Magic Jewball

Here’s a sign that there are too many of a certain store in your area. You can stand at one and see another. I can do this at several Starbucks in New York. But a special category exists for Duane Reade, the unbelievably ubiquitous drugstore in this area. I knew I had to write about this topic when I had the following exchange with a guy at DR.

Me: Didn’t you used to carry Aveda? Where’s the Aveda?
DR Guy: I know we do.
(searches, finds another guy, they both search, nada)
DR Guy: I guess we don’t have it anymore. Try the Duane Reade across the street.

Yes, try the one across the street. That’s when a blog entry formed itself in my mind.

I used to think Duane Reade was a guy. Hey! Duane! But one day I was serving jury duty, wandering around an area far further downtown than I ever go, when I happened upon a Duane Reade at the corner of Duane and Reade streets. Duh.

My friend Becky, who now reads this blog, once told me that she read about the secret to DR’s success. It’s that they will take any space. If you go into CVS or Rite Aid, they’re all nice and organized in tidy rows. If you know where the shampoo is in Peoria, you probably know where it is on 96th Street in Manhattan. DR is not like this. Some stores are L-shaped. Some have two levels. Some look like mazes, complete with arrow signs guiding you to the pharmacy. Once, my nearest Duane Reade moved across the street. I knew I was fucked. I would never be able to find anything again.

I know what you’re thinking (don’t I always?). Surely you exaggerate, Becca. Right. Here’s a picture of the two Duane Reades facing off across the street from each other.

Click to enlarge.

Can’t see the left one? Here’s a close-up.

I know it looks older and dirtier but I like the one on the left because it’s all on one level. Plus I know where the shampoo is. I really have to go back and find the Aveda.

I only shop at DR because it’s everywhere I want to be, as they say. But when I get it together enough to want a lot of pharmaceuticals at the same time, and I don’t want to spend $6.99 on toothpaste, I haul my ass down to K-Mart. There is no Wal-Mart in the city, not that I’d shop there, and Tar-jhay is cautiously circling around the outer boroughs. There is really no reason to tell you this except people seem to like those touristy photos without having to actually come here and pay $300 for a hotel room. So here’s a shot of the nearest landmark to K-Mart. You may recognize it.

Of course, as everyone knows, the Empire State Building changes its colors to salute various causes and holidays. I think the lighting theme here represents “Colors Becca Would Never Wear Day” which is celebrated throughout the world.

I wanted to link to The Rolling Stones’ She’s A Rainbow, but they’d only give me 30 seconds. And thankfully, there are no songs I know of about Duane Reade.

So let’s go with the song I was listening to today on the subway. They’re from New York and this is an awesome song.

The Walkmen - The Rat

Here’s hoping I never have a post that references this subject matter.

Hungry?

Yes, this is the sight that usually greets me on any given evening. Isn’t it nice to be so beloved by the fine restaurants of my neighborhood? Fans of New York who don’t live here often say envious things about all our take-out places. The wide variety of cheap and easy food (forget cheap and easy people). The food from countries that you’ve never even heard of. But then, they don’t have to contend with the nightly detritus that shows up, unwanted and unasked for, like the cold you got from touching the wrong subway pole. Or any subway pole.

I keep my recycling pile right near the door so I can just drop the menus right in but sometimes I forget and slip on them. Luckily, although I have good insurance, I’ve never sued myself.

The funny thing about these menus is they give you a clue as to what the people on your floor are having for dinner. “Oh, someone’s having Obento Delight. Good choice.” Sometimes, the menus show up while I’m actually at home and they make a kind of swooshy sound sliding under the door. They startle me and I immediately wonder if I have a rodent problem. I used to want to chase after the delivery guy, shaking my fist and telling him where he could stuff his menus. (It’s always a “him;” there are no delivery women, for whatever reason). But then I realized that if you came all the way to America and the life from which you were escaping was actually worse than riding around on a little bicycle, dodging NY traffic in all weathers at all hours, risking your life with every doorbell buzz, all for meager tips, well then that life had to suck really, really bad. Do you need me running after you yelling, waving my comfortable life and fat, fat wallet?

