Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Checkout Jesse's New Blog

Jesse Post, creator of the True Adventures in History comic book series, editor of Disney Adventures comic magazine and creator of All You Can Eat London zine, has started a brand new blog dedicated to NYC Eating.

All You Can Eat NYC is a blog dedicated to NYC eats. Unlike this blog, Jesse's blog contains very few if any typos. And like this blog it's engaging and entertaining. Unlike this blog his is also informative. Check it out click the blue above or click the link to the right under "people to read."

Cost Analysis

A recovering alcoholic once told me, "Just because the drink is bought doesn't mean you have to drink it." Yeah he might have had a drinking problem but I don't think he ever had a money problem. And it's just plain rude not to finish a drink someone bought for you. Rude rude rude.

Monday, October 30, 2006

Spinach: Food for Any Mood

Sometimes I too get depressed. I know faithful readers you are shocked. "Rachael, how could you get depressed? You're a comedic genius." You are right I am brilliant, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to end it all. Though, I have suffered greatly and have been betrayed by many I don't believe that this is the true cause of my depression. Rather, I think thoughts of hanging myself or stepping infront of a city bus are caused by a lack of nutrition. If my body is a temple then I am a skin-head in that temple. Or maybe my body is 3rd world bus station and I'm not a racist with a shitty hair-cut and lack of fashion sense. I find myself saddest when I have not eaten well, or slept enough or exercised enough or any combination of the three. And the god damn spinach scare has not helped my mental health. Before spinach started killing people I used to eat spinach almost every day. Then NPR told me my spinach was trying to murder me, so I stopped eating it. I really didn't appreciate the spinach's switch from nurishment to vehicle of death. I'm already paranoid, I don't sleep because I think my white hybrid bicycle is out to get me, not to mention all of you. We don't now need to add one of the few vegetables I actually enjoy.

A few weeks ago the news reported it's now safe to eat spinach again. Is it really that easy? Am I supposed to just forgive spinach for trying to kill me and go back to eating it? Spinach has done nothing to regain my trust. Spinach never called to say, "sorry, I scared you. I'm sorry I was killing people." Spinach just pretended that nothing happened. Though, the rest of the country took spinach back without an apology without an explanation for spinach's behaviour I was not ready to re-engage with spinach. Sure, I fantasized about the spinach burritos I used to eat at the mexican place on 3rd street and 1st avenue. I loved those burritos. So good. But I can't just go back and eat spinach after what spinach has done. Spinach should have held a press conference and said, "I'm going to try not to kill people any more. I'm really going to earnestly try."

But then, I began to sleep less and less. I began to ingest fewer and fewer calories and those calories were derived from fried foods that lacked vegetables. From there I just got sad. I didn't want to go on. I thought, "Well, I don't own a gun. I can't swallow pills, I don't know how to tie a noose and I'm too depressed to learn how, and I'm scared a cross town bus will only paralyze me. You know what? I'm eating the spinach. It's the only kind of self-inflicted death I have the skills for."

Today I made a spinach omlett. I'm not dead. I feel a bit better. I guess either way I would have won.

Friday, October 27, 2006

When in Doubt Post a Picture

My creative juices are tapped. I spent all of yesterday jogging to Oregon and climbing the above photographed Mt. Hood. I then slowly drudged back to Brooklyn. I'm tired. Monday we'll pick up blogging excitement.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

The Movies These Days

I saw the coming attraction for "Santa Clause III" last night. According to the trailer Jack Frost wants to destroy Santa. Is this film a propaganda to brainwash children into embracing global warming? Nothing is more anti-Christmas than global warming. Santa needs Jack Frost to keep Santa's property from melting. The whole Santa operation would be shut down if Jack Frost and the people he works with stopped being. Santa and Jack Frost are on the same team.

