The MTA cannot usually be counted on to raise deep philosophical and moral questions. But it happened last month during a ride on the 1 train.

The voice came through loud and clear. You know the voice—it’s the one that has replaced an actual person to provide announcements on the train. “We ask you not to give,” the voice told passengers, who, being New Yorkers, were not listening anyway. “Please help us maintain an orderly subway.”

The message is simple enough, but I question whether the MTA really needs to take a stand on whether its passengers should give cash handouts to panhandlers. Especially given that the MTA itself is so good at taking our money—without asking.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not walking around with a lot of cash. And I tend not to part with it. I’m generally in the Don’t Give camp on the panhandling question, but that’s mostly because I think it’s unwise to flash money around belowground. Or aboveground. Or at a family dinner.

I wonder, though, if there are not costs to not giving. When I do hand over a little cash, I usually feel better than when I do not.

Yes, I’ve heard all the arguments against giving, mostly when they were coming out of my mouth. Like how the money is just going to be spent on booze or drugs; the money would better be spent in a donation to a social service agency; the money is not as important as stopping and speaking to the person in need and then going and buying them a sandwich or even a bottle of water.

The last piece of advice seems most valuable to me. I was moved a few months ago when I saw someone on West 78th Street, a customer of La Caridad, heading out the door to deliver a special order to a homeless man on the street. Realizing I cannot remember the last time I did something like that makes me feel ashamed. So does the act of not giving, of passing someone in need—even just a human being who is asking for something, whether he or she is really in need.

For about a decade I have lived here full-time. Somehow, this question of giving or not giving never really goes away. Neither does the larger subset of questions on the best ways to give. These issues resonate even more after surviving—sorta—the Great Recession. After a lost job and unemployment checks a while back, I have a lot less trouble imagining myself as the person doing the asking.

Still, I hesitate to give, partly because by not giving, I get to opt out of what feels like a bad reality show. Responding to pleas at some times and not at others may seem like a reasonable response, but it winds up requiring a constant series of judgments. I don’t like the idea of trying to size up whether someone is telling the truth, or the hugeness of his or her horrible circumstance, after listening to a brief diatribe. I feel like I’m the panelist on a bad game show, one called Are Your Troubles Bad Enough For Me to Care? Instead, I choose to try to ignore the plea and finish a Gail Collins column.

I guess I’m fairly good at shutting myself off into my own little world. Sometimes I’m proud of that; other times I think it’s a necessity in the bustling big city.

But when the MTA voice told me not to give and I realized that I’ve been mostly following that advice, it gave me a start. When the MTA and I are on the same page, something’s gone wrong.

Christopher Moore is a writer living in Manhattan. He can be reached by email at ccmnj@aol.com and is also on Twitter (@cmoorenyc).

This city has a love-hate relationship with chain stores. Again and again, pols and labor advocates say no to Walmart; after all, sometimes a party is defined by who’s not invited. As in so many matters, though, one’s stand on chains is not always consistent. We like what we like. We all have our favorites—and our weaknesses.

This was on my mind again last week. I was on my way to one chain when I got to thinking about another. Duane Reade was my planned stop. Yes, I’ve found the one pleasant Duane Reade employee—a pharmacist worth supporting.

Let me interrupt my tale right there. Already I need to stop and defend myself. See, I shopped at the cute independent pharmacy for years, the one heralded in newspaper accounts and customer service reports. I even wrote one of those stories myself. The problem with the neighborhood drugstore: the pharmacist hardly ever started work on my prescriptions until after I arrived to pick them up. The folks there lied about when my order was ready. That should be a capital offense.

So I’m with the big ugly Duane Reade now. That makes me feel sheepish and ashamed, except when I’m at the updated 72nd Street Duane Reade, buying Ronnybrook strawberry yogurt. Yummy.

Last week, on the way to an uptown location, I saw the huge signs in the window on Broadway at 87th Street. “The future home of Brooks Brothers,” said the words. I’m would-be-preppie enough to consider this fabulous news. Whether I can actually buy something once this store arrives remains a question for another day; I can certainly browse.

Ours is increasingly a city of drugstores and banks. There’s a sense of lost charm, especially on the Upper West Side, where recently unveiled retail limits have been making news. The New York Times has reported more than once on the city’s new plans to erect a “firewall” to discourage chain stores. The proposal means limiting the ground-floor width of all new stores to 40 feet, at least on Amsterdam and Columbus Avenues. Broadway is a largely lost cause, although the new rule on banks, permitting a maximum of 25 feet, would count there too.

