the bravo channel, best known for its "queer eye for the straight guy," "inside the actor's studio," and "project runway," along with some other boring crap, recently listed the 100 top funniest movies of all time. i take issue with its list, except with the number one spot as that was "animal house," which is clearly funny for myriad reasons. to be plain, i was not consulted for this list and that's mostly what i take issue with because if anyone is a barometer for funny, it's this anyone right here. i was born funny -- just ask my mother. actually, please don't bother my mother.
to rebut this "list" which is clearly prejudiced and an ill-reflection of funny, i propose the following films in no particular order:
1. "all of me" with the lily tomlin upper cut and the steve martin jab -- absolutely funny
2. "history of the world: part one" since there is no part two, this is clearly ridiculously funny
3. "shucker" a shameless plug and you should feel ashamed for never having seen this ludicrously funny but not-as-yet-made-but-awesomely-funny film
that's about all i'm going to offer those ingrates over at bravo. no bravos for you, bravo. take that! yeah, the truth stings doesn't it? maybe james lipton can rub some salve on your wounds. i doubt it though as he's quite busy composing his ridiculous questions such as "what will you say to god at heaven's gate" and "what's your favorite curse word?" or some crap like that. how uninspired and totally unfunny. i should be hosting that show. but i don't wanna because it's dumb and they don't let those students have at those famous actors like those students really wanna. they should plant me in the audience to ask those actors the provocative questions they never get asked. i'd tell you what those provocative questions are but you'd just end up stealing them because you're so unimaginative and unfunny.
sorry, you're just innocent bystanders. i shouldn't have flown off the handle like that on you, puppies.
i'll be funny tomorrow. i promise. if only to save you from what's dreary and hot and miserably unfunny in this all-too cruel world.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Sunday, May 28, 2006
the method of conversion of optical radiation, and other cool stuff
i was reading about this russian scientist who applied for a patent for his invisibility cloak. no lie. it's made of golden particles and projects what is in front of the wearer on the back of the cloak and vice versa. then i heard "they" believe "they" can make an invisibility cloak within the next 18 months. jinkies!
putting aside the myriad evil ways to use such an invisibility cloak, what's left really? if not for evil doing, what's it for? i mean, i wouldn't mind adding an invisibility cloak to my wardrobe, mainly for fashion's sake. i hope it's pretty. i'd say i'm fairly good at willing myself invisible when i set my mind to it, but having something whimsical to wear while doing so would be pretty dynamite.
in other news, some other wacky buch of scientists from honda created ASIMO, the humanoid robot. that's a picture of ASIMO up there, thanks to AP. (thanks AP!) ASIMO can walk, climb stairs, and dance! ASIMO is intended to be a companion for the elderly and infirm. i could use an ASIMO. there are many an occasion in which i say to myself, "damn! i wish i had me some ASIMO cause i could really break this beat down and a humanoid robot would be the perfect dance partner."
all my dreams are coming true. all of them. really.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
who am i?
jean valjean asked this highly provocative question in the well-known and long-running musical "les miserables." his answer was 24601. he was a prisoner. he stole a loaf of bread. later, he became mayor.
marisa mayer posed this highly provocative question a few days ago. she is the uber smart and uber loaded head of something or other in research and development at google. "are you a starter or a finisher?" "are you a dreamer or an executor?" it made me think.
i don't think i like either of those choices. what's in the center there? middler? meddler? true, in many cases i am an extremist. i tend to the fringes. i like the fringes. fringe was very popular at one time. jon bon jovi liked the fringe when i was small.
so who am i? well i don't know, you jerk. why don't you leave me alone? why don't you probe your own self and stop nosing around in my business? why do i have to be any one thing? why do i have to define myself by your constructs? why must you insist on this either/or situation in which clearly there is a wrong answer and a right answer? i can already see you snickering. you really are a jerk. i'm getting super steamed about this invasion of my privacy.
who am i? i am shiny penny. or am i?
marisa mayer posed this highly provocative question a few days ago. she is the uber smart and uber loaded head of something or other in research and development at google. "are you a starter or a finisher?" "are you a dreamer or an executor?" it made me think.
i don't think i like either of those choices. what's in the center there? middler? meddler? true, in many cases i am an extremist. i tend to the fringes. i like the fringes. fringe was very popular at one time. jon bon jovi liked the fringe when i was small.
so who am i? well i don't know, you jerk. why don't you leave me alone? why don't you probe your own self and stop nosing around in my business? why do i have to be any one thing? why do i have to define myself by your constructs? why must you insist on this either/or situation in which clearly there is a wrong answer and a right answer? i can already see you snickering. you really are a jerk. i'm getting super steamed about this invasion of my privacy.
who am i? i am shiny penny. or am i?
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
meditation on inappropriate touching
spring fever! yeah, dudes. this goes out to all the inappropriate touchers and feelers up of innocent citizens and their innocent parts.
walking home cause i was all cooped up in my cube...walking, walking, walking, minding my business...when an intruder minds his business all up on my innocent arm. felt it up like a cat scratching a post. exsqueeze you. i turn around, thinking innocently enough that only someone well acquainted with my very attractive and appealing arm would dare to touch it in such an inappropriate way. lo and behold, the perpetrator of this injustice is staring, stock still in the middle of the street, at me, through me. i do not know you, inappropriate sir. he continues his visual penetration. i thank you for sunglasses to shield my shock, horror, and general repulsion.
skip to subway. young dude arises (no pun intended as of yet) to exit station when i spy...i spy an open fly. i spy an open fly with a full fist jammed down in there abouts. jammed! down there! in and about! i spy white boxers. i spy white boxers from within open fly wherein and about is jammed said fist. hey! that seems somewhat beyond the bounds of appropriateness.
dudes, keep it together. it's in fact spring and yes, in fact, you may be sprung, but well, i read gloria vanderbilt's guide to etiquette and no where in there and about did it mention the touching of parts belonging to one's person or rather another person, wanted or unwanted. (p.s. learning to dance at a young age is a skill every young lady should acquire.)
this is my brief meditation on inappropriate touching.
walking home cause i was all cooped up in my cube...walking, walking, walking, minding my business...when an intruder minds his business all up on my innocent arm. felt it up like a cat scratching a post. exsqueeze you. i turn around, thinking innocently enough that only someone well acquainted with my very attractive and appealing arm would dare to touch it in such an inappropriate way. lo and behold, the perpetrator of this injustice is staring, stock still in the middle of the street, at me, through me. i do not know you, inappropriate sir. he continues his visual penetration. i thank you for sunglasses to shield my shock, horror, and general repulsion.
skip to subway. young dude arises (no pun intended as of yet) to exit station when i spy...i spy an open fly. i spy an open fly with a full fist jammed down in there abouts. jammed! down there! in and about! i spy white boxers. i spy white boxers from within open fly wherein and about is jammed said fist. hey! that seems somewhat beyond the bounds of appropriateness.
dudes, keep it together. it's in fact spring and yes, in fact, you may be sprung, but well, i read gloria vanderbilt's guide to etiquette and no where in there and about did it mention the touching of parts belonging to one's person or rather another person, wanted or unwanted. (p.s. learning to dance at a young age is a skill every young lady should acquire.)
this is my brief meditation on inappropriate touching.
