Steve Dublanica's Blog, page 30

Losing it

If you're like me, you were horrified to watch that video of Clay Duke shooting up a school board meeting in Panama City, Florida. Ranting incoherently, Mr. Duke was shot by a security guard and then took his own life. Luckily no innocent people were killed.

Of course the media and blogosphere are filled with people prognosticating about why Duke did what he did. Some say he was just a sad, mentally ill man under great financial stress who just snapped. Others say he was a cold-blooded individual with a criminal record who planned to carry out a mass killing. And yet others are asking why he, a convicted felon, even had a gun to begin with and are questioning the validity of the Second Amendment. One thing's for sure, interest groups of all stripes will use this tragic incident to point fingers, throw mud and advance their own agendas. But no matter how you slice it, what happened in Florida was terrible and disturbing.

But an article on the website infowars.com stated that we should expect more of this insane behavior as the recession wears on. "When Americans start losing everything," they wrote, citing a trend forecaster named Gerald Celente, "They will start to lose it. " They further stated, "As we warned back in June, we are in the early stages of a new 'age of rage,' which will be characterized by riots, revolutions and a widespread backlash against the economic holocaust that has been unleashed by the global elite. Unfortunately there will be many more Clay Dukes over the coming years, there will be more Americans who lose everything and decide that the best way out is simply to lose it altogether."

That's bullshit, scaremongering and, quite frankly, stupid.

If this doom and gloom prophecy were true Bernie Madoff would have gotten plugged with a high-powered rifle long ago, bankers hoarding capital and refusing to make loans would have been strung up on lampposts and bloody riots would have already rocked our nation. But this recession has been grinding away for two years and none of these horrors have come to pass. (Though I wouldn't shed a tear for Bernie.) And what infowars.com forgot to mention is that when you live in a nation of 300 million people, statistics show that such crazy and violent incidents like this are bound to happen. But if you look at such tragedies with a sense of proportion you'd realize these incidents occur rarely. According to the most recent FBI statistics, the rate of violent crime in the U.S. is falling, not rising. But the with the 24 hour news cycle created by television and the internet constantly pumping these stories you'd think people are shooting up places everyday. If it bleeds it leads – but such news reports are not indicative of what's happening in the nation as a whole.

The vast majority of Americans hurt in this economy are not engaging in acts of violence. If they did I think we would have heard about it by now. And stop demonizing people who are poor. Most people who live in poverty do not flip out and kill people. My mom grew up poor in Spanish Harlem with lots of other poor people. Most of them turned out to be hardworking and responsible citizens, not gun toting maniacs with a grudge.

The article also failed to examine American History as well. During the Great Depression, when there were no Social Security or unemployment benefits until 1935, (And SS benefits didn't start coming until 1941) the American nation did not rend itself asunder. There were problems, yes – but no revolution. No storming of the palace gates or mass murders. The Union held together. If it didn't we'd have never summed up the willpower and fortitude to win World War II.

The Bonus Marchers who descended on Washington in the spring and summer of 1932 were not violent – though the government used violence against them. The Civil Rights movement that agitated to change racist laws and conceptions used mostly non-violent techniques and riots like those that occurred Watts, Newark and L.A. did not result in the wholesale destruction of America. This nation is much stronger than we give it credit for. And no matter what you think about the War on Terror, if America was in such sad shape would hundreds of thousands of American men and women be willing to fight and die for us on far-flung battlefields in Iraq and Afghanistan? Probably not. As our President recently said, "Don't bet against America." No matter what your political leanings are, we can all get behind that statement.

But fear is a nice cottage industry. Fear helps companies hustle gold futures, newspapers, survival supplies, guns and breeds all types of scams designed to separate you from your money. Just look these fly by night outfits offering to help settle your debts or salvage your mortgage while walking off with fat fees and not helping you in the least. There's a lot of money to be made in scaring the shit of people. Don't fall for it. We are not all going to lose our shit, no matter how much people like to tell you it will be so.

FDR once said, "We have nothing to fear but fear itself." More recently Jon Stewart said, "We live in hard times. Not end times." Let's stop talking like it's the end of the world. It isn't. What Mr. Clay did was horrible but it's not a harbinger of impending Armageddon. But the best response I've ever read regarding scaremongering eschatology was written over two thousand years ago.

"Take heed that no man deceive you….ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet."

Don't be deceived. We're not losing it. What is past is prologue. And looking at our past I'd say our greatest days are still to come.

The Today Show

Hey everybody. Sorry I've been away so long. Been busy.

