Monday, October 31, 2005

a moment of silence

Wellington Mara died this week. A very emotional time for every US citizen. If it weren't for this little 9 year old boy from Montgomery, Albama, aka the upper east side, refusing to give up his seat on a cross town bus to some dude the Football Giants' bench would never have been moved to the sunny side the stadium. He started it all! And for that each and everyone living in the US or at least the NYC tri-state area should be grateful. Do you think the Giants would have been able to win countless championships when there was only 6 teams in the NFL and 2 superbowls when their were significantly more teams in the NFL if his players had the sniffles? No.

Sunday, October 30, 2005


I like Halloween because of the partying. I hate Halloween because of the god damn effort. I have no desire to spend money on a costume. I developed my most inventive costume my senior year of college where I went as an abused wife. Don't worry I told everyone I fell down the stairs. My friend Kerisa went as my abusive husband. We were one hot semi-trany couple. Me with my deshevled hair, black eye, and robe. Kerisa with a beer gut, greasy hair, and pencil thin mustache.

Since then it's been a steady decline of apathetic costumes. The year after the news boy I cut a hole in a pillow case, tied a ruler around my waste, placed a bowler cap atop my head and went as an ingima. No one got it. Two years ago while still living in PortlandI put on my bike gear and went as a bike messenger. I repeated the costume last year because I moved back across the country. People didn't think I was dressed up, I explained that I usually wear a helmet when I ride a bike and on Halloween I was without helmet, just like a messenger.

October 2004 I was reading Zinn's People's History of the United States and decided that in 2005 I would go as a turn of the century, dead, union striker--very ambitious. Not only was I to wear a period costume, but I wanted to make a wooden sign that read "8 hour work day" and to have a hole in my gut from a U.S. issued 19th century rifle.

Yeah, so that didn't happen. Instead I plan to wear big hoop earings, a funky hat, and sunglasses. I'm going as "Rachael as a funk bass player, sans the bass.."

Friday, October 28, 2005

Terrorfying Tale of My Hair

"Oh my god I have three inch roots!"

Pedantic Musings

A comedy acquaintance of mine likes to rail against monogamy. His main argument is that it’s not natural. He goes onto purport that no other animal on Earth is monogamous. Well, duiker species such as the one pictured to the left is monogamous. And if this was your adorable mate wouldn’t you demand s/he only see you? But let’s just pretend for a second that my colleague hadn’t studied intelligent design and was right about humans sole affinity for monogamy. We are also the only animals to build combustible engines, put them in aluminum contraptions, and then drive them around. We’re the only species to make pizza. We’re the only animals to purchase plane tickets on our own behalf and then of our own free will get on one and go somewhere. We’re the only species that makes the choice to live in apartment buildings. Humans are the only ones to have created polyester and then choose to buy it. But there this comedian is driving around NYC (talk about unnatural) in his car, eating a hot dogs, speaking paragraphs of English into a microphone. He doesn’t seem to have a problem with all those things.

I don’t even think people should be monogamous, but I also don’t think they should shy away from it. You’ve got to do what works for you and the people you’re involved with. But I’m sick of the argument that “it’s not natural” that it’s not “found in nature.” Frequently, the people who rail against life mating like to point the finger at women for being the proponents of the lifestyle choice, “If women would just loosen up and see the light everyone would be happy.” News, flash—Women cheat. Just listen to a Lightin’ Hopkins’ song. Women walk down the street and see an attractive guy and just want to bed him. They want the freedom to screw any dude they want anytime they want to. And guess what, stud? There are actually some men out there who would rather just court one lady. Crazy, I know.

And this is the only aspect of life where making a choice is frowned upon. There are people who have lived in the same town or city for their whole entire life. No one goes, “That’s not natural, most animals are nomadic.” There are people who’ve been in the same industry or had the same career, or even worked the same job their whole adult life. “Don’t they know that humans are they only creatures to work for an abstract concept of money.”

Is that boring? I don’t know. I’ve never committed to anything in my life except for karate and I even quit that for a few years in the mid-90s. But I returned and am glad I did, the learning never stops, nor the challenges. And karate is a hell of lot less complicated than a human being natural or otherwise.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

I am Actually the President of Non-Profit Theatre Company

I had a phone interview for some company that trades in intellectual property. I think that's what they do. I'm not exactly sure because I really wasn't listening to the temp agency when they described the company or the position. All I heard was $18/hr, 9-5, off the 2 & 3 trains. The company also sounded like it had internet access with unrestricted browsing capabilties, perfect I can send and receive personal emails, research comedy and theatre gigs, and stalk Gabriel Byrne, plus $18/hr means I can buy chipwhichs any time I want. Thus far I've had to budget for them.

In the interview the one dude asked me if, after graduation from college, I had seen myself doing administrative work post college. I thought about it a second and answered, "Yes, as a little girl I always dreamt of being a secretary. I found the sitting at a desk all day in school thoroughly enjoyable and wanted to ensure that I could continue the fun into adulthood. I've always been skinny and wanted a career that would help me get that ass-spread which is all the rage in America these days." I bet he asked that question because he read on my resume that I graduated college with a BFA in Acting. And everyone knows Acting students have high hopes of entering the food service industry upon graduation. Well, not this rebel.

