Wednesday, October 10, 2018

2018 Yankees Post Season Reflection


Thoughts following the Yankees 2018 ALDS Flameout against the Sox:

1.       Looks like only Aaron Judge and Tanaka came out to play. Aaron Judge mashed this postseason and Tanaka continues to be a big game pitcher. I can think of no current starter who I’d rather have take the ball in a must win game in the postseason. He just turns it up another level and keeps the Yankees in the game.

2.       Much is being said about Judge’s trolling of the Red Sox with “New York, New York” and how it came back to bite us. I don’t really buy that it “awoke a sleeping giant” as the Red Sox are a 108 win team and threw out 2 pitchers who wrecked us all year. In fact I like this NBA style level of gamesmanship. For years we’ve heard about how the rivalry isn’t what it used to be and we need some fire to bring it back to the days of Munson and Fisk or A-Rod and Varitek. This is a great inciting incident and will be in the back of fan’s minds for years to come. If the Yankees and Red Sox face each other next year in the postseason you can sure bet this will be brought up and hopefully avenged by the Bronx Bombers. Judge’s trolling is the type of thing that makes baseball more accessible and fun and not this super duper serious game where we never show emotion and god forbid you celebrate. We’re a country that celebrates everything! Get with the times baseball, show some fire and emotion, and pettiness – the water’s fine. So kudos to you Aaron Judge for throwing some gasoline into the rivalry fire and kudos to Boston for letting it burn into the night. I can’t wait for more silly antics like this to rev up the fans and keep this great rivalry strong.

3.       Aaron Boone got out-managed by a mile. Not even close. I was fine on Boone during the regular season but man did he make some pitching mistakes. You got the best bullpen in the game and you choose to go with Lance Lynn and then nobody at all? Insanity. His quick hook in Game 1 saved the team and allowed the near comeback to commence. He was asleep at the wheel for sure in Games 3 and 4, especially with the Yankees offense being as dormant as it was. Guy brought no urgency to a 5 game playoff set unlike Cora who, aside from game 2, made masterful moves. Chris Sale in the 8th inning – shades of Randy Johnson striking out the side in Game 7 of the 2001 World Series. Now I was quick to say let’s fire Boone (I’m all for bringing in Carlos Beltran, AROD, or Hensley Muelens) but I’m feeling more lenient and would like to see how he progresses in his second year. I don’t mind his laid back attitude because we don’t know what happens in the clubhouse behind closed doors. He could scream and yell, who knows. Also this attitude that the only good managers are the fiery Billy Martin types is crazy to me. First Billy Martin only won one championship and two pennants at the helm and was constantly in fights with everyone becoming a major distraction. Compare that to Joe Torre or Bob Lemon who were cool as cucumbers and led the bombers to equal or greater success. You need the right manager for the right team. Screaming and yelling at people just doesn’t do it anymore, if it ever did, and you need managers that can read and prepare their team correctly.

4.       Whereas I’m all about giving Boone a second chance, it’s time to fire Larry Rothschild and Marcus Thames. We need new blood in the coaching organization. Fresh faces!

5.       How do you get outscored 20-4 at Yankee Stadium with that home field advantage? Just insane. Also who knows if Sevy got the proper amount of warm up time but yikes did that look bad. Guy is just not a big game pitcher. The fact that our starters only averaged 3 innings (other than Tanaka) is inexcusable. We need to revamp the starting rotation and fix what’s wrong with Sevy to get him back to his all-star status.

6.       Stanton was a huge dud this postseason. Guy just looked awful against Kimbrel who was throwing nonsense up there. Hopefully he uses this season and comes back strong and can shed being this generation’s Mr. May. Also I’ve never seen a 38 home run 100 rbi season feel less dominant. Come back strong big guy!

7.       If Sanchez hits that out all is forgiven! Despite his average I will say he showed up in the postseason and even played some good defense. Let’s hope next season is a return to 2017 Sanchez rather than the 2018. And another thing, this whole why didn’t Boone call Sanchez out in public like Girardi nonsense needs to end. Does calling players out to the New York media help their performance? I have no idea but I bet it drives a real wedge between player and manager. Plus again we don’t know what goes on behind closed doors. I imagine Boone had some talks with Sanchez but he had the decency to not call him out in public harshly. Again, this isn’t the 70’s or 80’s people. Nobody needs to have a struggling player fighting in the hotel lobby with their manager. That proves nothing.

