Thursday, December 27, 2007

You Learn SomethingNew Everyday

Me, who barely works half the year, is working this week (the week between Christmas and New Years). It's been worthwhile. I learned the following: CBS broadcasting company offers full episodes of 'The Price is Right" online. America never has to worry about missing an episode.

On the topic of game shows...

It seems game shows are where comedians go to die. Howie Mandel, Jeff Foxworthy, Drew Carey, and the vulgar fellow from "Full House." If only there were more game shows there would be less out of work comedians.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Another Morning After Question Answered

It's time once again for my weekly installment of "The Morning After." ("The Morning After" was a sex advice blog my best friend Anna interned for briefly this summer. The blog is now defunct due to the ineptitude of its founders.) Anna has convinced me to answer some of the thousands of questions she received this summer while interning at the blog.

**please excuse any typos. These letters were received via the US Postal Service and I have to retype them into the computer for this blog.**

Dear Dan Dude and Matilda:
(We can see how old these letters are as they are addressed to the lazy, flakey flakes, would-be sex advice columnist, who decimate blog dreams, and leave a needy public without answers. I hope you're enjoying Bermuda, Washington Heights, or where ever it is you two ran off to.)

A couple of nights ago I went to a neighborhood bar. I sat myself down at the end of the bar, away from the mega touch and took in the goings on of other people, some of who were playing naked photo hunt on the Mega Touch. A shaved-bald man sat down next to me. Not right next to me, he left one empty stool between us. We eventually struck up a conversation and he bought me some drinks. Actually, he ordered me drinks. It turns out he's the chef at the bar/grill I was patronizing, meaning he didn't have to pay for the drinks.

We left together. I believe he suggested we go to the convenience store across the street and pick up more alcohol, but I can’t really remember whose idea it was because we had been drinking. We headed up to my apartment booze in hand. We each had a drink then we started making out. Next thing you know we're naked on my bed. As we are fooling around, my hands running up and down his back, I start to think, "If he tries to kill me I'll hit him here in his floating rib. Hmm? can I reach is neck? I should have bought a machete to keep under my pillow." A minute or so later it occurs to me that perhaps I shouldn't be getting intimate with someone I feel may kill me. So I told him to stop. I apologized and said he had to go. He asked for the reason, I said, "I'm not comfortable being naked with you right now." So he got dressed and left.

He called a couple of days later and asked me out for a date. Should I go? If after I threw him out of my apartment in the midst of naked making-out and he still wants to see me he must really be into me. You don't find that everyday. Or of course he just wants to finish the job of killing me which he didn’t accomplish that night.


On the Fence.

Dear Fence Sitter:

First off, I'd like to apologize on behalf of my no-good predecessors, Dan Dude and Matilda, for taking such a long time to answer this question for you. I'm guessing that you already have made your decision. I hope that whatever you decided that you are still alive and do not find yourself a victim of a murder. If you happened to be murdered may I suggest your surviving relatives sue Dan Dude and Matilda for Wrongful Death in civil court.

On the off chance that you have been waiting patiently for months "The Morning After's" response to your pressing question, and also for the benefit of our (my) readers, I will now answer your question.

You did not include your gender in your question. I am assuming you're a woman by the bubbly handwriting used to script your letter. If it is true that you are a woman, shame on you. Shame on you for getting naked with a man and then throwing him out of your apartment. This action of yours plays into the lowest stereo-types men have about women. If you are going to throw a man out of your apartment for no evident reason you must do your best to throw him out while everyone is mostly, if not completely, clothed. That being stated, I think you were right not sleep this shaved-bald fella. It's hard to enjoy activities when you think your activity partner is trying to kill you. This is true of bowling, hiking, movie watching, dinner eating, and especially sex. It matters little whether or not your activity partner has shown signs he or she is going to murder you. He or She could just be sitting across the dinner table from you when you get the sense he has put Iocane powder in your gnocchi. You could choose to finish the gnocchi knowing that you are being paranoid and ridiculous with your thoughts of Iocane poisoning (possibly burn your DVD of the Princess Bride when you get home), but each forkful will feel like Russian Roulette. You'll eat the whole plate but won't taste a thing and then probably vomit later; fear kills your taste buds and makes you nausea. Same goes for sex. Nothing puts the kibosh on orgasm potential like distrust and Iocane powder.

As for whether or not you should go out with him again (actually, for a first time) I'd say no. It seems you would be going out with him because he is into you. Whether that be for dating or violent crimes is irrelevant. You really need to be going out with people you are into. I think in recent years there as been too much emphasis put on whether or not a dude is into us women. Making it seem like a man being into a woman is some rare thing. It's not. You need to be into him, and if you are into him then go on that date. Again, his intentions are irrelevant because true love is unconditional and all forgiving. If you are into him you probably love him, which means you can forgive anything even a little attempted murder.

Good Luck.


Smallhands Ick

Christmas Koan

This Christmas Koan posted post Christmas comes from my paternal grandmother.

"Some of us get older faster."