He told me they want someone who's going to stick around for at least two years. Perfect. In two years I'll be thirty and right where I've always wanted to be.

I don't know what I was thinking, it must have been my checking account balance. Whatever it was it threw me because I wound up not blowing the interview. They want me to come in for a face to face interview. I guess I can always get fired in 3 months.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

What I Read Last Night

Because no one I know attended the show last night, except for Liam who was on the show. I'm posting the unabridged version of the piece I read. It's not bad, but it's long. I doubt any of you will get to the end.

When I tell people I perform stand-up comedy they commonly respond, “Wow, that’s so brave. I could never do that.” Really? I don’t think stand-up is that scary. Now, telling someone that I love him—that’s friggin’ scary. I could never do that. Comedy (pff). Big deal, I get on stage and risk rejection from strangers. On the other hand to confess “amore” I risk having my heart whacked with a two by four and thrown in the wood-chipper, and by someone I know.

Frequently, the “courageous comedy conversation” takes place on an airplane while I am making the small talk. Ironic. Some stranger prattles on about how scary stand-up is; meanwhile, we’re being hurled through the clouds in a two-ton machine flying 25,000 feet in the air, loaded with highly flammable jet fuel. We could meet our demise in countless ways. Like at any moment the engines could fail sending us plummeting to the Earth faster than a dunk girl’s standards reaching our end in a fiery mangled wreck. Or our drunken pilot could turn into a puddle of Jell-O after eating the in-flight meal—I’ve seen airplane. His Jell-o-ed mass, no longer able to grab the controls, flies us into a wheat silo somewhere in Nebraska and we all drown in whole grains. My seat cushion does not float in cereal. Or maybe we don’t crash, instead Ms. Superficial Chit Chat sitting next to me, whose medical history I don’t know, goes into epileptic seizure. As she flails about she kicks me in the throat, my trachea collapses, I die!

See, stand-up is the one thing that does not terrify me in my whole terror filled existence. I can find the death in every situation. I have considered never leaving my apartment except it’s not safe there either. I am trepidation personified. I am a coward. Screw Cold-Play I am yellow. I have always been. Even at the age of 5, well before the world’s harsh realities revealed themselves to me, I instinctively knew death was out to get me. My child self knew the way death worked. You see, death doesn’t want a struggle or a fight so he waits. He would wait until bedtime and then he sends his creepy, unkempt minions to assassinate me. As a child I would stay up all night keeping vigil. I think that in 1982 I got a total of 7 hours of sleep. My father’s cousin once tried to assuage me fears, “You’re not crazy, kid. People are out to get you, but don’t worry about it. That blanket of yours has the power of protection. Those guys in your closet can not penetrate the blanket.” Too bad cousin Dominick didn’t know that my assailants were old pros—they did not dwell in my closet, rather, they hid under my bed. As I tried to sleep I could hear them discussing their murderous plans. “So, Burt here’s the plan, see. We’re going to take this non-electric manual hand drill-the thing doesn’t make a sound so we won’t wake the kid or alert the parents. Then we’ll drill through the box spring up through the mattress and then into her heart. “You’re a genius, Roger.” “Thanks, Burt.” “No problem, Rog.”

What was I supposed to do? My parents were downstairs living it up watching “Dynasty.” I was all alone upstairs with two maniacs who had a hand-drill and knew had to use it. All I could do was bury myself in these stupid blankets soaked with my sweat. Blankets that I couldn’t get to fold underneath me, my mother had done a military job of tucking my covers. I could sense Burt and Roger beginning their work. Here it comes. This is it. The end! It was too soon. I had yet to accomplish all my goals, like spelling my own last name. Desperate my two foot frame pushed out a yell, “DAD!!!” I couldn’t yell for mom, her tucking technique had made her suspect. For all I knew she could have been in cohoots with Burt and Roger.

“Shit Roger, she’s on to us.”
“Hurry up then.”
“DAD!!!” Sweat and tears collected in puddles on my face.
“Quicker, Burt. Quicker.”
“Quicker yourself.”
“I don’t want to die at five.” I whimpered. Heavy lumbering feet pounded up the steps. It’s Dad. Whew.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Crying “They’re going to kill me.”
“No one’s going to kill you.”
“Yes, they’re under the bed and they’re going to drill into my heart.”
My father crouched down on his knees and looked under my bed.
“There’s no one down there.” He reported.
“They’ve hid while you wasted precious time doubting me.”
“No. Go to sleep.
“Listen, no one wants to kill you. Why would anyone want to hide under a bed all night to kill a five year old girl?”
“You’re saying I’m not special. People do to want to kill me. I’m just as important as the people on the news! You don’t know.”

And so it went until I was 18 when I finally moved out. I’ve spent my adult life trying to keep one step ahead of Roger and Burt. First I went to Boston. I enrolled in one the many private colleges there. Dorm life was perfect. My bed’s proximity to the floor left no room for a person to hide. The floors themselves were concrete, so they couldn’t be penetrated with a hand drill. The boys or any other evil-doers would need a loud power drill to get to me--totally making their presence known. He ha! Of course a laser would have done the job, pretty quite, but lasers require tons of voltage. I further ensured my safety by switching dorm rooms each year. I tried to switch rooms each semester, but the Student Life Department was cold and unfeeling. They said unless it was my roommate trying to kill me there was nothing they could do. I said the only thing keeping my roommate from killing me was that I tie her hands and feet to her bedposts after she falls asleep each night. Then I wake up early and untie her. If she catches me she can’t complain, because then she’ll have to admit to her nefarious plans.