And I'm going to be talking to Matt Lauer on The Today Show tomorrow morning! Tune in around 8:30.

Happy Holidays!

Don't be a Scrooge

I'm sitting in my cigar shop puffing on a Maduro when Philo, a doorman who works in an exclusive Upper West Side building, walks in.

"Hey Philo," I say. "How are the Christmas tips going?"

"Jesus Christ," he says. "The tenants are already starting to bitch about it."

"Really?"

"I've got this woman," Philo says. "All year she's like 'Philo can you do this for me? Philo can you do that for me?' But the day after Thanksgiving she's already saying, 'Oh the economy is bad this year, you know? Things are tight for us right now."

"She's already hinting she's not giving a Christmas tip."

"Damn straight," Philo says. "This happens every year. Somebody wants you to wait on you hand and foot all the time but when Christmas hits they start avoiding you, dodging you in the hallways. They'll go off to St. Tropez or something for the holidays. Then when they get back in January they forget all about tipping you. Pukes."

Philo has a right to be angry because holiday tips are very important to doormen. Most of the guys I interviewed for my book made between $42,000 – $45,000 a year with benefits. That's not a lot of money in the New York Metropolitan area. So the holiday tip is huge.

"So how much did you make in tips last year Philo?" I ask.

"About $9000," Philo says.

That's an almost an extra 20 percent of income! And it wasn't for the cheap holdouts in his building Philo might have made $11,000 or 25 percent on top of his annual salary. But there are many, many lowballers inhabiting doorman buildings. "We had sixty-six people give out of two hundred units," Mickey, a Brooklyn born East Side super said. "Only sixty six. That's disgusting."

That blows my mind. If you live in a big city you know doormen in residential buildings get holiday tips. When you move into these buildings to enjoy those amenities the workers provide you have to factor that holiday cash into your budget. But now that Christmas will soon be upon us residents are starting their annual bitch and moan fest. Well if you can't tip the doorman during the holidays maybe you ought to rethink living in a doorman building.

I know, I know. People on the Upper East side will send me hate mail and tell me I'm being a bit absolutist. But tip evasion during the holidays isn't limited to doormen. Lots of women will let their "hair grow long" and skip their mani/pedis this month so when they return to the salon in February they won't have to leave a big gratuity. Now the usual holiday tip for a beauty professional is the price of the service. Whenever I visit my barber Spiro I leave him 5 bucks on a 25 dollar cut. At Christmas I give him fifty. Now I can sympathize with women whose coifs can cost much more than mine, but to avoid the stylist to get out of leaving a holiday tip? Really? The cynical part of me knows some people will decide now's the time to switch hairstylists. If you're getting $300 highlights every month and can't leave a holiday tip maybe its time to go to Supercuts.

Now Spiro would disagree with me on this point. "If you don't got it you don't got it. I'd rather you come in all year and give me work and a regular tip." I see his point and maybe he's right. But there's a breed of people out there who treat themselves very well but get skinflinty when it comes to taking care of others. We all know people like this. They indulge in takeout five days a week and never tip the delivery boy. They buy themselves expensive gizmos all year but avoid the Salvation Army Santa. They'll let you buy them dinner but never offer to pick up the tab. In my book I have a word for these people – schnorers. These are the people who always think they deserve the good things in life but never want to tip workers for the privilege. They take but never give. In my personal lexicon the synonyms for schnorer are Scrooge, Grinch and asshole.

"I've got a guy in my building," Philo once told me. "He lives in a two million dollar apartment and just spent a million renovating it. Then he had the nerve to tell us he couldn't afford to give us our holiday money. That's bullshit." You see? Good to themselves, not so good to others. Sigh.

Now many people have been hit hard by the recession. Like Spiro said, "If you don't got it, you don't got it." But that's not an excuse to forgo making an effort to thank the people who've faithfully served you all year. You didn't get your bonus and can't give the doorman that hundred? Maybe you can give fifty bucks or a nice gift. Can't afford to leave a big tip at the uber salon because your husband just got laid off? Buy the workers lunch. Can't tip the nanny? Give her a week's paid vacation when you can afford it. The same goes with every tipped profession during the holidays. Make an effort. It'll be appreciated.

