Apparently financial analysts at Credit Suisse are good for something more than holding your place in line at Shake Shack. Keith Signer, one such analyst, chose to conduct research on obesity and fast food restaurants by only patronizing fast food chains for the month of April. He is setting out to prove that the stuff doesn’t really have an adverse effect on cholesterol and weight (What would he do if he were covering Phillip Morris?) . Anyway, his daily menu, as quoted by the Post, is as follows:
“Egg McMuffin, no cheese, no margarine; small OJ; half of Domino's hand-tossed pizza with red peppers; 20 oz. Coke; McDonald's southwest chicken salad, lite sesame ginger dressing and an apple pie.”
Major kudos to Keith for trying to garner familiarity with the companies he covers but guy, give me a break. A few points, if I may:
1. If I ate salad for dinner every night (instead of the bloody steaks and 8 bourbons that comprise my typical menu) I’d have Heidi Klum’s body and Lance Armstrong’s lung capacity. That's like me committing to smoking cigarettes in an effort to prove that it doesn't cause lung cancer but oops, I don't inhale.
2. An egg mcmuffin with no cheese or margarine? How does one remove margarine from a pre-packaged sandwich that has traveled cross country in the back of a frozen truck? I’m calling your bluff.
3. How does your girlfriend like eating in restaurants where the chairs are attached to the table? Poor thing is probably counting down the days until her May 1st trip to Balthazar (you have booked that already, right? Right??)
Seriously Keith, I have questions, you’ve got answers. Show me what you’re working with.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Gift Giving Guides for Men- Just in time for the Pre- pre- pre Christmas Season
The other day I recalled an experience taking a friend’s now ex-boyfriend shopping for her Christmas gift. After 4 hours spent exploring every inch of Saks, we’d mutually decided on a pint-sized Prada bag. It was small enough that the price tag wasn’t gasp worthy (for him), but appropriately Label-y to make her gasp (in more ways than one). In other words, it both fulfilled the needs of the giver and the recipient; It was, in all respects, the perfect gift.
“Whatever happened to that bag anyway?” I asked her.
“Oh that? I use it to carry old makeup now,” she replied in a fit of laughter.
“Ha! I thought his slash our taste was pretty nice!” I shot back. “Given after spending a whole day with him I was so frustrated I would have let him buy you a pair of Top Siders… but that’s besides the point.”
This quickly had us recalling all of the “tokens of affection” exchanged between them. First there was the “Please sleep with me” watch, followed by the “no really I meant it, its been 4 months you evil cipher- PLEASE SLEEP WITH ME” handbag. Then there was the “sleep with me in miami?” tickets to miami, followed by the “hey baby lets check out the rooms at the hudson” tickets to new york (note: the fact that the rooms are so small that the shower is essentially IN the bed are either a pro or con, we haven’t decided yet). This was obviously a guy whose generosity knew no bounds when it came to ensuring consistent lerrrrve.
This had me thinking about the last few gifts I’d received from the opposite sex. I must say that I felt rather odd admitting that the majority of them were all books, not because its not my favorite gift to receive (which it is) but because of the blank stares I get when I tell my girlfriends as much. Where was my “fuck me” watch? Because I’d totally lost that one my parents gave me for graduation and could have really used a new one at any rate.
“Oh honey,” my friend assured me “that means they see you as smart! That’s a good thing.”
It then being unanimously agreed that a book didn’t necessarily say “let’s get it on,” the question of what it did say got us thinking. Thankfully, Stuff White People Like sensed my anguish and recently posited rather brilliantly that:
“The ability to entirely craft the literary tastes of your partner is highly desirable as it reinforces your own impeccable taste and allows you to play a literary version of Henry Higgins.”
While I’d argue relentlessly that I’m no Eliza Doolittle and needn’t be schooled in proper English, I do agree that the desire to infiltrate the mind of the book’s recipient is a requisite characteristic of the giver. Herewith, I realized that I need only examine the central themes of the books themselves to crack the message behind them. Let me tell you readers, I think I learned more than I cared to:
1) Crime and Punishment
Focuses on the mental anguish and moral dilemmas of Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov, who formulates and executes a plan to kill a hated, unscrupulous pawnbroker to seemingly rid the world of evil.
Translation: I don’t want to take you to another cocktail party wherein you admit to not having read this- it’s rather embarrassing. That said, did you notice I sprung for the hardcover?
2) Stumbling on Happiness
Gilbert's central thesis is that people imagine the future poorly, in particular what will make them happy. The advice Gilbert offers is to use other people's experiences to predict the future, instead of imagining it.
