C-Level Meetings with Automakers

The other day I saw the CMO of Pontiac and the CEO of Hyundai. They live in the West Village. I didn't talk to them, but based on a series of details I was able to infer their jobs. The one guy was driving a two-seat Pontiac roadster in the village. I'd never seen one before, and at first I was very puzzled as to why any human with enough disposable cash to buy a high-end roadster would purchase a Pontiac, and that's when I realized: this guy has to be the CMO of Pontiac. There's no other logical reason someone would own that vehicle. A bit later I saw the CEO of Hyundai. There was a boxy car backing out of a garage in the West Village. A garage in the West Village! Owning a garage in that neighborhood is the equivalent of owning three Lamborghinis anywhere else in the world: it speaks to tremendous wealth. When I got close enough I saw the man was driving a Hyundai of some indeterminate high-end model I'd never seen. The reason I'd never seen one? No one who can afford a luxury car would ever buy a Hyundai luxury car...except the CEO of Hyundai. Why? Because he has to.

Citi Bike Radiocarbon Dating

A guy riding a Citi Bike just in front of me was in the wrong place (the bike lane) when a car decided to make an aggressive lane change (into the bike lane) so that he could pass a taxi and wait at a red light for a little bit longer. The Citi biker put his had out and braced himself against the side of the car, and then when the car pulled away, the biker went for a ride over his handlebars and cartwheeled for a few feet. His bike cartwheeled right along with him, and when he stood up, instead of doubling over in pain, he grabbed the back wheel of his bike, dragged it to the car that had hit him, and punched in the guy's sideview mirror. I rode past slow enough for a good rubberneck and saw the driver putting his car in park. On the next street I saw three oyster deliver vans, and on the next I saw a Christmas-themed film being shot with about 20 pedicabs. What's interesting to me is that now these filmmakers have to contend with Citi Bikes. They're part of the cityscape in the same way cabs are. And like cabs, we'll soon be able to use the style of Citi Bike in a film to date it. Fifteen years from now I'll be watching the latest comic book film reboot and see a guy pedaling past on a big blue Citi bike and say, "Hey, I saw a guy on a bike like that punch out a mirror once. This was shot in 2014."

Let's Take a Day Off From the Gym

I'm trying to figure out why I go to the gym. I go there once a week and lift weights, which is the exact frequency you should lift weights if you want to be sore every time you go and never see any results. I suppose I go for my health. But, that argument is hard to reconcile with the alarming amount of fried, processed, and triple-distilled things I consume on a regular basis. It could be because I find some inherent joy in exercise, but the truth is that I spend most of my workout thinking about how annoying everyone is at the gym. If I'm being honest, part of me is driven to go so that I can rationalize all of my unhealthy activity. "Try a deep-fried hamburger? Sure, I worked out today!"

Starbucks & Hudson Hawk

I was walking past a Starbucks the other day while thinking about the Bruce Willis comedy Hudson Hawk, and for the first time I saw the link between the rise of this coffee empire and this 1991 movie. The premise of the movie is simple: a cat burglar is released from prison and begins plans to steal something. Or I think that was the premise. I haven't seen the movie since 1992, and the only thing I remember about it is that Bruce Willis was obsessed with cappuccino and one of the film's running gags was that it was impossible for him to get his hands on one. Starbucks was uniquely positioned to not only take advantage of the American market's exposure to cappuccino, but also the anxiety-driven purchase decision central to Hudson Hawk: If I can get a cappuccino, I better buy it now. Then once people were used to paying $4 for a coffee, all that was left for Starbucks to do was to start selling franchises and cashing checks.

Did You See That?

When I moved to New York City I landed at JFK, took the subway to Grand Central, and then walked four blocks south to my friend's place carrying my suitcase and a laundry bag full of folded clothes. On that walk from the train station to my friend's I passed a guy surrounded by cops and medics lying on a stretcher in a pool of blood. One of the cops said he'd been stabbed. I didn't think twice about it. It's New York. People get stabbed. Of course, I now know that people do not get stabbed in Midtown on a Monday afternoon. But I was so ready to accept anything that everything seemed normal. Boring even, something to be brushed off. I was recalling that short walk a while back and thought, "I'd be shocked if I saw that today." Since then I've walked past potholes in the street belching black smoke, two inches of neon sludge in a gutter, and I saw half a block evacuated due to the smell of natural gas. None of those struck me as odd either, and now that I'm reflecting on it, maybe I should be more appalled by the things happening around me. The next time I see something crazy, a man hitting golf balls in the middle of the street or a person on the subway trying to move a king size mattress and box spring, for example, I'm going to try to react appropriately by yelling, taking photos, and asking why no one is doing anything. Then, at least I'll have covered both ends of the spectrum.