Speaking of other countries (how’d you like that smooth segue?) I tried. I really really tried to figure out soccer and this whole World Cup thing. I watched a bit. All I saw was people running frantically around a field. One guy kicks to the second guy. The second guy kicks to the third guy. The third guy kicks back to the first guy. Oh, it was a real blast. I later found out that it was a “breathtaking match” in which one team “trounced” the other, 1-0. Or as my friend Neil Finn would say, “one-nil.” Shut up, Neil Finn is my friend.

Now, I am so not a xenophobe. You will remember my love of all that is English. Plus, I love sports and my favorite athlete is Argentinean. Am I not the perfect candidate to get into this? But sorry, it’s a non-starter. As a matter of fact, I never felt so American as when I sat, slack-jawed, watching men in knee socks dashing madly around a large field accomplishing not much of anything. God bless America and our complete non-interest in this thing that obsesses every single other corner of the globe!

Supertramp - Breakfast In America

It seems sacrilegious to include Neil Finn in on this anti-soccer post, but hey, I’ll use any excuse. Neil Finn is, to me, the best songwriter who ever lived. Sorry, John Lennon. Sorry, Gershwin. Sorry, the rest of you. Sure, you’ve heard:
Crowded House - Don’t Dream It’s Over

But he’s way better than that song. Did you wonder where all the cool songs for grown-ups were? Look no further. It was hard to narrow down, but here are two favorites:
Neil Finn - She Will Have Her Way (Sorry, his solo stuff only gets 30 seconds)

Crowded House - Four Seasons In One Day

Can I be a little meta here? That is, talk about my blog on my actual blog? Oh, right, I make the rules here, I keep forgetting.

Anyway, here’s some exciting blognews. First off, I finally registered the name magicjewball.com. What does this mean? It means you can’t have it! So what happens if you type it into your browser? Try it, I’ll wait.

It’s like you never left! Yes, it just comes right back here. Same with magicjewball.org and magicjewball.net. The .org is because I’m pathetically non-profit. The .net is because…yeah, I’ll think about that one. But what it all really means is that one day I’ll leave this godforsaken Blogspot place that seems to have an outage every single day. And how can Soxy’s relatives see her be famous when that happens? By the way, 35% of my visitors over the last 48 hours have been from Massachusetts. Soxy’s friends didn’t have a lot to do what with the game being rained out and all. Or maybe it was Patriot Day or something. Anyway, I hope to eventually have my own space somewhere. Don’t worry, there won’t be any color there either.

But someone else just took that plunge. You can see former guest blogger Culotte’s new blog linked in the Blogroll on the right. Also now over there in the sidebar is a special feature. It’s for me, really. Why should everything be for you? I mean, I’m already disqualified from being Reader of the Month because I’m a blogger, and lets face it, I read this blog more than Bob, Steph, Soxy, and their associated buddies combined.

It’s “Where in the world is David Nalbandian?” (Try to say that in a cavernous, echoey voice and it sounds WAY more exciting). David Nalbandian is my favorite tennis player and I’m tired of trying to remember to check where he is all the time. He doesn’t put out a schedule like the Yankees or the alternate side of the street parking people do. This will remind me to do the research to find out where he is every week before I later discover he won a tournament that I didn’t even know existed. Otherwise it will be humiliatingly out of date, bringing shame upon me and my loved ones.

But don’t miss the other new items, including a handy link to instantaneously e-mail me at my new address (becca at magicjewball.com) and a link to Technorati’s list of who links to me. If you link to me and you don’t see your site there, feel free to picket the Technorati headquarters, wherever they may be. But even without you, I’m number 522,050! That really warms my heart. I’m sure I’ll be in the 400,000’s in no time. I know the Beatles famously wanted to go to “the very top!” but for me that’d be, oh, 358,000. Yes, I’m that ambitious.