Not everyone believes in these changes. The New York Post had a headline screaming about “Twilight Zoning.” Some argue that the banks and the drugstores are meeting existing needs—especially from affluent newcomers. Indeed, nobody can force anyone to shop anywhere. Commercial districts evolve. There’s still something called free enterprise.

The problem: It’s not a fair fight. The big guys buy in bulk and benefit from increasing political power. At least the new plan would balance the scales a tiny bit. West Side Council Member Gale Brewer, a key figure behind the new limits, understands both the tenor of the times and the people she represents. Since there are still a handful of small, distinct stores worth fighting for, Brewer and the Bloomberg administration deserve credit for taking their shot. It might work and it might not. But the exciting thing about the West Side action is that it’s, well, action. There are worse things than public officials listening to the public.

This isn’t just an issue for West Siders. Some East Village community activists are looking at the West Side initiative as a model. If it works, this campaign will spread. On the Upper East Side, I can count at least a couple of surviving independent bookstores worth worrying about. How refreshing in this big city to have important political players advocating for adorable little shops—and the people who love them.

Speaking of adorable little stores, I’m going to stop in to a few on my way to Brooks Brothers.

Christopher Moore is a writer living in Manhattan. He is available by email at ccmnj@aol.com and on Twitter
@cmoorenyc.

By Christopher Moore

Over many years, Charlie Rose spent a tremendous number of hours in my bedroom. Before discovering the life-altering advantages of the DVR, I often ended my day with Rose on public TV. So his move two weeks ago to the CBS morning program sent my routine into confusion.

Rose, an official Man About Town, did not just bring a new table and passion for run-on sentences to CBS This Morning. He also came with a couple of new cohosts: Gayle King, Oprah’s official best friend, and Erica Hill, who is not actually new—she’s a holdover from the prevous incarnation of the CBS morning show. The flaws of her new cohosts make Hill look better every day.

All of this is important to me because I’m addicted to morning TV. These days, I bounce from the media monster Today to the chatty Good Day New York and the clubby Morning Joe, but I go way back. I was a little kid who knew who David Hartman was.

As a fan of fake intimacy, I like watching morning anchors pretend to like each other. They desperately try to create a sense of community, often copying each other along the way. They sometimes insist they are a “family,” even though in these families, the members get tossed around from show to show with disconcerting speed.

Also fun: watching high-profile talents pretend to be interested in the range of topics they tackle. If there was anything more compelling on American television in the last few decades than watching Diane Sawyer appear in cooking segments during her Good Morning America days, well, I missed it.

So This Morning is right up my alley. Rose is known in Manhattan and D.C. for being an A-list party guest. Watching him in the morning, all sluggish mien and dead eyes, seems simultaneously hilarious and scary. By the end of week one, he had such a bad cold that it was painful to watch. If he were still alive, Dr. Kevorkian would be on speed dial over at CBS.

The new show opened with a thoughtful 90-second review of the news, Eye Opener. Most of the attention during the premier week, though, went to King’s interview with Michelle Obama. She insisted she was looking forward to campaigning for her husband, but failed to come up with any reason anyone would support him. As usual, the disengaged first lady took a pass on getting involved in important political matters. This is not Eleanor Roosevelt we’re talking about.
It takes two, though, to come up with an interview this bad. King was obsequious in talking to someone she described as a friend. Dismissive of Jodi Kantor’s new book, The Obamas, King did not, so far as I recall, bother to mention the extent of her support for the first family. According to a quick trip to Fundrace.HuffingtonPost.com, one of my favorite websites, King gave thousands of dollars last year to Obama Victory Fund 2012.

Obviously, it’s a new era in American journalism. We don’t even pretend to be objective any longer. Fine. Objectivity never really existed, but fairness could. So could full disclosure. Yes, I’ve wondered whether and which candidates deserve my financial support. But did CBS News really need to send King to interview her buddy the same week it ran ads about taking a fresh, hard-news approach on This Morning?

Couldn’t Rose have done this interview? Sure, sometimes he answers questions he himself has asked, but he could probably have handled the assignment.

Ah, I’m being cranky. King has a certain game presence, and I’m one of 17 people nationally who watched the show she did on OWN. She’s a TV personality; being a newswoman would be a separate matter.

King is a natural at fake intimacy. Sometimes, though, news judgment is called for—especially when the bosses are bragging that they have it.

Christopher Moore is a writer living in Manhattan. He is available by email at ccmnj@aol.com and is on Twitter
(@cmoorenyc).