After college I kept on the move: LA, Portland, OR and now Brooklyn. People question my choice of Brooklyn. “If you’re so scared of being murdered why would you move to Brooklyn?” I tell them murder knows no geography. Death is everywhere, people. I’ve lived with the label of “crazy-paranoid” and “self involved and self-aggrandizer.” “No one’s out to get you” friends would tell me echoing my father’s sentiments. “Look you’re not dead.” I’m not dead because I’m cunning.

And then it happened. Death tipped his hand and proved that I was not insane but one of the sanest people to ever inhale oxygen.

Earlier this very September on a dark rainy night my boyfriend Jack and I took in some theatre. Talk about terrifying, Edward II by Bertolt Brecht. Nothing like early Brecht…thank god. Sitting through two and half hours of high concept self important theatre left us exhausted, so we decided to make an early night of it. We headed home and went to sleep. At 4 in the morning my day of reckoning finally arrived. I awoke to my door creeking open. A hand I've never seen before snuck it's way into my room and flicked my light on. OH MY GOD!!!! We're being robbed. HOLY SHIT!!! this is it someone is going to rape and kill me. AHHHH!!! A hundred variations of my mutilation sped through my head. 3 seconds later I screamed aloud, "Get the fuck out of my room!!!" The hand shut the light off withdrew and shut the door. I quickly turned on my lamp next to my bed, and grabbed my 5.5 foot stick I keep next to my bed. Jack lay next to me soundly sleeping. I swear that boy could sleep through a Black Flag concert, sometimes it’s like he’s not even there. “Jack, there’s someone in the apartment.”

“Yeah, you’re roommates.”
“No, no no, someone else. They’re right out that door.”

He began to sob. Those bastards! No one makes my man weep—no one but me. I had had it. 28 years of not sleeping had finally taken it’s toll. I guess I was delerious because I decided we needed to face the intruder. Jack’s always telling me we all have to die one day. Maybe he’s right. I mean I’ve finally mastered how to spell my name. “Let’s go Jack!” We headed out of my bedroom. I was armed with my stick and Jack armed himself with a pillow. I was ready to realize the new me, take the bull by the horns. I stormed out of my bedroom made a sharp left straight into the bathroom where I threw up. Yeah, I was scared out of my mind. What did I think I was doing? But it was too late we already left the safety of the covers. I quickly rinsed my mouth and we slowly made our way into the living room. There he was the cat burglar holding our 24 inch television. I meekly eeked out, “Put that down.”

“No. What are you going to do little girl sweep me with that broom handle? And you, pussy with the pillow you going to tell me a lullaby?”
“It’s a shield!” Jack protested.. I was scared, but no one teases my man. I thrusted my stick at the bugler’s Adam’s apple. He dropped the television on his foot and began to whimper. My downstairs neighbors pounded on their ceiling telling us to shut-up. As the burglar hopped around on one foot, making more noise, I threw a side-strike with my stick to his temple. Splat, he was on the floor. I moved toward the body. I thought I’d drag the dude out of my apartment, but before I could get a good hold on my victim his accomplice surprised us. Where did he come from? We don’t know. He put Jack in a bear hug. But due to the pillow Jack was holding convict number 2 couldn’t break his ribs. I guess that pillow wasn’t so stupid after all. Jack then grabbed the wrist and forearm of his attacker dropped to his knees and pivoted his body toward the ceiling flipping the guy over Jack’s shoulder pounding perp into the floor and he was out for the count. Again the downstairs neighbors shouted profanities through the floor.

Jack and I just about caught our breath when someone began pounding on my door. “Who is it?” “You’re downstairs neighbors” I opened the door ready to apologize. Standing in my doorway was Roger and Burt and they weren’t alone. They had a posse of 10 consisting of closet monsters, re-animated crumpled clothing, and aliens who fronted as parents to some unsuspecting children. They had found me and been renting the apartment below mine for several months now, I don’t know how I missed that. “We’ve found you Rachael. Very clever of you to clutter the underside of your bed with your crap.” Honestly, that wasn’t by design. I just live in NYC and that’s the only place I have to store my stuff. “You’re just as loud as you were as a child. But not for long.”

They attacked right there in the doorway. I tried beating them off with my stick. Jack used the pillow to try to smother the alien parents. I didn’t know how much longer we’d be able to hold them off. And then I remembered the chicken I bought last week that I never got around to cooking. “I’ll be back.” Jack screamed! “Don’t Leave!!” I rushed to the refrigerator grabbed the Key foods chicken. I ripped open the packaging and almost passes out from the stench. Yes, it was perfect. I turned around to run back to the front door, but they had already pushed there way in and surrounded my man. I jumped on Roger’s back and forced the rancid chicken down his throat!!! “Eat it! Eat it! Eat the chicken!” He fell to the floor in a salmonella fit. Then onto Burt’s back with the remaining thighs. He dropped the hand drill. Jack picked it up and began drilling his way through the bodies of the closet monsters.