But I only hope I live to see that. You see, on Sunday I’ll be doing a highly dangerous activity that I almost never do. That’s right, I’ll be driving a car. Look out, Eastern Seaboard! I’d tell you where I’m going but it’s a surprise party secret. I haven’t actually driven in the state of New York in about three years. I only ever drive when I travel, mostly in LA. Unfortunately, I haven’t killed anyone there yet. Oh, I kid! My exes all moved out of LA long ago.

But in case I don’t make it, please attend to my Technorati rating, thanks. And don’t forget David Nalbandian. I think he started at #522,050 but now he’s number three! Vamos!

Too many themes = too many songs

Style Council - Shout To The Top

Deftones - Be Quiet And Drive (Far Away)

Sinead O’Conner - Don’t Cry For Me Argentina

Yeah, somehow I don’t think anyone’s crying for Sinead O’Conner but whatever.

Well, once again, I had a hard time choosing. I can see already that this is going to become a cliché. But I did lie awake nights thinking about it. OK, I was awake for other reasons, but hey, once you can’t sleep, why not think about who is going to be Reader of the Month?

But so all day I’d obsessively watch my stalker stats and you all would be kind enough to visit on your company’s time. Yes, your boss would be calling or you’d have a patient on the table but it all bored you and you came here. Then I’d go home and it would trickle off. But one place showed up like a nagging itch each and every night. It was Cambridge, Mass. I knew it couldn’t be Curt Schilling because he’s so busy washing his socks and stumping for the Republicans. No, I knew the person reading my blog on her own time had to be Soxfan. Don’t know Soxfan? Here’s a picture of her relaxing in her living room.

Lot of green in there, Sox. You might think about redecorating. Anyway.So, because we have established that everything’s more fun in list form, let’s list all of the reasons Soxy (can I call you Soxy? Thanks.) is the ultimate J-Ball reader (well, this month, at least - I’m fickle).

1. First off (that was implied by the #1, how redundant of me), despite the fact that Soxy started her extraordinary blog-reading career by leaving lots of snickery “Randy Johnson is sure earning those millions, snortle, snortle” type comments, she sold her soul to be Reader of the Month and stopped trying to figure out how to get her “Yankees suck” digs into html brackets. Why? To be famous on the Internets, of course! I love that in a reader.

2. Even though she’s incredibly busy planning her wedding to Jason Varitek (I think that’s her fiancé, I’m not too clear), Soxy still finds the time to check out J-Ball, even tearing herself away from giggling with the girls at theknot.com, to have several look-sees a night. Here’s a picture of Soxy tasting possible hors d’oeuvres for the big day.

Nice. I would have gone with the hot dogs in the blankets, though.

3. Most importantly, Soxy left lots of subtle hints like, “I just want to be Reader of the Month,” and “It’s always been my ambition to be Reader of the Month,” and “Am I Reader of the Month yet?” At some point, I got the message. Plus, it was so timely what with That Other Team visiting Yankee Stadium, the Home of the Brave and All Things Good for practically a whole week! It just seemed so appropriate. I believe Soxy had MLB set the schedule up this way for just this purpose.

See, even though Soxy seems so cute and little and adorable, she can be scary when things aren’t going her way. I have proof!

I know what you’re thinking. Me too. Jason Varitek does look a lot different without the mask.

So, I’m a little worried now that the fact that Soxy has achieved her goal in life added to the recent development of me turning off comment moderation will be a recipe for disaster. But I have faith that Soxy isn’t the type that does things just for tangible rewards. I mean, what kind of person would do that?

Yes, that’s a chin-scratcher. But I’ve promised Soxy that she can claim (and pay for) her Reader of the Month dinner at the finest restaurant in the Bronx, Yankee Stadium. I mean, do they have a Kosher hot dog stand at Fenway? Come on.