Monday, May 22, 2006
hover...hover...hover...then destroy!
there's a certain majesty to the vulture, a much-maligned bird. i witnessed it firsthand and have taken appropriate notes to incorporate into my daily routine.
scene: cocktail party. action: hors d' ouevres. players: birds, nay vultures, of various colors, shapes, and sizes. do not let their majestic costumes deceive you for they are all of the same breed. it's survival of the fittest, nay the hungriest, baby. if you position yourself just right, you are king. one false misstep and you will find yourself picking at the pickings and quite hungry. note to self: strike first and strike hard! HOARD.
champagne is a delicious commodity. sweet sweet elixir. bubbly, cold, and dee-lish-us. but that last syllable is deceptive for it is not for US but for YOU or for ME if i am quick and strike without abandon.
and so i did. and i am fit. and i survive. with nibbles a plenty and many bubbles populating my lower stomach like tiny tickles.
ah, the cocktail party. long live the cocktail party and its cocks and multicolored tails. long may it rein in infinite splendor and free-dom.
cheers.
and nuts to you, ck1. nuts. to. you.
scene: cocktail party. action: hors d' ouevres. players: birds, nay vultures, of various colors, shapes, and sizes. do not let their majestic costumes deceive you for they are all of the same breed. it's survival of the fittest, nay the hungriest, baby. if you position yourself just right, you are king. one false misstep and you will find yourself picking at the pickings and quite hungry. note to self: strike first and strike hard! HOARD.
champagne is a delicious commodity. sweet sweet elixir. bubbly, cold, and dee-lish-us. but that last syllable is deceptive for it is not for US but for YOU or for ME if i am quick and strike without abandon.
and so i did. and i am fit. and i survive. with nibbles a plenty and many bubbles populating my lower stomach like tiny tickles.
ah, the cocktail party. long live the cocktail party and its cocks and multicolored tails. long may it rein in infinite splendor and free-dom.
cheers.
and nuts to you, ck1. nuts. to. you.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
kentucky fried
i have returned from my trip to save a pony. some sad news. the pony broke his leg and has been flown in the equine airplane to university of pennsylvania to save his life. how can a broken leg equal death? i'm not worldly in horse so maybe this isn't surprising at all.
sorry preakness pony.
in other news, louisville is weird. the city motto is: "keep louisville weird." well, bravo, louisville! you are weird and i like it. a lot. i don't even know where to begin to describe the weirdness that is louisville. it's weirdness is just so refreshing that it really does take your breath away.
first, the lay of the land. flat. lots of sky. a feast for the eye in terms of architecture. beautiful old buildings alongside really odd new buildings, like the home of the symphony which i couldn't stop staring at. and there's art everywhere. every bike rack is a sculpture. no lie. every single one. and 21c -- a new museum-hotel -- blew my mind. we stood in front of one piece called "text rain" for 20 minutes as letters of the alphabet bounced off our heads. this was all projected on the wall in front of us so it was like looking in a mirror as letters danced around you. i held "hi" in my hand for a while. BIG FUN. if i go back to louisville, i will be staying at this museum-hotel with its giant red plastic penguins and animal art. i won't go into the short film with the man and woman eating dinner as mice crawl all over them. i said i won't go into it.
but really louisville just had the weird vibe down pat. i could almost imagine myself living there except the streets are totally deserted and nearly everything is closed on saturday and sunday. still there was something mesmerizing about it. i bought my first piece of art in louisville. it's a wood carving. it arrives this week sometime. it's quite large. i don't know why i bought it exactly but it gave me this funny feeling and i had to have it.
lots of other strange things happened while there in weird louisville but i don't want to ruin it by remembering. you know how your memory distorts everything and creates this new reality that you convince yourself is actual and fact? well, i do know and so i'm keeping the rest to myself.
sorry preakness pony.
in other news, louisville is weird. the city motto is: "keep louisville weird." well, bravo, louisville! you are weird and i like it. a lot. i don't even know where to begin to describe the weirdness that is louisville. it's weirdness is just so refreshing that it really does take your breath away.
first, the lay of the land. flat. lots of sky. a feast for the eye in terms of architecture. beautiful old buildings alongside really odd new buildings, like the home of the symphony which i couldn't stop staring at. and there's art everywhere. every bike rack is a sculpture. no lie. every single one. and 21c -- a new museum-hotel -- blew my mind. we stood in front of one piece called "text rain" for 20 minutes as letters of the alphabet bounced off our heads. this was all projected on the wall in front of us so it was like looking in a mirror as letters danced around you. i held "hi" in my hand for a while. BIG FUN. if i go back to louisville, i will be staying at this museum-hotel with its giant red plastic penguins and animal art. i won't go into the short film with the man and woman eating dinner as mice crawl all over them. i said i won't go into it.
but really louisville just had the weird vibe down pat. i could almost imagine myself living there except the streets are totally deserted and nearly everything is closed on saturday and sunday. still there was something mesmerizing about it. i bought my first piece of art in louisville. it's a wood carving. it arrives this week sometime. it's quite large. i don't know why i bought it exactly but it gave me this funny feeling and i had to have it.
lots of other strange things happened while there in weird louisville but i don't want to ruin it by remembering. you know how your memory distorts everything and creates this new reality that you convince yourself is actual and fact? well, i do know and so i'm keeping the rest to myself.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
my little pony
don't freak out or anything when i tell you this. maybe you should sit down first. elevate your legs. comfy?
okay, i have to go away for a stretch.
DO NOT PANIC.
to be honest, i have to see a man about a horse.
to be honest, i have to see a horse about a man.
i'm going away.
i will be back shortly.
STOP SWEATING. cause that's just unattractive.
you can't stop me. i have to find my little pony and rescue him from the mill.
or am i just deserting you high and dry?
guess you'll never know...until i ride in on my big little white steed.
nevertheless you can commence cyring now. until i return of course, at which time you will burst into a peal(s) of wild and spastic joy.
CRY PONIES CRY.
i know this time away will be soul searching for both of us. but courage, young falcon. courage.
i can't continue this goodbye any longer. i will see you then, when i'm back here, from over there.
take care. brush your hair.
-shiny penny
okay, i have to go away for a stretch.
DO NOT PANIC.
to be honest, i have to see a man about a horse.
to be honest, i have to see a horse about a man.
i'm going away.
i will be back shortly.
STOP SWEATING. cause that's just unattractive.
you can't stop me. i have to find my little pony and rescue him from the mill.
or am i just deserting you high and dry?
guess you'll never know...until i ride in on my big little white steed.
nevertheless you can commence cyring now. until i return of course, at which time you will burst into a peal(s) of wild and spastic joy.
CRY PONIES CRY.
i know this time away will be soul searching for both of us. but courage, young falcon. courage.
i can't continue this goodbye any longer. i will see you then, when i'm back here, from over there.
take care. brush your hair.
-shiny penny
in my pocket
this post may be too intimate for many of you. join me on a highly provocative journey inside my pocket. it's like my inner circle, only better, because it's attached to me at all times. except of course when i'm not in pants but i have seriously entertained the idea of sewing pockets into my flesh, although i can't sew so at this period in time that option is not feasible. hold stroke of genius for later development.
back to my pocket. i've had numerous conversations about my pocket in the last two days. it's really amazing. i mean, yes, my pocket is amazing, but it's also quite stellar that other people are eager to engage in conversation concerning my pocket.
so here goes. two days ago the idea of putting someone in my pocket came up. pushing that someone way down inside my pocket. for safekeeping of course, not for anything weird or perverted. (my pocket resents the accusation of anything not above board.) i know what you're thinking. how am i going to get that someone into my pocket? the invitation alone pretty much does the trick -- my pocket is very inviting. but there are some physical obstacles. my pocket is not that large; deep yes, but not altogether roomy.
to make a long story short, this particular someone i had my eye on for my pocket would have had to undergo some miniaturization. i had concentrated real hard on that someone, applying my full mental powers to shrinking that someone down to acceptable pocket size. when focused on a task, i am very persuasive. but then i thought, "geez, maybe that someone's relatives and friends wouldn't be too happy with me if i was to miniaturize and push that someone way down inside my pocket." so i relented. (don't even bother trying to figure out who this someone is because i can assure you that you will never divine it because this someone was a stranger both to you and to me.)
but this same very intriguing topic of conversation came up again today. a co-worker mentioned that she had entertained the idea of shrinking someone and placing that someone on a shelf, like a shelf she would store very important things on. for reference and to admire, you know normal everyday things. i decided that my original idea of placing someone in my pocket is a very, very good idea and therefore would like to propose the following people be put into my pocket after the requisite miniaturization process.
