Вообще-то я первую серию посмотрел только потому, что хотел посмотреть вторую. Мне далеко не всегда нравится игра Бена Стиллера, в особенности не понравился он в фильме “Alone Came Polly”. Хотя посмотрев первый фильм (Meet the Parents), я решил что не все так запущено как кажется и совершенно без опасений пошел на Meet the Fockers (fock the meters, как я его обозвал). И, как выяснилось, не разочаровался.
You Know You’re From New York City When…
You say “the city” and expect everyone to know that this means Manhattan.
You have never been to the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building.
You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Columbus Circle to Battery Park at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can’t find Wisconsin on a map.
Hookers and the homeless are invisible.
The subway makes sense.
You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
You’ve considered stabbing someone just for saying “The Big Apple”.
The most frequently used part of your car is the horn.
You call an 8′ x 10′ plot of patchy grass a yard.
You consider Westchester “upstate”.
You think Central Park is “nature.”
You see nothing odd about the speed of an auctioneer’s speaking.
You’re paying $1,200 for a studio the size of a walk-in closet and you think it’s a “steal.”
You’ve been to New Jersey twice and got hopelessly lost both times.
You pay more each month to park your car than most people in the U.S. pay in rent.
You haven’t seen more than twelve stars in the night sky since you went away to camp as a kid.
You go to dinner at 9 and head out to the clubs when most Americans are heading to bed.
Your closet is filled with black clothes.
You haven’t heard the sound of true absolute silence since the 80s, and when you did, it terrified you.
You pay $5 without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28 cents.
You take fashion seriously.
Being truly alone makes you nervous.
You have 27 different menus next to your telephone.
Going to Brooklyn is considered a “road trip.”
America west of the Hudson is still theoretical to you.
You’ve gotten jaywalking down to an art form.
You take a taxi to get to your health club to exercise.
Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes.
$50 worth of groceries fit in one paper bag.
You have a minimum of five “worst cab ride ever” stories.
You don’t notice sirens anymore.
You live in a building with a larger population than most American towns.
Your doorman is Russian, your grocer is Korean your deli man is Israeli, your building super is Italian, your laundry guy is Chinese, your favorite bartender is Irish, your favorite diner owner is Greek, the watchseller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was Pakistani, your newsstand guy is Indian and your favorite falafel guy is Egyptian.
You’re suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you.
You secretly envy cabbies for their driving skills.
You think $7.00 to cross a bridge is a fair price.
Your door has more than three locks.
Your favorite movie has DeNiro in it.
You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.
You run when you see a flashing “Do Not Walk” sign at the intersection.
You’re 35 years old and don’t have a driver’s license.
You ride in a subway car with no air conditioning just because there are seats available.
You’re willing to take in strange people as roommates simply to help pay the rent.
There is no North and South. It’s uptown or downtown.
When you’re away from home, you miss “real” pizza and “real” bagels.
You know the differences between all the different Ray’s Pizzas.
You’re not in the least bit interested in going to Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
Your internal clock is permanently set to know when Alternate Side of the Street parking regulations are in effect.
You know what a bodega is.
You know how to fold the New York Times in half, vertically, so that you can read it on the subway or bus without knocking off other passenger’s hats.
Someone bumps into you, and you check for your wallet…..
You cringe at hearing people pronounce Houston St. like the city in Texas
Film crews on your block annoy you, not excite you.
You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from NYC.
You Know You’re Russian When…
Your car costs more than your college education
Your blood has a permanent vodka content level, no matter you have been drinking or not
Any outfit you wear involves leather (even in the summer even when no coats are worn)
Your idea of a normal Friday or Saturday night is spending it raving with 200-300 of your closest friends
Your idea of a love song is Track 1 of the New York Underground Party Volume 3 CD.
Things you can’t live without include food, water, and a cell phone
Instead of notes during class you write text messages to your friends in Russian font
You come home at 3am and your parents are still out partying with all your friend’s parents
People are always asking you if you can get them a cheep deal on something…and you can
Every sentence you say or hear starts with “blyat” and ends with “nahuy”
You know the new line of Nokia’s 3 months before they come out on the market
You can’t go to the movies on Sunday night without having to save 20 seats for your late friends cuz they’re buying semichki
You don’t mind family get-togethers because you know the grandmas will be making dinner
You know all the cops by their first names
You know someone who works at a dental lab
You are somehow related to most of the people you know
On the weekends your place of residence is the pool hall, and every 10 mins the tolstii pon’chik tells you to pick up line 2
You drive a Honda (or, in the EXTREME worse case a Nissan), and your windows are tinted to twice the legal limit
Your Honda has either a RU (Russia) or UA (Ukraine) sticker on the back bumper
Your Honda is a 5-speed stick shift, and you laugh at anyone driving an automatic by calling them lohs
At any given moment you are carrying at least a dime bag of shmal’…
Your uncle is in the Russian Mafia or is a former employee of the KGB
You have been kicked out of the JCC at least twice for trying to sneak in without paying.
You can be identified as “Russian” by your scent (D&G or Aqua de Gio cologne).
The waitresses at Omega know your order even before you say anything. Most of the time you get “Gypsy”.
You met your girl playing strip durak at the last party you went to.
Everyone you know has a ruchka of smirnoff in their trunk.
You wake up on a saturday morning, unable to remember which one of your friends gave you a ride home because you couldn’t even walk, but see your car standing in the parking lot (you drove home yourself).
You start thinking of bread as a good mixer for vodka
You know more than 30 Olgas, Annas, Natashas, and Vikas
You have to tell your parents what channel is “YOUR” HBO, Showtime, Per-View is on.
Your parents have computer “experience” for 8 years already on the resume, yet they been in US for only 4…
You major in Computer Science or in worst case scenario Information Systems (but you still barely know how to turn on a computer).
You have a personalized license plate.
When you are going downtown you ride in one of the last two train carts.
Typical Friday/Saturday night phone call to your friends starts with “So what are we doing tonight?”
Most of your clothes are fake brand names but you “just can’t tell them apart from the real ones.”
Your fake id is the International Driving License who you got through your friend who goes to Kingsburough.
You used to work out, but you don’t anymore. If you do workout, you must wear all you golden chains and bracelets.
Lifting a cigarette while drinking coffee counts as an exercise.
You have a fake Movado because you can’t afford a real Rolex.
Once in a while you attempt to go to synagogue but you never make it past the door because you meet so many people you haven’t seen for so long.
Some English words like “use, shop, apply, and etc.” permanently become a part of your conversational
You’re proud to be Russian – and you pass these jokes on to all your Russian friends!