Perhaps the producers of "Santa Clause III" can retool their movie. Change the Jack Frost Santa relationship from nemisis to golfing buddies and then create a new antagonist, The South Beach Diet. The South Beach Diet is anti-cookies and anti-cookie is anti-Santa. Plus, South Beach is warm and the real-estate down there is through the roof. Santa would loose his shirt moving the elves and reigndeer down there. Granted the Florida tax code is pretty sweet, but I'm sure Santa is registered as a non-profit corporation.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

The Ham Saga Resolved

Original Ham Post
Previous Ham Post

If you feel lost by the succeeding post feel free to click on the above links to catch yourself up.

My best friend Anna once dated a fellow. They broke up twice--they each took a turn. On their second break-up Anna sent her fella a ham with a note reading, "reconsider." The problem was she never knew if he actually had recieved the ham. Well, now we know.

My best Friend Anna called me Monday night.
"Rachael, he got the fucking ham?"
"Really? How did you find out? Did you find video footage of the ham being delivered?"
"No. Though, that would have been a good idea. Too bad I didn't think of that before. You know Rachael, we are not free there are video cameras everywhere. Did you see End of Days?"
"Of course I did, Gabriel Byrne was in it."
"Right. Duh. No, I didn't commandeer video footage. I asked him if he got the ham?"
"You just asked him?"
"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard. You just asked. Who does that? Did you just call him up out of the blue and ask?"
"Yeah. I got on the phone and said. 'Did you get that ham a year and four months ago?' He said,'Who is this?' 'How many women do you have sending you Hams, asshole?' 'Oh it's you. Yeah, I got it. I was touched, actually. I kept it for awhile.'"
"Yeah, he put it in the freezer. He didn't know how to respond to my gesture, so he just put the ham in the freezer. Every morning he'd open up the the freezer, look at it, and shed a tear. He didn't feel right eating it. Eventually, the freezer frost enveloped the ham and he had to throw it out."
"We're done with this? You're done with him."
"Well, I did offer to teach him how to knit."
"He's out of work and needs warm clothes for the winter."
"Do what you want, Anna. But I wouldn't waste my time with some who didn't care about me at all."
"Rachael, yes you would."

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Ouch, Mom. & My New Tax Plan

The other day I was discussing a socially peripheral individual with my mother. I described him as self-centered, selfish, uncompromising, and unable to empathize. My mother asked, "His he an only child?"
"Mom, I'm an only child!"

I just got around to filing my taxes. Turns out I owe New York State money. I always only mark "1" on my W-2s. I live below the poverty line. How the hell can I owe taxes. My father said, "Someone has to pay for the war." God Damn it! I didn't vote for this war. I think only the people who voted for politicians who voted for this stupid war should have to pay for it. I also expect the people who didn't vote at all to shell out some cash--those folks need to pay for the apathy.

That would get Americans to turn out and vote. It would get them to vote for 3rd party canidates, as well. All of sudden the inablity to actually win looks real good. A vote for the Libertarians good save you hundreds of dollars. Ralph Nader is no longer the enemy of registered Democrats.

Monday, October 23, 2006

A Miracle on 60th Ave

this picture has nothing to do with the below post.

Due to varying circumstances I found myself riding my bike from Bayside, Queens (For non-new yorkers that is very far away from everywhere and yet is still considered New York City--which is kind of bullshit because the subway doesn't even go out there.) to Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

The 12 mile bike ride should have taken me about an hour. This did not happen. First off, I don't know Queens. Not only that I don't get Queens. Even though all the streets have an assigned number the logic of their order defies all known rules of math. You could travel down 73rd avenue and pass 73rd street which is not followed by 72nd street nor 74th, but by 73rd place which is then followed by 73rd road. What? Has time and reason ceased existing in the borough of Queens? And I don't know which direction any of these roads travel in. East? West? North? South? Maybe concentric circles? Who the fuck knows? On top of that the sun had set and I can't see in the dark. Needless to say I got lost. Several times.

I'm not going to lie to you. I've been lost before. Most of the time it's been in a car. Now, being lost in a car is indeed frustrating especially if I have to be somewhere. Usually I scream and punch the ceiling. But on a bike there is no ceiling to punch, and every wrong turn is just another pedal my legs have to push. I do not scream or punch the air. Who has the energy?