PEOPLE I'D LIKE TO PUT IN MY POCKET
(in no particular order)
-- the crazy lady on my street. she's a yeller and quite fierce in her slinging of the trash talk. i think she'd be handy to have at my disposal in case anyone pisses me off.
-- cab driver. i often get turned around and it would be a huge boon to have my own mini-mapquester.
-- jon stewart. he has pretty hair. and he can help me cheat on the ny times crossword puzzles.
-- little girls in their big sunglasses and their little dogs. enough already. we've all suffered our fair share and i'm willing to do something about it.
-- benicio del toro. he's dirty and i just like him. don't ask me to explain it. and again, nice hair.
-- that someone that started me off on this whole wild tangent. i'd still put you in my pocket.
that's about all i'm willing to share for right now. i feel very exposed and vulnerable now.
back to my pocket. i've had numerous conversations about my pocket in the last two days. it's really amazing. i mean, yes, my pocket is amazing, but it's also quite stellar that other people are eager to engage in conversation concerning my pocket.
so here goes. two days ago the idea of putting someone in my pocket came up. pushing that someone way down inside my pocket. for safekeeping of course, not for anything weird or perverted. (my pocket resents the accusation of anything not above board.) i know what you're thinking. how am i going to get that someone into my pocket? the invitation alone pretty much does the trick -- my pocket is very inviting. but there are some physical obstacles. my pocket is not that large; deep yes, but not altogether roomy.
to make a long story short, this particular someone i had my eye on for my pocket would have had to undergo some miniaturization. i had concentrated real hard on that someone, applying my full mental powers to shrinking that someone down to acceptable pocket size. when focused on a task, i am very persuasive. but then i thought, "geez, maybe that someone's relatives and friends wouldn't be too happy with me if i was to miniaturize and push that someone way down inside my pocket." so i relented. (don't even bother trying to figure out who this someone is because i can assure you that you will never divine it because this someone was a stranger both to you and to me.)
but this same very intriguing topic of conversation came up again today. a co-worker mentioned that she had entertained the idea of shrinking someone and placing that someone on a shelf, like a shelf she would store very important things on. for reference and to admire, you know normal everyday things. i decided that my original idea of placing someone in my pocket is a very, very good idea and therefore would like to propose the following people be put into my pocket after the requisite miniaturization process.
PEOPLE I'D LIKE TO PUT IN MY POCKET
(in no particular order)
-- the crazy lady on my street. she's a yeller and quite fierce in her slinging of the trash talk. i think she'd be handy to have at my disposal in case anyone pisses me off.
-- cab driver. i often get turned around and it would be a huge boon to have my own mini-mapquester.
-- jon stewart. he has pretty hair. and he can help me cheat on the ny times crossword puzzles.
-- little girls in their big sunglasses and their little dogs. enough already. we've all suffered our fair share and i'm willing to do something about it.
-- benicio del toro. he's dirty and i just like him. don't ask me to explain it. and again, nice hair.
-- that someone that started me off on this whole wild tangent. i'd still put you in my pocket.
that's about all i'm willing to share for right now. i feel very exposed and vulnerable now.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
vision quest
that's right, people. vision quest. 1985. matthew modine. linda fiorentino. high school wrestling. all the ingredients for dynamite.
this is how it went. after me and the ladies were denied entry into the beard and mustache championship, we ended up at a highly unusual library. a library without any books in fact. it was magic. a few magical potions later and in the throes of deep conversation, i threw it down. VISION QUEST. our sole male companion had opened up to us about a particular adventure, but nay, this was no regular outward bound. i deemed it his vision quest. and in fact it is, should he decide to tear it up on the proverbial mat of life (either in leotard or not) and pin that woman down. oh, i've said too much. it's too late for apologies now.
as you can probably imagine, the above conversation was highly charged. on the yellow cab home, the talk of VISION QUEST was unending. vision quest this. vision quest that. i'm in search of my own vision quest these days. i'm well versed in the double nelson and the strangle hold so achieving any goal i set my fierce mind and very able body to will not prove difficult for a super champion, nay champion of the world, such as myself right here.
as for the beardos mentioned in paragraph two, that was a real pity the show was sold out. i was really looking forward to engaging in conversation with the hairy and of course watching the competition. i love me some competition. but it was not meant to be, although i did get a sweet picture on my camera phone of one swarthy looking captain with some kind of crazy mustache. perhaps that was enough vision quest for one night. you can't keep this shiny penny down for long.
this is how it went. after me and the ladies were denied entry into the beard and mustache championship, we ended up at a highly unusual library. a library without any books in fact. it was magic. a few magical potions later and in the throes of deep conversation, i threw it down. VISION QUEST. our sole male companion had opened up to us about a particular adventure, but nay, this was no regular outward bound. i deemed it his vision quest. and in fact it is, should he decide to tear it up on the proverbial mat of life (either in leotard or not) and pin that woman down. oh, i've said too much. it's too late for apologies now.
as you can probably imagine, the above conversation was highly charged. on the yellow cab home, the talk of VISION QUEST was unending. vision quest this. vision quest that. i'm in search of my own vision quest these days. i'm well versed in the double nelson and the strangle hold so achieving any goal i set my fierce mind and very able body to will not prove difficult for a super champion, nay champion of the world, such as myself right here.
as for the beardos mentioned in paragraph two, that was a real pity the show was sold out. i was really looking forward to engaging in conversation with the hairy and of course watching the competition. i love me some competition. but it was not meant to be, although i did get a sweet picture on my camera phone of one swarthy looking captain with some kind of crazy mustache. perhaps that was enough vision quest for one night. you can't keep this shiny penny down for long.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Some fiction
Ralph was a terribly handsome man. Terrible, as in too handsome for anyone's good, let alone his own. He was engaged once to a not-pretty girl called Marnie. No one quite understood the pairing and it was rumored Marnie invented the whole proposal. She went around town blathering on and on about Ralph's proposal, and he being too terribly handsome was too terribly embarrassed to deny it. Truth be told, Marnie had gotten herself in some trouble with the younger Johnson boy and in a panic tried to make herself appear respectable. The younger Johnson boy threw himself a party as a new father, unaware of Marnie's recent imagined engagement. When Ralph discovered Marnie's secret, he promptly severed their make-believe ties.
Marnie disappeared for several months as broken-hearted girls are wont to do and returned near a year later with a bouncing baby boy and a ring the size of Texas from the older Johnson boy. Ralph tried to be friendly with Marnie and her fiancee but she wanted no parts of him or his terrible handsomeness. As for the rest of us, the more Ralph we could lay claim to the better.
"Ralph squeezed my elbow."
"Ralph told me I had delicate wrists."
"Ralph offered me his handkerchief."
Ralph this. Ralph that. We were all so in awe of Ralph that we practically ran like the devil away from him or giggled so uncontrollably in his presence that he thought he had developed a speech impediment.
That's how we drove him into the arms of that foreign language instructor. Ralph took up Italian language lessons as an attempt to correct his imagined speech impediment. The very idea of Ralph wooing us in Italian was about enough aural stimulation a teenage girl could take.
"Parliamo Italiano?" we heard him practice with her.
"Sbagliato, Rafaele. Parrr-li-amo. Bene."
We shuddered ever time she dared to make Ralph a foreigner.