8.       I’d say we don’t resign C.C. or Gardner or Britton or even McCutchen. Let’s see what Clint Frazier can do and see if we can get a pitcher like Corbin or work some magic for Bumgarner. Also I’m down for resigning Robertson – love seeing him in pinstripes. I don’t say we go for Harper as I don’t want another 240 hitter who strikes out a million times but I’m not opposed to Machado at third. I don’t know what it means for Andujar but I like having a high average, high power, great defender at the hot corner.

9.       It was a disappointing end to an interesting 100 win season. Here’s to the Astros sweeping and then one of the NL teams winning the World Series. One hopes the Yanks come out with a vengeance next season and rolls through the league and destroys Boston in a playoff series. Oh how sweet it would be! As for now, we’ll always have the wild card win.

Saturday, December 30, 2017

From 2017 to 2018


As we end this year and rapidly approach 2018, here’s a selection of quotes that sum up my state of mind from the end of last year to the end of this year and to the end of next year (yes I can see into the future). Come enjoy!


Professional

End of 2016: “There’s this tour guide book that I read and look at stuff going oh and ahh!”

End of 2017: “So apparently I’m a CEO now. Bow down to your corporate master!”

End of 2018: “I built the Tour Noir NYC empire from the ground up! You chicken shit stockholders and board members should all…yeah get security, I am not leaving peacefully!”


Politics

End of 2016: “This was pretty bad. But it only feels like an ominous prologue.”

End of 2017: “The moderate Democrat beat the Republican pedophile in Alabama by a whole point? Now that’s what I call progress!”

End of 2018: “That Republican sodomized a statue of Jesus and still won evangelicals by 70%!”


Yankees

End of 2016: “THE SANCHIZE shall rise!”

End of 2017: (no quote – just salivating)

End of 2018: “It took them 5 games to win the World Series? Fire CASHMAN!”


Knicks

End of 2016: “Maybe Phil Jackson is using reverse zen triangle motivation through alienating his star player and the rest of league? I really don’t know at this point?”

End of 2017: “This feeling of not being a joke...it’s so strange…it feels almost dirty, almost wrong.”

End of 2018: “Latrell Sprewell will make a fine coach!”


Star Wars

End of 2016: “Rogue One was good, but I hear in 8 Anakin is a space sloth and there’s a magic tree and that Rey is a Skywalker and is the reinencarnation of the first jedi and Snoke is the first sith…”

End of 2017: “I saw Kylo Ren take his shirt off in the shower and he is shredded. He has an 8 pack.”

End of 2018: “Han Solo was good but I hear in 9 Chewbacca has a lightsaber duel with Kylo Ren and that the Ewoks come back and eat the Porgs and that Poe and Finn get married and Rey is the maid of honor…”


Bob Dylan

End of 2016: “Maybe he’s done with all the Sinatra covers…”

End of 2017: “He played 5 shows at the Beacon and I only saw 3…”

End of 2018: “Maybe he’s done with all the Pink Floyd covers…”


Movies

End of 2016: “I’m going to make it a point to see at least 3 movies not staring superheros.”

End of 2017: “I’m going to make it a point to see at least 3 movies not owned by Disney.”

End of 2018: ‘I’m going to make it a point to watch a trailer of a movie not owned by Disney.”


 Television

End of 2016: “No I haven’t seen the original streaming content produced by (x) but I’m sure it’s very good.”

End of 2017: “So I can’t watch that show anymore because that guy has been an open secret creep for years apparently.”

End of 2018: “It’s nice that we forgave that creep from (x tv show) but in all honesty he was amazing and that show is great!”


Romance

End of 2016: “FINE. EVERYTHING IS FINE. NO PROBLEMS AT ALL, AND NO I DIDN’T REALIZE MY LEFT EYE IS TWITCHING.”

End of 2017: “…So the bumble girl said her name was Ashley-Juliet and that I could only call her that….me and the coffee meets bagel girl spent 4 hours getting wasted talking about how we had nothing in common…then is Tinder girl said I was going to hell.”