But while I know we’re all sorry to see Steph dethroned, I just heard that A-Rod was made Player of the Month for May. Now Steph and A-Rod will have something to talk about the next time they see each other! So let’s congratulate Soxy on her achievement as well as on her upcoming nuptials. I know I for one will be thrilled when babies with names like Trot and Coco arrive on the scene.

As if Soxy and I weren’t simpatico enough, the song I was going to choose for her was the one she actually chose for herself. Damn Yay!

The Standells - Dirty Water

But that’s OK. Here’s a good one too. They didn’t have the War original but this one’s decent.

Smash Mouth - Why Can’t We Be Friends

Oh, and by the way, skip the comments making the requisite today’s date and evil empire connection. I am WAY ahead of you. Plus, in Judaism we don’t have a 666 thing. So there!

If you are part of any ethnic group at all they will have a parade for you in New York City. Sure, you’ve heard of the St. Patrick’s Day Parade but did you also know that if you’re a German-American, they have the Steuben Day Parade just for you? Feeling a wee bit Scottish? Enjoy your very own Tartan Day Parade!

Well, you may not have heard, but here in New York, we have quite a few Jews. And naturally, we get a parade. It’s the Salute to Israel Parade and I spent my afternoon saluting. Now, our parade is not especially like the famous ones. Unlike the St. Pats parade, there are no drunken hordes with “Kiss Me, I’m Jewish” buttons. And unlike the Puerto Rican Day Parade, there is no danger to skimpily clad women in the park. Ours is pretty tame. For one thing, not a lot of people come. “Yay, I’m Jewish!” might be something one feels, but there’s no need to do a whole parade thing, is what I guess most people think.

Most of the marching groups are religious schools. Like this one.

Sometimes famous Jews show up. Here’s Dr. Ruth. She got her own birthday float. I wanted to shout a question at her, but, well, my whole family was there.

There are always politicians. They need the ethnic vote. Sure they do, everyone here is part of their own special group. I missed Hillary Clinton and Mike Bloomberg (I think they had to run off to the Philippine Day Parade; it was also today. Duh, we have too many ethnicities to just have one parade per day). But I did catch Congressman Anthony Weiner. It’s easy to catch him. You can see why from this photo. Notice he and his sign-bearer are walking backwards along the parade route. His M.O. is to walk back and forth several times in order to shake as many hands as possible. I play this game in my head where, every time you see him, you have to think up a catchy campaign slogan for him, like “Vote for a Weiner” and “You know you want a Weiner in office.”

He’s the guy with the megaphone. His sign-lady gets extra points for wearing a nice, modest, religious-type outfit.

But here’s the funnest thing about the Salute to Israel Parade. See, as I mentioned, most of the marchers are from religious schools like the one I went to. In fact, here’s one of my alma maters. The girls look a little slutty, hm.

But anyway, since they have to fit in subjects like Talmud and Prophets along with your typical English and math fare, there is no time for music. There are no Yeshivas with marching bands. So, we import them, just for our parade. I know what you’re thinking: but, Becca, they look so Jewish!

(click to enlarge)

But don’t worry, here’s a reminder of whose parade it is:

Yeah, you just don’t see the Manischewitz float at the Caribbean Parade.

10,000 Maniacs - The Big Parade

Ironically, I could have used this in my “Songs about Vietnam post” but I didn’t. Phew. Now I can use it here.

Thanks for all your holiday wishes, I did indeed have a lovely Shavuot. And special thanks go to Culotte who kept you all entertained while I was cheesifying. In case you didn’t check out Culotte’s blog (shame on you!) you are specially invited to today because I am the guest blogger! Yes, it’s J-Ball does C-Folle (in the bloggy sense, get your mind out of the gutter). I always thought Culotte’s blog was so much more sophistimacated than mine so I especially appreciate the guest stint. It’s aesthetically lovely and she’s a real writer who has appeared on the radio and everything. Find out why. Not today though, because I’m on there.