"Mi chiamo Rafaele. Piacere." he practiced.
"Bravo, caro." she exclaimed, kissing him on each cheek, really kissing him with both lips.
Soon they were exchanging kisses on the boca and braccio and naso and orrecheti. All over their faccios.
"Povere, Rafaele," we whimpered.
We had to wrestle Ralph away from her mesmerizing linguini, and rapido.
Marnie disappeared for several months as broken-hearted girls are wont to do and returned near a year later with a bouncing baby boy and a ring the size of Texas from the older Johnson boy. Ralph tried to be friendly with Marnie and her fiancee but she wanted no parts of him or his terrible handsomeness. As for the rest of us, the more Ralph we could lay claim to the better.
"Ralph squeezed my elbow."
"Ralph told me I had delicate wrists."
"Ralph offered me his handkerchief."
Ralph this. Ralph that. We were all so in awe of Ralph that we practically ran like the devil away from him or giggled so uncontrollably in his presence that he thought he had developed a speech impediment.
That's how we drove him into the arms of that foreign language instructor. Ralph took up Italian language lessons as an attempt to correct his imagined speech impediment. The very idea of Ralph wooing us in Italian was about enough aural stimulation a teenage girl could take.
"Parliamo Italiano?" we heard him practice with her.
"Sbagliato, Rafaele. Parrr-li-amo. Bene."
We shuddered ever time she dared to make Ralph a foreigner.
"Mi chiamo Rafaele. Piacere." he practiced.
"Bravo, caro." she exclaimed, kissing him on each cheek, really kissing him with both lips.
Soon they were exchanging kisses on the boca and braccio and naso and orrecheti. All over their faccios.
"Povere, Rafaele," we whimpered.
We had to wrestle Ralph away from her mesmerizing linguini, and rapido.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
stina savings time
okay, i've officially taken the proverbial plunge and opened this blog up to my dark world. as you'll see from the right menu, my posts have increased. don't be alarmed. i haven't written all those gems today -- i'm in the process of copying and pasting what i deem fit for the public from my other blog into this here one. so everything's out of chronological order and you'll just have to be okay with that. i put in the real date at the top so you can follow along and not get too lost.
sit back, people, and enjoy. it's gonna be dynamite.
sit back, people, and enjoy. it's gonna be dynamite.
Best. Day. Ever.
March 28, 2006
This is worthy of inital caps throughout.
I began the day ordinarily enough on the subway. Then I spied the Post headline concerning Randy Johnson's lovechild entitled LITTLE UNIT. The corners of my lips lifted into a smile.
This is going to be an extraordinary day indeed.
Next up the news that a former potential employer is folding. Ordinarily this would give me pause (again with the pause). However, in this case, my heart leapt a little with joy as this particular potential employer had served me with not one, not two, but three successive copy tests before they would interview me. Not to toot the horn, but these particular copy samples were brilliant. I could have sold the sweetest kicks to hipsters nationwide in a split-second, but oh no, not so for this particular potential employer and now they're closing shop. So sorry.
This nugget was swiftly followed up by a review of my present employer in which I was duly informed of my own title change. All these years I thought I was a copywriter, but it turns out I am not a copywriter but in fact a MARKETING WONK. Awesome. I hope this promotion comes with a substantial increase in salary as I hear WONKS clean up in bonus at the end of the year. As a result, I developed a theme song for my department that contains the words WONK WONK accompanied by my own seriously freakalicious licks.
As if the day could not get any more stellar, I had to do research on the American Idol site for work. I'm telling you my mind was reeling. This is too sweet for words.
There was a bit of sad news, however. On a trip to Union Square, my heart fell as I approached the doors of Nicholas, a rasta shop, only to find it boarded up. This is where I bought T her sweet Bob Marley beach towels and some wicked incense and my favorite Bob Marley as a half-lion head T-shirt. Sad news indeed.
But there was a moment of reprieve as I took my ninth subway ride of the day and a very old man asked me for the time. I looked at him briefly with suspicion as he was wearing a ginormous gold watch but figured what the hey hey and gave him the time with as much importance as I could muster. His response: "You're a top button." C'mon people, this is diamond, as someone I know would say.
Best. Day. Ever. Hands down.
This is worthy of inital caps throughout.
I began the day ordinarily enough on the subway. Then I spied the Post headline concerning Randy Johnson's lovechild entitled LITTLE UNIT. The corners of my lips lifted into a smile.
This is going to be an extraordinary day indeed.
Next up the news that a former potential employer is folding. Ordinarily this would give me pause (again with the pause). However, in this case, my heart leapt a little with joy as this particular potential employer had served me with not one, not two, but three successive copy tests before they would interview me. Not to toot the horn, but these particular copy samples were brilliant. I could have sold the sweetest kicks to hipsters nationwide in a split-second, but oh no, not so for this particular potential employer and now they're closing shop. So sorry.
This nugget was swiftly followed up by a review of my present employer in which I was duly informed of my own title change. All these years I thought I was a copywriter, but it turns out I am not a copywriter but in fact a MARKETING WONK. Awesome. I hope this promotion comes with a substantial increase in salary as I hear WONKS clean up in bonus at the end of the year. As a result, I developed a theme song for my department that contains the words WONK WONK accompanied by my own seriously freakalicious licks.
As if the day could not get any more stellar, I had to do research on the American Idol site for work. I'm telling you my mind was reeling. This is too sweet for words.
There was a bit of sad news, however. On a trip to Union Square, my heart fell as I approached the doors of Nicholas, a rasta shop, only to find it boarded up. This is where I bought T her sweet Bob Marley beach towels and some wicked incense and my favorite Bob Marley as a half-lion head T-shirt. Sad news indeed.
But there was a moment of reprieve as I took my ninth subway ride of the day and a very old man asked me for the time. I looked at him briefly with suspicion as he was wearing a ginormous gold watch but figured what the hey hey and gave him the time with as much importance as I could muster. His response: "You're a top button." C'mon people, this is diamond, as someone I know would say.
Best. Day. Ever. Hands down.
you killed me
April 5, 2006
segment segment segment segment segment segment segment segment segment
"you killed me but i forgive you"
ergh.
i will not misspell segment. i will not misspell segment. i will not misspell segment.
on the subway home, a big fat black sharpie caught my eye. attached to it was a hand attached to a body of a man with badly dyed stringy red hair and black framed glasses with yellow lenses. i watched the black sharpie outline and color in block letters. i watched and watched. trying to read upside down. as he got up to exit, i caught a full glance at the black sharpie's magic:
FLUFFER
ATTENTION
hmm. where's that black sharpie going? i'd like to know. i debated following that sharpie but the doors closed. i hesitated and the sharpie was gone.
godspeed, sharpie.
segment segment segment segment segment segment segment segment segment
"you killed me but i forgive you"
ergh.
i will not misspell segment. i will not misspell segment. i will not misspell segment.
on the subway home, a big fat black sharpie caught my eye. attached to it was a hand attached to a body of a man with badly dyed stringy red hair and black framed glasses with yellow lenses. i watched the black sharpie outline and color in block letters. i watched and watched. trying to read upside down. as he got up to exit, i caught a full glance at the black sharpie's magic:
FLUFFER
ATTENTION
hmm. where's that black sharpie going? i'd like to know. i debated following that sharpie but the doors closed. i hesitated and the sharpie was gone.
godspeed, sharpie.