End of 2018: “And well after coming to her senses, she finally said yes and that’s how I became Mr. Emma Watson.”




Happy 2018!

Sunday, July 2, 2017

Unrequited Tinder Love 4

Tinder can be a place where you go on a whirlwind of matching to messaging to meeting to adult situations. Other times it’s a place where you send messages into the void. Here are the my messages into the void.


Tinder 1

Message One: How about fremulon as well?
Message Two: Shh

Analysis: I was way too clever for my own good by playing off her bio and referencing the end credits for Brooklyn 99. Plus do I really want to go out on a date with someone who likes that show (yeah I said it  - not a fan)?


 Tinder 2

Message: Can I be a vans in a world of nikes?

Analysis: I suppose I’ll have to live out my days as a New Balance in a world of Skechers. Does the punishment fit the crime? According to the Tinder Gods – yes. Yes it does.


Tinder 3

Message One: Staunch. Power word there.
Message Two: I need a credo for sure

Analysis: I’ll take her silence as a firm but polite “go fuck yourself only I may have a credo”.


Tinder 4

Message: Do you also want a list of references?

Analysis: She must have already seen my references and was so overwhelmed by the incredible prestige that she felt I was so overqualified for the job of first date and decided to never answer. I commend her knowing her limitations. Good hunting!


 Tinder 5

Message One: Who is that actor?? I know that creepy gaze!
Message Two (6 months later): Casual necking at lookout point perhaps?

Analysis: Sometimes I’m just too clever for my own good. Maybe time to update my references to the current century, but then again, why should I change something that works 20% of the time? I like those odds.


Tinder 6

Message One: I’m also a Leo! Bold zodiac!
Message Two: So how are you liking Nyc so far. Im a tour guide so ask me anything.

Analysis: Nothing gets a girl all turned on like saying your main ambition in life is trying to convince tourists they aren’t going to get stabbed on the subway to Times Square. Also wise decision to compliment her on her astrological sign because we totally pick those. Well played Jason.


Tinder 7

Message: What if it’s a baseball? What financial forms would you require?

Analysis: Welp another shot a true love destroyed by our national pastime. Thanks a lot baseball you cockblocker!


Tinder 8

Message: A mermaid?? I was in the mermaid parade this weekend. Did you go?

Analysis: The Mermaid Parade is awesome and one of the most fun things you can do in New York. A true cultural event. My friend and I got the most hollers and catcalls out of anyone due to our expertly made green bubble wrap bras. Her loss.


Tinder 9

Message: What’s the last music thing that occupied your mind?

Analysis: Based on her lack of response it’s still occupying her mind to the point where it has consumed her and she can’t think of anything else forcing her into a catatonic state. Please send help post haste!


Tinder 10 

Message Duck duck duck goose?

Analysis: The message is golden but the girl was pregnant in her pictures. Probably better she didn’t respond…




So Happy swiping and may only 50% of your messages go into the void!

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Tinder Social Advice

There are few things that are constant in this world. For one, the sun will rise in the east and set in the west. I assume there is a second constant, but a third, yes a third constant in this world is that I am a TINDER GOD. But like any God (especially the Greek ones), I have my problems and foibles. So I decided, it’s time to create my own Mount Olympus and by that I mean form a Tinder Social group with two esteemed friends. After some preliminary swiping, matching, messaging, and then un-matching, I have come up with a helpful guide for the group swipers.



As with anything in life, make sure you pair up with attractive people, but not that much more attractive than you. Nobody wants to be telling the story of how they ended up alone on a three on three group date.


People it’s a Tinder Social Group not a Tinder Social Jason (trademark). I can’t be the only one sending out poor openers. We’re a team over here. We need to spread the poor messaging out evenly.


Make sure everybody knows what their role is in the group and have them play to that strength. Your gif guy should only send gifs – this is no time for him to be experimenting with “words” and “sentences”. Same goes for the guy whose job is to solely swipe yes on 19 year olds. Don’t go for “age appropriate”. That’s not why we cast you in our group.


Take solace in enjoying how far apart you are from your group by obsessively staring at the miles away part of their profiles. Also take the time to bask in a quiet superiority as you judge how lame their pictures and bios are (you like dogs – real original asshole).