Somehow we defeated them. Their bloody bodies cluttered the living room. I left them there for my roommate to clean-up, I figure if I clean his dishes he can clean my monsters. Jack and I exhausted collapsed on the couch. “I love you.” I said. “I love you too.” He responded. Holy shit. I said it. I said I love you.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

I'm not a doctor but I've seen actors play them on TV

They tell pregnant women not to drink alcohol, smoke cigarettes (or anything for that matter), or ingest caffiene. Here's the problem. They haven't always been telling women to avoid these things once pregnant. Which means generations of children have gestitated in a wombs soaked in chemicals. The damage has been done. My grandparents generation has been born, grown up, and mated with other defective former fetuses. Even if the "greatest" generation did what we now know we are supposed to do when pregnant (which lets face it our grandparents were not the abstaining types they were into swing music and nuclear bombs) it's too late. Our greatgrandparents' hard living totally mutulated their eggs and sperm screwing up the genetic code from there on in. No matter what we do now we can't reverse the damage done by thousands of years of not giving a shit about the fetus. That's why we're all so stupid.
tonight wysiwyg

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Ten Years--boy they flew!

My ten year high school reunion is next month. I was not actually invited by the organizers. Which was perfect. I got to relive my high school experience without having to shell out $92 bucks. Yes, $92 to hanging out with people who hated me. The prom was not that expensive and at least the prom held the possiblity for sex--well, for my fellow classmates.

Actually, I had sex at my senior prom. I didn't know that I had until my Freshman year of college. A high school chum informed me that I had slept with my prom date, Danny Lescht. Not only that but after Danny and I were done having sex he then bedded his friend Jesse's date. Who knew my date was such a stud. I don't really remember that part of the evening, but I'm sure I was grateful for Jesse Smith's date, I'm sure Danny had worn me out after several hours and I needed a substitute. What a trouper that gal must have been.

OK so Dan probably lied and we didn't actually have sex. Which is just funny that he choose me to lie about. First off, if he's going to invent an insane story of high school sex, perhaps he should have slept with a popular hot chick, like one of the Schetieny sisters. The other problem with choosing me for the focal point of his story is my sex life has never been much of secret. I used to bitch about being a virgin until I finally lost the damn thing at the mature age of 21. If I had lost my virginity that prom night the next morning I would have rented a plane and flown a banner letting the world know I got laid. Even if it was with Danny Lescht.

I shouldn't bitch I'm sure Danny's version of my first time was much better than how my first time actually went.

Friday, October 21, 2005

Parenta Parents

My mother and I were discussing the book deals that are going around. She thought I should catch one. I explained I have no book, nor book type material. She suggested some of the pieces I've posted here (of course edited for grammar, spelling and coherentness). I responded that these don't really have a theme that would tie them together for a book. She said, "Yes, they do. Random ramblings of a lunatic." We laughed.

I wondered if my own mother thinks I'm nuts, how am I ever going to get any of you people to think otherwise.

That's my parents-absurdly supportive. My folks would drive up to Boston to see me act in varying artsy fartsy Emerson productions--that is definitely going the extra mile. But after every show my father would say to me, "Wow, there are some really talented kids that go this school." Not me of course, but hey those talented kids' parents didn't come out to see the show.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

My baggage My Laundry

I read a sign in an eatery bathroom this evening. "Do not flush anything but toliet paper" I was like what am I supposed to do with this baby then?
This week I've been trapped in a closet with no computer, no phone, no windows but plenty of files. For $11.25/hr I staple and unstaple human resource files. This evening after performing two shows for no money I began to try to fold the items of my laundry and pack them into my carry-on suitcase. Why? So that I could bring said laundry over to my parents' house tomorrow. Turns out I have too much laundry, so I will be stumbling a half of mile to the B train at 8am tomorrow with a huge, heavy, bright- yellow bag filled with laundry. I will then transfer to the V train where I'll get off at the 53rd street station. It's here I'll get to carry this bag up three flights of stairs. Me and the bag will then limp down Madison Avenue 2 blocks where we will head up the elevator and make our way back to the closet.

Yes, it is easier to to do my laundry in my neigbhorhood, but I made a choice, laundry in the hood or trip to Central Europe. Plus, where's the work-out doing laundry locally?

ross's pix of our trip

Wednesday, October 19, 2005


Don't catch that bird flu going around, wash your hands regularly and don't rub your eyes.

A show I'm doing next week

ok . I'm performing at the reading series show, WYSIWYG, the 25th. This show sells out, so if you want to go you should buy tickets soon. Good thing most of you don't want to go.

This weekend I finished writing the rough draft of the essay I'll be reading at the show. My editors are having a go at it as I type and you read. I think there are two funny lines in the piece so come and see if you can figure out which one's they are. If you think I'm a little nutty now, wait until you hear this one.


Tuesday, October 25, at 7:30 p.m. at P.S. 122
150 1st Ave. at East 9th St.

Tickets are $7 — call P.S. 122 at 212-477-5288 for more information


Ed Hamilton (

Julia Langbein (

Liam McEneaney (

Rachael Parenta (

Chris Trent (

And a musical performance by
Chris Alonzo ( and
his band Ghost Runner (

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

The not so secret non-sex lives of bloggers

Quick. I must finish this blogpost before my date gets out of the bathroom.

