Living in New York can be confusing at the best of times. But when the crosswalk signs look like this…..
All it needed was a voice saying “You cross, you don’t cross, what do I care. Go on knock yourself down!”
OK, so I hate small dogs! I’ve hated them ever since I was viciously attacked by a rabid Jack Russel as a child. The memory of its snapping, drooling mouth wrapped around my Luke Skywalker action figure still smarts. As did my backside after my Aunty Joan belted me for using “the force” to boot the little F****r down the garden path.
I hate small dogs because they crap on the pavements, yap at your ankles and trip you up when you’re running for the bus. I hate them because according to Darwinian theory they should be overrun and eaten by rats, cats and automobiles. I hate them because they are usually owned by people with emotional issues, misanthropes who like to pretend their dogs are real people. I hate them because they are not proper dogs! So why didn’t anyone tell me before I moved here that New York is a Mecca for miniature canines!
The dog owners of New York love their dogs in a rather excessive way. Kind of like the Hindu reverence for the cow, but without the religion and with more accessories. Most would step over a homeless guy to check on the health of his dog. The dog is king, queen, well, God, in fact.
Visit a New York pet shop and you will find it more like a high class boutique or deli. There seems to be no end to the excess you can attain for your pet. The shelves are stuffed with everything you didn’t realize your pooch needed. From exercise machines to cup cakes, these outfits are definitely more than the bowl, brush, lead, chewy and tin opener outfits I’m used to. Some even have fancy dress departments. You will also notice, amongst the rhinestone collars and pet coats, an extensive range of travel luggage. Yes, travel luggage.
New York has very strict rules regarding pets in public buildings. Pets aren’t allowed in most apartment buildings and they certainly aren’t allowed in public or office buildings! Most restaurants have prominent signs stating “No Dogs”. But nobody appears to care. The lease we signed on our apartment stated quite clearly that the keeping of pets would be grounds for termination (of the lease that is, not the pet). Yet our concierge service offers a pet sitting service. Look closer at that luggage and you will notice all of it has breathable sides. Getting it yet? In New York small dogs don’t walk, they are carried! They travel incognito, hidden in suitcases and handbags, entering food establishments, office blocks, health centers and anywhere else their owners fancy, at will.
I personally believe a pet should be like a real fire, something you come home to. Unfortunately, in New York that kind of callous neglectful way of thinking doesn’t fly! How could you possibly leave your Chihuahua at home for hours on end with only the staff for company when he’s already dealing with the past life issues recently diagnosed by his doggy shrink! Not to mention the risk of his dietary requirements not being observed by the doggy sitter! No, you couldn’t possibly abandon your dog! If you love your pet, they should never leave your side; else they run off with the dog sitter, nanny, maid or a passing handsome squirrel.
My first experience of the dog gods was at a recruitment agency off Union Square. As a prospective new client, I was expecting to be greeted with a cup of coffee, the company ethos recanted verbatim and a false, yet comforting smile. What I got was a Puggle, a cross between a Beagle and a Pug for the uninitiated, who, after calmly trotting in, wandered across the reception, viewed me suspiciously before clamping his jaw firmly around my portfolio and beginning to tug, hard. He was rewarded by his owner (my recruiter) with a cookie!
That, unfortunately, is only the half of it. I have since had to work with the dog gods. In my midtown office of 60 to 70 people, there were, on a good day, about seven to ten miniature dogs of varying descriptions. That’s roughly one dog to 10 people. That’s better than the teachers to pupil ratio at most schools! They would prowl the corridors of the cube farm, hunting in packs looking for a squeaky toy or handbag to defile. They were everywhere! I would interrupt conference calls to apologize for their howling. I would carefully brush them aside in meetings in order to see my papers. I would try to ignore the smell of their “indiscretions”. When I did comment on their mess I was asked “what did you do to poor Tiddles, Pumpkin, David….” Yes, david. “You must have upset him, you horrible man”. I never complained as the dogs masters were my superiors and thus, the dogs were, in reality, my masters. I began to consider canineicide.
Wherever you walk in this city you will encounter someone walking an extremely small dog. On every street corner you can witness a proud owner watching admiringly as their little Chihuahua craps on the sidewalk. I have to say, the owners of these dogs are not exclusively Carrie Bradshaw types, although, generally, most have dogs that match their outfits.
Walking in the East Village the other day, I noticed a huge SUV replete with tinted windows and spinning hubcaps. It pulled up alongside me and from inside its cavernous interior stepped a huge black guy wearing more Bling than the Rockefeller Christmas tree. He stood on the sidewalk looking suitably disinterested before pulling gently on a leather lead. My first thought was dominatrix, but, of course, I was wrong. ‘Biggy’ leant inside the car and gently cradled something in his arms before depositing it ever so carefully on the sidewalk. It was a Pekingese sporting a fetching Diamante collar and leopardskin coat. I mean, what the F±*k ever happened to proper dogs; men’s dogs? Bill Sykes must be rolling in his grave. I’m thinking of buying myself a St Bernard, but I’m afraid I might forget it’s in my handbag and suffocate the poor thing.