Translation: If you can actually fake liking this book for my sake then you’re really the mindless girlfriend I’ve always wanted. May I also suggest some Ayn Rand?
3) The Line of Beauty
A book about politics, homosexuality, the Conservative party and elite society. Basically there is a lot of coke and vivid recollections of anal sex.
Translation: Are you into the latter? Just getting an ‘intellectual feel’ on the matter.
4) Tiffany’s Table Manners for Teens
Translation: Ha. Ha. Thanks Dad, just in time for boarding school too!
As you can see, these seemingly innocuous tokens of affection are really sordid attempts to normalize, control, and coax me into pioneering dark territory. And I’m standing up to say I’m not going to take it anymore.
Gentlemen, next time you want to get a girl a gift, for the love of God steer clear of these pursuits. Nothing denotes your impeccable taste quite like a Cuisinart Food Processor m500, or perhaps a nice Dyson- you know, things my girlfriends will no doubt look on enviously. Thanks for listening.
“Whatever happened to that bag anyway?” I asked her.
“Oh that? I use it to carry old makeup now,” she replied in a fit of laughter.
“Ha! I thought his slash our taste was pretty nice!” I shot back. “Given after spending a whole day with him I was so frustrated I would have let him buy you a pair of Top Siders… but that’s besides the point.”
This quickly had us recalling all of the “tokens of affection” exchanged between them. First there was the “Please sleep with me” watch, followed by the “no really I meant it, its been 4 months you evil cipher- PLEASE SLEEP WITH ME” handbag. Then there was the “sleep with me in miami?” tickets to miami, followed by the “hey baby lets check out the rooms at the hudson” tickets to new york (note: the fact that the rooms are so small that the shower is essentially IN the bed are either a pro or con, we haven’t decided yet). This was obviously a guy whose generosity knew no bounds when it came to ensuring consistent lerrrrve.
This had me thinking about the last few gifts I’d received from the opposite sex. I must say that I felt rather odd admitting that the majority of them were all books, not because its not my favorite gift to receive (which it is) but because of the blank stares I get when I tell my girlfriends as much. Where was my “fuck me” watch? Because I’d totally lost that one my parents gave me for graduation and could have really used a new one at any rate.
“Oh honey,” my friend assured me “that means they see you as smart! That’s a good thing.”
It then being unanimously agreed that a book didn’t necessarily say “let’s get it on,” the question of what it did say got us thinking. Thankfully, Stuff White People Like sensed my anguish and recently posited rather brilliantly that:
“The ability to entirely craft the literary tastes of your partner is highly desirable as it reinforces your own impeccable taste and allows you to play a literary version of Henry Higgins.”
While I’d argue relentlessly that I’m no Eliza Doolittle and needn’t be schooled in proper English, I do agree that the desire to infiltrate the mind of the book’s recipient is a requisite characteristic of the giver. Herewith, I realized that I need only examine the central themes of the books themselves to crack the message behind them. Let me tell you readers, I think I learned more than I cared to:
1) Crime and Punishment
Focuses on the mental anguish and moral dilemmas of Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov, who formulates and executes a plan to kill a hated, unscrupulous pawnbroker to seemingly rid the world of evil.
Translation: I don’t want to take you to another cocktail party wherein you admit to not having read this- it’s rather embarrassing. That said, did you notice I sprung for the hardcover?
2) Stumbling on Happiness
Gilbert's central thesis is that people imagine the future poorly, in particular what will make them happy. The advice Gilbert offers is to use other people's experiences to predict the future, instead of imagining it.
Translation: If you can actually fake liking this book for my sake then you’re really the mindless girlfriend I’ve always wanted. May I also suggest some Ayn Rand?
3) The Line of Beauty
A book about politics, homosexuality, the Conservative party and elite society. Basically there is a lot of coke and vivid recollections of anal sex.
Translation: Are you into the latter? Just getting an ‘intellectual feel’ on the matter.
4) Tiffany’s Table Manners for Teens
Translation: Ha. Ha. Thanks Dad, just in time for boarding school too!
As you can see, these seemingly innocuous tokens of affection are really sordid attempts to normalize, control, and coax me into pioneering dark territory. And I’m standing up to say I’m not going to take it anymore.
