Canines in the city; love them or hate them, they are here to stay. If you hate dogs and the people who own them, you should have thought about that before living in a city of 8 million potential pet owners. Move to Westchester, where you can hit the pedal to the metal on your BMW as you zoom past isolated, bougie mansions.
New York has many laws in place to protect the rights of dog owners. But there are also responsibilities to uphold, namely, picking up after your little pooper. If you have a tiny Chihuahua, it may be acceptable to skip the pooper-scooper action every once in a while. (Some people may object, taking the view that a little poop goes a long way). But there is no way that you can allow your Lab or Husky dog to let loose with a steaming pile of doo and simply walk away. This kind of negligence ruins it for everyone. It can also earn you a $250 ticket if an enraged sanitation worker happens to be tooling by in his little white car.
Although no one loves picking up piles of turds, if you take on the responsibility of being a pet owner in an urban area, you have to clean up after your dog. Even if you’re at a park, be it dog or regular. Some people buy special scented bags and bone- or hydrant-shaped holders that clip onto their leash. Others look forward to the delivery of Kohl’s circulars to stock up on their supply of tiny poopy bags. And still others believe that it is a good idea to slide a piece of newspaper under a dog’s ass to catch the poop as it falls. This method has always seemed to me like it would lead to a neurotic dog, but live and let live, I say. The main point is that if you dog shits, you need to pick it up. Wrap it up good, and put it in a public trash can. Because some people can get really shitty about shit.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Accidental Electrocution
By far, New Yorkers’ number one fear is accidental electrocution (I have absolutely no data to support this claim). Ever since 30-year old grad student Jodie Lane got killed by the electrically charged Con Edison manhole cover while walking her dogs in the East Village, people have used more caution in dealing with street utilities. But it still happens—like this January in Park Slope, when a man Aric Roman and his dog Cruzer were nearly the victims of what Con Ed calls, “stray voltage.” Random electrical currents build up in surrounding metal objects like lampposts and fire hydrants, and move through wet or icy pavement. The currents can even travel through salt paths created from de-icers placed on snowy sidewalks.
Although it’s highly unlikely that you will be electrocuted while innocently walking down the street, it’s not impossible. To the end of avoiding said fate, don’t walk over the Con Edison metal street plates. As long as you are doing that, you might as well avoid stepping on the subway grates, as people sometimes fall six feet into the sidewalk when they give way. You should also exercise caution when treading over the bouncy cellar doors outside of local businesses. It's fun, but they are century-old metal grates with only a rusted iron bar keeping you from landing in a heap in the basement of a bodega.
While you’re avoiding all those other dangers, steer clear of any open covers or exposed wires on streetlights, and keep your dog from urinating on them and accidentally getting electrocuted. New York has 94,000 miles of underground cables, making the sidewalks a veritable death trap! For more info, visit Blair Sorrel’s blog, StreetZaps.com.
Although it’s highly unlikely that you will be electrocuted while innocently walking down the street, it’s not impossible. To the end of avoiding said fate, don’t walk over the Con Edison metal street plates. As long as you are doing that, you might as well avoid stepping on the subway grates, as people sometimes fall six feet into the sidewalk when they give way. You should also exercise caution when treading over the bouncy cellar doors outside of local businesses. It's fun, but they are century-old metal grates with only a rusted iron bar keeping you from landing in a heap in the basement of a bodega.
While you’re avoiding all those other dangers, steer clear of any open covers or exposed wires on streetlights, and keep your dog from urinating on them and accidentally getting electrocuted. New York has 94,000 miles of underground cables, making the sidewalks a veritable death trap! For more info, visit Blair Sorrel’s blog, StreetZaps.com.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
New Yorkers Don’t Wear White
Your map is safely in your fanny pack, you’re avoiding eye contact, and you managed to score a seat on the subway. So why everyone is still looking at you like you’re a tourist? Here are some tips on fitting in.
First off, New Yorkers don’t wear white. With the possible exceptions of Santaria initiates, J-Lo after Labor Day, and the DDP (Dominicans Don’t Play) gang rumored to rule Washington Heights, New Yorkers as a group tend to avoid all-white ensembles, given that most of the city is filthy. Instead, New Yorkers favor wearing a lot of black and dark denim. To belong, you should avoid looking as though “Anyone for tennis?” is the next thing coming out of your mouth.
The same goes for your blindingly-white Reebok sneakers. While you are going from your house in the suburbs to your SUV to the Wal-Mart and back, city dwellers are navigating dirty subway steps, avoiding scummy puddles, and shambling past windblown trash on our merry mile-long jaunts through town. All this beating feet will trash a pair of white kicks in no time. So when we see someone moseying around town in super-white sneakers who isn’t P-Diddy, we tend to tag them as a tourist. If you want to fit in, get a pair of beat-up old Converse All-Stars. Oh, and ladies: avoid the sandals. You will not be able to stomach how dirty your feet will get in a matter of hours. Not to mention the pain of walking the grid with no arch support.