Do you ever do that people? See what time some of your favorite bloggers posted and then try to summize from the time posted if they've had sex that night? I get so jealous when Margret Cho doesn't post until noon, I just know the reason she is posting so late is because she was with someone the night before. Why wasn't it me? Granted, I'm not into Korean chicks, or chicks really, but that doesn't mean I'm not into them being into me. Everyone should be into me. And not because I'm fabulous, but because I'm an only child and I'm used to it being all about me. Gay, straight, alive or dead you should be pining for yours truly, and definitely not sleeping with other people. Like Margret should have been trying to bed me, and after I finally confessed my actual preference she should have been so devestated that she couldn't go home with anyone else.

I don't know. I'm tired. And quick here comes my boy toy for the evening. Do you think it's a turn off to see your date at the computer obsessively blogging?
Here's a joke a friend wrote. She loathes it. I think it's hysterical. "I'm going to sell chicken and call it tuna of the land." That's friggin funny. I'm also a cornball who likes Mel Brooks.

Monday, October 17, 2005

Mildly Amusing Dating Fair

Last week I celebrated my one year anniversary of being dumped by a corporate lawyer. We dated about six weeks so it took me just about 8 months to get over it. I was mad at people who kept telling me to get over it. I'm like I'll get over it when those christians get over Jesus. All they talk about is Jesus this and Jesus that. He died nearly 2000 years ago, come on! Move on already. Most of you never even met him! They go to their churches where they have all these pictures and statues of him just waiting for him to come back. He's not coming back. He's gone. It's over. The whole thing just isn't healthy.

I celebrated my dumping by performing some of the old jokes I wrote about the fellow. Though, I did not perform this one, "This guy just broke up with me, he said there was "awkward tension." Awkward tension, huh. Maybe that's because when you were 15 I was one. (I'd scream the "I was one" line into the mic for dramatic and comedic effect.) for more material based off said gentleman caller click
or click on this one

I have to say that the older guys I date (the ones 10+ years older than me) are in much better shape the the ones who are my age. That even goes for my single friends who are in there late twenties/ early thirties. I'm like guys you better hurray up and find someone or else you're going to have to get a gym membership and actually go to the gym! If you're single I don't think you can be old and pudgy. You can still be poor, though -- women really will date anyone.

It's one thing to be poor but another to be cheap. If you invite me out for a drink have enough cash to tip properly. $1 tip for three drinks doesn't cut it. I hate having to pretend I left my purse at the bar so I can slighly leave a proper tip, because I don't have a purse--and it makes me look schitzophranic.
Sometimes boys confuse battering a girl's ego with breaking her heart. If she's carrying on about you, it doesn't necessarily mean she really liked you. Usually it has more to do with her ego. She's like, "I can't believe he broke up with me! Who does he think he is? He doesn't even have is own teeth. He was my rebound guy. I was supposed to break up with him in like a week when my ego was sufficiently repaired. Bastard." I saw a girl last week make snide non-specific comments infront of a dude she once dated. I thought it was funny because I know the dude thought she still wasn't over him. But really it was just her ego getting all huffy at the sight of him.

Friday, October 14, 2005

Thank God Jews don't have Hell

I feel I've been very Jewy these last few days and there's no stopping me now.

The Jewish people just finished observing Yom Kippur. I use the word observe rather than celebrate because it's not really festive holiday. It's a holiday that really allows the jewish people to do what they do best--self loathe. However, I think it would be more fun if we did celebrate our atonement. Get together at the syngague with pound of coke. That's right snorting coke isn't eating nor drinking, and it helps with the fasting. We could all run around temple gleefully, "Hey God, I've sinned all year and what a year it was. Yeehaw! Pass me another line, baby." I think more Jews should use the word 'Yeehaw.' Instead of casting bread into a body of water we could cast cards out on the kitchen table while playing sin 'go fish.'
"Do you have adultery?"
"Go fish"
"What am I jesus?"
"I thought he was a carpenter?"
"what'd he say?"
"Don't worry about it just keep playing."
"Do you have bearing false witness?"
"Hells yeah! Man, March seems like only yesterday when I bore false witness to get on Judge Judy. I bore false witness against my neighbor, Saul the Tailor. But Lord I see how that hurt Saul and his family. The benefits of a tv credit do not out way the pain and suffering I caused. They had to shell out $750 to Sheldon. I have to admit now on the holiest days I never saw anyone make fun of Sheldon for wearing nut-huggers. In fact I must admit I never saw Sheldon wearing nut-huggers and but I lied and said I saw the awful inseem job Saul had done. I won't do it again. Unless Oprah calls. But even god would sin for some time with Oprah. Right Yahweh. Ohh yeah"

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

What's your Name again?

