Tuesday, May 31, 2005

The Computer Age

As I am godless, and yet not enough of an intellectual to have given up superstition at all, I find myself playing Vegas style computer solitaire and asking the computer or universe using the computer as an instrument to predict the future. How, does this work? Simple. I open up the solitaire program and ask it a "yes" "no" question. Then, I usually set the terms that if I win the game the answer to my question is yes, if I loose, then the answer is no. On occassion, i will make it easier on myself to get a yes answer from the computer and set the terms to "if i get out of solitaire debt then the answer is yes."
My telepathically asking my computer's solitaire program to divine the future began a few years ago. At some point I realized the computer was reading my thoughts. Anytime I would play the vegas verision and get the feeling that I was on my way to winning it would all of sudden hit a snag and I would loose. I knew the computer could read my mind and didn't like my cocky attitude. Once I noticed the pattern, I put a great effort into curtailing these self assured thoughts. Obviously, the computer was in control and I had to bow to the computers will. My happiness was in the computers hands. It was the computer who decided if I would win or loose vegas style solitaire. The computer would decide if I would go on a streak and earn over $600 dollars in non-existent money, or if I'd fall into $1000 of dollars of debt. For all I knew if I didn't change my attitude and acknowledge the supreme power of solitiare it would try to collect my fake debt.

I realized that if the computer and its program could read my mind then maybe it could read the future. And if it couldn't and all that mind reading thing was just in my head, then maybe the universe could speak through the vegas style solitaire. I realize the universe could just as well speak to me through the flip of a coin, but i like playing solitaire, so it's a killing two birds kind of thing. Further, if I sat in the office all day flipping a coin people might think i'm nuts. If I play solitaire all day people just think i'm a temp.

I have also taken to playing freecell to figure out what my hidden desires and intentions are. If I show the will to win a game then I obviously do want what I asked for before playing. And if I loose, I must not want that certain thing or person badly enough.

And though you might be laughing this is the truth.

Friday, May 27, 2005

Behind the Title

I really think I should call this blog typos, spelling errors, and the grammatically unsound. But smallhands ick seems so much more irrelevant.

The story of smallhands:
Once upon a time in the land of the gardens and industrial waste lived a socially inept lumberjack who did not make his living from the forest but rather by computer programing. However, some thought he earned money by selling drugs, but this was probably unlikely, he could never be in sales. Others believed he was gifted by the fairies at birth with a trust fund--this rumor was never confirmed for the lumberjack was a tight lipped fellow. One hot Jersey summer he met a young maiden toiling away behind a desk 8 hours of the day. She had been born into capitalism and therefore could not play outside all summer. She knew that this situation was only temporary and once she earned her theatre degree all monetary problems would be lifted.
The lumberjack and the maiden were immediately taken with one another. It was a whirl wind romance, full of nausea and neurosis--mostly on the part of the fair maiden. That summer the young lady's nerves filled her stomach with acid rendering her unable to eat. She shrank by ten pounds in a mere two months. (Love, nature's diet.) Despite the dramatic weightloss our heroic lumberjack continued to love her...well liked her...well, she was better than being alone. And she, in her thinness, was happy to keep him company that summer for he was an amazing man.
He could make furniture, could make people feel awkward at a party,, and he had a BEARD!

Unfortunately, there was one problem. An evil witch, Genetics, had cast a spell on him while he lay in his mother's womb. When he emerged from his mother his hands were disproportionately small! As an adult he kind of looked like 5ft 10 inch T.Rex or more like Godzilla, really, but with a beard (sigh). Sometimes in the late hours, while restless, he would search for tiny tiny japanese people to terrorize.

His hands were awful, he barely could hold the stick shift in his foreign, midsized chariot. He needed both hands to grasp a pickle. Watching him stir stain on his stove could send a person into convulsions. His hands were grotesque. But still the maiden loved him.

The summer ended and the maiden had to return to the city of beans to finish her degree. She wrote him often and he responded in kind. Twice he had made the journey north to see her. Then out of nowhere the maiden was whisked off to an evil, cursed world known as Los Angeles. When finally, the maiden was able to free her self and return to the enchanted state of gardens the small handed man had left her for a girl with yellow teeth.

The yellow toothed woman and the lumberjack lived happily ever after.