Monday, December 24, 2007

For Christmas Eve

My family has been celebrating Christmas Eve pretty much the same way every year since I have been alive. We get together and eat a massive dinner consisting of pasta, artichokes, and an array of fishes. We drink wine, belinis, beer (as a small child family members would dip their fingers into the wine and tell me "take a taste"--I attribute this to keeping me off the "sauce" until college.). Then there is dessert and then gift exchanging and the next thing you know it's one in the morning.

I remember on year, I was thirteen years old, at the age where you're starting to think that maybe it's not Santa who is leaving gifts under the tree, but maybe it's burglars who burgle backwards. I recieved a phone call at 9am. I groggily pick up the phone and ask, "Who is it?" because I'm still sleeping, I only went to bed 6 or 7 hours ago. On the other end of the phone was my friend Carlene she inquired, "What did you get?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"I'm still in bed, I'll call you later."
I was dumbfounded. It was 9 in the morning and Carlene had not only opened all her gifts, she had tried on all the clothes her mom got her from Marshalls, got into a fight over said clothing, then had breakfest, and then called me. (Perhaps her family didn't do steps 2 and 3).

The phone rang again about a hour later.
"What did you get?" It was Carlene again.
"What?...Dude, I'm still sleeping?"
"Still sleeping? Don't you want to know what you got?"
"It'll still be there at noon. Aren't we teenagers now? Doesn't that mean we have to act like we don't give a shit about childhood things like Santa Claus?"
"This isn't math, Rachael, these are gifts!"
"Alright, I'll call you when I know."

She called a third time an hour later forcing me out of bed to go downstairs and open my gifts. It's funny I don't remember what I got that year at all. I'm sure there were clothes involved but what they looked like I have no idea. Nor do I remember the cds or other fun things my father might have given me, but I do remember the one thing I didn't get, an uninterrupted nights rest of 10 hours.

For his Birthday I think Jesus would like us all to love one another unconditionally, at least for the day. The only way I'll be able to love you people is if I get my unconditional-love sleep. Please no phone calls before noon.

God Bless Us Everyone

Merry Christmas!

Friday, December 21, 2007

What I want for Christmas

According to Hallmark Hall of Fame Entertainment Christmas is a time for miracles. Well, this year I know what I want for the holidays and it is more in the miracle vain than the gift wrap variety.

I want Charlie Rose, PBS interviewer, to be a completely different person than he is. Then his show--black background and all--would be great.

Enough with the interrupting of your guests, with your inaccurate summations of what your guest just said.

Charlie Rose: So what you're saying, Noble Prize Winner is that I'm a great listener and have a mind like a sponge.

Nobel Prize Winner: No. Ahh. Actually, not exactly. What I was trying to get across is that Pat Sajack could do what you do, except he's shorter.

Charlie Rose: So for our viewers at home, who are not as savvy as I am in the ways of media, let me just clarify. You're saying that journalists are just taller game show hosts?

Nobel Prize Winner: Charlie, I want to throttle you.

Charlie Rose: I am seeing somebody.

Nobel Prize Winner: Aren't you supposed to be recovering from a heart attack still?

Charlie Rose: Thanks for coming on, it's always great to have you on the show.

Nobel Prize Winner: Thank you, Charlie, I can't believe you have a college degree. Always a pleasure.

If only this wasn't who the man was.
Happy Holidays!

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Christmas Cunundrum

Christmas is fast approaching and this year I'm filled with anxiety. I don't know how my parents and I are going to celebrate Christmas this year. You see, ever since I was a child my parents and I celebrated Christmas the same way each year. My mom (or Santa) would buy me a number of clothing items; my mom would then badger me to try them on; I would refuse continually until my will gave out and I acquiesced; I would hate most of it; and then my mom would get insulted (even when they were from Santa--my mom never takes my side.); mom would say, "Fine, you don't like'em. I'll just get my money back;" and, then we'd go eat the breakfast that dad prepared.

Sadly, this year we won't get to enjoy this ritual for Christmas because we did that all for Hanukkah. My mom wanted to return the clothes early before her credit card bill came in, this way the charges wouldn't show up at all on next month's statement. Which is fine. But, now how are we going to spend Christmas morning? I guess we're just going to eat breakfast. I think this year's Christmas is going to be a little empty.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Morning After meets Smallhands

Today we are going to give my best friend Anna's idea a try. She wanted me to take over for the defunct Morning After Sex blog that Anna interned for this summer. The italicized script below is the letter Anna chose for today's question. It will be followed by my answer.

Hi Dan Dude and Matilda:

I have a very pressing question. You see, I accidently doomed myself to have a minimum number of sex partners before I can find love. One night years ago I was in bed with a very attractive man who had a great deal more sexual experience than me. I have always felt a little insecure with my sexual abilities and my miniscule number of sex partners. I guess I wanted to execuse any possible bad sex I offerred up that night, so I told him the truth that I hadn't slept with that many people prior to sleeping with him. He said how many people do you think you should have slept with by now? I responded off the top of my head with the number 7. Now I feel that universe is holding me to this arbitrary number. I won't be able to find reciprocal love until I sleep with 7 people. I now have slept with 6 people.