Of course nothing says Merry Christmas like cold hard cash, but if you're a good tipper all year and treat workers with respect they're less likely to freak when you come up short at Christmas. But if you're a jerk 365 a year and then stiff workers on the holiday tip you're setting yourself up for trouble. A doorman told me that if he has such a person running an illegal sublet in his building he'll rat them out to the co-op board in a second. Another super told me he lost the paperwork for a miserly tenant trying to get permits to have work done on his expensive duplex. Ouch. You might suddenly discover the hairstylist can never pencil you in, the car lot attendant always buries your car in the bowels of the garage and your personal trainer will only see you at 6:00 AM. If you're not nice you may end up on the naughty list.

Now I don't have a doorman, nanny, landscaper, personal trainer (Though God knows I need one.) housekeeper or masseuse on call. Most of us don't have to worry about tipping these kinds of workers because we can't afford them. But if you have a paperboy, postal carrier, favorite waiter, barista, shoeshine guy or dog groomer you see all the time then yes, you should tip them. If you don't give them something you're going to feel awkward all year. And if you can't give what Emily Post or I recommend – give them something. Because everyone likes to get something at Christmas don't they? And don't use the recession as an excuse. We are all in this together.

And if you bought yourself something as superfluous as an iPad this year you better give the Salvation Army something or you'll burn in hell. Don't be a schnorer. Don't be a Scrooge.

Merry Christmas.

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Do the Right Thing

You have two things to do today.

1. Vote

2. Buy Keep the Change

And not necessarily in that order!

Where's My Bacon?

I'm at a McCormick and Schmick's restaurant with a date. As we peruse the cocktail menu I see a drink that almost gives me an orgasm – a dirty Grey Goose martini with olives stuffed with blue cheese and bacon.

"I'm so getting that," I tell my date.

"Vodka, cheese and bacon," she says. "Three of your favorite things."

"I wonder how many calories are in it?"

When the waiter comes to the table we order our cocktails. Boy, I can't wait. But two minutes later the waiter comes back with a nervous look on his face. "I'm sorry, sir," he says. "We don't have the olives with blue cheese and bacon."

"I knew it was too good to be true," I say humorously.

"We can give you olives just stuffed with blue cheese."

"That's fine. No problem."

"I'm sorry," the waiter says again.

"If that's the worst thing that happens to me then I'm ahead of the curve. Don't worry about it."

"You poor thing," my date says after the waiter walks away.

"It's not a big deal," I say. "But you know what? When I was a waiter some customers would absolutely lose their shit over this."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Oh yeah. I had people yell at me when we ran out of stuff. They'd either insult me or ask to see the manager."

"Glad I was never a waitress."

"Some customers are just assholes. Unable to tolerate disappointment."

"Well, you handled that nicely."

The waiter returns with our drinks. Despite not having bacon in it, my martini is excellent. After a few minutes perusing the menu we order the large oyster sampler, an iceberg wedge, bouillabaisse for the lady and sea bass over udon noodles with miso sauce for me. Yummy.

After we slurp down our oysters my martini is gone so I order another. Hey, my date's driving. My second drink arrives with the iceberg wedge. They've spilt it in the back for us. Classy.

"Would you like some cucumber on your salad?" the waiter asks, holding a condiment tray.

"Yes, please," my date says.

"Crumbled blue cheese?"

"Load it on," I say.

"Bacon?"

"Hey!" I say teasingly. "There's the bacon for my drink!" The waiter smiles awkwardly.

"Sure, I say "I'll have some." The waiter sprinkles the pork fat goodness on my salad.

"A little more please," I say, waving him on. And when the waiter departs my date remove the olives from my drink and stuffs the extra bacon into the blue cheese. Hubba hubba.

"All fixed," she says with a brilliant smile.

I've never had bacon in a drink before and, to be honest, it's a bit weird. The grease from the bacon has created an oil slick on the surface of the vodka. Weird, but tasty.

"Good?" my date asks.

"Everything that I imagined."

After we finish our salads the entrees come out. They're excellent.

"So were your customers really that tough?" my date asks after daintily eating a mussel.

"Eighty percent of them we're really nice. But the other twenty percent could be real tools."

"How?"

"I once had a lady order a tuna steak rare and it came out medium rare. I immediately offered to replace it but she had a psychotic break yelling, 'You have ruined my entire weekend!'"

"Oh god."

"Luckily her husband intervened. He knew she was nuts."

Meal finished, we order a vanilla baked apple en croute with crème fraiche and coffee. After we polish it off the waiter brings the check to the table.

"Let me get this," my date says, reaching for her purse. I knew I liked this girl.

"Let's play a little game instead," I say grabbing the check holder and placing up to my head like Carnac the Magnificent. "The person who comes closest to guessing the bill gets to pay."

