Staring at Strangers

An Entirely New Way to Browse the Internet

So along comes this free product that makes web pages with tiny type or which are cluttered with too many ads remarkable easy to read.  Go to Readability and add their free bookmarklet to your browser’s bookmark toolbar. 

The next time you come across a difficult to read webpage, simply click on Readability’s bookmarklet and the webpage immediately will be transformed to very readable text without all of the ads. 

The transformation is remarkable and will change the way you browse the Internet. 

Technorati Tags: readability,bookmarklet,web browsing

Watch Out Mexico – Here Comes the Ketchup Tsunami

Straight from today's Wall Street Journal:

Mexicans eat more ketchup by sales value than consumers in all but eight other countries. Many of them slather the thick red sauce on chicken, pasta and eggs—even pizza.

At the start of 2007, U.S. ketchup giant H.J. Heinz Co. held less than 1% of the Mexican ketchup market. In fact, Mexico was such a low priority that Heinz had fewer than 10 salespeople in the country, which is nearly three times as large as Texas.

Heinz plans to boost their market share up to 12% – twelve times what it is today – after having “overlooked Mexico while chasing sales in China, Russia, Indonesia and other emerging markets,” according to the Heinz Chief Executive William Johnson.

Overlooked Mexico?  Well the hell with them! Have they seen the Mexico video?  Does China or Russia have a video like that?  Not likely, no sir!

So I recommend that the good people of Mexico tell Heinz to go home and chase after some other country that it’s overlooked!

[Jen, I know that you complained in your recent Blogging Leads to Bucks post that we’re getting nothing here at Staring at Strangers, so I thought I’d be clever by putting up this Heinz protest post, getting the Heinz execs all upset and having them throw all kinds of money at us to post a friendlier message about Heinz so that we can make some money – good scheme, no?  Whatever you do, remember to delete this paragraph before you upload this post.]

Technorati Tags: Heinz, ketchup, Mexico

Journey to Astoria – A Lesson for the World

Last Sunday was a beautiful.  No rain, moderate temperatures, and a sun shining benevolently down from the heavens.  So, while I was first planning to go to my office to do some work, I decided instead to ride my bike, which I hadn’t ridden since coming to Astoria. 

My bike had sat in my apartment with two flat tires for weeks until I got these CO2 cartridges which filled them up in seconds.  So I was ready to go, just waiting for the right day.  Sunday was that day.

Off I went down Ditmars Boulevard, with my helmet on and the wind in my face.  I had gone about 6 blocks when one of those private car service cabs turned right in front of me, causing me to slam on my brakes and collide with the rear end of the cab.

A hissing noise rose up above the traffic sounds on Ditmars Boulevard.  It was the noise of my front tire’s inner tube releasing all of its air after being punctured from the collision with the cab.

Loud voices followed.  The driver, an older man, got out of his cab and immediately started yelling at me in a heavy Greek accent.  I yelled back, stating that I had the right of way and that he turned recklessly into the intersection.

“I’ve been driving a taxi for 40 years, in Astoria, and have never had an accident!”  For some reason the “in Astoria” part was very important to him.

I replied, “Well, congratulations, you just had an accident!”

We went on for about 10 minutes.  Finally, both of us were worn down, having expressed our individual outrage to the other. 

And then something remarkable happened.  He put out his hand to shake mine.

I was stunned.  I wasn’t sure what to do at first, still being annoyed that my entire day was ruined by this man’s careless driving.  But I looked at his face which was now smiling and I reached back to shake his hand. 

We spoke a bit more and he put out his hand a second time, and I shook it once again.  We left each other in peace, maybe not as friends, but certainly not as enemies. 

If only global controversies were so easily resolved.  We’d be spending enormous sums of money not to blow each others’ brains out but to alleviate some of the pain and suffering that has always accompanied humankind’s struggle to survive on this sometimes challenging and sometimes wonderful planet that we call home. 

Technorati Tags: Astoria,biking,peace,friendship

Windows 7 Release Cripples Worldwide Economic Recovery

With the world economy just beginning to recover from the worst downturn since the 1929 depression, Microsoft’s release of Windows 7 has dealt a crippling blow to its nascent recovery.