My question is: I think I have found someone who is non-threatening, and who would sleep with me. Unfortunately, I don't like him that much. He's a nice guy and everything, but he's kind of boring and well, not to be superficial, but he has flippers for hands. I mean in the dark I guess they won't be that noticable. Though, I do know they are there. I didn't meet him in the dark-- I've seen the flippers. Is it worth sleeping with a guy who has flippers for hands in order find love sooner? Do I sleep with flipper boy or not?


Cursed by a Big Mouth

Dear Big Mouth:

First, I'd like to congratulate your not ignoring the universe and trying to please it. A pissy universe can cause landfills of trouble. My advice to you is to keep looking for lucky number 7. Don't force the issue with this fellow. You're obviously, not thrilled about him personality wise or physically. I have found, in my sexual travels, that though the mind often times is willing to sleep with whomever, the vagina isn't always as accommodating. You may get the flipper boy home with you, both their lying naked on your bed, only to find your vagina isn't granting his flipper penis any access. However, if flipper boy makes the first move I'd go with the flow and see what happens. If it works out, great you can go find love. If not well, you already knew you had to look for number 7 anyway, so no harm no foul.

Good luck.



The Morning After Six Months of Radio Silence

My best friend Anna approached me with a proposition. Well, really, more of a complaint and a half hour of bitching, but somewhere in there was an idea that required me to do work.

Anna said:

“Ugh, Rachael remember that blog I was interning for? ‘The Morning After?’ It was a sex advice blog.”


“Well they don’t do the blog anymore. In fact, they only did one blog entry and then disappeared. Dan Dude and Matilda can go suck it. They start this blog, put an ad out for interns, and I respond. I do all this work. I wrote the bios, for god sake. You’d think they could have written the bios as it’s their lives. I wrote the opening page that describes the mission of the blog. Again, that was there idea. What blog does that? Who reads a blog’s mission statement? And, now, I am not going to get my college credit.”

“Anna you’re 8 years graduated from college.”

“I know was going to sell my credits on Ebay. I’m a musician I need the fundage, I can’t do a free internship.”

“Can you sell college credit on the internet?”

“Of course the University of Phoenix does it every day.”

“But they offer classes.”

“Well, I’ve done the internship for the student buying the credits. Basically, I’m being paid for doing their internship. I’m providing a service. Like, ‘Oopsy. Dude, I totally forgot to get an internship and I need one to graduate and the semester ends next week. Better go on Ebay and buy one.’”


“This is hardly the point. The point is I did all this work. I went through bags and bags of mail to find good questions for Dan Dude and Matilda to answer and then they never answered them. We have sex lives to save! Now with the one measly entry on ‘Morning After’ it looks like the blog was created solely to answer that one stupid question. But it wasn’t that woman’s idea to create the blog. She just had a sex question. I’m sure if that woman had a blog she would have dealt with her sex problem with a metaphor about the Grand Canyon or something. She didn’t need a whole new blog for one question. But the world needs a sex help blog with lots of varied questions. We must help humanity before the world melts and the seas turn to tar pits of oil. Rachael, will you help me answer these questions on your blog?”

“Well, I have jokes and stuff to post.”

“Sure, we don’t have to do it everyday maybe once a week or something.”

“OK. We’ll try answering sex questions once a week.”

“Outstanding! Can I get college credit for this?”

“I don’t have any of the paper work.”

“What if I get you the paper work will you fill it out.”

"I'm not really a company. I'm just a girl."

"Fine it'll be internship in women's studies."

"Uh. OK."

"Great. This Tuesday you'll answer the question."

"I guess so."

So tomorrow smallhands_ick will answer a sex a question selected by my best friend Anna answered by me and not Dan Dude or his cohort Matilda, who have a great deal more sexual experience than me.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Two Things I was Told To Put In My Act

1. Several weeks ago I attended an all women event. It was supposed to be some sort of networking thing, but it turned out to be a book promotion thing. I forget the name of the author who penned the book being promoted entitled "Thank you Power." However, Donna Hanover (the former 1st lady of NYC and Rudy's second wife) was interviewing the author fall of us. At the end of the evening where the discussion had centered around career, Donna says, "Oh and if any of you ladies are searching for romance or thinking about it, let me tell you this. I dated a guy in college for a bit. We broke up while in college. He was kind of a jerk and he never apologized. Then 34 years later out of the blue he calls me and apologizes and we're now dating. So ladies, keep the faith. They do call and tell you what you want to hear."