"I say it's a hundred and ten," my date says.

"I say it's one-thirty." And when I open the check the bill is $128.98. I win.

"You are good," my date says.

"My dear, you have no idea."

I pay the bill with my Amex card and tip twenty-eight dollars in cash. The waiter earned it – even without the bacon.

Labyrinth

I'm standing in the middle of a corn maze in Chester, New Jersey and I'm pissed.

"I hope you're happy," I say to my friend Alicia. "We're lost."

"What's the point of going to a corn maze if you don't get lost?" she says. "That's the fun part."

When a guy goes into a maze he wants to get out of it quickly. It arouses our competitive urge and desire to prove our superior sense of direction. Women? They think it's romantic to get lost. If men are from Mars then women are from a planet in the Magellanic Cloud. It amazes me that we ever reproduce at all. That's probably why God created alcohol.

"I wonder how many couples breakup in here," I say.

"Don't be a jerk."

When I looked at the map prior to heading into this maize labyrinth I got a good sense of the direction we should travel. I was a Boy Scout. I know how to use a map and compass. I seldom get lost. But Alicia wanted to go her way. After a little spat I caved in and plunged off what I knew was the beaten path.

"Did you hear Matt Damon was here last week?" I say, trying to ignore the people going in the other direction muttering that they're lost.

"Really?"

"I wonder if his wife wanted to get lost." No response.

I look up at the sky to get my bearings. We're heading away from the exit. Oh well, at least we have donuts and warm apple cider to keep us nourished.

"Look," Alicia says, pointing to a sign that reads, "No Smoking in the Maze."

"Setting this maze on fire would certainly motivate people."

"Don't be so mean."

"It could be a reality TV show," I say. "You have ten minutes to get out of the maze before they napalm it. Now that's entertainment."

"Maybe they could have a Minotaur running around here."

Somewhere in the maze I hear a small child having an epic meltdown. "Cheetahs," I say. "Cheetahs who haven't eaten in a week and have acquired a taste for little kids."

"You're horrible."

"How about wolves? Demented guys in hockey masks with sharp cutlery? It would be glorious." Alicia sighs.

"And all the girls who thought it'd be cool to get lost would perish," I say. "Evolution at work."

"What would you do if that happened?" Alicia says.

"I'd cheat," I say, "Cheetah coming after me? I'd crash through the maze and get out."

"Better have a machete."

After a few minutes of bewildering turns and dead ends Alicia decides she's sick of being lost. It was only a matter of time. Of course, now she wants me to get us out of here. Typical.

"Oh no," I say. "We're lost. It's so romantic."

"There's a map station over there," she says. "Lets see if we can make sense of this place."

When you enter the maze you're given a map that can only be read when you slip it under a piece of special plastic at one of four way stations. I know I can get us out if I can read the map, but I can't – some yuppie couple is hogging it.

We wait patiently for a few minutes but the couple won't budge and I begin to tap my foot impatiently. It's getting dark and a light rain is falling. I notice the guy's fashionably dressed in an autumn hip suede jacket with an expensive camera hanging from his neck. He must be from Manhattan. Truth be told, I saw a lot of New York plates in the parking lot. He better get a move on. Rain wrecks suede.

"Did you see that cartoon in the New Yorker?" I ask Alicia. "It shows a bunch of zombie-like Manhattanites going, 'Must see foliage! Must buy cider! Must buy gourds!'"

"Yeah I did," Alicia says.

"These people make fun of our state but then come out here to play. Ugh, why can't they leave us in peace?"

"Because they don't have enough trees?"

Sick of waiting for the yuppies to tear themselves away from the map I decide to take matters into my own hands. Because the maze is closing in half an hour, the kids who work here are helping people get out.

"How do we get out of here?" I ask a thin teenage boy.

"Go behind that way station you just passed," he says. "Make a left and then nothing but rights."

"How many couples have broken up in this maze?"

The boy smiles broadly. "We've seen a couple of disagreements in here."

As Alicia and I begin our trek out of the maize we pass by the hapless Yuppies still gazing at the map. I decide not to clue them in on the way out. I don't like suede jackets.

"The way you wanted to go wasn't the right way out either," Alicia says as we head towards freedom That's true. After we got off my path I got totally disoriented.

"I guess I'm not as Natty Bumppo as think I am."

Finally we exit the maze and head to the bakery to buy more donuts. I'm on such a sugar high it's not funny. But damn if those doughnuts aren't good.