The fair maiden lives.

the end.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Training Day

HarperCollins finally hired someone permanent for my position. I was only supposed to be at this temp job for a couple of weeks at the end of December 2004. It's is now May 26. Yesterday, I began training the new guy. I don't know if he's going to make it. First off, he couldn't remember my password to my hotmail account. I dont' know how he's going to check my e-mail all day long. Then when we called my friends living out of state he had nothing to say to them. So, I tried making it easier on him and suggested he call his out of state friends. Turns out he doesn't have any. Then I come to find out he doesn't even have a blog! Later in the afternoon he seemed to be getting the hang of just sitting at the desk, but then all of sudden he gets up and says, "I'm bored. I'm going to file that big stack of invoices sitting at the edge of your desk." I felt bad it was his first day and I didn't want to reprimand him again, so I let him file the invoices.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005


Meteorologists can't predict the weather. What makes me think astrologers can predict my life. These days I'm reading around 7 seperate horoscopes a day. I'm highly addicted. I've tried quitting, but with Saturn opposing my sun, habit reforming ain't happening. I'm thinking of taking up drinking to cure me of my astrology addiction. You can't read a newspaper bleary eyed. But until this week's paycheck I remain sober and continue to read my horoscopes. I know the astrology is bullshit. How could any of it be true? Supposedly, for Virgos tonight is a great date night. Do you think that's true for the Virgos living in Annbar, Iraq?
My parents really want grandkids, but I'm not ready to have kids so I said to them how about I stay really immature and call you grandma and grandpa.


next week I'm hoping to get more writing done. I'm hoping to have more time for me.

Monday, May 23, 2005

Jersey's Sacking of Kansas

I once drove through Kansas. While driving from New Mexico to Dodge, KS I was pulled over three times. Why? Because I had New Jersey liscence plates on my car. I don't know why the Kansas police fear people from New Jersey. ("The Sopranos" is just a show, it is not real.) New Jersey never invaded Kansas. There was no trade embargo placed. I don't recall reading about the time when New Jersey's Miltia came riding in on horse back raping and pillaging. But then again my public school system taught evolution and not creationism, perhaps certain history lessons were omitted from my text books. If that is the case on behalf of the Garden State (the 3rd state of the union) I sincerely, apologize for any emotional or physical damage we caused.

Meanwhile, I took a trip to Japan last month. (See photos posted below) This is a country that suffered a nuclear attack from my country. Don't get me wrong those yellow devils completely deserved two atomic bombs dropped on their civilian targets. We all know how much civillians have to do with the policy of Nations. Despite this history the Japanese people could not have been nicer to me. 97% of the people I encounter were helpful and polite. But maybe that's because they didn't know I was from NJ.

Sunday, May 22, 2005

hanging subway straps i can actually reach. Japan Rocks!

vendor selling food in the cemetary

drunken salary men trying their english

Ueno Park at night

Friday, May 20, 2005

Got You Beat, Buddy

I have a corporate lawyer friend. He e-mailed me the other day telling me all about his new shoes. Supposedly, his new shoes make a squeeking sound with each step he takes. He feels it draws a lot of negative attention toward him in the overly quiet, straight-laced office he works in. "I can't even buy shoes, I'm such a fuck up," he wrote.

If he's a fuck up for buying noisey shoes what does that make me. I can't even afford to buy new shoes. If I want a pair, I have to hope my mother guilts me into going to some event that requires I dress half way decent. Then, she has to be disgusted with the shoes I currently own forcing her to drag me out to some outlet store or Marshalls; and buy me a new pair.

He's a a Fuck up? I am currently temping at job in NJ, but I live in Brooklyn. My second day at this job I infected the computer with a virus. And no, I wasn't even looking up porn. I was looking up guitar tabs, because I'm too tone deaf to figure out the chords to songs myself. In an attempt to rememdy this virus problem I've downloaded Ad aware and Spybot. I can't get rid this computer of the virus. Normally, I wouldn't care what happens to a temp job computer, but I got this gig because this dude is a friend of my former boss. They work in the same building where I'll be returning to work for my old boss. I'll be filling in for a couple of days next week answering his phone while he's in Israel. Apparently, I'm cheaper than international call forwarding.

