Good Day, Sunshine

With the spring sun once again radiant atop the New York skyline, I spent this afternoon wandering the streets, mainly observing, in store window reflections, that I am exceedingly, cadaverously pale.

I am, by nature, a light-skinned person – having inherited my coloring more from my red-haired mother than my oft-mistaken-for-Italian father. But, after a winter spent in New York City, blanching under the glow of overhead fluorescents, I’ve moved well past past ‘fair’, and into ‘look kids, there’s Casper!’

Still, there’s more than just vanity behind my concern. Research seems to indicate that being tan is actually good for your skin, whereas it’s getting tan, and particularly getting tan fast, that’s particularly dangerous. And as, during the summer, I’m likely to be spending long hours on at least some days under beating solar rays, I’m hoping to ease myself in, rather than scorch to lobster on a first extended outing.

So, over the course of the next few weeks, I’ve been trying to engineer my schedule to allow for at least short periods of daily time in the sun. And, equally so, trying to schedule them as, say, shirtless morning jogs; having learned from past years how permanent a base my first spring sun forays can leave, I’m eager to avoid a repeat of one year’s redneck-ready farmer tan.

Mainly because I realize I’ll eventually want to hit a beach. And I don’t own nearly enough NASCAR-logoed bathing suits to back up the look.

Bookin’

While I’ve long loved to cook – having, for example, requested a hand-cranked pasta press for my fifteenth birthday – I’ve also never been a big fan of cookbooks. Most, it seems to me, are focused solely on specifics – one recipe at a time. A bit like collections of individual mathematical equations without any discussion of the underlying theories.

Still, for some time, I’ve been on the lookout for culinary education that transcends the what’s and when’s, reaching through to the how’s and why’s. A few years back, for example, I was lucky enough to discover a ‘knife skills’ class at the Institute for Culinary Education. Though just hours long, it permanently changed the way I wield a kitchen blade. And, as nearly all cooking involves some cutting, that one class has therefore affected nearly all of my kitchen adventures since.

Last week, I discovered two cooking books with similarly broad-reaching potential: Wayne Gisslen’s Professional Cooking, and Linda Carucci’s Cooking School Secrets for Real World Cooks. While the first is a wheelbarrow-worthy textbook and the second just a significantly oversized trade paperback, both are packed through with detail and insight across an astounding array of cooking topics:

From the importance of mise en place or the technique for perfect dicing, through the chemistry of caramelization and how that drives the choice of any of the twelve primary wet or dry cooking methods, to odds and ends like why you should dab off marinades but never directly rinse scallops or mushrooms. And, of course, recipes. Lots and lots and lots of exceedingly intriguing recipes, the first of which seem to be field-testing well in my Manhattan apartment kitchen.

Whether you can’t tell the difference between a saucepan and a Dutch oven, or whether they know you by first name at your local Sur La Table, your cooking is bound to improve with either or both of these books. Pick up copies today, and, once you’ve read your way through, invite me over for a home-cooked dinner by way of thanks.

Make a Difference

Last night, I was having drinks with a few friends who work in private asset management for exceedingly wealthy families. A few rounds in, one friend observed that, while such families are inevitably hell-bent on building their net worths, they’re also textbook examples of the law of diminishing returns. Which is to say, from a quality of life perspective, the first billion makes a far bigger dent than the second.

At the same time, this afternoon I found in my mailbox a pitch letter for a ‘sponsor a young Sudanese refugee’ program. For just a dollar a day, it explained, I could change the life of an African child.

And while, certainly, such sponsor programs are exceedingly noble in their goals, they also seem to be a dime a dozen. Which prompted me to combine the two threads – sponsorship and billionaire families – for a brilliantly outside-the-box business idea:

For just $10,000 a day, I can help those families sponsor a young New Yorker. (Namely, me. Though, not being greedy, I’m totally happy to start a list for other such civically-minded volunteers should a sufficient number of sponsoring families take the call to action.)

Like that kid in Sudan, I’d be more than happy to write a monthly letter to my sponsor. I’d even include pictures: me at Nobu enjoying an omakase dinner, at the Hotel Gansevoort with table service and a bottle of Cristal.

And, in turn, I’d even be happy to sponsor a whole village of those little kids in Sudan. Take that, foes of trickle-down economics.

A few friends in the legal world have pointed out that it may be a long road to 501c3 status for this burgeoning nonprofit, given our near-sighted government’s narrow understanding of ‘need’.

But, I’m convinced that, regardless of donation tax status, smart families interested in really changing lives should be quick to sign on. I’d tell you as soon as they do, but, to be honest, it may take a few weeks to install an internet connection on my new private Bahamian island.

In Brief

About three years back, I observed that men are loath to part with beloved clothing items: sweaters, jeans, t-shirts, and – particularly – underwear. Given a trusty pair of boxers, I said, “we’ll keep washing and wearing… until it’s disintegrated to nothing more than a waistband and a few hanging threads.”