coney coney coney
April 9, 2006
my first trip to the island. only took 11 years for me to make it to the farthest reaches of brooklyn. i cried like a little girl on the bumper cars. cupcakes had to commandeer the wheel because my eyes were closed from laughing too hard. and then i screamed again on the ferris wheel. yes, i said ferris wheel. it can be scary swinging way up there across the short buses below as you freeze your bejeezus off and sway like a banshee and the operators are mad because you had the wrong kind of wristband. so i screamed as i saw my life flash before me and imagined having to climb down that ferris wheel and one of my shoelaces gets caught in those crickety spokes and then i'm hanging for my life praying my clarks won't fail me now. thankfully we made it back to land.
coney coney coney.
that oughta do it for the next 11 years. i didn't attempt the cyclone. after close inspection, i deemed it unsafe. there are good reasons houses aren't made of wood anymore. uh, warping. uh, fire. uh, buckling. yeah, those are damn good reasons. i watched as my friends screamed for their lives on the twists and turns of that fickle beast and that was quite a bit of stomach churning in and of itself. they were good friends. oh, but they made it back to land in one piece as well.
coney coney coney.
and then the race on the beach. sadly, i lost, even though my worthy opponent was on his cell phone during the home stretch. and the righteous dudes lathering up the coppertone to tan it up on the boardwalk. so many sights to be seen and beheld and remembered.
nathan's. scary. this is why i have never and will never eat a hot dog. especially after seeing that food network special about how they fill hot dogs. gnarly. they cored and filled hot dogs with blue cheese and mayonnaise (ew) and hot peppers and all other kinds of unmentionables.
a full day. now i must sleep. sweet sweet sleep. and to dream, of scary wooden roller coasters and engorged hot dogs and old all-too-hairy men sun-bathing. sweet sweet sleep.
my first trip to the island. only took 11 years for me to make it to the farthest reaches of brooklyn. i cried like a little girl on the bumper cars. cupcakes had to commandeer the wheel because my eyes were closed from laughing too hard. and then i screamed again on the ferris wheel. yes, i said ferris wheel. it can be scary swinging way up there across the short buses below as you freeze your bejeezus off and sway like a banshee and the operators are mad because you had the wrong kind of wristband. so i screamed as i saw my life flash before me and imagined having to climb down that ferris wheel and one of my shoelaces gets caught in those crickety spokes and then i'm hanging for my life praying my clarks won't fail me now. thankfully we made it back to land.
coney coney coney.
that oughta do it for the next 11 years. i didn't attempt the cyclone. after close inspection, i deemed it unsafe. there are good reasons houses aren't made of wood anymore. uh, warping. uh, fire. uh, buckling. yeah, those are damn good reasons. i watched as my friends screamed for their lives on the twists and turns of that fickle beast and that was quite a bit of stomach churning in and of itself. they were good friends. oh, but they made it back to land in one piece as well.
coney coney coney.
and then the race on the beach. sadly, i lost, even though my worthy opponent was on his cell phone during the home stretch. and the righteous dudes lathering up the coppertone to tan it up on the boardwalk. so many sights to be seen and beheld and remembered.
nathan's. scary. this is why i have never and will never eat a hot dog. especially after seeing that food network special about how they fill hot dogs. gnarly. they cored and filled hot dogs with blue cheese and mayonnaise (ew) and hot peppers and all other kinds of unmentionables.
a full day. now i must sleep. sweet sweet sleep. and to dream, of scary wooden roller coasters and engorged hot dogs and old all-too-hairy men sun-bathing. sweet sweet sleep.
stiffed
April 10, 2006
okay i am in some minor pain right now. this seems to be a reoccurring theme. my shoulders are in giant knots. i can feel them. they feel like the big soft squishy knots in soft pretzels, the good kind you can only get at the 7-11 in south philadelphia. those pretzels don't look anything like those shifty ones they sell throughout new york. ah man, those pretzels are so righteous. they're always fresh baked and they're more long and rectangular than the customary twist. manna from heaven, i tell you. and the whole thing is salted and they're a little damp too. and chewy. and delicious. i really wish i had one of those pretzels right now. the coolest thing about these fantastic pretzels is that they come all connected to each other and you have to break off your own pretzel(s). i think they're still a quarter. i'd kill you for one of those pretzels right now. i may have to call in sick tomorrow and drive down to south philly to that 7-11 and get me some pretzel and an icy cold coca-cola.
that was some tangent. my shoulders still hurt. must have been from all that bumping in the bumper cars. damn kids side-swiping me and cupcakes. i usually shy away from kids. they scare me. they're mean. there was a trio walking in front of me on the way home that broke out into an accapella version of the thong song. they were pretty bad, but in that "good" way.
i'm just going to end this right here with no cute closing or overarching metaphor relating back to my subject line. my apologies. i'm stiff.
okay i am in some minor pain right now. this seems to be a reoccurring theme. my shoulders are in giant knots. i can feel them. they feel like the big soft squishy knots in soft pretzels, the good kind you can only get at the 7-11 in south philadelphia. those pretzels don't look anything like those shifty ones they sell throughout new york. ah man, those pretzels are so righteous. they're always fresh baked and they're more long and rectangular than the customary twist. manna from heaven, i tell you. and the whole thing is salted and they're a little damp too. and chewy. and delicious. i really wish i had one of those pretzels right now. the coolest thing about these fantastic pretzels is that they come all connected to each other and you have to break off your own pretzel(s). i think they're still a quarter. i'd kill you for one of those pretzels right now. i may have to call in sick tomorrow and drive down to south philly to that 7-11 and get me some pretzel and an icy cold coca-cola.
that was some tangent. my shoulders still hurt. must have been from all that bumping in the bumper cars. damn kids side-swiping me and cupcakes. i usually shy away from kids. they scare me. they're mean. there was a trio walking in front of me on the way home that broke out into an accapella version of the thong song. they were pretty bad, but in that "good" way.
i'm just going to end this right here with no cute closing or overarching metaphor relating back to my subject line. my apologies. i'm stiff.
all-seeing eye
April 13, 2006
a very interesting and eye-opening journey to the ophthamalogist. what started as a routine eye exam quickly transformed into my candidacy for lasik eye surgery. ask a question, be prepared for a 40-minute exposition on the cornea.
it's funny that all of the pictures of diplomas hanging in the eye doctor's office are crooked. i noticed this pre-dilation, pre-numbing of the eyes.
anyway, dr. denise gave me the full workup. i explained my perpetual dry eye syndrome. apparently it's "the computer." i was then warned to halt use of renew eye solution from this day forward due to some fda warning of eye fungus. super. she did give me a big sample of what i'm supposed to use so my $40 co-pay wasn't for naught.
my sight has stabilized, 20-30 in the left, 20-15 in the right. this, of course, is with the aid of contacts and glasses. not sure what my unencumbered sight is but i suspect not so good. seeing (oh the puns) as i've had glasses since i was 3 and by that age three major eye operations, and contacts since the fifth grade...i forgot where that was going. anyway, the good news is i don't need to fork over the big money for new contacts or for a new prescription for glasses that i hate wearing.
so i broached the laser eye surgery question. what followed were numerous tests in which i looked into large machines with spiral blue lights so they could take pictures of the topography of my cornea. cool. next up the second round of numbing drops (the first was to test the pressure in my eyes -- all good) to test the thickness of my cornea. finally the dominant eye test in which i firmly attested my left eye to be stronger and was summarily proved wrong. dr. isla bonita (i can't remember her real name but she had a real pretty accent and complimented me up the wazoo. what pretty hair you have! what pretty glasses! and such a long neck! okay, that last one was a little weird) explained my right eye to be the pilot, the left co-pilot. she then compared my eyes to mangoes. it sounds odd now but it was a beautiful analogy about how no two mangoes are the same shape so the lasik burns off the what-have-you to make them better fruits, or eyes, or whatever.
she explained it all clearly and quite beautifully. i could have fallen asleep to the sound of her voice. all this talk about how the brain sees and the eyes are just puppets. it was magical.