Because I have barely exchanged 8 words maybe 9 with the man I'm currently working for I plan not to inform him about the virus situation. Instead my big plan is to unistall and delete the anti-virus software I've downloaded and firefox web browser, and pretend that nothing happened and hope that the woman who normally works here thinks she contracted the virus. I'm doomed. Can you believe I graduated Magna Cum Laude?

I can't even take care of myself. I haven't gotten to bed before 1:30am this week and only one of those days was I drunk. And none of those days was I having sex. I've been driving 45 minutes into NYC to do 5-10 minute sets of comedy to then get in my car at 11:30pm to sit in traffic for an 1 hour and half.

I think if there was a fuck up competition I might not fuck that up.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

33 days and counting

Only 33 days until Jack touches down in the States for good? Yippee!! We chatted online yesterday. Which we do once a month. He trecks the 120 miles (roundtrip) to the internet cafe. Wow, he's going to be in some sort of shape. Rrrr!!! It's funny no matter where he is in the world he's always at least a hundred miles away from internet access. All the better for his hot bod.

We did kind of get into an argument yesterday, though. See, even the best relationships have a hint of strife. It was a silly argument. According to Mr. Florence Nightgale I am enabling my best friend, Anna, to continue having shitty relationships. She's having difficulty with one of her latest beuxs. It's a long story. The summation: she feels like a failure at love. Everytime she likes a dude she gets hurt. She's just sick of the mind games, pining after men, the lack of emotional reciprocation. She sort of brokedown in my car last night as Tool's "Sober" played. It's funny how the mind associates things. To console her, I told her that love is like training for a sport. Did Tony Hawk just hop on a skate board and immediately find himself cast in "Gleaming the Cube." No. He broke many a bone way before Christian Slater even had an agent. Sure, the time back on skateboard after a broken femur he probably was a bit skittish. But he kept riding. I said, "Anna, you'll get better at this, you'l be queen of the X-games of love." She blew her nose.

To this, Jack responded that I'm just encouraging her to make the same shitty choices over and over again. When did I say that?! Tony Hawk doesn't continue to try the same trick the same way each time he fails at it. The re-evaluating, re-assessing and developing a new approach was implied in my analogy. Plus, she was sobbing in my car as we were sitting in traffic at 12:30am on route 3 West in NJ. I was lucky to get Tool off the radio.

Jack is such a boy sometimes.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Momma's Boy

My boyfriend Jack is unbelievable. My mom just received her Mother’s Day gift from him yesterday. It would have arrived on the Saturday before Mother’s Day, but Jack mixed up the shipment times of Baliti and Gavenese. He’s so silly he hasn’t been to Baliti in over a year. I’d like to say that this mistake could have happened to anyone, but really it could only happen to Jack. He sent my mom a piece of Nuruto folk art (Gavenese is a small village in the Northwest region of the country of Nuruto which is a small island off of Greenland.) It’s a collage of drawings of the night time sky inked on leaves. The Nuruto artists preserve their leaf drawings with some sort of wax or sap or honey. I’m not really sure, I kind of zoned out when Jack was describing the process. I’m a bad girlfriend sometimes. Anyway, mom stuck it on the fridge with some magnets. I have to remember to hang it in my parents’ living room before Jack returns to the States. Which is only 35 days away!!!!

My boy is so sweet. I can’t believe how considerate and thoughtful he is. His days are so busy with the one-legged, blind Nurutan children. (Supposedly there is some rare genetic disorder in Nuruto where babies are born single legged and blind) Jack teaches the children to fish and whittle along with other necessary skills. And yet he still found the time not only to send his own mother a gift and an e-mail, which was a 5 day hike round trip to the nearest internet cafĂ©, but he sent my mom a gift too. We’re not even engaged. Of course his generosity got me in trouble with my own mother, as I merely got her a card where I wrote a few funny lines teasing her about her new hairstyle. My mom berated me yesterday after Jack’s gift arrived. She said, “Look, your boyfriend whom I’ve only met 3 times has sent me this lovely…what the hell is this?”
“Nuruto folk art, mom”
“Yes, these lovely sticky leaves that he shipped from half way around the world, and what did my own daughter come up with? A card from hallmark ridiculing my new hair dew.”
“Mom, it was funny, I was giving you the gift of my talent and art. I’m a comedian.”
”Really? Aren’t comedians supposed to be funny.”
"You're right. Next year I’ll get you a bracelet.”
"That really is a nice boy you're going with."