And while, fortunately, my own have not yet reached that state, they are undoubtedly looking rather rough around the edges. (Literally. One of the first things to go, it seems, is the waistband elastic.)

So, this past weekend, I set out shopping. By broad female consensus, boxer briefs remained the only suitable way to go. But, for reasons I’ve never quite discerned, nearly every designer – including my own long-preferred Calvin Klein – seems to sell their pairs in only black, navy and heather gray.

On my way to a department store, however, I stopped to pick up a hard drive I had lent to a friend some months back. And, next door to his office, I noticed Gap holding its REALLY BIG SALE. (Capitalization theirs.) With some time to kill, and my mind in shopping mode, I decided to pop inside.

Lo and behold, Gap, of all places, had somehow veered away from the tri-color hegemony. Even better, they had reshaped their boxer briefs’ cut, away from what previously looked like foreshortened long underwear to a much hipper ‘athletic square cut’. And, best of all, the sale took the price per pair to a scant $6.99

So, now, my underwear drawer has, once again, been wholesale refreshed, au courant with an array of stripes, primary colors, and even one pair emblazoned with little green alligators knit right into the fabric.

I’ve previously admitted my belief in lucky underwear, and can therefore say I’m particularly excited to discover the effects of that alligatored pair.

They look auspicious indeed.

The Results

A shocking 267 individuals took time out of their ‘busy’ lives to weigh in on this ground-breaking survey. I herein present you the results, sorted within each question by descending order of majority-makes-rightness, and with a bit of commentary on each.

1. Age

20-30 63.8%
30-40 18.8%
40-50 10%
10-20 5%
50-60 2.5%

Astute reader Seanna Davidson (booby-prize winner of the recent Oscar pool) pointed out that I am, in fact, a survey retard. Not only does the age question belong at the end of surveys (as apparently, placed early, such questions lead to a higher rejection rate), but I also managed to include decade ages (20, 30) in two categories apiece.

Still, it seems clear most of my readers are about my own age – either because they’re more apt to identify with my angsty bullshit, or because they’re underemployed enough to have hours to waste surfing the internets.

2. Gender

Female 62.7%
Male 37.3%

The ladies love me. But, of course, we already knew that.

3. While showering, I predominantly face

away from the water. 61.4%
towards the water. 30.1%
Other 8.4%

I fall in the majority on this one, mainly because I have high enough water pressure to garner a free back massage while I space out each morning in the shower.

The vast majority of the ‘others’ were what I’d term ‘spinners’, switching regularly between the two. I secretly suspect such people of mild Multiple Personality Disorder.

One person explained “I always shower with my husband, so I’m usually sideways,” while one wise-ass, apparently unclear on the shower / bath distinction, claimed to “lay down and imagine I’m under a waterfall, face up.”

4. I floss

after brushing. 42.2%
before brushing. 39.8%
Other 18.1%

A bit of Googling yields that dentists themselves are split on this question, though I’m a before flosser, as I always feel like I should brush away any bits and pieces flossing dislodges.

All but one answerer in the 18.1% of ‘other’ were admissions of not flossing at all; or, as one respondent put it, ” I’m English…” Regardless of nationality, these people would be well advised to buy Fixodent preemptively.

5. Before applying toothpaste, I

rinse my toothbrush head in cold water. 62.5%
don’t rinse my toothbrush head. 17.5%
rinse my toothbrush head in hot water. 10%
Other 10%

Most of the ‘other’ responses were ‘rinse after applying toothpaste. But, blinded by my own bathroom habits, I had assumed that everyone would add water after; thus, it seems this area of investigation remains woefully incomplete; I’ll need to expand the line of questioning in future research.

As an aside: one respondent provided the brushing routine of “toothpaste on, smash in toothbrush with tongue, place under cold water, brush”. To whom I say: Smash in toothbrush with tongue? What the fuck is wrong with you?

6. When showering I
wash my hair then my body. 70.9%
wash my body then my hair. 21.5%
Other 7.6%

While this one also showed a strong majority, I’m unsure of why – does shampooing seem more important, thus deserving pole position, or is that, like in washing windows, dirty runoff from above mandates a top-down approach?

Most disturbing, however, was the respondent who supplied the write-in “just hair.” Here’s hoping I never end up having to sit next to this person.

7. A roll of toilet paper should hang with the loose end

coming forward over the top. 83.1%
hanging down off the back. 8.4%
Other 8.2%

This question brought out not only the most lopsided response, but also the most passionate write-ins. While a handful of ‘other’ respondents called the issue ‘not worth the fight this brings on,’ at least three admitted to taking covert action on the issue – as one explained, “I feel so strongly about the ‘rightness’ of TP coming forward over the top that I change it when I visit homes where it is ‘wrong.’ Does anyone else do this?”