On my journey, I pulled off to the side of the road to check my bike map and try to figure out this David Bowie designed land mass known as Queens (That was a reference to the movie Labrynth.). Yes, that is correct I had a map. And still Queens bested me. At one point I knew I had to ride on Main street south, but I couldn't find Main street. (That's right they also have named streets randomly placed in between the illogically numbered streets.) I stopped and asked a gentleman on the street. He was actually somehwhat helpful. Then Main Street ended. Again I stood on a street corner my face buried in my map utterly baffled. Out of nowhere an angel appeared in a four door Sadan from 1979. This angel, a man driving his family home, pulled up to me and asked in broken English. "Where do you want to go?"

"Metropolitan Avenue." I said.

He started giving me directions. He gave up and said, "Follow me." So I did. I got back on my bike and proceeded to follow is car. Only thing--he drove his car at normal car speed. "AHH! "What is he doing?" I pedaled my little feet off. I somehow kept him in sight. When we got to Metropolitan Ave he stopped the car and waited for me. "Down that way. That's to Brooklyn. It's very far. Stay on Metropolitan the whole way. Don't get off." And then he drove off. I made it to Williamsburg. Sure the whole ordeal took me over 2 hours and by the time I got home I'd probably ridden 20 miles (not counting the 12 miles I had ridden earlier that morning--that's another story-more pleasant.), but if that man didn't stop and help, me, a complete stranger I could still be riding.

Why did he do it? Why did he take time from his evening to help some stranger? I didn't even ask for help. He just offered. His help and effort didn't reap him any benefit. Maybe because when you see someone lost you help them. That's the basic human thing to do. Even if it's inconvenient. Maybe other people's well-being matters. I guess my parents already taught me that. I just forgot for a second that helping another person doesn't make you a sucker it makes you human.

Just Pictures

Friday, October 20, 2006

Really They are Very Loving and Sane People

A friend of mine has just begun his journey toward becoming a liscenced driver. Our discussion about hands on the 10 and 3 (as if the steering wheel were a clock) and the difference between left and right turns flooded my mind with my own memories of learning to drive.

For the most part my uncle Dom taught me to drive--drive stick (aka manual). He is decidedly the worst driver on my Dad's side of the family (this includes my grandfather, who currently drives with a bottle of wine in him, an eye patch on his left eye, and uses both feet on an automatic.)My uncle stands about 5 feet 5 inches tall, thin and will beat you with a torch if you look at him wrong. I've heard stories of my uncle putting a man's head in a sandblaster and chasing another guy with a golf club, and yet he was extremely patient and full of courage while teaching me to drive. Never once did he yell at me. Despite my refusal to stop at red lights and stop signs. I preferred to slowly roll through them. I was learning to drive stick and dreaded having to put the car into first gear. Stopping inevitably lead to starting again which inevitably lead to me stalling the car, restarting the car, stalling again, and then impatient New Jersian's leaning on their horns.

Though, my Uncle Dom was my primary driving instructor my other relatives also volunteered their time so I could attain suburban freedom -- a driver's liscence. My aunt Sue took me out a few times. She is the most conscientious drivers of the Parenta clan. She doesn't speed. She doesn't get tickets. I'm nothing like her. My mom took me out a few times too. She didn't yell either, she bit her lip until it bled and kept a death grip on the passenger door handle. After 2o minutes she'd say, "OK. That's enough. Let's go back to the house now." Uncle Dom's wife took me out a couple of times as well. Even my little cousin Ashley helped me--she was ten years old at the time. She and I would borrow my grandfather's car and practice parrallel parking between two garbage cans. She was much better at it than I was. (Ah the joys of unsupervised youth) In fact the only time I ever parallel parked succesfully was on my driving test--lucky me.