Monday, May 16, 2005

Wedding Tales

This past weekend I attended my cousin's wedding. A glorious affair with an outdoor ceremony beside a beautiful lake and as much mid range booze I could imbibe. This probably was the last wedding my family will throw for awhile. It doesn’t look like my other two cousins or I are getting hitched anytime soon. Not that my extended family hasn’t put in the effort on my behalf. All weekend I was getting phone numbers and e-mail address of every single boy on the east coast. Which is kind of cool because at least they’re not trying to set me up with women anymore. I just thought it was offensive to lesbians. Just because I never have a date to family functions, or in life, doesn’t mean I’m gay. Gay people date. They have relationships. In some states they even get married and adopt children. I’m not gay. I’m emotionally unavailable.

So no more weddings for awhile which is good. I need time. I’m hoping at the next wedding I’ll be able to give my own gift instead of going in with my parents. And when I type “going in” I mean I put my name on the card of the gift my parents are giving. Actually, my mother signs my name. She fears that if I sign the card the check inside might bounce just by association. I know I shouldn’t feel bad, I’m only 27 years old. I only graduated college 6 years ago. Financial independence takes time. I mean I’ve only been temping for four years. Everyone knows temping doesn’t really start paying off until you make it some other career. But even if this temping pipe dream doesn’t pan out I know I’ll be financially secure at 70. See, my parents are 30 years older than me. I figure with today’s medicine they’ll probably live to be 100 years old. And then the house is mine along with my dad’s “Big Trouble in Little China” laser disc. And the laser disc player. Hopefully at 70 I’ll be able to get up from the couch to turn the disc over. Yeah, I’m having them install the wheel chair ramp now.

Friday, May 13, 2005


Yesterday, I foolishly kept my hair appointment at a French named salon on 55th street in Manhattan. I chose this place because they were reasonably priced and give HarperCollins employees 20% discount. The French name was misleading as no one working there spoke French. The language of choice was Spanish, except for Anna, the woman who did my hair, she spoke Korean and a few words in English.

A word of advice if you are 1/2 Jewish 1/2 Italian or any other ethnicity that carries the genetic code for curly hair, non-english speaking Korean hair dresser probably not your best option for a hair cut. I feel that the Koreans may lack empathy for the plight of the curly haired, and if you're a newly arrived immigrant from a land of poker straight perhaps you don't have alot of experience with my people.

Is what happened to my hair Anna's fault? No. There was a moment before anything was applied to my head that I thought of fleeing the salon. Anna, was about to apply highlights to my head, which I had asked for, however, she had not consulted me on the color of said highlights. My mind said, "RUN RUN RUN. Get up from this seat and goooooo." My body did not move.

The haircut and color took nearly 2 hours. During which there was a lot of me asking her to do certain things like not cut three inches off, and make the highlights red. These requests were followed by alot of nodding on her part.

So my hair is too short and a plethora of colors. Anna, thinks I look beautiful. I think that my theory that no one will care or notice my appearance at my cousin's wedding this weekend (because it's her day why should they) is now no longer true. At least it's open bar.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Women, sheesh

First off, it's freezing in the office. I have a bit about hating fat people because they're not bothered by the cold, but I don't think it translates to computer screen well. I guess you'll just have to come out and see me sometime.
Last night I had the privilige of performing in my home state, New Jersey. I don't understand why the garden state has reputation for a dunderhead population.

Let's recap some highlights. One gentelman told a story of a date he had gone on. The woman with whom he dined stated that she doesn't have sex on the first date. He was an understanding chap and as he put his wallet back into his trouser pocket responded, "That's fine. I don't pay for dinner on the first date." I thought of course that's the only logical play for him to make. Why else would he invite a female to dinner but to buy her complicity in sex acts with him. I know When my parents take me out for dinner or even lunch I'm expected to put out immediately. (Well, they make me wait 45 minutes so as not to cramp.) I mean, that's what treating people to things, especially food, is all about. I recall this one instance when I invited my friend, Jen, to dine with me in celebration of her birthday, I spent a good 20 bucks on that meal and she had the nerve to end the evening with a hug and a thanks. Not even so much as a nipple twist. Was I supposed to be satisfied with the laughs and stimulating conversation over our burgers? Was I expected to be contented with the huge smile on Jen's face as she savored the ice cream topped brownie that I had provided? God she's such a bitch!