I just started laughing. I thought, "Noooo! Donna, you can't tell a room full of women that story because we'll all wait 34 years! We'll wait until we're dead!"
2. I'm not really a hugger. It's not that I don't like being touched or whatever. It's just that hugging is a gesture of friendship and I don't trust that you actually want to be my friend. You're hugging me so that you can get me to trust you so can stab me in the back. Well, I'm not fooled. I see your impending deception a mile away and a firm handshake will do just fine.
I think there is a reason these aren't in my act.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Holiday Merth

It's Christmas time which means it's time once again for my mother to holiday shop. She asked me what I wanted this year. I responded, "Knives." (to cook with, people. Not to stab comedians with). My mom said, "Ehhh. Hmmm. How about I pay for you to get your upper lip waxed." I said, "I think that'll be a little hard to wrap. And does that fit under a tree?"

You know you have some mustache when your mother won't kiss you.

Monday, December 10, 2007

I is Brilliant!

I caught a few minutes of that game show "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader?" I have to say it is totally fixed in favor of the 5th graders. They ask questions that have nothing to do with adult life. Am I smarter than a 5th grader? Hells yeah. Does a 5th grader know what wine to have with steak? In the category a 5th grader can tell you which continent Russia is located, but do they know where my ex-boyfriend is located? No. I do though. And I'll tell you this, it isn't Russia. He doesn't have the money to be in Russia so who cares what continent it's on. 5th grade math is useless. When do you ever use long division in life? But ratios are important. Why don't they ask these kids how many glasses of water per alcoholic beverage do you need to drink to avoid a hang over?

Our President couldn't answer any of the questions asked on this show, and he's president of the U.S. But I bet you these kids couldn't tell you the first thing about PR, Spin, and the best way to shred evidence. Kids, listen up, the answer isn't your dog.

Shows this week:
Monday 12/10 Billy Club-8pm-$ One item-- Downstairs at Comis (14th street and 9th avenue)
Monday 12/10 Jazz Hostel -- 9pm-- Free-- Jazz Hostel (106th street and Central Park West)
Wednesday 12/12 Astoria Beer Garden -- 8pm--Free--Astoria Queens (I don't know the

Friday, December 07, 2007


It's nearly 6 years since I told my first joke on a stage. I have had a good run, but I'm ready, now, to turn the page. I'm starting on my new creative career as a visual artist. After two weeks of slaving away on the 39th floor of a Rockefeller Center building (It's kind of like a Rockefeller grant of sorts) I'm ready to exhibit my first art show here on this blog. The theme is capitalism versus humanity versus the mind versus high school detention. I beg you, please don't illegally download these pieces and print them out for yourselves. I'm desperately trying to make my way to South America.

Entitled: "What do you mean it's not 5:00 pm yet?" or "An hour to Freedom"

Entitled: "Dreams of Peru" It goes for $7000 (the amount of money I'll need to comfortably travel to Peru.

Here we have on of my favorites: "Emerson, $120,000"

This one is entitled: "8:30am--Oh the Inhumanity!"

Here we have a piece entitled: "The world unites. South Korea, San Franscico and Russia closing the gap of differences one ship at time."

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Bob Ross Incarnate

Hey Corporate America,

You can try to stop the temps of the world by unistalling freecell, solitaire, and minesweeper. You can block access to Myspace and Facebook. But you will not succeed. Our will is too strong; Our might is too great; and, our ablilities to not be productive too exceptional! If it's a choice between filing papers and creating computer art in Paintbrush, well I think the picture above answers that question.


The Cubicles.

In a related matter I think I'm going to become a visual artist and sell my works to companies looking to adorn their walls with unoffensive work. My first show will be called "Bored in a Box." Or maybe "Board in a Box" where I'd be playing on the homonym of board (the object that might make up a box) and bored (the state of being when sitting in a box. Perhaps, I'll also start a band called the cubicles.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Why My Single Friends are Better Than My Relationshiped Friends

My single friend Mike had an extra free ticket to the broadway play "Homecoming" by Harold Pinter, so Mike brought me. My friend Melinda is in a relationship. She won a pair of tickets to see the movie Juno she brought her boyfriend. I am not her boyfriend. That is the problem with people in relationships they are always sharing things with thier significant others and not with me.

Here's a Christmast Song you're not sick of yet.

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Pre-Hanukka Tale That Has Nothing to do with Hanukka

Once upon a time in an over crowded island lived a Prince and his good friend, The Juggling Ninja. The Prince and the Juggling Ninja had studied at the Fairy Institute from 1995-1999. The Institute was founded for Fairies originally but in the early 1900s opened up it's enrollment to everyone and expanded its coarse offerings so one could major in Prince-ing, Ninja-ing, Juggling, Writing Literature and Publishing among others. Many years after graduating the Fairy Institute the Prince met a Wicked Witch. Well, she wasn't wicked she was more pouty. Yes, he met a Pouty Witch who had put spell over the Prince tricking the Prince into falling in love with her. At first no one knew she was a Pouty Witch because she lived on a frozen tundra in a land some call Missoula, MT. The tundra helped conceal the Pouty Witch's true identity. No one suspected she was a witch at all, most thought she was just a quasi-hippie from an affluent famil back East. Eventually, the Pouty Witch left the tundra to sink her claws into the Prince. (Literally they were claws similar in look to a vulture's. I can't believe people saw those hands of hers and didn't know she wasn't a Witch. You live and learn people, even in fairy tales.) Her claws sank deep into the Prince making him bleed all over the place (and again no one said anything), and all his friends including the Juggling Ninja were happy for him. They were happy for three reasons: 1) They didn't know she was pouty as she had them all fooled; 2) He was in love and you should be happy for your friends when they are in love; and, 3)Even if they knew she was a Pouty Witch who are any of them to judge? You should see some of the creatures these people dated.