Embarrassed as I am to admit it, I do. Or, at least, I have on a few occasions past. I’m somewhat relieved to know that at least I’m part of a toilet paper Jihad, spreading the truth to backwards hangers the world over.

8. Before wiping, I take a length of toilet paper and

crumple it. 43.4%
fold it. 54.2%
Other 2.4%

While this one split nearly down the middle, I remember a discussion of the issue with friends a few years back, where the claim was made that more men are folders, and more women crumplers.

So, in short, lest you think this experiment is winding to an end, the next stop here is for me to figure out SurveyMonkey well enough to break down the results by gender. I’m exceedingly curious to see whether any of these habits are gender-mediated, and will be reporting on the issue in the next couple of days.

9. Comments / topics for further exploration.

It seems this survey touched quite a nerve, considering the quick response roll-in, and the number of people who left additional ideas. Some questions suggested for future exploration:

* Hand-washing – how frequently?
* Hand-washing – rinse before applying soap?
* Wiping – while standing or sitting?
* Wiping – front-to-back or back-to-front?
* Post-shower toweling – in the tub or out of it?
* Toothpaste cap – on or off?
* Soap – bar or liquid (both in shower and at sink)?

And, to close, a last comment, the likes of which makes this all worthwhile:

“I’m glad someone else recognizes the truly important things in life.”

Truly important indeed.

Important Research

Though I’m, apparently, already one of the world’s leading experts on urinal etiquette (with Self-Aggrandizement even showing up in the relevant Wikipedia entry), over the past few months, I’ve increasingly become fascinated by a more private set of bathroom norms.

Urinal etiquette, you see, is passed on via socialization – boys using public bathrooms observe men doing so, over time picking up the tacit codes of behavior which pass from generation to generation.

But there are other things people do – the way they shower or floss or use toilet paper – that they often do alone well into adulthood. And, it turns out, they don’t all do them in the same way – some people face predominantly towards the showerhead and others face away, some brush before flossing and others after. Yet, because we tend to do these things again and again in the same ways, we start to believe our ways make more sense, are somehow more ‘right’.

So, to extend our common understanding and advance the progress of scientific endeavor, I’ve decided to begin studying these pressing questions in earnest. And I need your help.

Take two minutes, and fill out this anonymous questionnaire. The pursuit of truth hinges on you.

Old School

Over the past few months, I’ve increasingly discovered that, in flirting with women, everything funny back in second grade is now funny again.

Thumb wrestling, rock-paper-scissors, faux magic tricks; phrases like ‘dillhole’ and ‘dickweed’; offering your hand to a girl apologetically after you make fun of her, then, when she takes it, slapping her on the wrist and laughing hysterically at her having fallen for it.

I was taught this last one by the chatty, articulate eight-year old girl who lives down the hall from me, a girl who, since my discovery of the power of second-grade-inspired pickups, has essentially become my personal Hitch.

Just last weekend, for example, she passed along a gem I successfully field-tested at bars throughout the week: mouse races.

Imagine three mice, she explained to me: a deaf mouse, a dumb mouse, and a blind mouse. A mouse race, then, involved me putting out my upturned palm, then letting her draw lines representing each mouse up along my arm, as far as I thought each mouse would go before it stopped.

She did the blind mouse first, and I let her draw about half-way across my hand before I stopped her. Then the dumb mouse, which I let get just past my palm and onto my wrist.

Finally, the deaf mouse. Stop, I said, when she was again just passing my wrist. But, of course, she kept plowing ahead, it taking me two more ignored ‘stops’ before I got the joke.

After which, my little neighbor dissolved into paroxysms of gasping laughter; as, in fact, have I, the two times I’ve since pulled this off on others.

But, the odd thing is, rather than being appalled at the stupidity of it all, women apparently find this fun and charming, even want you to write your phone number on their arms alongside the three lines.

Which, previously, I totally would have done. But, now, having increasingly reverted to my second grade self, seems like a rather dangerous idea; after all, those girls are probably covered with cooties.

Cringing

Tomorrow evening, I head out to Brooklyn to reprise my earlier recitation of the Laura Friedman Saga from my teenage digital diary, at Cringe’s one year anniversary – a Best Of reading that’s bringing back in the cream of the crop. Plus, you know, me.

A description of Cringe from organizer Sarah Brown:

Funny people reading from their old diaries, letters, songs, poems, and other general representations of the crushing misery of their humiliating adolescence, but it’s okay because they’re totally cool and well-adjusted and super attractive now:

Cringe Reading Night
Wednesday, April 5, 8:30 pm
Freddy’s Bar & Backroom
Dean & 6th Ave.
2/3 to Bergen, any train to Atlantic/Flatbush
More directions here
Cost: free dollars

Though, for the record, I was just as “super attractice” at the time of writing; for proof thereof, I include the Bar Mitzvah photo below, taken at age 13 (as is my collection of journal entries).

barmitzvah.tiff

Such a shana punim.

[Also in this week’s New York Magazine.]