Nations were caught unaware as millions of buyers of this latest upgrade of Microsoft’s operating system took days at their offices and homes to struggle with the installation of Windows 7 onto their computers, thereby causing a major disruption of large segments of the economy, including the restaurant, film, theater and travel industries as people cancelled plans because they were drawn away to resolve all of the issues which have arisen with this operating system upgrade. 

“I thought it would take an hour, maybe two, to get this up and running, but I’m into my second day of this and still haven’t gotten all of the kinks out of it,” said Robert Morrison, a New York lawyer.  “So I had to cancel dinner reservations at Per Se because I was still stuck in the office with this thing.”

The same story is being repeated in city after city all over the world.  Restaurant attendance has dropped by as much as 30% in some areas, and traffic for both local and international flights have seen a significant downturn. 

There was no word as to whether Microsoft had instituted a rumored “cash for clunkers” rebate for the much maligned Vista operating system which preceded Windows 7.

Technorati Tags: Windows 7, economy

Invasion of Manhattan

Little bottles are showing up in Manhattan office buildings.  The oddest appearance which I saw was in an office building on Seventh Avenue, where there was a bottle on a stand in each of the elevators. 

And finally it has appeared in my office building.  I walked in this morning and there it was by the guard station - the bottle on the stand which served as a silent reminder of a city’s fear. 

Fear of what, you ask?  Fear of the swine flu, of course.  Someone thought that placing little bottles of hand sanitizers all over Manhattan will slow the spread of the H1N1 swine flu.  So I am seeing bottles of Purell in more and more office buildings. 

My cynical mind thinks that this scheme was dreamed up by the company which makes Purell.  But there is logic to the plan, because the major entryway for germs into the body is by a person’s hand touching their mouth or eyes.  So if people start using these sanitizers then the spread of the flu should be reduced.  I think that people will be motivated to use the sanitizers if and when the flu begins to widely spread throughout the City. 

Meanwhile, we can only wait and make sure that our hands are clean. 

Technorati Tags: swine flu, H1n1, Purell, sanitizer

Journey to Astoria – Culture Shock

I keep finding examples of how Astoria is very different than my former home of Manhattan.  There’s the obvious of a less frenetic pace and a more neighborhood feel.  But then there are the other, smaller differences.

Walking out of Astoria Park today after enjoying some of the beautiful weather we’ve been getting (okay, I’m sure that they had beautiful weather in Manhattan today as well), a small boy of maybe 10 years old and four feet high walked up to me and said, “Can I use your cell phone?”

The little alarms which I’ve developed as a city dweller for all these years went off inside of me, conjuring up all kinds of troubling possibilities.  Could he be a runner for some illegal activity, and wanted to use my phone to make an untraceable call?  If it wasn’t related to something illegal, then what about the recipient of this call, possible his mother or father, seeing my name pop up on their cell phone as their son spoke to them?  Would they think that their son was in some danger hanging around with a stranger?

Well, none of these things were true.  This little kid said that I should dial *67 before dialing the number he wanted to call, and said that he would do it if I didn’t know how.  Holy cow, this kid was telling me how to keep my number private while calling his parents!

I made the call, handed it to the kid, and he had a short conversation in Greek, after which he handed the phone back to me and ran off.  His call started with him saying “Poppy,” so I figured that he was talking to his father. 

Something like this would never, ever happen in Manhattan.  Ever.  And if it did, I would never hand over my phone. 

Since moving to Astoria, I sometimes feel like an explorer in a boat going down an unexplored river.  I never know what I’ll find.

Technorati Tags: Astoria,culture

Journey to Astoria – A Return to the Moons of Jupiter

This past week while in Manhattan at work, I stopped at a drugstore to buy a replacement 9 volt battery for my apartment’s smoke alarm detector. I was a bit annoyed that the drugstore only sold 9 volt batteries in two packs since I only needed one, which would probably last for about 6 months to a year, but I decided to buy the two pack anyway instead of having to spend more time finding a store that sold 9 volt batteries individually. 