My father never took me out driving. He has temper like Ghangis Kan, and he didn't want DYFUS taking me away, so he figured it best if I found other people to teach me to drive. Fair enough, I rarely am in the mood to listen to him inarticulately explain something and then yell at me for not understanding the nonesense he had just uttered. Here's a non-car related example of this. Once I had a sharp pain in my mid-rib section. My father told me it was due to a lack of vegetables in my diet. "Yeah, see right there where you're holding, that's where the colin makes the turn." WHAT? What does that even mean? My father blamed everything on diet. I'd get a C on geometry test he'd say I should have eaten fish the night before and more vegetables. The C in geomtry would explain the inabilty to parallel park.

The most carefree of all the people who took me driving was my Aunt Annette, my father's youngest sister. This was truly classic. When, you have a permit you can only drive when there is a liscenced driver in the car with you. My aunt had lost her liscence. Actually she had lost several liscences. Each time she had a liscence revoked she'd get another one under a different name--you got to love Jersey. Family folklore had Annette loosing seven different liscences. But when you're 16 you just want to drive. I turned a blind eye to the whole multiple liscence suspensions thing-- who was I to judge? I figured she must have had one of the seven re-instated. I mean, she did drive every day.

Now, a good story would have my aunt and I getting stopped by the cops and me ending up in county lock up while I waited for my parents to pick me up. But that never happened. Instead, my aunt had me drive to the liquor store. She'd run in for a "pack of cigarettes" and come out with tiny bottles of booze which she would drink as I drove us around town. It kept her mellow. As we drove I'd explain how I don't like looking over my shoulder to check my blind spot when switching lanes. She'd tell me, "Don't worry about it. You don't have to. My friend never looks. She doesn't even look in her mirrors. You look in your mirrors you're one step ahead. They'll get out of your way." I'd love to say and then we side swiped a tractor trailer, but no we made it to the movie theatre unscathed. My aunt Annette also had me drive her to the home of some dude who had the prescription pill hook up. I sat in the car in this man's driveway while she dalied in the house. All I could think as the minutes slowly passed, "When I get arrested my father is totally going to kill me. Oh God. Oh God." But I couldn't drive off, I didn't have a liscence. The cops never came. Which made me wonder how my aunt ever lost one liscence never mind seven. She seemed never to get caught.

And here's the thing, despite my aunt Annette's free wheeling life style my uncle Dom is still considered the worst driver in the family. And I can't even really tell you why.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Fried Cake Too Good To Resist

I've eaten several of my roommate's donuts without permission today. In other words I stole a couple of donuts. I really wanted a donut and didn't want to ask if I could have one because I wanted more than one, but you can't ask for more than one donut. I rationalized my theft by telling myself, the idiot never buys toilet paper, paper towels, liquid hand soap, cleaning supplies (though that's not really fair. He shouldn't have to buy cleaning supplies as he never cleans.), saran wrap, etc. But here's the thing: In the end my eating his donuts makes me more likely to have a heart attack and because there are less donuts for him to eat he's less likely to have a coronary.


Tuesday, October 17, 2006


For the succeeding story you'll need to know that my parents have been married for over 34 years, and yet my mother is only 29. (Ah if only the catskills still had a comedy scene.) But truly my parents' have been together since high school and there seems to be no end in sight.

And now for the story.

My mother called me on the phone Monday, "Rachael you were right the play starts at 7pm so we'll have to meet earlier-- an hour earlier than I said."

"OK." I responded, and then continued, "Oh, yeah I just remembered I have to call Dad."
"Well, he's in the emergency room, so I don't know if he's going to pick up."
"Maybe, he'll pick up. I just talked to him."
"What happened to him?"
"Hmm? Oh. Um. I don't know. He's in some sort of excrutiating pain. You know your father."
"Were you going to tell me my father was in the hospital."
"I did tell you."
"Only because I brought up that I had to call him."
"Rachael, your father was never coming to the theatre with us anyway."
"Yeah, but he's in the emergency room."
"But we didn't have plans with him."
"Is he going to die?"
"I mean, in the emergency room. Today."
"I don't think you can die from a broken foot."
"He broke his foot?"
"Did he? Did he tell you he did? When I spoke to him he said they had to run tests."
"I didn't talk to him."
"You probably should call your father, he's in the hospital."
"Tomorrow at the theatre I'm going to stab you."
"That's not a very nice thing to say. No wonder you're single."
"I'm not single! When will you accept Jack?"
"I'll see you tomorrow around 6pm."