The months wore on and eventually the Prince's friends began to hate the Pouty Witch because she was always pouting. She was constantly jealous over nothing, which was a real pain in the ass. Despite this the Juggling Ninja continually reached out to the Pouty Witch. The Juggling Ninja invited her to events and tried to make the Pouty Witch feel welcomed in the Prince's principality and social group. The Pouty Witch never responded. The Juggling Ninja was not pleased, but the Ninja said to herself, "Hey, whatever I'm not dating her and I have friends who don't pout I can hang out with. I was just trying to be a nice Ninja."

A couple of years went by and the relationship began to sour between the Prince and the Pouty Witch. Even spells and curses appear to have an expiration date these days. They just don't build spells like they used to. Even though the Prince was able to see through the Pouty Witch's plot she still had those tallons in his ribs which feels alot like love. But, he had to free himself and free himself he did. The Prince had a special power that enabled him to rip her claws right out of his sides. This of course caused more bleeding and pain, but as Kings and Bishops say "Freedom comes at price. And remember always be scared." The Pouty Witch's reign was over. The Prince had freed himself by using his ability to over- analyzing. This enabled him to think past his feelings and run far away. The Pouty Witch shriveled up and the Prince’s friends rejoiced. They thought it was the last they would see of her.

A couple of years passed and all was well with the Prince. The Juggling Ninja was struggling but she always struggled it's hard being a juggling ninja. It doesn't pay well, if any thing at all, men are literally intimidated by ninjas, making it really hard to date. This particular ninja was somewhat paranoid, which is never easy. Anyway, one day the Juggling Ninja was working for an Ogre known as the "The Man." The hours were ridiculous and the atmosphere was soul crushing but, rents are high on an over crowded island and the ninja wasn't a Zen Buddhist and needed a place to protect her from the elements. (Side note: isn't ironic that an over crowded place is an expensive place to live. You'd think with all those people there to pay money for a small island it would be cheaper.) As the Juggling Ninja worked for the Ogre she received a message via a carrier pigeon named "Hotmail" from the Pouty Witch. In turns out the Pouty Witch hadn't died she was alive and well sending flocks of carrier pigeons out of her window with a singular message about temporarily relocating to a place called Van Hailen. The Juggling Ninja was beside herself. "I'm on her mailing list? What the fuck? The bitch couldn't respond to social invitations when she was dating my friend, but two years later I have to have pigeon shit on my desk? I don't keep in touch with my own exs why would I keep in touch with my friend's ex-girlfriends?" The Juggling Ninja, furious by the perceived insult, devised a plan for revenge. The Juggling Ninja would put the Pouty Witch on her mailing list. The Juggling Ninja would inundate the Pouty Witch's mailbox with information on where the Ninja would be juggling around town. Ha Ha! See how she likes it. Then the Ninja got sad. Her plan had one major flaw. The places the Ninja juggles aren't that impressive mostly bars and small theatres. But then the Ninja got happy. The ninja would make shit up. Her mailing list would be full of lies like how the Ninja was appearing on Letterman, "so set your dv recorders." Or how she was headlining Vegas! Yeah! Then the Ninja got sad again (because the ninja is well trained and can go from one emotional peak to another in a blink of an eye.). Why is the Ninja going to put this much effort into a witch she barely knows? That's just a little pathetic. But then the Ninja forgave herself and said, "Well, it was a funny idea and if I were working for the Ogre past this week it would have been a fun way to pass the time."

So the Juggling Ninja let it go and wound up getting drunk with her friends later that night. The Pouty Witch was still a Pouty Witch was punishment enough.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Monday, December 03, 2007

Venezuelans are Single and Loving It

Does anyone else think it was kind of sweet how Cha'vez ran for dictator? Dictators are usually much more brutish but not Chaevez if the Venezuelans didn't want him to be dictator then he didn't want to be dictator. And let's face it it's not Cha'vez's fault, the people of Venezuela just can't commit. They're not ready to get into a "Until death do we part" relationship with their executive branch. It's not that they don't like Cha'vez but they want to keep their options open. And to Cha'vez's discredit I think he was moving a bit too fast for the Venezuelan people. He's only been their president, what 4 years? And now he wants a life time commitment. Slow down their buddy! Buy a girl or a nation some flowers.

Friday, November 30, 2007

Andy Rooney is a Tool

I watched me some 60 minutes last Sunday. The Giants game was so depressing I needed something to cheer me up. At the end of 60 minutes Leslie Stahl once again threw it to Andy for what is supposed to be amusing social commentary. Once again Andy Rooney showed himself to be out of touch, old and doddering.

