of solid REM sleep before waking up the next morning to tackle the world.
So yeah, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that last night’s mosquito was a real asshole, and if I dare catch him fluttering around my house today, then rest assured, he will pay. Oh yes. He will pay.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Noise
I moved to the suburbs several years ago to escape the craziness of New York City.
That's right, I did the unthinkable: I moved from an exciting, thriving city to sunny and scenic New Jersey. And when my friends, family, and pretty much everyone I knew gave me a hard time about this decision, I defended myself by pointing out the (few) nice things that New Jersey has to offer: beaches, shopping malls, and - in stark contrast to NYC - peace and quiet.
Now that I've been here for a number of years, I've learned that beach visits are synonymous with crazy traffic, and that shopping malls are far from enjoyable. (The last time I went to a mall, I was accosted by three different kiosk salespeople in a series of futile attempts to sell their overpriced skin care products. People, look at me - I barely own lipstick. Do I seem like the type of person who's going to shell out 49 dollars for eye cream?)
The one thing, however, that New Jersey has continued to offer me throughout the years is peace and quiet in the form of a quaint residential neighborhood - which is why I seriously began to lose it this morning when I found myself faced with the same obstacle I've been tackling all week: NOISE.
First came the lawn care people and their annoyingly-loud leaf-blowers. Then came the landscapers down the block, who must have been building a retaining wall the size of a small apartment complex based on the amount of noise they were generating. Last, but certainly not least, came the merry band of FiOS installers to rip up half the street in order to install fiber optic cables that nobody on the block is likely to want. (The average age of my neighbors is about 72...not exactly a technology-embracing crowd.)
My whole day has been a nonstop chorus of leaf-blowers buzzing, landscapers banging, and fios workers ripping up the ground in the form of the jackhammer ho-down.
This pisses me off - a lot.
If I wanted noise, then I'd move back to the city and spend my days surrounded by the sounds of sirens wailing and cell phones ringing and subways roaring by every other minute. I moved to New Jersey to avoid all of that stuff, and so my tolerance for noise is, at best, limited, bordering on non-existent.
I realize that today was quite the anomaly, but I think the local government ought to impose restrictions on how much noise is allowed to simultaneously be generated outside of the same individual house. However, I've been here long enough to realize that such a thing will never happen. After all, this is New Jersey. Enough said.
That's right, I did the unthinkable: I moved from an exciting, thriving city to sunny and scenic New Jersey. And when my friends, family, and pretty much everyone I knew gave me a hard time about this decision, I defended myself by pointing out the (few) nice things that New Jersey has to offer: beaches, shopping malls, and - in stark contrast to NYC - peace and quiet.
Now that I've been here for a number of years, I've learned that beach visits are synonymous with crazy traffic, and that shopping malls are far from enjoyable. (The last time I went to a mall, I was accosted by three different kiosk salespeople in a series of futile attempts to sell their overpriced skin care products. People, look at me - I barely own lipstick. Do I seem like the type of person who's going to shell out 49 dollars for eye cream?)
The one thing, however, that New Jersey has continued to offer me throughout the years is peace and quiet in the form of a quaint residential neighborhood - which is why I seriously began to lose it this morning when I found myself faced with the same obstacle I've been tackling all week: NOISE.
First came the lawn care people and their annoyingly-loud leaf-blowers. Then came the landscapers down the block, who must have been building a retaining wall the size of a small apartment complex based on the amount of noise they were generating. Last, but certainly not least, came the merry band of FiOS installers to rip up half the street in order to install fiber optic cables that nobody on the block is likely to want. (The average age of my neighbors is about 72...not exactly a technology-embracing crowd.)
My whole day has been a nonstop chorus of leaf-blowers buzzing, landscapers banging, and fios workers ripping up the ground in the form of the jackhammer ho-down.
This pisses me off - a lot.
If I wanted noise, then I'd move back to the city and spend my days surrounded by the sounds of sirens wailing and cell phones ringing and subways roaring by every other minute. I moved to New Jersey to avoid all of that stuff, and so my tolerance for noise is, at best, limited, bordering on non-existent.
I realize that today was quite the anomaly, but I think the local government ought to impose restrictions on how much noise is allowed to simultaneously be generated outside of the same individual house. However, I've been here long enough to realize that such a thing will never happen. After all, this is New Jersey. Enough said.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Computer
I'm convinced that my computer truly has a mind of its own.
Somehow, it just magically knows when to freeze, or disconnect from the Internet, or shut down for some kind of unknown update, all at the most inopportune times.
Just yesterday, I was smack in the middle of an inspired series of thoughts when BAM - Mr. Computer stopped responding. I tried waiting it out while frantically repeating my thoughts out loud so as not to lose them (after all, who needs a notebook and pen on hand when you've got a computer?), but after several minutes of that routine, I found myself trapped in a personal game of broken telephone. By the time my computer decided to snap out of it, my initially-brilliant ideas were, for the most part, gone.
And seriously, what's the deal with all of these so called "automatic" updates? If they're so "automatic" then why isn't there any detectable pattern as to when they'll suddenly activate? I tell you, it all just lends to my theory that computers are secretly evil, spiteful machines that thrive on their collective ability to slap you in the face when you least expect it.
In fact, my computer has frozen three, yes, three times between the moment I started typing this entry and right now. If you ask me, my computer was just trying to prevent me from exposing it as the vengeance-seeking monster it truly is. Well I sure showed Mr. Computer who's boss by not giving up and continuing to type despite the 12-second delay between me pushing each key and a character's subsequent appearance on my screen.
Having said that, I really ought to post this thing before he starts acting up again...