This evening, whilst performing the stand-up comedy in the East Village of New York, I ran into a dude I had once socialized with several months ago. We did the "oh what a small world" thing and exchanged pleasantries. Hours later, after his departure, I received a phone call from this same 24 year old gentleman who proceeded to break up with me. "Look, I just wanted to call and apologize for not calling you sooner, but ahh I'm not looking for anything romantic, but I think you're great ahh..." yadda yadda,
"Listen, John-"
"It's Jake."
"Right ah Jake. Um...Dude, we made out like one time in July. " I didn't know if that was the right time to confess I had been cheating on him these last 2.5 months. I figured best to let it lie. He was finally ending our relationship I didn't think I needed to compound the hurt with the truth. I'll just have to bear the guilt of my deception.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Orange Alert Just in Time for Fall Foliage

The NYC subway system is under "Orange" alert. Why? The London Underground it ain't. NYC's subway is not some well oiled machine with regularly running trains at all. Hell, the trains don't even always travel along the routes that are depicted on the maps. How can you blow up a train if you can't even find it? How can you blow up the subway when your above ground on a shuttle bus from Park Street to Atlantic Avenue? Let's put this way I speak English and I don't even get this: The #2 and #3 Trains in the nyc subway system run up 7th avenue in Manhattan. The #4 and #5 trains run up Lexington Avenue. Due to maintance or construction the #2 train will be running up Lexington Avenue. Fine. OK. And the #5 train will be running up 7th Avenue. Huh? Are they maintaining a ghost track. If they are keeping trains running on both tracks why are they swithching the routes?

I have a feeling if the terrorists figure this shit not many of us will notice.

Monday, October 10, 2005

What's new on Friendster

This is actually old news. But here's my little anecdote on the subject.

What's new on Friendster? Well, now all of a sudden you can now see who has viewed your profile. Which means people will know if you've viewed their profile--expressed interest in their existance. Yeah, so when I learned this I had a mild flip out. See the friendster people didn't give us any warning of thier plans to strip our anonymity. Instead, I log in one day and BAM! I could see the last 50 people who viewed my profile. Which means that everyone else on friendster could see if I had viewed their profile in the last month and half. I don't need this. I thought. "Shit did I ever get drunk one night and search for Brian Moon? If he sees that I've viewed his profile he'll think I still want to marry him." And I don't. I'm totally over him. Really I am. Sure I used to call him every day and tell him we were going to get married. But I'm over it. I was over it 22 years ago when he got placed in Mrs. Levy's first grade class and I got placed in Mrs. Rutherford's first grade class. Out of sight out of mind. OK not completely out of mind, but out heart. I've moved on. Sure I was upset that maybe he never viewed my profile. But I guess we never really dated. We just kind of talked on the phone. Or rather, I would talk...about our wedding plans.

I have a feeling I wasn't alone in my feelings of betrayal by the friendster. I think that maybe some 1000 or so internet stalkers complained because a couple of days later Friendster gave us the option of searching friendster anonymously. Whew! But I did not take friendster up on this option right away. One day bored at work (yes, I'm bored at work everyday but one particular day) I was searching friendster to see if any indie-rockstar types were signed up with the website. I found several including Mike Doughty, Stephen Merritt, Jeff Magnus, and Sean Eden guitar player for my favorite band Luna. Sean's profile read that he was looking for women to date. I thought about sending Mr. Sean Eden a little friendster message. I never grew the balls to actually send a message. But I never forgot he was on Friendster. So when this see who viewed your profile option became available on the friendster I viewed his profile openly. This way he'd see that Rachael Parenta had looked at his profile, then, hopefully, he'd get curious about the people who viewed his profile and go view their profile. He'd then see my picture and my witty little answers and fall madly in love with me and ask me out.

My plan had several problems, mostly having to do with the answers posted on my profile. 1st off their aren't many witty answers they are pretty straight forward. Secondly, my profile says I'm in a relationship. Which as you all know I am, with Jack. But I was hoping Jack wouldn't mind if I went on a date or two with the guitarist from one of my favorite bands. The other problem is that I wrote Luna (his band) in my answer to music I like. Well, no one dates their fans. (No one except Dudley Moore.) Fans don't love you for you. They love you for your art, and let's face it I'm no different. The only reason I have any interest in this guy is because he plays music I like. I don't know anything about this Sean Eden accept he's 40, a Pisces, and hasn't logged into friendster in 5 months. And that's the other rub. If he's not using the friendster he'll never know I looked him up and there falls the plan. God Damn you Friendster! And god damn BearStearns and all the other mindless temp jobs that have lead me into internet temptation.

If you have somewhat of a life and don't know what friendster is I'm sorry I can't explain it. Not because it's awesome, because it's not. Really it's pretty lame and pointless. But what else am I going to do? Get work done? Pshaw.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

Advice for the Ladies

Last week I thought I had no advice for the ladies regarding the getting laid. Well, nearly a week has passed and things have changed. I have a definite "Don't" for the straight women. However, I think this is a definite "DO" for all you female lady lovers out there.

Say it's a Friday evening and you're thinking, "Yeah, I could go for some sex tonight." You should most certainly leave your apartment and go where the people are. However, do NOT go to the all female folk show. Yes, the music might be enjoyable, but a straight girl not likely to get any action. Say you forget this advice. Make sure you do not compound your mistake by cowardly not pursuing the male muscians who are backing up the female folkies. Go ahead ask your folk singer acquantance, who invited you to the show, to introduce you to her mildly attractive, male base-player. 'Cuz that's the straight guy who isn't on a date at the show. You need to talk to him. Don't leave until you speak to him! Or else you're going home alone. Then you'll have to ask if this show was really worth a $6 cover and $7 class of shitty house red?" If you're not going to pursue the bass player and his kind it's probably best for straight, concupiscent women to avoid the folk show.