Last week Mr. Rooney discussed the big bags of crap Americans carry around. Andy just didn't get it. First off, Americans don't carry around big bags filled with things New Yorkers do because the rest of America travels in cars where they can store their on the go items. The only Americans besides New Yorkers who carry bags around all day to carry their on the go stuff are school children because school children are like New Yorkers in that they are 1) not married and 2) don't have cars.

Andy found it absurd that people need to carry personal organizers around with them. Really, Andy you don't think sleep deprived citizens need help remembering phone numbers, addresses, and appointments? See, Mr. Rooney most people have more to do in a day than write one 2 minute piece about how young people are stupid for mourning the death of Kurt Cobain because he wore ripped jeans and wasn't even poor. (Yes, that piece was over ten years ago and the fact that I remember it probably proves Andy Rooney's point that I don't need a personal organizer.)

The best part of his piece last Sunday was when his mind nearly exploded off his head. He found it unfathomable that "Americans" were carrying books in their bags. He actually seemed annoyed that people felt the need to read. His annoyance was not in an ironic Stephen Colbert way, but in an earnest curmudgeon "In my day we didn't have the luxury to read because we didn’t have eyes we were single cell algae floating in the sea. Books get wet and the ink runs when they’re placed in water," kind of way. He then accused these people of reading at work. Dude, these people are New Yorkers and unlike you they don't have drivers, so they read on the subway and on the bus. It's 2007 no one reads books at work. Why open a book up at your desk, which would illustrate to passersby that you’re not working? Instead you can read my blog on the computer, or online shop, or do any of a million things on the internet, which to a passerby might look like work. Especially, when you quickly hit "Alt" "Tab" to switch your window over to some spreadsheet you're not actually working on. I know. I know, Andy, in your day when people goofed off at work they whittled wood (and could spell the word whittled), and when they were caught by the boss or HR person these lazies were skewered with a musket.

Happy Friday.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Love: How Sweet It Is

I call my love Romeo because I hope he kills himself.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Your Mother Your Exterminator

It is said that the urine from a pregnant woman will kill a rabbit. In different circles it is said that rabits are a type of rodant. That same different circle also alledges that mice and rats found in New York City are also rodants. So what I'm thinking is if you have a mouse problem in your apartment or office you should invite pregnant women to your space to pee on your floors and furniture. Then go out and buy a bunch of Frebreeze and Arm and Hammer baking soda to remove the stench.

Or what if all the pregnant ladies who get to sit down on the subway earned their seats by peeing on the tracks?

It's the green way to exterminate vermon.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Good News, Ladies

So you're getting a sinking feeling that "He's Just Not That Into You." Well, stop blaming yourself. It's probably not your fault. He's probably a socio-path. If the dude isn't calling you it's because he doesn't care and well, sociopaths are unable to love or care about anyone. If after one date or seven dates someone doesn't call you back it's because they lack a conscience. (This also goes for comedians who run shows and refuse to respond to your calls, emails or myspace messages.) Sociopaths by definition have no conscience and there is nothing you can do about that.

However, beware ladies, if a man is calling you he is still probably a sociopath. Sociopaths sometimes pretend to care so that they can manipulate people. If a dude is calling you it's because he's trying to manipulate you. He wants to control you and well, that's what sociopaths do.

Also if your boyfriend is killing you for no reason, he's a sociopath. Though, most sociopaths aren't murderers in this case he probably is. However, if your boyfriend is killing you because he's heartbroken that you are sleeping with someone else, then he's not a sociopath because he's capable of love and therefore capable of remorse. So if you can escape death I'd say that man is a keeper.

Monday, November 26, 2007

I Know About Girl Things

Beauty Tip:

New York City is truly a multi-cultural melting pot. It's fantabulous that over 8 million of us from all over the world can live angry, violent harmony in one single city. It really is beautiful. There is only major drawback from all the peoples of the world mating with each other on a tiny island, we all kind of look alike in New York City. Alright not all of us, but a large number of the ladies here in NYC are under 5” 7’ with dark, curly, brown hair and a somewhat olive to tan to splotchy skin tone. So how does the single NYC lady go about distinguishing herself form the pack to snag herself a fella?

There are a couple things the short, curly-haired, brunette mutt can do to grab the attention of a single guy.

If everyone else is a brunette try a wig. You’re going to want a wig that screams “Look at Me!” Government people have had luck getting people to notice signs and what not with bright orange, though bright red works too, and let’s not forget purple is the color of royalty. Hell, why choose. Why not get a wig with all the colors of the rainbow. What sets you apart more and yet symbolizes the great diversity of New York City better than a rainbow wig? Bright colors say, “Hi, I’m fun.” Men love a girl who “likes to have a good time.” Remember that the bigger your wig the more attention it will attract and the taller you’ll seem.