On my way home that night I saw Patrick whom I described in an earlier post.  Patrick is a local resident of Astoria who plants his telescope out on a sidewalk on Ditmars Boulevard and invites nighttime strollers to take a look at the brightest things in the sky that night.  I have stopped several times to take a look at his telescope, including a couple of times to view the amazing view of Jupiter and its moons. 

Patrick was having trouble that evening getting his telescope to locate the right star in the sky.  He could punch in the star he wanted and the telescope would rotate its way around and focus in on just the right spot.  But after 10 minutes of fiddling, Patrick finally said, “It’s the battery, it’s run down.”  There was a drugstore just down the street so I offered to go there and buy a new battery for him, thinking that this was the least I could do for someone who provides this wonderful service for free.

I asked him what type of battery he needed, and wouldn’t you know it he answered, “Nine volt.” 

“Nine volt,” I exclaimed, “I’ve got one of those right here!”  I pulled out the second battery that I didn’t need and handed it to Patrick, who was thrilled to have a fresh battery in his telescope.

My faith in a higher power was restored a bit that night, or at least a higher power with a presence over Astoria.

Technorati Tags: telescope,9 volt battery,stars,astronomy

Journey to Astoria – My Night at McCann’s Pub & Grill

Astoria is chock full of neighborhood places where good friends get together to hang out and enjoy an evening.  McCann’s on Ditmars Boulevard is just such a place, and this past weekend I decided to pay it a visit. 

Originally I was going to go on a pub crawl organized by a group on Why Leave Astoria?, the social networking site you want to join if you’ve moved to Astoria and have a pulse.  Unfortunately the pub crawl event fell thru, but I wasn’t going to let that ruin a night of drinking, so I had heard about McCann’s and decided that this would be a perfect time to visit, especially since it’s only 10 blocks away from where I live.

There are plenty of great reviews of McCann’s on the web, and the place doesn’t disappoint (at least not the night I went).  It’s a fabulous Irish bar with friendly bartenders and staff, dart boards, and pool tables in the back, and a large crowd of people talking loudly, which people tend to do if they’ve had more than 2 or 3 beers. 

I was lucky to find a seat at the bar, and in fact I was informed by the bartender that I was actually sitting in someone else’s seat, a woman who was coming back, but it would be alright if I kept it warm for her (she never came back).  Sitting next to me was a guy in his early 40’s who definitely was a regular and had passed the 3 beer mark long before I arrived.  He gave me a big hello and I responded in kind, and then I focused my attention on a game on one of the many TV screens up on the wall. 

Before long my new bar buddy was having an animated discussion with someone behind me.  After about 20 minutes I turned around to see who it was and I was immediately included in the conversation (that’s what I love about Irish bars). 

Seems these two fellows were big football stars some 25 years ago  in a high school out in Queens, and they just happened to bump into each other for the first time after all those years.  Here were two old jocks reliving their glory days! 

It was fun listening to the two of them. The guy originally sitting at the bar was a year behind the guy standing behind me, and he kept pointing at him saying again and again, “He was the nicest guy” between conversations about all of the adventures that they had had back in the day. 

As for me, I had just finished my third beer and figured I’d be heading out soon, but these guys kept talking and buying beers, so I kept drinking so as not to be rude.

I think it was about 1 am when I stumbled out of the joint and made my way back home, having experienced another side of Astoria. 

Technorati Tags: McCann's,Irish bar,jocks

Journey to Astoria – The Evening of the Same Day

The stories about Astoria keep piling up, so I’m attempting here to catch up a bit.  The evening of the same Saturday that I attended synagogue in the morning, I found myself walking down Steinway Street thru the section that is filled with hookah bars, with men sitting on the sidewalks around small tables, and I felt as though I had wandered into some Middle Eastern country. 

I was hungry and so was looking for some place to eat, and while I would have enjoyed some Middle Eastern food, most of the restaurants had music blasting out of them and I would have preferred something quieter.

Finally, I came near the end of the street where there were no more hookah bars, but there was one small restaurant which had no music, so I stepped inside.