Monday, October 16, 2006

A Tale of Two Bikes and a Crazy Lady

I've never grown out of my childhood habit of anthropomorphizing inanimate objects. A five year old talking to the dishwasher is adorable. A 29 year old threatening the kitchen cabinet for hitting her in the head less adorable. Adorableness be damned! I continue talking to furniture and the like as if it were alive.

A couple of weeks ago I retrieved my speedy, sleek, aluminum, road-bike from my parents' house. The last two years I had been riding my 15 year old steel hybrid-bike around New York City. I immediately took the road-bike for a couple of laps around Prospect Park. What a magical ride I had. I brought the road-bike inside and placed next to my hybrid in my living room. I then began to gush about the fabulousness of the road-bike to my roommate. "I love riding that bike, it so light and the derailer shifts the gears seemlessly. The white hybrid is awkward and heavy. I am barely able to carry it up the stairs." All of sudden I realized I had been going on about the bikes infront of the bikes. Oops. I stopped in mid-sentence because I didn't want the hybrid to get a complex. I don't need to start a rivalry between the two bikes. The hybrid might become hostile and fall on the road-bike pinning it to the living room floor trying to puncture the road-bike's tires. I don't need the hybrid pissed at me getting all passive agressive the next time I ride the bike. You know, like I try making a left turn and the bike decides we're going right we both wind up sprawled on the street. The hybrid would say something bitchy like, "Oops. I guess I'm just old and senile. I don't remember my left from my right. I confuse easily these days. Good thing we weren't going fast. Well, how could I? What, with me being so fat and all."

I'd respond, "I never said fat. I said heavy. You're just big framed."

Truly concerned about the mental health of my hybrid I ceased my favorable talk regarding the road-bike. I walked over to both bikes patted them on their seats and said, "You guys are both awesome. I love you both equally." We know that's not true. I obviously favor my road-bike, but I just don't need the drama in my household. Luckily the bikes can't surf the net and read the blog.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Superman is Super Yella

My mother told me that I don't love Jack. This confused the hell out of me. If it's not love then what have I been feeling? I didn't speak the question aloud, but she responded anyway, "Indigestion? Nausea?"
After re-watching Superman (the orignal starring Christopher Reeve) this past evening I realized what a coward Superman is. He can not be physically hurt. He's not even lactose intollerant. He has no physical concerns save kryptonite, but that's a rare rare substance. The only time the man needs to step up to the plate and take a risk is in regards to his feelings for Lana Lang and Lois Lane. And he never does. Now, if he were a regular human who had to worry about all the crap we have to, I'd be more forgiving. But he doesn't. Not only does Superman not have to worry about car accidents, or buildings collapsing on him but he doesn't even have to pay rent or a mortgage. His dad gave him an entire fortress on his 18th birthday. It's a fortress of solitude which means, no annoying roommates leaving dishes in the sink. All he has to do is work on his hobby of fighting crime. Yeah, it's a hobby because he doesn't get paid. Not that it matters. So you'd think that he could at least one time show some courage and plant one on Lois. (And do not defend Superman with a Superman II reference-- he gives her the mind erase kiss at the end which negates any bravery credits he accumulated in the begining of the film).

See, the rest of us native Earthlings have good cause to be chicken shit because for us everyday is a death defying act. We could die crossing the street, we could die just by eating spinach. So execuse us if we just don't have the strength to declare our feelings to people. Hell, Superman doesn't even have the courage to be himself. He keeps people at a distance with that bafoonish Clark Kent act of his.

(I don't know what my point is. I was going to write a post about how I talk to my bicycles as if they were people but instead this post happened.)