Somehow, it just magically knows when to freeze, or disconnect from the Internet, or shut down for some kind of unknown update, all at the most inopportune times.
Just yesterday, I was smack in the middle of an inspired series of thoughts when BAM - Mr. Computer stopped responding. I tried waiting it out while frantically repeating my thoughts out loud so as not to lose them (after all, who needs a notebook and pen on hand when you've got a computer?), but after several minutes of that routine, I found myself trapped in a personal game of broken telephone. By the time my computer decided to snap out of it, my initially-brilliant ideas were, for the most part, gone.
And seriously, what's the deal with all of these so called "automatic" updates? If they're so "automatic" then why isn't there any detectable pattern as to when they'll suddenly activate? I tell you, it all just lends to my theory that computers are secretly evil, spiteful machines that thrive on their collective ability to slap you in the face when you least expect it.
In fact, my computer has frozen three, yes, three times between the moment I started typing this entry and right now. If you ask me, my computer was just trying to prevent me from exposing it as the vengeance-seeking monster it truly is. Well I sure showed Mr. Computer who's boss by not giving up and continuing to type despite the 12-second delay between me pushing each key and a character's subsequent appearance on my screen.
Having said that, I really ought to post this thing before he starts acting up again...
Monday, June 1, 2009
Moving
I spent most of yesterday helping a friend move into her new Hoboken, NJ apartment...her new 4th floor walk-up apartment, that is.
I knew going into it that things were going to be difficult, what with my very limited strength coupled with the likelihood of me dropping boxes labeled "fragile" at various intervals throughout the process. Still, with the aid of several dedicated helpers, we managed to move everything up all 4 floors without breaking any fingers or furniture (minus one expensive-looking bookcase...d'oh).
Even though this technically wasn't my move, I would still like to offer up a very special Thank You to certain key players involved:
First, I'd like to thank the asshole who decided to ignore the sign in front of the building that read "No parking Sunday from 11:30am-2:30pm; out of state move in progress." Without you, we wouldn't have been able to increase our collective workout by instead having to park all the way around the corner, thereby forcing us to drag loads of furniture down the block before embarking upwards on 4 flights of stairs. Thanks, buddy - you just made things so much easier on all of us.
Next, I'd like to thank the person who decided to store his bike in the very narrow hallway leading from the top of the stairwell towards my friend's corner unit. Oh, and an extra special thank you for locking the bike in place so that throughout the process, it couldn't be budged. That really helped us hone our "on the spot" space management skills. You're the best.
Finally, I'd like to thank the building manager for his uneven, often crooked, poorly-maintained stairs. Hoisting that queen-sized mattress over my head and maneuvering it up the stairs was so much easier when my body suddenly found itself standing at a 45-degree angle. Oh, and those super small stairwells were also supremely fabulous when it came to fitting furniture around corners. (Think back to that classic Friends episode where they're trying to move Ross's couch up the stairs and he keeps on telling the others to "pivot" - let's just say that we did our fair share of pivoting, and then some.) It was also so comforting to feel the steps below my feet start to give way as I tried to get that 40-pound bookcase up to that final landing; that really inspired me to hustle, which is an easy thing to do when you're holding a 40-pound bookcase and you're on step number 64 of 72 and your entire body is sweating so profusely that the furniture item in question is as close as can be to slipping out of your hands and plummeting down the unsteady staircase.
So as you can see, what we accomplished was no small feat. As for the above-mentioned people involved...don't worry, your karma will catch up with you in no time.
And with that...must...take...Advil...
I knew going into it that things were going to be difficult, what with my very limited strength coupled with the likelihood of me dropping boxes labeled "fragile" at various intervals throughout the process. Still, with the aid of several dedicated helpers, we managed to move everything up all 4 floors without breaking any fingers or furniture (minus one expensive-looking bookcase...d'oh).
Even though this technically wasn't my move, I would still like to offer up a very special Thank You to certain key players involved:
First, I'd like to thank the asshole who decided to ignore the sign in front of the building that read "No parking Sunday from 11:30am-2:30pm; out of state move in progress." Without you, we wouldn't have been able to increase our collective workout by instead having to park all the way around the corner, thereby forcing us to drag loads of furniture down the block before embarking upwards on 4 flights of stairs. Thanks, buddy - you just made things so much easier on all of us.
Next, I'd like to thank the person who decided to store his bike in the very narrow hallway leading from the top of the stairwell towards my friend's corner unit. Oh, and an extra special thank you for locking the bike in place so that throughout the process, it couldn't be budged. That really helped us hone our "on the spot" space management skills. You're the best.
Finally, I'd like to thank the building manager for his uneven, often crooked, poorly-maintained stairs. Hoisting that queen-sized mattress over my head and maneuvering it up the stairs was so much easier when my body suddenly found itself standing at a 45-degree angle. Oh, and those super small stairwells were also supremely fabulous when it came to fitting furniture around corners. (Think back to that classic Friends episode where they're trying to move Ross's couch up the stairs and he keeps on telling the others to "pivot" - let's just say that we did our fair share of pivoting, and then some.) It was also so comforting to feel the steps below my feet start to give way as I tried to get that 40-pound bookcase up to that final landing; that really inspired me to hustle, which is an easy thing to do when you're holding a 40-pound bookcase and you're on step number 64 of 72 and your entire body is sweating so profusely that the furniture item in question is as close as can be to slipping out of your hands and plummeting down the unsteady staircase.
So as you can see, what we accomplished was no small feat. As for the above-mentioned people involved...don't worry, your karma will catch up with you in no time.
And with that...must...take...Advil...
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