Since you are NYC gal you’re probably 5ft 3inches and blend in pretty well in China Town. Unfortunately, that'll never do. It’s time you get yourself some stilts so you can look like a supermodel, tall with sticks for legs. Not only will you turn the heads of all the men at the bar you’ll probably nab yourself a promotion. Why climb the corporate ladder when you can be the corporate ladder? We all know people prefer tall people to be in power. Let’s put it this way what’s the difference between a regular old Jew and an Israeli? Answer: about 6 inches (in height get your mind out of the gutter). And whom are you more afraid of a regular Jew or an Israeli? Stilts will have you feeling powerful which means you’ll be walking around this city with confidence. Men love a woman with confidence and so do employers.

Now it's time to accesorize. You'll see most ladies walking around this town with gold, silver or diamonds dangling from appendages. In a city where tall buildings block out the sun most of the day who can see any that expensive jewlery? Where something that the men can see and appreciate--glow sticks. Glow sticks are larger than the average piece of jewelry, plus they glow. You can be missed if your glowing. That's what all the cosmetic commercials say. Glowing makes you seem supernatural like a sci-fi film. You know how men love science fiction?

Now, if you can’t afford to go out and buy yourself a new outfit there is something you can do that is very affordable and all natural. Cultivate your own smell. Stop throwing your money away on deodorants, scented moisturizers and soap. These products are mass produced and make you smell like every other lady that you look just like. Your sweat carries pheromones and those pheromones attract the male of the species. Make sure you get to the gym regularly and do not ruin your sexiness with showering and body spray. Walk down to the financial district stand up wind at lunchtime and well…just be careful none of those investment bankers tackles you. A man in heat can be a little dangerous.

Well, my diminutive dark-haired sisters go out there and get yourself a man!

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

More Than a Stone

The main difference between Irish Americans and native Irish is the native Irish use of the blarney voice. When the Ireland Irish start in with the drunken bullshit their brogue takes on a higher pitched quality to let everyone know they are fibbing. Irish Americans have no blarney voive so they just sound like lying assholes trying to get one over on you. It's the lack of the blarney voice that keeps Irish Americans from being charming. That and so many of them think it's a good idea to be a cop.

(this post has been severly limited due to its composition on my phone)

Sunday, November 18, 2007

songs then and now

My internet service at home is down. I don't own a laptop so I'm going to attempt to post today via my phone.

A few weeks ago I finished a new song that I had beeb working on a for a few months. It took a few months because I'm lazy and undiciplined. As I was singing the bridge to the new song it reminded me (thematically) of a song I wrote years ago in Portland, OR. I now present both to you.

He never really knew me/I never knew what he was talking about/ We talked about talking/ We discussed hanging out.

there was something about him/not talking about how he couldn't spell his name/something something about him/And I'm not quite sure what it was.

We sat down had a couple of drinks/he had 12 more than 2/I thought he could brush his teeth/he kept on with his tabacco chew

there was something about him/not talking about how he passed all over town/...

his eyes were black/they matched his teeth/his grey hair was falling out/and his middle aged ass saaaggged

He never really knew me/I never knew what the fuck he was talking about/we talked about talking/we twice made out

yeah there was something about him/not talking about how he had no job/something something about him not talking how he had 5 roommates, not talking how he was a townie/ something about him or maybe something about me.
PRESIDENTIAL FITNESS (this one is a smidge racey)

Ooo you're so hard/ooo baby ooo baby/ I can see your little man could last all night/ too bad your body can't

because you're my/out of shape lover/out of shape out of shape lover

lift me up with all your might/hold me to the wall nice and tight/oh no there goes your back/falling to the floor like a sack/
lathargic on the bed you flop/I guess it's anothe night of me ontop/I'm energized and you're out of breath/Uh oh are those pains in your chest?
soooo disappointing/sooo disappointing/Idon't know why I keep coming back/ does internet dating suck that much/or do I just hate leaving the house/maybe there is something about him

how about exercise or a diet/ I don't dare suggest you try it/because the only thing weaker than your body/is that small and shoddy/ EGO

I guess that's why you're an out of shape lover/out of shape out of shape out of shape/LOOOVEEERRR

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Joseph Heller + My Mother + Self Pity = Me

Here's my question to you all: Do you ever think of killing yourself to make other people feel bad? You think, "Hey I'm going to kill myself and then they'll feel bad that they missed the warning signs and didn't do something to save me. They'll be riddled with guilt the rest of their life blaming themselves." And of course in the note you would blame your them you'd write, "If only Sensei gave me an award at the karate banquet maybe I would have felt like my life was worth living, but I guess we'll never know now. And when your friends tell you not to blame yourself, that this isn't your fault let me tell you write now in this letter that it is. You and all the people I've ever been somewhat friendly with are to blame. I'm not going to spare your feelings just because I'm dead."