Don't get me wrong, Superman is my favorite superhero (This is of superhero movies I've watched. I haven't read many comic books in my life). I had such a crush on him as a child and hell, I still do. Probably because he's the most powerful man on Earth and yet he is still scared of girls, which probably wouldn't be charming in real life but somehow in a movie it gets me all teary. It's either that or Christopher Reeve's blue eyes and dark hair. I've always been a sucker for that-- just ask Gabriel Byrne.


This week's guests: Charles Star, Tom McCaffrey, Sue Ball, Katina Carao
musical guest: Sarah Deshaw
Hosted by : Rachael Parenta
Special Guest: Joe Randazzo
Spinning Soul, Lounge, and Hip Hop: Your Friend Jesse

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Why My Boyfriend is better than God

My boyfriend Jack is way better than God because when I ask Jack for something he gets it for me. God never gets me anything I ask for. God has not once risen from the couch to get me a pint of ice cream from the freezer, nor has God given me a comedy career. Jack has not given me a comedy career either, but I never asked Jack for one of those. Jack doesn't have any comedy connections. However, God has all the comedy connections and he hasn't done shit for me.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Armpit of America

We all know that New Jersey is a wasteland of toxic waste. It's just one long highway filled with Camaros and exits leading to homogenous suburbs. I took a trip there Monday and documented the horror that is the united state, New Jersey.

Now you can't see the ducks in this picture very well, but trust me each one of them is wearing a leather jacket and has the feathers on their heads teased 8 inches high.

Look at this congestion. Hello! I'm trying to take a picture and there is all this decay in my way.

Can New Jersey clean up it's factories? It's disgusting. People have to live in this town. I'm thinking of doing a benefit show for the residence of Long Valley, NJ.

New Jersey: Nothing but strip malls and chain resturuants.


I'd like to thank blogger making this post ridiculously inconvenient to post.

Monday, October 09, 2006

It's Not My Party but I'll Rain All Over The Parade Anyway

I found in my email inbox this evening an invitation to a party. I love invitations and not just to parties but to all types of pleasant social events. Invites make me feel love and accepted. In that way invitations are the oppossite of high school. Though I have to say that to get an invitation through the mail is far superior than one via email. Think about how much a person wants you at their social event if they've taken the time to address an envelope and buy a stamp. A phone call invite is good as well. But only if the invitor calls me when they know I can answer the phone. If they call with the hopes of leaving the invitation on my voicemail they might as well have sent an email or an evite. But it if they call around 6pm that means not only do they want me at their social event but they also want to talk to me. That's double love right there. That's acceptance squared.

That being said, I'm not going to this party. Why? First off, I don't think I can beat the rush of merely getting invited. I've already been validated I've already been invited. I can't be invited anymore once I get there my invitation is over. Secondly, the party is a theme party. The hosts are calling it a Mothball party. They want us to dress up in an old prom dress or bridesmaid gown or some other garmet we haven't worn in years. Is that what NYC has come to? People can't just have a party we now have to gimiks. Is the apartment/house party market so flooded the only way to get friends and acquantances to socialize with one another is have a theme? No thank you. It's too much work. I find dressing for a regular themeless party exhausting--what with the whole trying to look cute, but at the same time trying to look like I'm not trying to look cute but still looking cute. Now, you mothball party throwers want me to look cute, but not looking like i'm trying to look cute, and then be ironic with my prom dress or my flower girl outfit; and yet, still look good enough to take advantage of some drunk dude who isn't trying at all to look good, but of course he'll look ironic.

Yeah, I think I'll just look uncute in my apartment with a bottle of wine, watch a netflix movie and then fantasize about having sex with boys who only put ironic effort into their appearance.

Friday, October 06, 2006

Anna Is a Hard Woman to Date.

I received a phone call from my best friend Anna the other night. Here is an excerpt of our conversation.