DILATION TIME. yowza. can't see. hello? please don't leave me in this holding space with all these magazines that i can't see or read and drop the giant lasik package on my lap. my eye doctor saw me next and read my chart and asked if i had any questions but i was tired by that point and forgot if i had any questions, other than what time is it and do you have any snacks?
i fumbled my way home, trying to look normal even though my pupils were the size of mangoes. i can't really see all that well now either but i'm hopeful for tomorrow.
it's strange really to imagine waking up to perfect vision. i have no idea what that feels or looks like. i'm not committing to the lasik, just intrigued. it's a boatload of money to spend on having your cornea peeled back, the oxygen bubbles released, and then lasers filing away the insides of your eye. what if i see all wrong afterwards? what if what i thought was beautiful looks muddy when it's crisp and clear. i'm so accustomed to the fog and blur and constant rewetting drops. much much to contemplate.
this was a fascinating entry for me. i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did squinting through the writing of it.
see ya!
a very interesting and eye-opening journey to the ophthamalogist. what started as a routine eye exam quickly transformed into my candidacy for lasik eye surgery. ask a question, be prepared for a 40-minute exposition on the cornea.
it's funny that all of the pictures of diplomas hanging in the eye doctor's office are crooked. i noticed this pre-dilation, pre-numbing of the eyes.
anyway, dr. denise gave me the full workup. i explained my perpetual dry eye syndrome. apparently it's "the computer." i was then warned to halt use of renew eye solution from this day forward due to some fda warning of eye fungus. super. she did give me a big sample of what i'm supposed to use so my $40 co-pay wasn't for naught.
my sight has stabilized, 20-30 in the left, 20-15 in the right. this, of course, is with the aid of contacts and glasses. not sure what my unencumbered sight is but i suspect not so good. seeing (oh the puns) as i've had glasses since i was 3 and by that age three major eye operations, and contacts since the fifth grade...i forgot where that was going. anyway, the good news is i don't need to fork over the big money for new contacts or for a new prescription for glasses that i hate wearing.
so i broached the laser eye surgery question. what followed were numerous tests in which i looked into large machines with spiral blue lights so they could take pictures of the topography of my cornea. cool. next up the second round of numbing drops (the first was to test the pressure in my eyes -- all good) to test the thickness of my cornea. finally the dominant eye test in which i firmly attested my left eye to be stronger and was summarily proved wrong. dr. isla bonita (i can't remember her real name but she had a real pretty accent and complimented me up the wazoo. what pretty hair you have! what pretty glasses! and such a long neck! okay, that last one was a little weird) explained my right eye to be the pilot, the left co-pilot. she then compared my eyes to mangoes. it sounds odd now but it was a beautiful analogy about how no two mangoes are the same shape so the lasik burns off the what-have-you to make them better fruits, or eyes, or whatever.
she explained it all clearly and quite beautifully. i could have fallen asleep to the sound of her voice. all this talk about how the brain sees and the eyes are just puppets. it was magical.
DILATION TIME. yowza. can't see. hello? please don't leave me in this holding space with all these magazines that i can't see or read and drop the giant lasik package on my lap. my eye doctor saw me next and read my chart and asked if i had any questions but i was tired by that point and forgot if i had any questions, other than what time is it and do you have any snacks?
i fumbled my way home, trying to look normal even though my pupils were the size of mangoes. i can't really see all that well now either but i'm hopeful for tomorrow.
it's strange really to imagine waking up to perfect vision. i have no idea what that feels or looks like. i'm not committing to the lasik, just intrigued. it's a boatload of money to spend on having your cornea peeled back, the oxygen bubbles released, and then lasers filing away the insides of your eye. what if i see all wrong afterwards? what if what i thought was beautiful looks muddy when it's crisp and clear. i'm so accustomed to the fog and blur and constant rewetting drops. much much to contemplate.
this was a fascinating entry for me. i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did squinting through the writing of it.
see ya!
i need an infommercial
April 17, 2006
i've been thinking a lot about this and i'm very serious. no lie, at least the last 7 minutes have been spent debating the many pros of the infommercial. look at those proactiv people! and chuck norris. good old chuck hawking the total home gym. and chrystie brinkley's got a piece now too. and remember victoria principal's infommerical "the principal factor". ka-ching. even mari winsor got herself some major pilates cash stream. i bought that winsor pilates. it sucks. i hate that woman in the front in the green leotard. she's like non-human.
anyway, as i was saying, countless minutes have gone to waste trying to conjure up my infommercial. ginsu knives are taken. and that pot with the built-in colander lid if you're really that f'ing lazy to wash another bowl. flobie and spray-on hair also off the market. george foreman and his fancy grills. so what's left for me? all the good ideas have been profited from. damn people. damn that ron popeil and his pasta maker and rotisserie. ron popeil, by the way, is like a super inventor -- in case you are so far removed from great geniuses of our time not to have known the weight of the name ron popeil.
so i'm thinking old school. i'm thinking i'll create an hour-long infommerical about something so radical that people across this vast america will stand up and take notice. i'm thinking of the hand-crank pencil sharpener. listen up, naysayers. there's something inescapably satisfying about a freshly sharpened no. 2 pencil. those electric pencils are for chumps. i remember the old steel pencil sharpeners from grade school that were bolted to the wall. god, i loved that sharpener and the smell of freshly sharpened lead. brings me right back.
now where did this stroke of brilliance come from? well, a sad place i'm afraid. i had my red hand-crank pencil sharpener made of the finest chinese plastic for nearly 10 years. you develop bonds over a decade. i carried that sharpener with me through many jobs. people laughed at first but then they asked if they could give it a whirl and their faces lit up immediately. it was a sheer delight. and then that dark day came less than a month ago. my beautiful sharpener sat idle on my desk only to be seized in the night by criminal masterminds. i noticed its absence immediately and began a furtive search to recover my treasure. to no avail. tears were shed. accusations flung. booby traps set. but nothing. they tried to appease me with an electric sharpener that is sunctioned to my desk. i hate it. my pencils are dull and my heart in a thousand pieces.
and from this great tragedy, i dare to spread a ray of light. this will be my infommercial: the great american pencil sharpener. back to our roots as real people who can do real hard labor to enjoy the fruits of a freshly pointed ticonderoga. my heart swells at the thought. you bastards out there better not steal my idea. i'm patenting that first thing tomorrow morning. maybe i'll get a big star too. if only rerun was still alive. perchance to dream.
i've been thinking a lot about this and i'm very serious. no lie, at least the last 7 minutes have been spent debating the many pros of the infommercial. look at those proactiv people! and chuck norris. good old chuck hawking the total home gym. and chrystie brinkley's got a piece now too. and remember victoria principal's infommerical "the principal factor". ka-ching. even mari winsor got herself some major pilates cash stream. i bought that winsor pilates. it sucks. i hate that woman in the front in the green leotard. she's like non-human.
anyway, as i was saying, countless minutes have gone to waste trying to conjure up my infommercial. ginsu knives are taken. and that pot with the built-in colander lid if you're really that f'ing lazy to wash another bowl. flobie and spray-on hair also off the market. george foreman and his fancy grills. so what's left for me? all the good ideas have been profited from. damn people. damn that ron popeil and his pasta maker and rotisserie. ron popeil, by the way, is like a super inventor -- in case you are so far removed from great geniuses of our time not to have known the weight of the name ron popeil.
so i'm thinking old school. i'm thinking i'll create an hour-long infommerical about something so radical that people across this vast america will stand up and take notice. i'm thinking of the hand-crank pencil sharpener. listen up, naysayers. there's something inescapably satisfying about a freshly sharpened no. 2 pencil. those electric pencils are for chumps. i remember the old steel pencil sharpeners from grade school that were bolted to the wall. god, i loved that sharpener and the smell of freshly sharpened lead. brings me right back.