Gentlemen, next time you want to get a girl a gift, for the love of God steer clear of these pursuits. Nothing denotes your impeccable taste quite like a Cuisinart Food Processor m500, or perhaps a nice Dyson- you know, things my girlfriends will no doubt look on enviously. Thanks for listening.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Important Lessons learned at the Maritime, Cocktail Hour
1) That Bums are a Crucial Contribution to New York Society
Girl #2: "Is it wrong how psyched I am that the bum outside the hotel just yelled 'Girl, you gotta EAT something!' at me?'
Girl: "No, we're like pretty psyched. Cheers!"
2) That We Spend Too Much Time on the Job
Girl : "Baby, I'm the riskiest acquisition ever to come across your desk"
Girl #2: "Ya, you don't want my assets in your portfolio"
Girl: "God, we really need to stop with this lame finance humour, what the fuck"
Girl #2: Big time, i think we need another (few) drink(s)?
3) That My 2nd grade teacher was right, We're all Like Snowflakes...No Two of us are the Same
Girl #3: "I mean, why can't I just find a guy who will knock me up against a wall and just go for it? Instead of like pussy footing around with all this fucking conversation."
Girl #2: "Um, I think some girls like that whole conversation aspect? Wild guess though."
(Ed Note: Classes are on a first come first served basis...lidurally)
Girl #2: "Is it wrong how psyched I am that the bum outside the hotel just yelled 'Girl, you gotta EAT something!' at me?'
Girl: "No, we're like pretty psyched. Cheers!"
2) That We Spend Too Much Time on the Job
Girl : "Baby, I'm the riskiest acquisition ever to come across your desk"
Girl #2: "Ya, you don't want my assets in your portfolio"
Girl: "God, we really need to stop with this lame finance humour, what the fuck"
Girl #2: Big time, i think we need another (few) drink(s)?
3) That My 2nd grade teacher was right, We're all Like Snowflakes...No Two of us are the Same
Girl #3: "I mean, why can't I just find a guy who will knock me up against a wall and just go for it? Instead of like pussy footing around with all this fucking conversation."
Girl #2: "Um, I think some girls like that whole conversation aspect? Wild guess though."
(Ed Note: Classes are on a first come first served basis...lidurally)
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Musings on WASP parents- Part due
"Say we go to an ethnic restuarant, my mother thinks its part of the experience" to order in the appropriate accent. For example, if we're going for Mexican she'll be like 'I'll have the en-cheeee-ladha por favor' with a totally straight face. I'm like Mom, we're downtown, not in Mexico."
I say: Cut Buffy some slack, that mole's a far cry from leg of lamb with mint Jelly.
I say: Cut Buffy some slack, that mole's a far cry from leg of lamb with mint Jelly.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
I heart you, Flava flaaaav....ia
Flavia, I cannot see what lies between your plastic trappings,
Nor what constitutes the “foam” in your cappuccino wrappings.
Your plentiful selection is oft too much for me to bear,
Although I always end up choosing “Columbia Roast” with care.
Your “Choco” does the job when I want something sweet,
But I don’t want to waste calories on something to eat.
You are there for me as a pretty deece last resort,
Even though it is with Illy that I prefer to cohort,
Even though you never fill the cup to its full range,
Please Flavia, don’t you ever, ever change.
Flavia, how I love you so,
Never, ever gonna let you go.
Nor what constitutes the “foam” in your cappuccino wrappings.
Your plentiful selection is oft too much for me to bear,
Although I always end up choosing “Columbia Roast” with care.
Your “Choco” does the job when I want something sweet,
But I don’t want to waste calories on something to eat.
You are there for me as a pretty deece last resort,
Even though it is with Illy that I prefer to cohort,
Even though you never fill the cup to its full range,
Please Flavia, don’t you ever, ever change.
Flavia, how I love you so,
Never, ever gonna let you go.
If I didn't face guantanamo time for doing so, I'd have fought back
Right before boarding my flight back to the states Sunday afternoon, I was stopped for the 3rd time in order for my luggage to be checked. The lady with whom I’d struck up a conversation glided on ahead.
“Hey!” I teased the guard. “How come you didn’t stop that lady in front of me?”
“Because madam,” he beamed, “de pretty ones dey is always guilty.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
5 hours later, I landed at JFK. The realization that I was back in this cold filthy city already had my heart sinking, but I did my best to remain optimistic. I mean given the send off I got, I half expected the customs officer to hug me and yell “welcome back to the states, Gorgeous!” for all my fellow passengers to hear.
Instead, he looked at my passport, then looked at me, then back again at my passport and paused gravely. I was half worried he was going to pull some patriot act bullshit on me and take my finger prints, but then I looked down at my blazer and pearls and thought, well that’s just silly. No one arrests a girl in pearls.