Always get your math right. If there are 3 guys and 2 girls, that means each dick gets two openings (ladies choice of course). Now if there are 2 guys and 3 girls, each dick gets a full three openings on one person with a choice of either the mouth and ass on the third capped off with both dicks penetration the vagina at the same time. Again people, simple math. You don’t have to be a whiz to figure this stuff out.


Remember in a 2x2 or 3x3 group date you should each find a different person to fall in love with. Nowt sometimes life doesn’t work out that way and two people can fall for the same special someone. If this scenario does arise simply ruin your close friendship and compete for the affection of that someone. In the end, attempting to sleep with a tinder date is more important than years of close friendship. You’ll be happy you sacrificed all those years for a night of possibly having sex.


If you’re not intent on engaging on an all-night 3 on 3 group orgy fuckfestorama ala Zoolander, then you need to open up Tinder and delete your profile because you are wasting all of our precious gangbanging time.


Just because it’s Tinder Social, doesn’t mean that all the normal Tinder rules are out the door. When you match with a group it is still necessary to run around your apartment screaming, yelling, and imagining your perfect future with a potential group of soulmates.


On the date, it’s important to show that you are a united front. So make sure you and your team all wear the same exact outfits and say the same things at the same times. Consistency is key.


If a date ends poorly there’s always the option of fucking the people in your Tinder Social group. Right? Right?



There it is – use my wisdom to your advantage and get those group dates a going!

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Leo Tinder Fuckboi

As usual my well thought out plan had gone awry and I had to think of a back-up. The plan was to get her to come with me to what was sure to be a super fun birthday party with drink specials and mutual friends. There we would drink, laugh, socialize, but then always return to each other as if we were bound by an inescapable magnetic charge. Unfortunately that charge was weak as she declined the invite to do something else. Something without me. So when a wrinkle appears, naturally the solution is to pull out the apps and start swiping. I noticed a recent conversation that lay dormant, but not out of malice or by the grace of a moronic message. It was just over. So I figured to start it up again and see what would happened. Worst comes to worst I could just see some pals and see where that takes me.

Before the party, I decided to meet up with a friend for happy hour drinks. It was raining and he was bored at work, so it came as no surprised that he was a few in when I arrived. We took advantage of the two for one drinks and I was settling into a soliloquy about why Bob Dylan is a god (a subject only popular with a very select few individuals), when I felt my phone vibrate. To my surprise the flame notification appeared and I was presented with a resurrection. Looks like the conversation wasn’t dead.

As expected, I ignored my friend and started typing away seeing what was up. She was vague, sarcastic, and quick – just what I wanted in my messaging. Feeling the confidence that a few whiskey cokes brings to my already overinflated ego, I invited her to hook up with me at the party. It’ll be fun, I suggested, why not. She was down to crash this party, but gave me a warning that she was tall and that she could slouch if I felt that was necessary. Of all the threats to my masculinity height is at the bottom of my list. Who cares if she’s taller than me, as long as she looks like her pictures and sounds like her messages I’m fine. My friend agreed with the sentiment and we took to the train to get to the party.

Nothing says fancy like a velvet rope and that’s what greeted us at the southern restaurant/bar in Union Square. We said the magic name and the rope lifted and in no time were enjoying the remnants of a birthday happy hour. I found the birthday girl and said my thanks and congrats on making it through another year and I did mean it; she is a lovely person. One of the gems in my book and I explained that I would be sharing her special day with a random girl from Tinder. In fact I made it a point to warn or tell everyone that they would be privy to one of my infamous tinder dates. The scene was set.

An hour passes and my friend is deciding whether he wants to mingle or stumble on to the bathroom. He picks the second option which we both agree is wise. I look up to outside the velvet rope and see someone who matches pictures two, three, and five on a specific tinder profile and I slip into “charming Tinder mode”. By this I mean I go through the publicly weird process of asking someone if they are indeed the person from the picture square on my phone. She says yes and I’m relieved because pictures two, three, and five were the best ones on her profile (she later would mention that I resembled pictures one and three on mine).