Friday, October 07, 2005

"a little crazy"

How can you not hear them? I hear them loud and clear? Both sides of the argument on whether Coehler's Alchemist is shit. Todd is definitely pro Coehler and Zefer decididely against. I shut my door and close my eyes to sleep but they don't go away. They just keep debating and debating. Repeating the same arguments over and over again. How can no one else hear that that? It keeps me up all night. And when I don't get sleep I begin to levitate. The less sleep I get the less effect gravity has on my body. Which sure was cool at first, but I have stuff to get done on here on the ground. I've begged them to please be quite, please stop talking just for a few hours. Do you know how hard it is to type right now? They don't seem to need to get sleep. Maybe that's how they don't age. But I know that if I don't get sleep soon they'll fire me from my job, I can't type and answer phones while I'm floating near the ceiling. The weights I use at home to keep myself pinned to the furniture are no longer allowed on the subway. I can't believe they don't behave like this around others.

Years ago when Todd and Zefer first appeared they talked only a couple of hours a day on all types of topics. They even showed me how to build a rocketship. We were all set to lauch ourselves into the 23 and 1/2 century when we realized we had no fuel and Zefer was unable to attain any. Too bad too. I thought the plan ingenius, not only would we be leaving earth but we'd also be leaving this century, this time period. Ever since the rocket fuel debacle the boys haven't been the same. They've gone from shy people, who only spoke when the three of us were together, to excruitiatingly loud chatty kathies obsessed with this stupid book.

Yes, Todd it is a stupid book. No, Zefer I'm not on your side, because the book is so stupid that there's no need to even respond to his arguments. Sure discussing literature is a fine way to spend one's time conversing, and two hours on one book seems sufficient. But it's been 60 days of not stop chatter. It's not as if you are talking about Hamlet, with all it's themes and character studies, not mention it's place in theatre history. Was Hamlet really crazy or was it just an act? Did his own pretense drive Ophelia to madness or was she always a little loopy?

OH MY GOD SHUT UP! I was talking about Hamlet! Not talking about whether that shepard boy should have taken the oasis girl to the pyramids with him in that retarded book. You know what? I don't have answer to that question. You're not going to pull me into this world of insanity. Who am I to call anyone insane? Hey you both can go screw.

Oh you meant, who is anyone to call anyone else crazy? You're saying someone could call me crazy because I'm highly emotive. Since the world affects me and I have shown little ability to remain stoic in the face of emotional stimuli I may give off the impression that I'm a "little crazy." And if you two happened to have been affected by a best selling novel is that any different than those people who line up at midnight to by the latest operating system from microsoft? At least that's a new topic to discuss. How about I sleep on it? Dude, it's nearing 2am. Please just let me sleep. What? I don't know. I don't know if it's crazy to communicate with two guys that no one else acknowledges. I promise I'll answer you tomorrow.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Not Again!

Just to prove that my story regarding my attendance to a gender revealing party this past spring I'm posting the e-vite to yet another one. This time it's hosted by her sister who recently found herself pregnant. Read previous post

Location: Mica & Anthony DeSantis's House , CT deleted
When: Saturday, December 3, 2:00pm
Phone: deleted

Is it a boy or girl?!?!?!?!? Come on over on December 3rd and find out! For those of you who haven't heard...we are thrilled to let you know that we are expecting a baby in April! We would love for you to join us when we find out what it's going to be. We will not know the answer either...we will reveal during the party. So - come on by for food, drinks, games, and some fun. To make it extra fun...please wear pink or blue (whatever you think the baby is going to be). Hope everyone can make it! Please pass this along to anyone we may have missed. Can't wait!

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

For the New Year

My mother and her sibblings were raised in the Jewish Faith. But that didn't stop my mother and her two brothers from marrying Catholics. My mom's sister didn't marry as the government has forbidden it. Which I agree with. Insane people should not marry, but some of my aunt's ex-girlfriends are lovely people and I hope they've found sane people to share their lives with. I can out my 67 year old aunt as 67 because she doesn't read the blog.

My parents raised me Jewish and gave me my father's Italian last name. My one uncle married a woman who was half Italian half Greek. They raised their three daughters Catholic and gave them his Jewish last name-- see people America really is a melting pot of ethnic confusion. Just to make this clear my three cousins are 1/2 Jewish 1/4 Greek and 1/4 Italian. When my aunt and uncle christened their first child they invited the whole family to the ceremony to celebrate my cousin's avoidance of hell--well, reprieve until she had her first impure thought. During the ceremony the Priest gave the usual rote speech that included the phrase, "...And may there be no Jews or Greeks amoung us." Which was funny because he was surrounded by Greeks and Jews. In fact non-Greeks and non-Jews were the minorities. You'd think the priest might have thought of cutting that line when he discovered he'd be performing the Isaacson Christening. But I guess he was pretty serious about this because after he said it, he removed the effigies of effigies of Jesus and Mary from the church.

Shana Tova everyone, (or is it Shona Tova I really don't know how to spell hebrew in English.--which reminds me of another story.)