"Rachael, let me tell you what happened. I went out with that dude who felt it necessary to tell me he only wanted to date and wanted nothing serious after our second date.."
"You went out with him again. Why? He pissed you off. You hate him."
"Rachael, I've tried dating boys I've liked that never worked so I figured I date someone I could careless about. What do you know? You're practically an old married lady. You and that Jack of yours. Anyway, we go out with a bunch of his friends and we all proceed to imbibe a great deal of alcohol. I finally can't hold it in any longer so I say, 'You're presumptious.'
"You said that?"
"Oh yeah. I told him who was he to tell me he didn't want anything serious. When did I ask him to be my boyfriend. I told him I didn't even like him. I was just dating him because I'm single and supposedly that's what single people do. He was all, 'I was just being honest. Everyone wants the truth.' I was like, 'What planet are you living on? No one wants the truth. Sure you shouldn't be deceptive and manipulative but you don't need to fully disclose. Damn. The truth isn't constant anyway. That day you might not have wanted anything serious but tomorrow you could have totally wanted to marry me.' And then I continued, 'Fine dude, you want honesty I'll give you honesty. After making out with you that night we met I never wanted to have sex again. The whole thing was such a fucking ordeal."

"You told him he killed your libido?"
"Well, he did. I was showing him how full disclosure is retarded. And how the truth isn't constant. I didn't want to have sex ever again. I didn't think about sex for weeks. But then in the mail Y Tu Mama Tambien arrived in my mailbox via the netflix. After viewing that movie my libido made a full recovery."
"Did you have sex with him?"
"No, he had cold."
"Are you seeing him again?"
"Of course not. He's not calling again, which proves my point no one wants to know the truth. He didn't want to know he made a women loose her sex drive. He didn't ask how he was or if I enjoyed myself with him. But I told him anyway. I maybe alone but at least I'm right and that's more important because I'm not 40 yet. Rachael, tell your readers this, only devulge the truth when people ask to hear it. Otherwise, shut the fuck up!"

Teachers and federal government employees have this coming Monday off for Columbus Day. So come on down to the "I Love Jack" show SUNDAY night and party it up!

This week the "I love Jack" radio hour welcomes: Claudia Cogan (Sirius Satellite Radio), Theron Steiner (Freedumb Sketch Group), Myka Fox (preparing for her Comedy Central audition), Liam McEneaney (Comedy Central), The Odebra Twins (The Howl Festival)

With special guests appearances by Mike Dobbins and Matt McCarthy

Hosted by Rachael Parenta (The brains behind this operation)

And resident DJ Your Friend Jesse spinning soul, lounge, and hip hop all night long. Not to mention some of the best Chinese food in the city. Did you read that Jewish people? Chinese food on a Sunday. How could you not come?

Sebadoh Willing to Wait

I just wanted to try posting a video from youtube. And why not a sappy Sebadoh song?

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Family Advice

I visited with family this past weekend. They applied the pressure. All my relatives keep telling me my parents deserve grandkids. My mother agreed, the traitor. She said, "Can't you just get knocked up." She dug into her purse and said, "Here. Here's $20. Go to a bar, get some guy drunk, take advantage of him, and make me a grandkid." I told her, "Mom, I live in New York City. I can't get anyone drunk for $20. You give me $75 and I'll see what I can do."

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

I Do Have Two X Chromosomes

Monday I purchased make-up for the first time in over a five years. Some of you are wondering if I am really so tiny that it has taken me over half a decade to use up all my make-up. Unfortunately, I'm not that tiny. How cool would that be, though? If I were that tiny I'd be typing with my feet right now. That's be a sight. I'd film my tiny little self hopping from one key to the next in order type this blogpost. The film would make me a Youtube sensation. It'd be sweet! I could write and workout at the same time.

I'm loosing focus.

The reason I haven't purchased make-up in years is because I don't wear make-up often. I'd rather spend the make-up applying time on things like sleep and computer solitaire. I guess I'm not very good at being a girl. The only femine activities I've been able to master are uncontrollably weeping when someone breaks my heart and menstruating. I'm an excellent menstruator. (I thought about going pro, but I'd rather focus on the comedy right now.) I fail miserably at all other things female. I can't match my shoes to my purse. Hell, I don't even own a purse, nor can I walk in high heels. I don't know how to purchase attractive clothing. I hate Dr. Phil and I can't play field hockey. I am a disgrace to my gender.

