…Try A Hammer.

I’ve been saying this trusty phrase for years to express my frustration with inanimate objects as well as my lack of skill in generally fixing anything. I seem to lack not only skill but the patience to focus on the job, the steps, the necessary equipment, etc.

I generally believe a good old whack can often solve a simple problem.

And last night, my beloved wife, in a fit of absolute frustration and desperation, proved this maxim to be quite true.

Here’s the scene: Her iPod (her SECOND iPod, the first one died and was replaced by Apple — always buy the AppleCare warranty people) died unexpectedly. As she attempted to revive it through the various methods outlined on the Apple web site, she naturally grew more and more irate with the iPod’s unresponsiveness.

I should digress at this point to note that she is notoriously unlucky with electronic equipment of any sort. At this point, we’re almost convinced that she gives off dangerous EMF levels that tend to fry electronic circuits. So when her second iPod died, it did not send me into a rage. I took it as par for the course and figured we’ve move on to iPod number three.

But back to the story: As she grew angry at the stupid MP3 player, Apple, the internet and subsequently me (calmly petting Archie and sipping scotch in ambivalence), she began to take drastic measures.

First up, shaking the iPod furiously. No effect. It was still dead.

She returned to the web for advice, unplugged, plugged, restarted, on, off, etc. No luck at all.

It was at this point that she broke and resorted to banging the iPod against the wall — fairly hard — about 10 times.

And lo and behold, the iPod came back to life! Like electronic CPR, she had restarted it’s little heart through violent concussion.

Now, I’m still betting on us getting her a third iPod, but for the time being, I have a happy wife with a working iPod.

And proof of the old saying I’ve been repeating for years: “If you can’t fix it with a screwdriver, try a hammer.”

Fashion is cyclical and certain trends come back around for a second (or third) time. Winter fashion has it’s own special style in places where the weather is the deciding factor in ones outfit.

And so this week I saw a winter fashion I haven’t seen since my years in Chicago — the wearing of a plastic bag on the head.

That’s right, it gets so downright cold that people put plastic bags over their head and ears to help ward off the frigid winter air.

Now this may seem dangerous and many of you are recalling all the TV news warnings about not letting kids play with plastic shopping bags, but we’re talking about adults.

Adults with no hats. No earmuffs. No sense of style. No shame.

As someone who has had his hair actually freeze due to the cold, I can sympathize a little — very little. I mean, any large chain drug store sells winter stocking caps for about $2. Not a huge investment to keep your head and ears warm. Buck up the dough people! There is no valid reason for wearing a plastic bag on your head.

Yes, it’s waterproof and that’s a nice advantage, but think of the kids! Beyond looking like a homeless person, you’re actually encouraging dangerous behavior in children.

To make matters worse, the offender I saw sporting this trash fashion was actually wearing the plastic bag you get at the liquor stores here in NYC. The bonus points you get because it’s all black are immediately erased because you look like a drunk.

Apparently, if you live in New York City, they come off a massive 18-wheeler.

Seems obvious, but I never thought about it before. They seem to just appear in open air markets on street corners after Thanksgiving.

Late last night, I saw them rumbling through the streets on their way to street corners around Manhattan. Quietly taking their positions to wait.

And before you realize, it will be international dump your dead tree on the sidewalk day. One of my most hated of holidays.

One feature of NYC I have recently noticed is that people run.

Not for exercise, not jogging, not, as I initially suspected, to get away from the cops, but for some other unknown reason all their own.

I have seen people run in the, “jeez, I’m late” kind of way, but I wasn’t so surprised by that type of running. I’m talking about the weird running for no apparent reason. I’m talking about the guy wearing brown corduroy pants running down the middle of the street on a Sunday.

Another feature of this city that has me intrigued. People run. It’s just that kind of town.

As a transplant to New York City, there’s so much I love about this city. This post is not about that stuff. This is about one thing I have come to hate.

Scaffolding.

It may be the price of progress, but often as I walk around the city, I’m forced to wonder where the sun is due to the never ending parade of scaffolding covering the sidewalks.

Yes, it’s there to protect my little pea brain from getting cracked open by falling debris, but as is often the case in NYC, the scaffolding is bigger and better than any where else. Unfortunately, it is also more prevalent than in any other city I have been in.

And let’s be honest, one has to wonder if it doing anything other than serving as another advertising platform.

With all the skyscrapers and towering buildings, one is naturally inclined to look up in awe at man’s architectural achievement (or folly) — the problem is that you can’t see any of it.

A secondary, yet equally annoying issue, is that the scaffolding makes the sidewalk a maze to navigate. Polls, uprights, cross beams and joists all working together to prevent a human from walking a straight line. Given the human congestion on a NYC street at lunch hour mixed with a large dose of tourists and you’ve got a bumbling, pushy mess.

Add in a leashed dog or two and you end up feeling stressed from what should otherwise be a relaxing walk.

While it may be a necessary evil, I want to see the sky. It’s one of the reasons I go outside. So for the next mayor, I ask, “less scaffolding please.”

I don’t know what happened last night, but it’s all over the streets this morning and it must have been a quite a party.

First I notice a person on the way to the subway. Most people have a cup of coffee from their preferred chain store or street cart. Many people include a pastry, bagel, donut or other breakfast item in the mix. This woman was having a can of Coke and a cigarette. Mmmm, good. Nothing says “hangover” louder than that double-bill of nicotine and caffeine. Breakfast of champions.

Secondly, I get off the subway and sure enough, there’s a guy puking his guts out. Not a bum, but a normal-on-his-way-to-the-office sort of guy. Luckily, I had missed the first pass and was only subjected to the afterglow. There’s nothing quite like the slap of partially digested food hitting the cold, wet pavement at 9:00am. Yum!

So beware, fellow travelers, there’s lots of hangovers going around.

Archie’s got a few bones to pick as well:

[NOTE: He did not approve the above pun.]

First of all, there are not enough dog-related issues on the ballot.

His two favorite slogans:

1. Less Leashes, More Bitches
2. Fixing is Breaking

And despite being born in Kentucky, he muttered something about shredding red state ballots and fouling the Mayor’s office.