"Did you have fun?" Alicia asks.

"Yes," I say, eating my fourth doughnut of the afternoon. "And the doughnuts were the best part."

As we silently chase our fat and glucose treats with sugary cider I look around me. The trees swaying gently in the breeze make the forest look like a gently rippling sea of red and golden fire. New Jersey is such a beautiful place. It's shame some people from Manhattan look down on us. We're not just IKEA, corruption, shopping malls, The Turnpike and the Sopranos. We're horse country, gentle rivers, glorious beaches, deep woods and small towns. A couple of days ago I climbed a small mountain in Morris County and saw a white church spire gleaming as the setting sun cast it's light on the burning valley below. It took my breath away. New York City's a fun place, but next to the Jersey countryside Central Park looks like a backyard.

"Ready to go?" Alicia asks.

"Sure."

But as we drive out of the parking lot I can only wonder. Are Matt Damon and his wife still together? Hmm…….

Additional Book Tour Dates

I'll also be at these places!

Wednesday, November 17th

Barnes & Noble at Boston University Bookstore

660 Beacon Street

Boston, Massachusetts

7:00 PM

Monday, November 22nd

RJ Julia Booksellers

768 Boston Post Rd.

Madison, Connecticut

7:00 PM

Book Tour

Keep the Change is coming out November 2nd and I'll be hitting the road for a book tour. Here's a list of the dates and places. If you can make it, I'd love to see you!

Wednesday, November 03, 2010

07:30 PM

BARNES & NOBLE

395 Route 3 E Clifton, NJ 07014

Thursday, November 04, 2010

07:00 PM

BORDERS BOOKS

10 Columbus Circle New York, NY 10019

Sunday, November 07, 2010

01:00 PM

VROMAN'S BOOKSTORE

695 E. Colorado Blvd. Pasadena, CA 91101

Monday, November 08, 2010

06:00 PM

OMNIVORE BOOKS

3885A Cesar Chavez St. San Francisco, CA 94131

Tuesday, November 09, 2010

07:00 PM

BOOK PASSAGE

51 Tamal Vista Blvd Corte Madera, CA 94925

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

07:00 PM

POWELL'S BOOKSTORE

1005 West Burnside Portland, OR 97209

Thursday, November 11, 2010

07:00 PM

RISTRETTO ROASTERS

3808 N. Williams Ave Portland, OR 97227

Seduced by a Preposition

I'm driving along a Jersey highway when I see a sign that reads, The Mall at Short Hills.

"God, I hate that," I say to my friend Alicia. "The Mall at Short Hills. So friggin pretentious."

For those of you who have never heard of the place, The Short Hills Mall is one of those über affluent consumerist hives that rake in more money than some nation states make from taxing their citizens. Filled with high-end merchants like Hermes, Jimmy-Cho's, Cartier, Coach and Ferragamo; the place even displays Porsches and Bentleys next to the water fountains. The place is very, very upscale.

"The haughty use of a preposition," Alicia says.

"I understand you use at to tell you where something is located," I say. "But why can't they just say it's the Mall in Short Hills?"

"Doesn't have the same cachet."

"Using a preposition to make a place sound ritzier? An abuse of English is you ask me." Alicia shrugs.

Now using "at" in this case is technically acceptable English usage but it grates on me. When popes and royalty used to sign proclamations they'd write "Given at Rome" or "Given at Rheims." Makes what they were selling sound kind of grand, huh? I should have ended my book with "Given at Paramus." That'd go over well. Using at like this is kind of like using the royal "we." Ever listen to anyone who talks like that? Probably not, but if you did you'd want to lop their head off – just like the French used to do.

"You never see stores using at in less affluent areas," Alicia says.

"Can you imagine The Target at Newark?" I say. "Or The Sears at The Bronx?"

"But look at how real estate people use at," Alicia says. "Your flimsy townhouse isn't in a town, its Camelot at Edgewater or Camelot at East Hanover."

"Funny, its just Camelot Lyndhurst in Lyndhurst."

"Lyndhurst isn't a fancy town."

"But it's the same exact kind of development. All those places look the same! Built for a builders profit."

"And some of the people living in those places now have mortgages that cost more than their townhouse."

I know this sounds crazy, but I'm sure some people bought homes because the use of at in the brochures made their abodes seem fancier than they really were. Just like popes and kings, at made what developers were foisting on their customers sound more grand. Seduced by a preposition. Who would have thunk it?

This is the sort of nonsense up with which I will not put.