It’s a ritual of mine to helpfully help people and machines select vows to better themselves. You’re welcome!
- To my husband: stop reading the newspaper aloud while I am trying to read it to myself, silently. He never really finishes his sentences so it is received as a whole bunch of mystery outbursts. This is what he is saying right now: “It’s just like the South African one.” Sixty seconds later: “Creed, can you believe it.” Sixty seconds later: “Did you read that thing about the Uighers?”
- To the makers of self-service platforms and kiosks and checkouts that offer no service at all: Either stop making them or, at the very least, stop calling them “service.”
- To New Year, New You headline writers. This is a hacky, media trope that must end. Worse: #newyearnewyou.
- Same message goes out to the same (or different, doesn’t matter) writers who call anything “the Brooklyn of..”
- To people on the streets of New York City, do not: stand in bunches on street corners, blocking me from stepping up onto the curb; stop without warning; walk in groups of more than one (also known as walk in groups); have dogs or baby carriages in tow; be there when I try to turn a corner. Do walk more or less like this:
- To the child who doesn’t text me when I text him/her, or return Facebook messages, and let’s not even discuss emails and voice mails: Call your mom.
- To the makers of smoke alarms: Can you figure out a way quieter way to alert us that the toast is burning? It’s really not that big a deal.
- To Donald Trump. Go to hell. And take Ted Cruz with you.