Campus Massacre! 30 kids shot dead! What an introduction to a new culture! Although, I always knew I was moving to a country with no gun control, and I was aware of the 10 000 plus, fire arm related deaths per year, as my joining the NRA and a trip to the local gun shop weren’t on my things to do in America list, I’d figured, why worry. Unfortunately, since the shocking events at Virginia Tech began to unfold on Monday morning, I have had no choice but to worry and it’s been difficult not to dwell upon the issue of gun ownership in America. Is the guy behind the deli counter packing a piece? Is the bus driver one ticket away from jumping careers and going postal? Who the hel around me has got a gun, a grievance and a ticking psychosis?
Every major news outlet is encamped at Virginia Tech, and every nondescript news anchor worth their dental work is trawling over the details of this horrific slaughter pretty much 24-7. Every detail of the story is being slowly and gratuitously extracted from witnesses that surely should be protected from such media intrusion. CNN had a one on one interview with the killers room mates just 48 hours after their roomy became America’s most prolific campus killer.
The coverage has gone from shocking real time first person reports and quickly developed into predictably morbid analysis of the shooters psyche. Quite what doctor Phil brings to the debate I’m not sure, but he was wheeled out, along with numerous other psychologists, psychological profilers and ex-special forces to explain the ‘mind of a killer’. Some of the coverage has been frankly banal. Fox News were, of course, ahead of the competition when they raised the point that Virginia State Law disallows the carrying of weapons on campus by students. Thus denying them the opportunity “to take the shooter out !” This is a point they pressed home after Columbine, arguing that more guns, not less, were needed in American Schools.
The debate is quickly being moved on to the usual topic of what drove him to it? (surely a redundant question as if we were to find an answer it wouldn’t bring the people he killed back from the dead). The fact that Cho Seung-Hui bought his Glock 19 pistol quite legally on his credit card whilst taking prescription medication for depression doesn’t seem to matter. The media steadfastly refuse to ask any societal questions about attitudes to gun ownership and guns within society. Why do they refuse to promote a debate? Does the media simply decline to ask any questions that may upset their sponsors and paymasters?
Mainstream media are pretty sure that there is a common thread to all recent violent and psychotic incidents (well, those after the 60s, when the world officially began to go to the dogs). Whether it is video games, rock and roll/rap music/death metal or violent movies, there not sure, but media consensus appears clear, it’s not the guns that kill people, it’s the shooters!
There appears to be no political will to change gun culture. The right to bear arms is after all enshrined in the constitution (written with the English army in mind). All Americans believe in the right to bear arms, right? Well no, and a quick look at opensecrets.org, reveals why the debate is so schewed towards the gun lobbies argument.
‘In national elections since 1990, the NRA and other pro-gun groups have given $2,755,906 (15%) to Democratic candidates and $15,891,106 (85%) to Republican candidates (NRA gave the lion’s share of those donations). In addition, the NRA and Gun Owners of America spent a combined $29 million lobbying politicians between 1997 and 2003 (more than $4 million a year). Pro-gun control groups in the same period spent about $2.6 million’. (opensecrets.org)
Perhaps, the shocking events at Virginia Tech will ignite the debate, but as the ten year ban on semi automatic weapons was allowed to rescind without so much as a comment, I’m not holding my breath. Perhaps I should go get that NRA application after all.
This is my latest business card. Impactful, I think you’ll agree. I knocked it up using Adobe, photoshop, Illustrator and a bottle of vodka. I wanted to design something that would be acknowledged and commented upon before being thrown in the trash. My less flattering, but more impactful, business image is, in fact, a picture taken after a recent mountain biking accident. Everyone assumes I have been fighting? Judging by the reaction I have received, I think my card may well be discussed and then possibly banned. Can you ban a business card? I hadn’t realized the people of New York were so delicate. I hand it to people and they just stand there staring. One guy went so far as to explain he couldn’t speak as he was ‘in shock’. Wait until they see my next card, a full length nude, only my member covered by a large black box, with the tag line ‘long copy’.
So my couch surfing continues. Until I collect the keys to our new apartment on Wednesday, I am still officially homeless. I have, for the last week or so, been trawling around Manhattan throwing myself upon the mercy, charity and floors of every friend I have. Unfortunately, that mercy and charity is beginning to wear painfully thin.
Last night I was back on the streets. I had to hastily find alternative accommodation as it appeared my ongoing residency was beginning to destabilize a usually solid marriage. As space is generally of a premium in New York apartments, it can be a tall order accommodating another body. Living on top of one another is never easy and can lead to unforeseen tension. At least that is what I keep telling myself. It may be that my friend and his wife wife just don’t like me. But hey, that’s ridiculous right? what’s not to like? Doesn’t everyone want a genuine walking talking wisecracking English cliché to brighten up their New York apartment? At the moment I am generally being asked one question: “So, Mick, when do you pick up your keys?”
I have now moved on to couch number four. Fortunately, my next friend (my address book is being rapidly amended, well, abbreviated) lives in a brownstone on the Lower West Side. Thankfully, his building doesn’t have a concierge, so no more trying to explain that ‘yes, despite my appearance, I am actually staying in the building and no, I can’t remember where or with whom!’ Now there is nobody barring my way, and as long as I can remember yet another address and master yet another set of locks, I should be fine.
Oh, how I dream of my own bed! My wife definitely had the right idea when she skipped town to visit her folks. She was adamant she would not return until we had the keys to our new apartment. I was stubborn, she was right. But right now, even living with the in-laws is beginning to look attractive!
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