“You shouldn’t-ha wown sunglasses,” he scoffed in his I’m a Staten island badass tone.
“Um, Excuse me?” I replied, worrying that I’d missed some new regulation whereby you could now only get thru security complete nude (we’re getting there kids- that woman who was forced to remove her nipple ring at security? Atrocious. Next the alleged terr-rists will be hiding bombs in nipple clamps and vibrating cock rings).
“Ya glasses,” he repeated, “I betchu were wearin’ them big fucking Diors? Look at ya tan- its all uneven- ha HA!” He elbowed his fellow officer in the rib and pointed at me.
This was not the welcome I’d expected.
In fact, I think it deserves a post on the White Graves stall. This is the first one actually directed toward the Po-leece so I think it gets special commendation, like a picture of a bum or something unsightly next to it. I’ll leave the imagery up to you- surely you have sicker imaginations than I. Anyway:
Dear Officer,
Hi!
I just wanted to thank you for the unsolicited advice. I’m glad you failed to notice the pair of scissors, 2 razors, 4 ounces of lotion (4 ounces! Ha! I’m such a badass), cartons of undeclared cigarettes and ounce of ganj I had in my bag because my face was so horrifically discolored that you felt the need to make a joke of it. Thanks for killing my post vacation high you lousy sack of shit.
However, I wanted to commend you on your knowledge of choice luxury brands, even if I do happen to find Dior a little tacky. Your girlfriend must have been that materialistic burnt orange chick on “True Life: I’m a Staten Island Girl,” and let me tell you, she’s taught you well. She also probably has an even tan- because beds tend to give that even sheen- but that’s neither here nor there.
Yours,
Girl
“Hey!” I teased the guard. “How come you didn’t stop that lady in front of me?”
“Because madam,” he beamed, “de pretty ones dey is always guilty.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
5 hours later, I landed at JFK. The realization that I was back in this cold filthy city already had my heart sinking, but I did my best to remain optimistic. I mean given the send off I got, I half expected the customs officer to hug me and yell “welcome back to the states, Gorgeous!” for all my fellow passengers to hear.
Instead, he looked at my passport, then looked at me, then back again at my passport and paused gravely. I was half worried he was going to pull some patriot act bullshit on me and take my finger prints, but then I looked down at my blazer and pearls and thought, well that’s just silly. No one arrests a girl in pearls.
“You shouldn’t-ha wown sunglasses,” he scoffed in his I’m a Staten island badass tone.
“Um, Excuse me?” I replied, worrying that I’d missed some new regulation whereby you could now only get thru security complete nude (we’re getting there kids- that woman who was forced to remove her nipple ring at security? Atrocious. Next the alleged terr-rists will be hiding bombs in nipple clamps and vibrating cock rings).
“Ya glasses,” he repeated, “I betchu were wearin’ them big fucking Diors? Look at ya tan- its all uneven- ha HA!” He elbowed his fellow officer in the rib and pointed at me.
This was not the welcome I’d expected.
In fact, I think it deserves a post on the White Graves stall. This is the first one actually directed toward the Po-leece so I think it gets special commendation, like a picture of a bum or something unsightly next to it. I’ll leave the imagery up to you- surely you have sicker imaginations than I. Anyway:
Dear Officer,
Hi!
I just wanted to thank you for the unsolicited advice. I’m glad you failed to notice the pair of scissors, 2 razors, 4 ounces of lotion (4 ounces! Ha! I’m such a badass), cartons of undeclared cigarettes and ounce of ganj I had in my bag because my face was so horrifically discolored that you felt the need to make a joke of it. Thanks for killing my post vacation high you lousy sack of shit.
However, I wanted to commend you on your knowledge of choice luxury brands, even if I do happen to find Dior a little tacky. Your girlfriend must have been that materialistic burnt orange chick on “True Life: I’m a Staten Island Girl,” and let me tell you, she’s taught you well. She also probably has an even tan- because beds tend to give that even sheen- but that’s neither here nor there.
Yours,
Girl
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
I'll Miss You Too...No, Really
Work is starting to ramp up so I've opted to do the responsible adult thing and skip town lest it begin to require any effort on my part. I'll be thinking of you, my dear readers, whilst doing some much needed Scuba with my friend Luban.
In the meantime soak up the goodness that is F the Police's inaugural posts.
Good day,
Girl
In the meantime soak up the goodness that is F the Police's inaugural posts.
Good day,
Girl
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