now where did this stroke of brilliance come from? well, a sad place i'm afraid. i had my red hand-crank pencil sharpener made of the finest chinese plastic for nearly 10 years. you develop bonds over a decade. i carried that sharpener with me through many jobs. people laughed at first but then they asked if they could give it a whirl and their faces lit up immediately. it was a sheer delight. and then that dark day came less than a month ago. my beautiful sharpener sat idle on my desk only to be seized in the night by criminal masterminds. i noticed its absence immediately and began a furtive search to recover my treasure. to no avail. tears were shed. accusations flung. booby traps set. but nothing. they tried to appease me with an electric sharpener that is sunctioned to my desk. i hate it. my pencils are dull and my heart in a thousand pieces.
and from this great tragedy, i dare to spread a ray of light. this will be my infommercial: the great american pencil sharpener. back to our roots as real people who can do real hard labor to enjoy the fruits of a freshly pointed ticonderoga. my heart swells at the thought. you bastards out there better not steal my idea. i'm patenting that first thing tomorrow morning. maybe i'll get a big star too. if only rerun was still alive. perchance to dream.
my underwear
April 22, 2006
i know this may be a provocative subject. it may offend many of you. i know this full well. however, something needs to be said.
now i get up very early in the morning on a regular basis. it's what i do. i like to be up and about before all the regular weirdos are up and about. i like to beat them to my local laundromat because this is where they hang out and inevitably engage me in weirdo conversations. i am familiar with their weirdo ways and i have come to accept it. just to give you a taste for the incredible goings-on of my laundromat...
i'm rocking to the ipod as i stuff mounds of clothes into the washer. a crumpled up lady in very loud blue eyeshadow is screaming in my direction, "miss! miss! miss!" finally i turn around. she says, "can you open this for me?" she hands me a reach toothbrush, soft bristles. weird. i open it for her and give it back to her. just then a korean storm blows in and starts yelling at this crumpled up old lady to leave her customers alone. i'm guessing she meant me.
anyway, the crumpled up old lady looks very eager to engage me in conversation but i sit one empty seat away for her, still rocking the ipod. her victim sits in between us. in all fairness, he didn't have a chance in hell. she turns to him and asks if he will read something aloud to her. she hands him her copy of j. alfred prufrock. he obliges. he is not a very good reader and stumbles a few times then halts altogether and says "i can't go on any further. there's something very provocative written in the margins."
what follows can only be described as why-do-i-come-to-this-wacked-out-laundromat-with-all-this-crazytown? the crumpled up old lady starts to tell anyone who will listen her life story. her mother was very wealthy but was hit by a bus. she is wanted in four states. she was a socialite in connecticut. she is now an alcoholic. she fancies poetry. on and on it went. once she got up to start the washer. she put her quarters in and started the cycle. there was nothing in the washer. nothing. zip. empty. after this she asked me for a dollar.
okay, having said all that, i ventured back to the laundromat very very early this morning in hopes of not running into any crazytown. i enter a completely deserted laundromat. the coast is clear. i throw in my 50lbs of wash and sit down to write a letter, which is what i do every time i go to the laundromat. i am like a writer and i write letters, real letters, that i post in the mail and send to people far away who i don't communicate with in any other fashion than through the good old-fashioned post office. you should admire me for this upholding of traditions.
i digress. a couple folks stray in, one potentially weird gentlemen but i shrug it off because i'm already on page three of my awesome letter. an hour or so later, i start the ritual folding of my clothes. i fold like i worked at the gap. it's my compulsion. i'm very tidy with corners and edges. the potential weirdo rolls up next to me. as i get through the big folding things, what's left is a big pile of my unmentionables. underwear in various colors and patterns and fabrics. yes, it's quite an attractive pile. i know this but hey, we're all adults here. go to victoria's secret if you're that interested in underwear.
he's staring at my multicolored pile of underwear. really staring at it like he's going to eat it with his eyes. this is beginning to unnerve me but i try to continue to rock to my ipod and ignore him. then of course i drop a pair of said colorful underwear on the floor and would you believe he actually dove to pick it up? well he didn't dive exactly but he did perform the bending over act. i stealthily zipped right in there and gave him the coldest shoulder imaginable.
maybe this is my fault. for bringing my very attractive underwear out in public for all to see and admire and covet. if that is in fact the case, i sincerely apologize.
i know this may be a provocative subject. it may offend many of you. i know this full well. however, something needs to be said.
now i get up very early in the morning on a regular basis. it's what i do. i like to be up and about before all the regular weirdos are up and about. i like to beat them to my local laundromat because this is where they hang out and inevitably engage me in weirdo conversations. i am familiar with their weirdo ways and i have come to accept it. just to give you a taste for the incredible goings-on of my laundromat...
i'm rocking to the ipod as i stuff mounds of clothes into the washer. a crumpled up lady in very loud blue eyeshadow is screaming in my direction, "miss! miss! miss!" finally i turn around. she says, "can you open this for me?" she hands me a reach toothbrush, soft bristles. weird. i open it for her and give it back to her. just then a korean storm blows in and starts yelling at this crumpled up old lady to leave her customers alone. i'm guessing she meant me.
anyway, the crumpled up old lady looks very eager to engage me in conversation but i sit one empty seat away for her, still rocking the ipod. her victim sits in between us. in all fairness, he didn't have a chance in hell. she turns to him and asks if he will read something aloud to her. she hands him her copy of j. alfred prufrock. he obliges. he is not a very good reader and stumbles a few times then halts altogether and says "i can't go on any further. there's something very provocative written in the margins."
what follows can only be described as why-do-i-come-to-this-wacked-out-laundromat-with-all-this-crazytown? the crumpled up old lady starts to tell anyone who will listen her life story. her mother was very wealthy but was hit by a bus. she is wanted in four states. she was a socialite in connecticut. she is now an alcoholic. she fancies poetry. on and on it went. once she got up to start the washer. she put her quarters in and started the cycle. there was nothing in the washer. nothing. zip. empty. after this she asked me for a dollar.
okay, having said all that, i ventured back to the laundromat very very early this morning in hopes of not running into any crazytown. i enter a completely deserted laundromat. the coast is clear. i throw in my 50lbs of wash and sit down to write a letter, which is what i do every time i go to the laundromat. i am like a writer and i write letters, real letters, that i post in the mail and send to people far away who i don't communicate with in any other fashion than through the good old-fashioned post office. you should admire me for this upholding of traditions.
i digress. a couple folks stray in, one potentially weird gentlemen but i shrug it off because i'm already on page three of my awesome letter. an hour or so later, i start the ritual folding of my clothes. i fold like i worked at the gap. it's my compulsion. i'm very tidy with corners and edges. the potential weirdo rolls up next to me. as i get through the big folding things, what's left is a big pile of my unmentionables. underwear in various colors and patterns and fabrics. yes, it's quite an attractive pile. i know this but hey, we're all adults here. go to victoria's secret if you're that interested in underwear.
he's staring at my multicolored pile of underwear. really staring at it like he's going to eat it with his eyes. this is beginning to unnerve me but i try to continue to rock to my ipod and ignore him. then of course i drop a pair of said colorful underwear on the floor and would you believe he actually dove to pick it up? well he didn't dive exactly but he did perform the bending over act. i stealthily zipped right in there and gave him the coldest shoulder imaginable.
maybe this is my fault. for bringing my very attractive underwear out in public for all to see and admire and covet. if that is in fact the case, i sincerely apologize.