Another young man who took the stage last night had a great idea of his own. He believed the next logical step scientists should take after having successfully grown an ear on a mouse's back was to now grow vaginas on the backs of mice. Brilliant! Who says the Jersey legacy of Albert Einstein and Thomas Edison is dead? What a big heart and thoughtful man this comedian is. It's like he's a sexual socialist. We all know there are men who can not read or put together sentences. There are men who have no social skills. These men have a great deal of trouble finding women to sleep with them. Is that fair? Don't we all deserve sex? But so often men like these find nothing but rejection. It's sad really. However, if scientists could grow vaginas on the backs of defenseless animals, well then all heterosexual males could get laid no matter their hygene, tempermant, or consideration.

Though these men make good points. I would also like to add a suggestion for getting laid. I know I'm only a women and there for a little short on brains (we women must be a little dim why else would get paid 30% less than men), but I think this might work. I think people might want to try prostitutes. A prostitute is someone who provides sex for money. It's a pure business transaction. No going to taco bell for dinner only to hear a women tell you, "she had a nice time and would love to see you again." They don't want to talk they want you to get in and get out and hand over the cash. For these hard working sex professionals the quicker you are the faster they can get to the next client. So before we start spending crazy amounts of money on science or run up a bar tab getting some chick liquored up why not call a lady of the night. No fuss no muss.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005


Yeah, I don't commit well. I kick and scream and scratch the orderlies at the psych ward. (RIM SHOT!)

No, really, I do have a problem committing. I can't use the word boyfriend. Like the other night a...uh...a...gentleman caller was over the apartment. After our tea and crumpets we went to sleep only to be awoken by my roommate blasting KMFDM at 3am. I stormed the living room from the North entrance making my way through my bedroom door over the laundry I hadn't put away. I arrived without warning armed only with my bare hands and my temper. I said, "Hey Chris, my boyfri...I mean this dude I'm kind of seein-- the male that I go to movies with with...no...this guy i had sex with this eve---well is it really sex if no one comes? I mean, not that it was bad, you know we were drunk, so it's not like he can hold me to anything. And I am not. Look! just turn the fucking music off! He has to get up early tomorrow." And then I retreated through the narrow hallway back to base exhausted and shaken.

Imagine if I ever did get married. I'd introduce my husband, "Hi, this is my friend, well my roommate and my friend. The kids? Oh you mean our roommates not of age? They're doing real well, thanks for asking."

Monday, May 09, 2005

Freedom Oozies

Please fogive me for what I am about to write. Not for the ideas but for the hurried way I am about to write it. I'm sure it'll be full of typos and fragmented sentences. I don't even know if it's supposed to be funny. Not all these post are funny people. You know I used to write poetry, so I can be as serious, angsty, and pain filled as the next gen-Xer or blogger, or american or whoever is full of pain and likes to pretentiously and self involvedly expresses it. OK enough excuses.
The weather in NYC today is fabulous. I went to Central Park for my lunch break. (that's right around 1pm on a lovely day you can find in the Park for all of you who want a piece of the kid.--not only self involved but egocentric and thoughts of grandeur and another interruptive statement interrupting the interruption, glorious.) As I enjoyed the jovially spring in my step as I walked down 5th avenue back to my office I passed one of Trump's buildings. Outside of this building were three cops armed with machine guns and clad in full protective gear. You know outerbullet proof vests and helmets. I thought, "Yeah, this an accident waiting to happen." I can just see a tourist accidently getting bumped into one of these guys and 5o people are wounded.

I'm supposed to feel safe and protected? Or are they just stationed there as a reminder that we are under attack from an invisible enemy? I should then buy more things to elliviate my trepidation and feeling of unrest.

I probably have got it all wrong. I bet you May is pretend we're occupied France in the 1940s Month. I'm just so bad at keeping up with all the special themes for the months we have now.
When asked if I ever wanted to get involved in politics I responded, "Yeah, I used to. But I didnt' want to run for political office. I kind of wanted to be a revolutionary. The comedy pursuit has kind of gotten in the way."