So we get to talking and I assume I’m being witty because I see her mouth turn upright into a form that most would describe as a smile. But at this point happy hour has been going on far too long for me and it’s beginning to show. I usually make it a point not to drink before meeting a new person, but then again I don’t always follow my own rules because I’m an idiot. Some things are unavoidable. But apparently I’m charming because she keeps biting at what I’m saying while throwing it back at me in double time. I can respond to most of her remarks and she seems impressed that I’m holding my own despite being in the middle of drunk squints. By this time my friend has left to do his own thing but before he leaves I introduce him to my date and he mutters out “the things I would do to her”. If there’s a better compliment in the world I haven’t heard it.

As with most birthdays it becomes that time in the evening where the venue must change for fear of stagnation and we decide it’s time to depart and go our own way. She asks if I’d like to go to Beauty Bar and “do some drugs”, to which I reply with the very debonair “okay”. Smooth indeed. So we’re walking to Beauty Bar where I decide to employ my classic pick up line of “hey on the way to Beauty Bar let’s make out, it’ll be fun we’ll walk, we’ll talk, it’ll make the time pass”. She agrees and we go for it in front of an apartment complex with raised grass and very pointy barriers. This is when the height starts to play a role, as I have to lean up to get any traction with my drunken, slobbering make out. What a delightful reversal of roles I think and before I can come to any sort of conclusion we’re off and walking.

Beauty Bar is a fun place, and I go there often. It’s got a dance floor and for a small price they do your nails. I’ve never gotten but it seems fun so why not. Anyway, she doesn’t feel like dancing so we’re sitting adjacent to the dance floor and the conversation moves to sex. In a boastful way she claims that she never orgasms during sex. Great, I think, the pressure’s off for the night! Don’t worry I assure her, that ain’t gonna change tonight. My assurance plays well and she motions that it’s time to do drugs. After a bouncer denies our attempt to go into the bathroom together we figure that maybe the old fashioned way of one by one is better. She goes first and then attempts to hand me a bag but I drop it akin to Alvy Singer in Annie Hall. Thank god it’s in a bag and I go into the bathroom do a bit and then it’s off to be jittery on the L train.

I’m shaking on the L train when she pulls out a notebook and asks me to review her art. The sketches are fine, but it’s not like I was going to say anything else. Plus I find the L train to be a notoriously bad place for art criticism. We get off and get to her place and start doing things, until well things end and I decide it’s time to go to the bathroom because why not seems like the right thing to do. So I tip toe through the darkness and turn on the lights only to see the effects of what I previously thought was gentle neck gnawing. Turns out what most people would consider gentle neck gnawing my body took as the tiger that attacked Siegfried and Roy. My neck is all shades of black, red, and purple. Simply put I look gross.

It’s around 7 in the morning when I arrive back in the room (I left for the bathroom at 6:55). I tell her about my mauling and she feels embarrassed but more so about the disparity in souvenirs. I figure it’s time to leave because she has to wake up in a couple of hours and I’d rather leave when I’m wide awake and horrified sooner than later. She’s cool about it and I get dressed and take a very long walk through the foggiest parts of Brooklyn to the train. The people on the train stare and I don’t blame them, it’s not every day you see an active warzone on a guy’s neck. Lucky them.

I make it home and attempt to use every hickey trick in the book, but at best I can only manipulate my neck into varying shades of maroon. Since I’m mortally opposed to turtle necks, it looks like I’ll be wearing my night out for a bit. So in the days that follow life returns to normal, minus the first round of questions and horrified stares from friends. Such is life I suppose.

A week or so passes and I hit her up again and we go through the same routine but far more sober and in Brooklyn. It’s fun but nothing special until the end of the night when she tells me she keeps a list of all the guys she’s slept with and a little bio about them. I ask to see mine and she looks, laughs, and says “Leo Tinder fuckboi. Christened my mattress”.

