It's My Dog's World: I Just Live In It

The Old Coot (me) rants about you soft kids (yes, you, John Oliver) and your Port Authority complaints

 

The renewed focus on the Port Authority, specifically the Port Authority building in midtown Manhattan, was probably set off partly by the ongoing shenanigans of folks in and around the Port Authority and the brilliant John Oliver. Who makes some points (really, Port Authority?-ceasing and desisting Fishs Eddy?), but is, in fact, a young whippersnapper in terms of NYC whinging.  

As is WNYC.

Yeah, the Port Authority is pretty terrible, but it is far from Hell. And it is far from where it was in the 80s. Maybe that's why I have trouble with these headlines. I try not to say this too often, but if you didn't visit/live in NYC inthe 1970s and 80s, you don't really have a clue about how hellish public spaces could get. Sometimes I just sit in Bryant Park and rub my eyes with my fists like a little kid: am I dreaming? Are the Greenmarket vendors at Union Square all actors? Did Will Smith just buy Washington Square Park and turn it into a movie set? Is this real life? 

I have big fantasies about taking a crew of my favorite civic hackers in there, and just data/physically improve the building in a long weekend. Cardboard signs! Putting somebody on the second floor to answer questions! QR codes people could scan to get more information! Tweaks! Just to give a tiny vision of what the Port Authority could be doing NOW. 

Here's what the Port Authority also is: There's a great blood donation center there (don't mock, there is) with cheerful staff and cheerful donors. And as crazy as their Au Bon Pain can be at commuter rush times, their wi-fi has been a life saver when I've had to do a quick online meeting. I've had a wonderful conversation with a postal worker (yes, there's a post office there, too) about Shirley Chisholm. And if you slow down, notice the rotating art gallery on the first floor of the south building, which has included art by two artists on the autism spectrum for the past two years. 

There are TWO. FRIGGING. BOOKSTORES. 

Still, kudos to the lovely funny Adam Wade for brightening up this article. You are the best. http://www.wnyc.org/story/surviving-port-authority-bus-termnal/

South Park vs. Cesar Millan: You be the judge

The New York Times has a little article about how parents are using Dog Whisperer Cesar Millan's techniques to deal with their kids.  I don't have the time to go into why, um, this might not be the best idea in the world, but I welcome comments.  (I love Cesar for his pitbull advocacy, but will point out that more that research has not supported some of his more controversial methods.  At all.)   I will point out that Karen Pryor, clicker trainer whiz, might be a better source of cross-species training.  Check out her classic "Don't Shoot the Dog."

And finally, I believe South Park beat the New York Times on this subject...by about three years.

Is The Death Penalty Too Good For Loud Talkers in Outdoor Cafes on a Saturday Morning? Discuss.

Well, it's been an extremely challenging week. But I managed not to kill anyone, and that is pretty darned good.

Not even the guy at the outdoor cafe who was TALKING SO LOUD he was ruining five tables' worth of conversations. 

At 10:30 on a Saturday morning. 

I live in Hoboken, which some magazine or other recently declared superfantastic for single people, or at least single heterosexual people who like to pick each other up in bars, of which we have mucho.  Bars and young straighties, that is. I'm not unrealistic.  I expect loud-talkers on a late night weekend bender, which is just one of the reasons I don't go to bars.  Booze totally ruins your volume control, while it improves your belief that that guy or girl is sexxxxay.

But this guy? He was an upstanding daddy, who was talking so LOUD about a PARTY (he kept flashing the invites) that Jeff and I had to start miming what we wanted to say to each other, and the waitress kept forgetting things, and other eaters at other tables just cringed.  I know you think we all should have moved, but there was no room in the next section, and you know, it was a nice day...we were eating outside because it was pleasant.  And surely the guy would eventually shut up. Hope springs eternal.  But sometimes hope is dumb.

Then when Loud Talker and his party got up to go, they spotted a couple they knew...so the eight of them stood at the entrance of the section, talking LOUD and ...blocking any person's ability to get in or out.  Especially our waitress.   Then  their little girl started petting the dogs at another table.  The dogs took their paws away from their ears...no, now I'm just exaggerating.

But I don't think I'm imagining what I heard when the new couple, who accepted an invitation from Loud Talking Man, sat down.

The woman pointed to the invitation and said, "Well, this way, we'll be able to see them, but we won't have to talk to them."