observation deck
April 28, 2006
a lot of folks hang out at the d&d (that's dunkin' donuts to you) by my headquarters. no kidding. i just walked past at the ripe hour of 9:30 p.m. friday night and d&d was packed. i didn't see anyone eating donuts though or any pastries of any kind. i'm thinking maybe this is a happening pickup spot that i will have to work into my happening pickup spot rotation. it's quite a revelation as every time i've took a spin into this particular d&d, only a haggard bunch of biddies are in there. but i trust the youth in my totally happening neighborhood know where the good action is. it's not the d&d by "needle park". that d&d is weird and gross and the bathroom is always occupied by some sketchy looking skeleton of a teenager. sometimes i want to buy them a jelly donut. just cause. sometimes i want to run from that d&d waving my hands in the air like i just don't care. it's usually a close tie between those two options.
another happening establishment on a friday night around 9:30 is the local barbeque place. a good deal on chicken cannot be had elsewhere. i know this because i've experienced such a good deal on chicken. sometimes i wonder where they get those cheap chickens. sometimes i am easily grossed out by this thought. like for instance today as i was standing in line to buy my healthy salad and a mouse ran across the salad place floor and scattered a whole table of corporate looking folks. that was funny for like a minute until i realized that mouse was probably nibbling on my greens prior to scurrying across the floor. i ate the salad anyway but i didn't feel good about it.
in closing, i've observed many wonderful things today and learned quite a lot about my surroundings. thank you, world. thank you, d&d. thank you, bbq place. thank you, mouse.
a lot of folks hang out at the d&d (that's dunkin' donuts to you) by my headquarters. no kidding. i just walked past at the ripe hour of 9:30 p.m. friday night and d&d was packed. i didn't see anyone eating donuts though or any pastries of any kind. i'm thinking maybe this is a happening pickup spot that i will have to work into my happening pickup spot rotation. it's quite a revelation as every time i've took a spin into this particular d&d, only a haggard bunch of biddies are in there. but i trust the youth in my totally happening neighborhood know where the good action is. it's not the d&d by "needle park". that d&d is weird and gross and the bathroom is always occupied by some sketchy looking skeleton of a teenager. sometimes i want to buy them a jelly donut. just cause. sometimes i want to run from that d&d waving my hands in the air like i just don't care. it's usually a close tie between those two options.
another happening establishment on a friday night around 9:30 is the local barbeque place. a good deal on chicken cannot be had elsewhere. i know this because i've experienced such a good deal on chicken. sometimes i wonder where they get those cheap chickens. sometimes i am easily grossed out by this thought. like for instance today as i was standing in line to buy my healthy salad and a mouse ran across the salad place floor and scattered a whole table of corporate looking folks. that was funny for like a minute until i realized that mouse was probably nibbling on my greens prior to scurrying across the floor. i ate the salad anyway but i didn't feel good about it.
in closing, i've observed many wonderful things today and learned quite a lot about my surroundings. thank you, world. thank you, d&d. thank you, bbq place. thank you, mouse.
high art and really big words
May 6, 2006
nerd and i took our first turn at the tribeca film festival today. first we decided to brunch at a popular spot for the newest round of baby boomers. hmm, bad idea. i thought i heard the hostess yell out "chelsea" but being as that is not my name, i did not respond. 45 minutes later, after inquiry, i was scolded for not having responded to my erroneous name. okay. yeah, you're right. shut up. the eggs were good though. mmm, eggs.
later that same day, we winded our way up several escalator flights to see "land of the blind". sounds ominous, no? it was AWESOME. damn it. i say damn it out of sheer jealousy. of course the screenwriter is also the director. ralph fiennes, donald southerland. it's fucking brilliant. really. no lie. political satire in the style of "brazil" but more accessible and just really funny, totally irreverent and not so kind to religion no matter what the director tried to explain away as his take on fanaticisim. still, brilliant. god, i should do the marketing for that movie. anyway, the point being, it's really good. and note to tribeca film festival organizers, plant people to ask questions so you don't get stupid questions like "i didn't get how he saw so-and-so if he was in jail." HELLO, DREAM SEQUENCE. so obvious. and to the man who made the reference to jacques lacan, no one cares that you went to graduate school and read mirror theory. i repeat, no one cares. and you will never get chicks with your foucault collection.
wow, that really unleashed something there. anyway, the movie was really wonderful and both leading men stellar. rarely am i moved so much by film/tv (save for that episode of "cheerleader nation"), but it made me jealous for not having written lately. so maybe i will. most likely not. but i guess i've written this and that counts for something or nothing or whatever. leave me alone. shut up.
nerd and i took our first turn at the tribeca film festival today. first we decided to brunch at a popular spot for the newest round of baby boomers. hmm, bad idea. i thought i heard the hostess yell out "chelsea" but being as that is not my name, i did not respond. 45 minutes later, after inquiry, i was scolded for not having responded to my erroneous name. okay. yeah, you're right. shut up. the eggs were good though. mmm, eggs.
later that same day, we winded our way up several escalator flights to see "land of the blind". sounds ominous, no? it was AWESOME. damn it. i say damn it out of sheer jealousy. of course the screenwriter is also the director. ralph fiennes, donald southerland. it's fucking brilliant. really. no lie. political satire in the style of "brazil" but more accessible and just really funny, totally irreverent and not so kind to religion no matter what the director tried to explain away as his take on fanaticisim. still, brilliant. god, i should do the marketing for that movie. anyway, the point being, it's really good. and note to tribeca film festival organizers, plant people to ask questions so you don't get stupid questions like "i didn't get how he saw so-and-so if he was in jail." HELLO, DREAM SEQUENCE. so obvious. and to the man who made the reference to jacques lacan, no one cares that you went to graduate school and read mirror theory. i repeat, no one cares. and you will never get chicks with your foucault collection.
wow, that really unleashed something there. anyway, the movie was really wonderful and both leading men stellar. rarely am i moved so much by film/tv (save for that episode of "cheerleader nation"), but it made me jealous for not having written lately. so maybe i will. most likely not. but i guess i've written this and that counts for something or nothing or whatever. leave me alone. shut up.
easily excitable
May 9, 2006
i am, by:
cheese
strange and unusual people
fast moving vehicles
clock towers
hyphenated words
deliciously cold beverages
scotch tape
lists of items
crossing off of lists of items
cheese again
a job well done and the well-deserved praise
a job poorly done and the unexpected but still well-deserved praise
surprises
the promise of sleep
etc., e.g., and other weirdly punctuated abbreviations
lists of lists
mary gordon introduced me once as "a wild poet in the guise of a prose writer" with a "rollicking voice". she's like a famous writer and i am not. i don't know if she meant it but i wrote it down verbatim and now have transcribed it here. it's hopeful and nice and probably totally untrue but it easily excited me so worthy of this list. she told me to make lists. all good writers make lists. lucky for me, i'm obsessive (and forgetful enough) to make lists out of pure habit. and now i've lost my train of thought. i should have made a list first. i really want a piece of cheese.
i am, by:
cheese
strange and unusual people
fast moving vehicles
clock towers
hyphenated words
deliciously cold beverages
scotch tape
lists of items
crossing off of lists of items
cheese again
a job well done and the well-deserved praise
a job poorly done and the unexpected but still well-deserved praise
surprises
the promise of sleep
etc., e.g., and other weirdly punctuated abbreviations
lists of lists
mary gordon introduced me once as "a wild poet in the guise of a prose writer" with a "rollicking voice". she's like a famous writer and i am not. i don't know if she meant it but i wrote it down verbatim and now have transcribed it here. it's hopeful and nice and probably totally untrue but it easily excited me so worthy of this list. she told me to make lists. all good writers make lists. lucky for me, i'm obsessive (and forgetful enough) to make lists out of pure habit. and now i've lost my train of thought. i should have made a list first. i really want a piece of cheese.
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