Fuckboi? Really, I ask her. The Leo and tinder part are accurate, but fuckboi, yikes – was I one of those? She says not really – she claims it was there because she thought I would never call again and my doing so mitigated the term to something a bit tamer. I can’t remember what she turned it to because like a previous other demoralizing ranking, it began to cloud my mind. I couldn’t focus like before and went into a low power sarcastic mode. The night went fine and we bantered, but who knows what about because man does that term just sting. We went back to her place and I told her to lay off the neck because my family already had enough things to talk about at Passover and things happened and then like before I left but this time not as a fuckboi. Well at least a fuckboi that wasn’t going to call her back. So I guess I was a fuckboi again, but why would I want to call somebody back who called me a Leo Tinder Fuckboi. I was surprised she remembered my sign. These thoughts kept me occupied as I strolled through the foggy Brooklyn neighborhoods. I felt a bit like Walt Whitman walking through old timey Brooklyn, but then I figured Walt Whitman had never been referred to as a fuckboi. Or at least not in the versions of “Leaves of Grass” I’ve read. I made it to the train and prepared for the long trip back to Queens knowing two things. One, I was not going to see this person again in a romantic way again. And two, I was going to spend a good amount of time taking “am I a fuckboi quizzes”.

Friday, May 26, 2017

Ugly Love

You ever see two ugly people walking on the street together holding hands and you look at them and you think good for you guys; you did it. Congrats at beating the overwhelming odds and finding that someone special. You look at these two ugly ducklings and give that nod of approval. Not only did these two uglies find love but they got the approval of me, one of the beautiful people. Now naturally after you pass these two ugly but in love people your kind thoughts turn negative. How is it that these people, or rather these ugly people were able to find love and you, a beautiful person, are still lonely and single? What the fuck?

But then you think, is that really what I want? I mean sure, those people look happy and for all intents and purposes they are, but is that really what life is about? Shouldn’t we be dating out of our comfort zone and try for the hotties upon hotties. Who wants to end up with an ugly? Is that the life for me? These questions linger in your head and then you start to get mad and even a tad bit jealous at those two ugly people you saw holding hands down in the village. I mean how did they even meet? They must be using the same methods as the rest of the human population. It’s got to be some combination of online and app dating. Could it be real life? Is that what I’m missing? Is that how all the undesirables meet – sans dating application? You then dismiss the thought because it’s obviously absurd – it had to be through some online apparatus.

So maybe, your mind begins to wander, it wasn’t the medium but the purpose. Could they have been so worn down by rejection that they just accepted their fate in life and decided to become one half of an ugly couple sandwich. Woo, what a terrible thing to have to think about. What an internal monologue that must be. Sure I’ll be in the ugly but that’s something and something is better than nothing. Then you think, what a sad thing to do. To settle so early and easily. To romantically die without a fight and never try to punch above your weight class. What a tragedy indeed.

Jesus, but who am I to judge on such shallow criteria goes the part of the brain you wish would pipe down more often. Should ugly people have to live a loveless life just because they don’t fit your arbitrary standards of beauty? Why that’s absurd you go, what was I even thinking? Maybe they complete each other emotionally and intellectually, isn’t physical beauty only one of the legs of the relationship chair. But then retorts the part of the brain you wish would speak less, isn’t physical beauty as important as an emotional and intellectual bond. That’s what brings the spark and magic and turns a magical friendship into a passionate relationship. The bonds of the mind and spirit are important but try explaining that to a flagging hard on or a rapidly drying pussy. So in the words of our genitals, let’s not downplay the importance of looks.

Maybe, just maybe, these uglies both find each other beautiful. And not that fake inner beauty nonsense but they truly have the hots for each other. It could happen, people are into weird things. You think about your own body. You certainly have some “eccentricities” and “peculiar parts” that some would find attractive and others would find downright unappealing. Hey to each their own, but then again don’t we have at least a baseline to judge beauty on. Could these people just have hit the baseline or found one appealing physical notion about each other and been like “that’s all I need I’m out”. Could they have been the person that only tries one flavor of ice cream, enjoys it, and then orders it on the spot without trying anything else? Is this the pair of people you just saw passing hand in hand in the village?

Now your mind takes a detour to the past trying to answer what could be a disheartening question. Have you ever in your dating career gotten the approval nod that you gave to the uglies? Has anyone ever given you, “one of the so called beautiful people”, that condescending good for you look when you were walking down the street with a love? The ego leaps into defensive mode saying no never, but then you think back on every walk you’ve ever made in public. You scour your memory banks like some 70’s reporter scanning microfiche at the library for any traces of the look. The results: inconclusive you’re positive it has definitely happened. In a city of 8 million people someone was bound to find you and your lover part of the select group of uglies and thought aww good for you guys, you did it. You overcame the odds.