The place was completely empty, save a woman sitting at a table watching a small TV with her son.  They were clearly family.  I felt a bit embarrassed, but finally I was welcomed in so I sat at a table. 

Mombar is an Egyptian restaurant which specializes in clay pot dishes, all of which looked quite good.  However, it was 11 pm and the man who came to my table explained that they were going to close soon, so when I chose a dish that looked good, he explained that it would take too long to cook.  I chose another dish which he said could be prepared much quicker. 

The place had a somewhat wild look to it.  The owner had designed it himself out of found material.  All along the walls hung elaborately carved wooden headboards from beds.  The chandelier was made from a combination of recycled materials.  Each table had a different tile design.

I’m glad that I took the quick clay pot dish, because it took 20 minutes to prepare.  Imagine how long the other dish would have taken.

The man who took my order introduced me to the owner and explained that he was a talented cook, engineer and artist.  The owner had designed the entire restaurant, and he had a hand in everything I saw, including the construction of the elaborately designed chandelier. 

They asked if I wanted rice or couscous, and I couldn’t imagine ordering anything but couscous in a place like this.  I was glad I did, because when it came out it was delicate and flavorful.  The clay pot dish which I ordered, a combination of chicken and vegetables, was delicious as well.

I complimented the owner, I complimented the man attending to my table, and I complimented the chef who I could clearly see over the low wall separating the kitchen from the rest of the restaurant. 

By the time I was leaving we were old friends, and I believe I received the ultimate compliment when the woman stood up and faced me with a smile.  I shook the hands of all of the men, bowed gracefully to the woman, and walked out into the night air hungry no more. 

What a day.  In the morning I was in a synagogue and in the evening of the same day I was in an Egyptian restaurant.  What might seem unusual anywhere else in this country was just another day in Astoria.

Technorati Tags: Middle Eastern,Egyptian,hookah bar,clay pot,synagogue

Journey to Astoria – The Present Becomes the Past Becomes the Future

On Saturday I decided to attend services at the local synagogue.  I figured that this would be a good way to get familiar with another part of the local Astoria community.

I found a conservative synagogue which was about a 15 minute walk from my home and set off late in the morning dressed in a nice shirt, pants and shoes.  No sneakers and t-shirt for a house of worship. 

My timing was a bit calculated.  Jewish Saturday morning services usually go for 2-3 hours, starting at 9:30 am.  My late morning departure resulted in me arriving considerably later than 9:30 am. 

I arrived at the synagogue, opened the door and walked across an entrance hall to the door of the main sanctuary.  It’s at this point in my story that I must inform you, dear reader, that it had been a while since I had been in a synagogue, so I was a bit nervous.  Nevertheless, I pulled open the inner door and an unobstructed view of the entire sanctuary hit me in the face. 

Whoa, I thought I’d slink in behind a pile of prayer books, but there was the rabbi up at the front staring right at me!

I found a seat in the back and sat down.  Being that this was Labor Day weekend, there was not a big crowd, but the service was the same service that I had grown up with in Westchester, NY. 

Sitting there I began to study the 15 or so people sitting in front of me and my mind began to wander.  Suddenly I had a déjà vu, but it was not my déjà vu, it was someone else’s.  It was a déjà vu of my father. 

At 17 years of age my father left Nazi Germany, saying goodbye to his parents for the last time, and was taken to what was then called Palestine by the program that transported Jewish children out of Germany during World War II. 

Eventually he left the moshav where he had been placed and joined up with the British Merchant Marines.  He traveled all over the world, and whenever his ship landed in a port, instead of going to the bars as his fellow crewmates did, he went to the local synagogue.  The others on the ship could never figure out how he was always taken in by families wherever they traveled.  How many people in how many places could my father know? 

Suddenly, I was my father, sitting amongst strangers in a synagogue in a foreign land, so far away from the home that my father left as a boy.  For the first time I understood a part of my father, who passed away almost 10 years ago, that I never had before.

Technorati Tags: synagogue,father,British Merchant Marines,kinder transport,World War II,moshav