So my mother spelled my name Rachael as opposed to the more widely used spelling Rachel (notice the extra 'A' in mom's spelling.) She did this because that's how she thought the name was spelled. She had no other reason. The rabbi at the Reform Synagagoue we belonged to scolded my mother for her choice in spelling. He said it wasn't the Jewish spelling. First off, my parents joined the Temple when I was five, did he expect them to change my name after five years? Secondly, did I miss a meeting or a hebrew school class? Since when did the ancient Hebrews speak or write in English? The name Rachael, however you choose to spell it, is the Anglican pronunciation of a Hebrew name which I can't spell because I dont' have a Hebrew keyboard. Hell, the old Jews didn't even communicate in Latin or Greek which were the first languages the Torah was translated into. Then from those translations some English dude or monk or someone took those texts and translated them into English--Old English, (maybe middle English cut me some slack, I can't be that bright I'm only half a Jew.) By that time the Torah and Bible had already sold out, gone completely commercial--placing subtle ads for the Roman Empire. The religious guys who wear funny clothing edited the thing down, way down. Any divinity that may had once been there was now far gone.

Really the Rabbi was annoyed that my parents were a "mixed" marriage. Funny he disapproved of my mother's marriage. She has been married over 30 years to the same man. In fact both her brothers continue to be married to their goy wives. Meanwhile the Rabbi was divorced and remarried. Look, divorce happens and I'm not judging it well, I am but only in respect to Rabbi Franzel. And you'd think a Rabbi with his continuing study of a holy text would have found some solutions to the problems he's faced with his first wife. If a Rabbi can't find aid from his religion then how should anyone else be expected to? And no, the Jewish faith does not forbid divorce nor call it a sin. However, it does frown upon it. Jews can't just divorce on a whim. They've got to go through this whole rig-a-maroll and get a get, basically you can get a divorced but it's as much of a bitch as being married. Yet, there is nothing in the Talmud or Torah that discusses holy spelling.

Enjoy the Fast next week.

Monday, October 03, 2005

A job for my Man

Jack has finally found a job! Which means moving out is just a matter of time. I'm thinking November, as he has missed the October 1st move-in date somewhere else. He's been employed by a brand new non-profit agency that negotiates peace in the country of Selviate, and other nations, between the people who have corn and the people who don't have corn. He's very excited to get back to the do-gooder work he had been involved with for the past seven years. I'm happy that he will have a supervisory type position and and won't actually have to go to the corn-torn zones. Not only do I want him to stay in Brooklyn-- not necessarily in my apartment every friggin day-- but I want him safe. And you know how ruthless those corn cartels can be. They don't want anyone screwing up the socio-economic structure they have set up in the countries they control. I know it's selfish to want someone else's loved one to go over and face the dangers of the "Great Popper" but I feel Jack and I already did our tour, several of them actually. It's time for someone else to step up to the plate and save the world.

I know that I post mostly about Jack and my bickering on here, but that's when I'm most inspired to write. An argument or debate just gets me all riled up and the wheels start-a-spinnin'. Usually, after our wistful romantic evenings the love haze is so thick. I can't be bothered to write. Besides, none of you want to read about our romantic nights of reciting football stats back and fourth. Boy did I swoon me when he recited the fact that, Phil Simms holds the highest completion percentage in a Superbowl. He doesn't even like the Giants. That's love people. Of course our love isn't just expressed in poetry. Like last night around midnight we spent a romantic evening rollerblading and antagonizing the young men in my neighborhood. They would chase us and throw things until they were out of breath. One guy even shot at us. And then we'd laugh and hold one another. I don't know. I just think a couple that flirts with death and mutilation is a couple that stays together. I know all this lovey dove shit is nauseating you.

So let's just congratulate Jack on his new job!

Getting Laid Advice

Here's a tip for all you men out there trying to pick up the ladies.

If you catch the eye of lady at a calorie serving establishment and you find out she's a performer, don't give your email to her in hopes to be put on her mailing list. She doesn't want to have to pretend she regularly sends a "newsletter" out informing her five fans and very patient friends and family of her upcoming shows. Nor does she want to begin some witty e-mail correspondence with you, so that maybe one day in 2006 you can find time to go on a date where you'll say something like "I've never heard of Vaudeville. Who's George Burns?" because then she won't have sex with you and then no one wins! And let's face it fellas that shirt of yours that reads "Tengo Grande Coche," is a great conversation starter at 3am with booze flowing through your system, but looses it's charm on an actual date.

Instead, I propose you drop some of the pretense. Get her more liquored up and tell her you think she's cute, even if you don't think it's true. According to pop culture it only matters if she's thinks you're cute and hell she's talking to you isn't she. Then grab a cab, don't bother waiting for the subway because millions of things can go wrong down there and ruin everything. Yeah, a cab is more expensive, I'm sure she'll split it with you, because it's been a month or so for her and she thinks your worth it. Just look at those motor skills you've got and hey you remember how to get home don't you? So go ahead have sex. Then leave. Rinse. Repeat.

Don't give me that, "I don't want to be an asshole and hurt her." Dude, you can't hurt someone who hasn't bother to get your last name. You'll know if she wants to see you again because she'll ask you for your email address so she can "put you on my mailing list or something."

Ladies, I'm sorry I have no advice for you. I have no idea what's going on out there.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Silly Muscians

There's a lots of pretention and silly self importance in the world. Example: there's this music movement in nyc called "Anti-folk" which sounds just like folk music. There's nothing anti-about it at all; it's acoustic guitar based music about love and leftist politics. It's not like these people are singing, "Go bomb Irag/La de da/La de day." I think true anti-folk was developed in the late 70s early 80s and called "Speed metal."