The thought just sickens you. How could you be a willing accomplice in a vicious cycle that helps nobody at all. Love should be celebrated not ridiculed. The ugliness of the participants should be irrelevant. What a noble stance you think and you become instantly proud of yourself. And to think, you thought this wouldn’t be a productive walk. Never doubt yourself, now that’s a motto to live by. Until of course you see an even uglier couple holding hands as you hit the Chelsea neighborhood of the city (it’s been quite a walk) and think are you fucking kidding me? How did this one happen?

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

A Macy's Debacle aka I'm Not Crazy!

So get this. I’m in Macy’s because I need to buy a pair of pants. More specifically brown skinny jeans. Now for some reason purchasing this particular pair of pants has become a Don Quixote like quest for reasons beyond me but whatever. I like me some brown skinny jeans. Why this is less popular than fucking red or purple Joker pants is again beyond me. If I ran the world’s supply of jeans (rather than just the banks and the media – I’ve said too much) things would be much different. Much, much different believe me. But I don’t so I guess I can go, in the words of Mr. Levi Strauss, “fuck myself”. Pearls of corporate wisdom like that are why he became the powerhouse jeans manufacture he is today.

Getting back to whatever point I was making, I’m in Macy’s looking for brown skinny jeans at the Levi’s store in the contemporary men’s floor aka what used to be that weird floor one and a half which was only accessible by a middle escalator when I find me some brown jeans. So far so good. Well way to get ahead of yourself because they only have them in the slim cut. Jesus, don’t you get tired of always being wrong? Terrible. Just terrible. I see that these are the only moderately skinny pants in the brown color persuasion that Macy’s offers so I decide to be generous and see how they fit. I’m just in that kind of mood. So I go to the dressing with my said pair of slim brown skinny jeans and try them on. They don’t fit or rather they don’t fit my European normal or American anorexic body, so I figure I’ll just drop them off and continue my seemingly endless search. And here’s where the problems begin.

Normally dressing rooms have a clothing rack or a hook or something to put your unwanted clothes on after you try them on. Usually they take up the entrance or exit (yes we have taken a minor philosophical detour on how entrances can double as exits) of the dressing room and serve as a way of making sure clothing doesn’t end up on the fucking floor, preserving a sense of decorum in this rapidly declining society. As I exit the entrance of the Levi’s dressing room with my pair of unwanted pants draped over my shoulder I find nary a clothing rack to place them on. Since I’m not, as the kids would say, “a fucking asshole” I decide to ask someone where I should put said clothing. I go up to an associate at the register and ask if there is a rack or place to put my clothes. The lady looks at me and starts talking to me like I’m an insane person. What do you mean you need a rack just put your clothes anywhere, what are you talking about, and so on and so forth.

Is this the way we like to run our store? This is Macy’s, which prides itself on being the premier department store in the world and you can’t provide a basic store accompaniment? Mind you this is not some outlet store Macys, this is the Herald Square Thanksgiving Day Parade Miracle of 34th street Macys. This is the one that murdered Gimbels. What a steep decline to the excellence I for some reason falsely believed Macy’s prided itself on providing.

After suffering such injustice I decide to do the only logical thing and check out every other dressing room on the floor to see if they have a clothing rack. Well welly welly welly well, they all have places or racks to put unwanted clothes. I snap a picture of every single one and proudly walk back to the lady at the Levi’s store register and show her and her manager the clothing racks, basking in my petty glory. Actually that last part didn’t happen (but I did check out every dressing room and they did have racks – let the record show). Instead I simply folded my pants and put them back where I got them, muttering and ranting until I was kicked out. Well not really the kicked out part. I left on my own free will. But I was a ranting and a raving.

So fast forward to yesterday when I’m still looking for brown pants and again I find myself back at this forsaken Heralds Square Macy’s where again I have been disappointed by the selection of skinny jeans. Why I expected things to dramatically change in a week, I have no idea. Just call me an optimist. So I go back to the Levi’s store and its dressing room and to my surprise I see a sign telling people to put the clothes they do not want on a clothing rack. Good advice I think. I turn to see where this clothing rack is and again it is nowhere to be found. Instead I see a couch filled to the gills with jeans and people looking mildly confused looking for a clothing rack.


In short I’m not crazy. I swear.