Welcome To Underwater Spin Class

Underwater spin classes are a thing. There's a studio in SoHo that has a bunch of bikes in a pool. The water's supposed to come up to about your neck, and you pedal away in your swimsuit while someone shouts instructions at you and your classmates. There are a few things that came to mind when I heard about this: 1. What happens when a really short person joins the spin class? Do they get a snorkel if their head doesn't stick out of the water? 2. What happens to everyone's sweat? That's more of a rhetorical question. We all know that this pool's liquid is about half sweat at any given times. They must buy chlorine by the barrel at this place. No matter how thirsty you get, don't drink the pool water. And finally, 3. What will the headline of the NY Post be if the spin instructor's stereo falls into the pool and electrocutes everyone in the class? Shocking Cardio Workout Kills 12, or Spin Fad To Die For.

Rent Is Due

I pay rent on the 10th each month. They say it's late if you pay after the last of the month, but every single person in our 7000-unit apartment complex knows they won't charge you a late fee until the 11th. So, on the evening of each 10th, I walk over to the dropbox and leave my check. And, of all the thousands of people living here, I see the same three other people doing the exact same thing each month. The dropbox is right next to a couple apartment windows, and tonight I was walking there with my dog. When I was next to the window I noticed my dog had something in his mouth, but I couldn't tell what it was since we were standing in the dark. So, in a very even, but stern and loud voice I shouted "DROP IT." He did not comply, so again, I said, "DROP IT NOW." I heard some commotion inside the apartment and realized that I sounded like a cop yelling at a gunman. But, since I do not live in Florida, no one shot out the window at me and I was able to leave in peace.

The Dog Walker

One of my friends hired a dog walker to get their pup some exercise during the day. The dog walker assured him that he was very thorough and would get to know the dog and report on all its activities. I'm not sure my friend was prepared for the level of thoroughness, because he didn't respond favorably when the dog walker texted him a photo of his dog's poop. And then another, and at least one more every time he took the dog for a walk. That's a level of reportage you don't get too many places. I wonder what the dog walker's camera roll looks like on his phone. He either spends a few minutes every day deleting photos of dog poop, or he has to scroll through dozens of dog poop photos every time he wants to show someone a picture that's not dog poop.

I Have To Leave Early

I told my boss I had to leave early to go to a Thom Yorke concert. I meant Peter Yorn. I know who Thom Yorke is, and I know nothing of Peter Yorn, but for reasons beyond my comprehension those two names are linked in my brain. This might sound like a judgement about the concert, but it's not. It's an observation. The Peter Yorn concert was the whitest thing I've ever seen. It was such a large group of bearded, flannel-wearing, white people. It was jarring to observe in the middle of New York. I have to admit that feeling may have been amplified because it felt like I looked like everyone else there. Anyway, I never noticed so many people taking Instagram photos during the first few minutes of a show. I found myself looking at all the phone screens people were holding up in front of me and looking at their shots instead of watching the show. I took a moment to recognize the woman next to me, because she pulled out an actual camera to take a photo. I thought, here's a woman more interested in capturing this moment than proving to her Internet friends how cool she is. Then, a few minutes later, I saw her pull out her phone. I wasn't trying to see her pull out her phone, but it was so large and bright that even a person in low Earth orbit couldn't help but see it. I saw some settings adjusted, then a status bar, and I realized she was synching her phone with her camera and downloading all the photos she'd just shot on the camera. Then I saw her open Instagram and post about 15 shots. So, Thom Yorke, Peter Yorn, Instagram, Cameras, whatever. It was a fun show.

The List of Big Problems

I read yesterday that The Gate, an excellent beer bar in south Brooklyn, was no longer allowing dogs after another health code violation. I used to go to The Gate once a month or so when I lived out that way. I remember the happy coincidence of walking in twice on cask brew week years ago. My friends Brian and Jules and I met there once and agreed to launch the now long-defunct blog Park Slope on a Rope with an initial $5 investment each. The blog never turned a profit. So, I was surprised yesterday to learn that they'd ever allowed dogs. Since Drop Off Service and the 11th St Bar banned dogs with the Bloomberg-era health inspections, I've been trying to find a place to hangout with my mutt, Otis. I started to get really down on myself for not knowing about The Gate, I would have made my way out there with Otis if I'd known he could hang. But the more it upset me, the more I realized that the most inconvenient thing in my life right now is that there isn't a bar where I can hangout with my dog. And on the scale of bad things, that's about the best problem I could imagine. So then I was happy. Until I started thinking that it could only go downhill from here. I'll try to remember this as the high water mark.

It's Time For A Very Important Meeting

I would seldom interact with clients at my old job. Most of it was sitting behind a computer, talking to stakeholders inside the company, and producing work. So, when we'd have a meeting with people who didn't work for our company, my immediate colleagues and I would all get bent out of shape about our schedule conflicts, but they weren't real conflicts, they were things like we were planning to go to the gym or we had an appointment at the Genius Bar. We'd sort out our conflicts over the course of a week, then on the day of the meeting, we'd all show up with collared shirts and jeans not too visibly worn or with holes large enough that you could see anything bad. One particular meeting I remember there were even a couple dresses worn. We had started gathering just a minute before the meeting because we realized we had no idea where it was, and at the same moment the phones on all our desks rang. We stood there with piles of business cards and printouts of our PowerPoint decks, and it took us a few moments to realize that we'd all dressed up for a meeting that was being held over the phone. That was how we found out about phone meetings, and no one ever had to dress up again.