Next, ditch the matching outfits for your family. It’s embarrassing! Besides, it’s not Disneyland: if you lose a kid, it’s not like you can tell the cops he’s the one in the blue jeans and red shirt. There’s 8 million people; odds are 17,500 of them are wearing blue jeans and a red shirt at any given time. Plus, the matchy-matchy routine identifies you as tourists. You might as well pin a $100 bill to your ass and stand in Times Square looking up at buildings, yelling, “Victim here!”
And, hate to bring it up again, but fanny packs are just not gonna cut it here in the land of Fags In Training and Parsons School of Design. The only acceptable fanny pack ever made is that cute little Prada number that looks more like a money belt. Instead, leave your important stuff in the safe at your hotel, and travel with a small billfold with your Metrocard, some cash in small bills, and one credit card, in case of emergency. Put it in your front pocket if possible. Although the city is safer than many smaller destinations (including Disneyland’s Orlando), people will still take advantage of an easy mark. Don’t be that pigeon.
More important even than what you wear is how you act. To look like a New Yorker, act like a New Yorker: Keep your eyes on the ground, walk at a brisk clip, don’t smile or talk to strangers, ignore beggars and sandwich-board flyer guys, and regard anything you see as instantly and hopelessly passé.
First off, New Yorkers don’t wear white. With the possible exceptions of Santaria initiates, J-Lo after Labor Day, and the DDP (Dominicans Don’t Play) gang rumored to rule Washington Heights, New Yorkers as a group tend to avoid all-white ensembles, given that most of the city is filthy. Instead, New Yorkers favor wearing a lot of black and dark denim. To belong, you should avoid looking as though “Anyone for tennis?” is the next thing coming out of your mouth.
The same goes for your blindingly-white Reebok sneakers. While you are going from your house in the suburbs to your SUV to the Wal-Mart and back, city dwellers are navigating dirty subway steps, avoiding scummy puddles, and shambling past windblown trash on our merry mile-long jaunts through town. All this beating feet will trash a pair of white kicks in no time. So when we see someone moseying around town in super-white sneakers who isn’t P-Diddy, we tend to tag them as a tourist. If you want to fit in, get a pair of beat-up old Converse All-Stars. Oh, and ladies: avoid the sandals. You will not be able to stomach how dirty your feet will get in a matter of hours. Not to mention the pain of walking the grid with no arch support.
Next, ditch the matching outfits for your family. It’s embarrassing! Besides, it’s not Disneyland: if you lose a kid, it’s not like you can tell the cops he’s the one in the blue jeans and red shirt. There’s 8 million people; odds are 17,500 of them are wearing blue jeans and a red shirt at any given time. Plus, the matchy-matchy routine identifies you as tourists. You might as well pin a $100 bill to your ass and stand in Times Square looking up at buildings, yelling, “Victim here!”
And, hate to bring it up again, but fanny packs are just not gonna cut it here in the land of Fags In Training and Parsons School of Design. The only acceptable fanny pack ever made is that cute little Prada number that looks more like a money belt. Instead, leave your important stuff in the safe at your hotel, and travel with a small billfold with your Metrocard, some cash in small bills, and one credit card, in case of emergency. Put it in your front pocket if possible. Although the city is safer than many smaller destinations (including Disneyland’s Orlando), people will still take advantage of an easy mark. Don’t be that pigeon.
More important even than what you wear is how you act. To look like a New Yorker, act like a New Yorker: Keep your eyes on the ground, walk at a brisk clip, don’t smile or talk to strangers, ignore beggars and sandwich-board flyer guys, and regard anything you see as instantly and hopelessly passé.
Friday, January 8, 2010
The Joy of Jaywalking
The average New Yorker jaywalks about 10 times a day. In its most legaliest definition, “jaywalking” covers any crossing against the light. But if you live in the city, you don’t wait for the light. If you want to cross, step out about three feet into the intersection, and wait for enough space between cars to make it. Don’t tailgate local jaywalkers, out-of-towners: We only gauge the crossing safety potential for ourselves, not for the person behind us.
The New Yorker definition of a jaywalker is someone who walks diagonally from one corner to the other against the light, traffic be damned. Not to discourage any intrepid jaywalkers, but this can actually be risky sometimes. Apparently, cars often hit people crossing the roads under the elevated trains in Queens. Recently, a man was hit by a car in Queens, and a passing van’s bottom plate latched on to his unconscious body. He was dragged around for hours before police found his corpse, sans large portions of skin, some tattered clothes, and a mostly intact iPhone. Apart from being buried alive, I can’t think of a worse way to go.
The New Yorker definition of a jaywalker is someone who walks diagonally from one corner to the other against the light, traffic be damned. Not to discourage any intrepid jaywalkers, but this can actually be risky sometimes. Apparently, cars often hit people crossing the roads under the elevated trains in Queens. Recently, a man was hit by a car in Queens, and a passing van’s bottom plate latched on to his unconscious body. He was dragged around for hours before police found his corpse, sans large portions of skin, some tattered clothes, and a mostly intact iPhone. Apart from being buried alive, I can’t think of a worse way to go.
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