Good news

I found out yesterday that my short play, "The Scene" will be included in Turtle Productions' 8 minute play festival this summer in NYC. The play was previously produced in April of this year in Portland, OR by Readers Theatre Rep. --------

Friday, May 06, 2005

My skirtuality preference

As Spring has arrived, thank God this Winter almost did me in, I'm feeling a little concupiscent. I was thinking I wanted to wear a skirt get a little male attention. But, alas it is too cold in the office still to don the femine. If anyone knows me they probably think an imposter is posting for me, because I don't wear skirts and dresses unless it's a wedding type event. However, I thought it might be fun to go about town in a skirt and fitting top and look attractive and girly. Hoping some boys might comment on my ability to "clean up" or get a smile or two from a stranger. But let's get one thing I don't like skirts. I don't like the way I can't sit with my legs apart, I don't like how many styles are confining, and...well...they are simply uncomfortable. I will never pretend that I am a fan of skirts. I am jeans girl all the way.

Why do I bring this up? Well, I feel that many of today's female bisexuals aren't really bisexuals. I think they like to say they are also into women and to make out with a woman in public on occassion. But really they are straight. These women don't have relationships with other women but they do with men. It is my theory that they put on this facade of bisexuality to garner male attention. Which is completely fine. Get down with women in front of your man, or any number of men you're dying to bed. But are you aroused by touching the women--sure maybe a littel touching is touching? Or do you love the way the men are looking at you and wanting you? I'm going with the latter. Just say, I like making out with girls because I like that it turns on men.

And no, I'm not saying that bisexuality doesn't exist. It does. Just as there are women who enjoy wearing both dresses and slacks, there are women who get all mushy over both sexes. So let's not belittle there preference with our mendacity. Just because you talk about women's breasts doesn't mean you're actually into women or their breasts. Just as I am not into skirts, but for some action I'll put one on.


My family is ridiculous. My pregnant cousin had a gender revealing party a couple of weeks ago. No, not to reveal her gender, we're pretty sure she's a girl as she is pregnant. Instead it was a party to reveal her unborn baby's gender. We all had to attend dressed in either blue or pink depending on what you thought the baby would be. I dressed in purple thinking it could be a hermaphrodite-- I'm thinking 3-1 odds aren't bad. Yeah, I'm that relative.

But the best or worst part of the party. They had a big sheet cake for dessert. The frosting was a a picture of the fetus. This is absolutely true. I don't have the imaginative skills to make this up. The little kids were like, "I want a piece of umbilicul chord!" "No, I want a piece of umbillical chord!" I let them have it, we all know the amino sack is where it's at. I hope this trend doesn't continue. At Grandma's funeral are we going to have a picture of the corpse on the cake. the kids all fighting, "I want a with grandma's blue hair!" "Fine, I want a piece of grandma's nipple!" (Ok that second part about the kids was a joke, but the sheet cake existed. and people ate it.)

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Jack's Girlfriend

I have noticed that many a blog has been dedicated to people's relationships and/or former relationships. I don't know that I'm ready to dedicate this site completely to my relationship with Jack Kundera, the best boyfriend ever!!! (yes even better than George Glass), but I think letting you all in on the major events of Jack and my relationship would help other young couples struggling with commitment. And single people who no longer believe in romantic love.

To begin: Jack and I began dating in the summer of 1998 when he was still living in Pittsburgh working as a scout for the Steelers. However, we did not meet in Pennsylvania we met at the Jersey Shore during a Fourth of July rock and roll show. It was very Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello—replacing 1950s innocence and California glamour with indie-alt rock, women who wear gold jewelry to the beach, and the men who breed with them. I marked my beach territory with Queen sized comforter. I created an oasis of fabric in the middle of Ortley Beach. The concert began. A lanky, blue-eyed brunette came up to me and asked if he and his cousin could share my blanket. A sucker for blue-eyed brunettes I said, “Yes” as I tried batting my eyes in flirtation. Jack said, “Did you get some sand in you eyes? That’s the worst. Sand is so abrasive.” Even though he mistook my flirtation with a near blinding I thought he was the sweetest man I ever shared a beach blanket with.