I decided this past Monday that I would make a concerted effort toward a more feminine me. I decided I would buy make-up. The only other time I purchased make-up was before I moved to Portland, OR and I was living with my parents in NJ. I only knew one place to buy the face paint -- The Willobrook Mall in NJ. I traveled to the port authority bus terminal and caught myself a bus destined for the Willbrook Mall. Later that night my best friend Anna informed me that I could buy make-up in NYC. I was like, "Now you tell me. How was I supposed to know that?"

I stepped off the bus and into Macy's. I followed the signs that read, "Cosmetics" and found the cosmetics counter I had patronized nearly 7 years ago. The cosmetics lady standing behind the counter was not the same woman who sold me my make-up the last time. Acid waves of anxiety crashed in my stomach. "Will, this woman understand?" I asked myself.
She asked me, "What can I do for you today?"
I summoned my couraged and somewhere deep down I found the strength to respond, " I need that cream stuff that makes your look the same color all over."
"Yeah. That sounds right. Only, I don't want it too thick. And, I don't want it to look like I'm actually wearing it. So if I could not feel it and not see it that'd be perfect."
She took out a long q-tip type instrument. I stopped her immediately, "Wow there. Do we really need to do strept culture to pick out my make-up."
"The Q-tip."
"That's just to put the foundation on."
She went through several shades of caucasion flesh until we found my color. Turns out I'm "light linen." I feel like I've let my Italian ancestors down. I thought I'd be a light kermit or a pale olive, instead I'm bedding. .
After we found the foundation I told her I'd need blush. I was so proud of myself for knowing the name of the powder. My pride lasted a second before she threw me a curve ball and suggested bronzer instead of blush. "No, No, No. I don't want metal on my face. I heard what happened to that James Bond chick who they painted gold. None of that for me."
"What?" She asked confused.
"I got blush last time let's just stick with the powder and forgo any metals."
"Huh? Ma'am, bronzer is a powder. It's like blush but it's earthier in tone. You apply it with the same brush you'd apply blush with."
"I have one of those!" I exclaimed like a five year old who had just tied her shoes all by herself for the first time.
"Good for you." responded Ms. Cosmetics.

Now, I was feeling good. Without hesitation I told her I needed lipstick.
"OK. Do you want lipstick or do you want to go with a lip gloss?"
Here's where I my head nearly exploded and I had a breakdown. I began to wimper, "I...I...I don't know. What should I do? There's a difference? I can't do this. I...I..." The cosmeticss lady at Macy's held me. She rocked me back and forth telling me, "It'll be OK, ma'am. It's just lipstick. There. There. Shhh."
"Or lip gloss," I cried.
"How about we try the lip gloss?" She suggested "Take a risk and walk on the wild side. You can experiment with something new."
"OK." I said as I wiped the tears from cheeks and sniffed back the snot. The cosmetics lady handed me a tissue.

We went with "razzmatazz cherry."

I waved goodbye to the cosmetics lady and said, "See you in three years."

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Baseball Picture for Post Season Play

I haven't finished writing the post for today. Enjoy this picture of Keyspan Park in Coney Island while I write.

Monday, October 02, 2006

I'm a Songstriss

Below is a song I penned a few years ago when I was living in the Pacific Northwest. Not all songs have to be funny. And not all songs have to be sad. Some songs just are. This song is like a mountain. Not a very big mountain like Everst. My song won't change your life or inspire awe. But like a small to mid-sized mountain my song is there and it's not going to hurt you none, unless of course it falls on your head.

Tocqueville don't go away
I don't think you're insane
Never read a book you wrote
but i've read other books of note

I'm not a communist
But I used to think I was an anarchist
Don't think that anymore
'Cause I don't like sit-ins on dirty floors

la da la day la de da bombay

Hey Dear, don't go away
I'm no longer insane
Don't know that I ever was
Used to say it just 'cuz

And I hope that you will remain
That would make me happy again
Because I'm...
The One
Who's leaving

And I'm the one who's leaving.