From then on we were inseparable, or would have been if we lived anywhere near each other. W spent 1998 and 1999 taking turns visiting each other--me traveling to Pittsburgh and he coming up to Boston where I was finishing my degree at Emerson. I think it was my love for Jack that gave him the confidence to say good-bye to football and the Steelers and to leave the country and pursue a more fulfilling career in humanitarian work. His work has taken him all over the globe helping people in 3rd and 4th world countries. He’s amazing at his job. He led the peace negotiations between the people who have corn and the people who don’t have corn. He’s so brave. I am so proud of him. I could never do what he does. He says, he could never do what I do.
I said, "What? Typing e-mails to my friends all day. Of course not, I barely know your friends let alone their addresses.”
“ No, silly the stand-up and the writing." God, are we nauseating?

In the last several years we haven't seen as much of each other, but I have never doubted that we will be together in the long run. When I hear his voice on the phone or get an e-mail from him my solar plexus electrifies. He is the best part of me.

He has just given me the greatest news. He is finally coming back to the US with plans to move to Brooklyn, possibly as soon as this summer. No, we won't move in together right away. Of course he’ll stay with me until he finds a place of his own, but we aren’t ready to create a home together. He has to figure out what kind of work he’s going to pursue in the states. And I have to get myself a career.

What I do know is that just going to be marvelous.

Monday, May 02, 2005

Flying Free

American Airlines has direct flights to and from New York and Tokyo. This is uber convenient. However, it does make for a long flight—approximately 14 hours to Tokyo and eleven and half to New York. On flights this long people usually find the need to pee, stretch at times even stand. I am no exception.

At hour four of my flight, after Ocean’s Twelve and snacking on a small pouch of party mix provided by American, my lower back screamed at me and demanded I get up. When my lower back is unhappy everyone is unhappy, so I did as commanded and made my way to the lavatory. Soon after I arrived at the vacant little room an elderly, Japanese woman walked over. As I didn’t really need to empty my bladder I gestured to her that she could cut in front of me. Now, the Japanese are exceedingly polite and she would not hear of going in ahead of me. After several minutes of ridiculous miming I finally communicated to her that I didn’t really have to go. It was awesome to finally put those movement-acting classes to work—6 years later. While she used the facilities I decided to go for a stroll. 15 paces later I had made my way to the other bathroom at the front of coach. I dared not cross the curtain threshold into business class—the Wizard might get angry.

At this bathroom I met a post middle-aged, Jewish couple. No they did not tell me their age, or their ethnicity or their religious beliefs. But I am not deaf, blind or dumb. We were joined by a shlubby, 42ish year-old dude. After five minutes of conversation I learned that none of us planned on going to the bathroom. Very shortly after this realization a woman sitting in the bulkhead seat near where we stood informed us that she was trying to sleep and reminded us that FAA regulations prohibit congregating on the plane. Then she put her head phones back on and continued watching Meet the Fockers. Like good New Yorkers we turned our backs on her continued chatting. We were barely able to finish the thought “the holidays are late this year” when a stewardess (pardon me--flight attendant) asked us if we were waiting for the bathroom. Like schmucks we said, “No.” She then reiterated the no congregating rule and told us take our seats. Then she proceeded to walk back to the couple sitting in row 34 to continue her conversation with them.

I am so glad that the terrorists haven’t won. That we Americans enjoy the same freedoms we always have. I also love that we all enjoy the same rights equally.

Definitely, four, physically, pathetic human specimens are a threat to the aircraft. We obviously are speaking in code and at any moment are going to take out tweezers and bum rush the cockpit. Thank goodness the flight attendant was on her toes and broke up our conspiracy ring. I can’t believe we were thwarted like that. Who would have thought that our standing and conversing with fellow humans would draw attention.

I am also confused by what exactly we did wrong. Are we allowed to talk as long as we are sitting? Or we are allowed to talk as long it is to a flight attendant who maybe a double agent? Or is that we told the truth about what our activities—you know stretching and chatting--unlike that bitch in the bulkhead who was never going to sleep.

People, all I know are these 4 or 5 things: humans are social creatures; Americans are in lousy shape; freedom doesn’t mean not allowed to talk to consenting adults; that girl in the bulkhead is a lemming and a liar, and my lower back is really pissed off at the FAA and the “I was just following orders” flight attendants at American Airlines.