The only problem with killing yourself as a passive agressive attempt to make people feel shitty, which is then supposed to make them treat you better is that you're dead. Therefore, you can't see the guilt ridden look on their faces. Of course you could try to fake your death--fake the suicide. But after the funeral and what not when you come out of hiding everyone is going to be really pissed at you for faking your death and making them feel bad about your strained relations, then they'll have real cause to be shitty to you. Sometimes suicide is a "Catch-22."

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

I Wrote a Joke Last Night

Back when my ex-boyfriend wasn't my ex-boyfriend he used to illegally download songs onto my computer while I was in the bathroom. Unfortunately, my jail sentence for copywright infringement lasted longer than the relationship.


Inspirational song you can watch legally.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Election Day--Week Ago

In honor of Election Day a week ago, (yes, I'm a holiday behind, for Thanksgiving I'll write something about Veterans Day.) I would like to explore the problem with contemporary voting strategies.

The US Citizenry seems to vote not for the political candidate they admire most or agree with most, but with the candidate they think has the ability to beat the candidate they detest the most. Voting this way is the nutritional equivalent to eating kidney beans because you hate soy beans al grout on, and the only thing that will give you the same protein as the nasty soy beans al grout on your mom prepared are those lame tasteless and yet slightly nauseating kidney beans your father prepared. You forget you get have some fish. Some delicious fish, because you're not like your a vegetarian like your sister (most people aren't vegetarians) nor are you crazy like your brother with his oedipal complex who will eat anything your mother has prepared. You enjoy fish, which has wonderful grams of protein and Omega-3 oils. Yeah, sure there is some mercury in there and fish is more expensive then beans and you shouldn't buy fish on Sundays, but it tastes so much better than beans and nothing is perfect.

Unfortunately, you won't buy the fish because no one else in your family has expressed an interest in eating fish. They think fish is gross. If you pick a bean than at least you can split the costs of your food with two other people or actually you'd force the whole family to eat kidney beans, which you don't even like yourself, you just like dislike them less than you dislike the soy bean al grout on. Your mother keeps telling you how alone you'll be with your fish, how costly it will be if you buy and eat the fish. The truth is your mom and your dad are scared your fish eating might influence your brother and sister to start eating fish or even worse start finding protein from other sources. Than your parents will only be cooking for themselves and everyone knows the joy of cooking is cooking for other people. Only problem is your parents forgot that the real joy is cooking healthy foods that people enjoy not just healthy foods that make you throw up. Your parents don't care about you, they only care about who has the power over the kitchen. And it's funny that your parents have this very antagonistic relationship and yet they're still married living under the same roof. Hmmm.

I'm not saying that if you start eating fish the rest of your family will become fish eaters and give up on two of the worst tasting beans grown on Earth (that I can think of with out doing research), but when one fifth of their family starts eating fish the two chefs vying for control of the kitchen might include some fish with their bean recipes. And there is always the chance that you get control of the kitchen and make everyone eat fish for a while. But no one will ever no that you like fish and want fish unless you start eating fish.

Shows this week:

Inner Monologues: Tuesday, Rapture Cafe 7:30pm (will my peice be funny enough to justify my snarkiness?)

In the Flesh Erotic Reading Series: Thursday, Happy Endings Lounge 8pm (Monthly Show Produced by Rachel Kramer Bussel this month it's her special birthday show)

Laugh Out Loud: Saturday, Time Out New York Lounge 10pm (stand-up show)

Veterans Day Joke A Day Later

Do you think Veterans get annoyed that they have to "feed the meter" on Veterans Day? I guess the freedom they were fighting for wasn't free parking.

Friday, November 09, 2007

Could Jesus Have Been Right?

I've been a big proponent of getting in people's face and sticking up for myself when I think I've been wronged. It seems now that maybe being an asshole even the face of another asshole who started it might not be the best course of action. In the end the only asshole you hurt just might be your own.

Say someone sends you an email with unrequested criticism for a work in progress. The email incorporates the whole corporate america emotional manipulative language. Quoting, "I think your piece is off to a good start, but I think you have some work to do. I definitely will want to see that second draft, and it might even need a third draft. You obviously have a great sense of humor, and excellent delivery, now if we can just make this a super tight piece of writing." It's all so condescending. Now, Jesus would have ignored the email. That's probably why some people think of Jesus as a god. Perhaps, ignoring the email would have been the best course of action. Or at least a better response than the passive agressive email I sent. Quoting a section of my email : "...Basically, I was attempting to emulate Spalding Gray in my approach to this topic. I know you're not a performer so I don't how familiar you are with his stuff (then bla bla bla about how i'm fixing the peice)...(ending with)Thank you for contacting me with your comments and concerns."

So now I have fucked myself. With my snide little Spalding Gray comment passive agressively declaring myself the superior performer I now have to kill at this reading series show Tuesday. If I had kept my figurtive mouth shut I could suck as much as I want, but now I've threatened to throw down the performing gauntlet. Only problem, I don't have a gauntlet I have a badminton racquet.

What I should have done was scrap my piece entirely and make-up a tear jerking story of how I was abused as a child. Then I wouldn't have to be funny. Then the peice wouldn't have to be good because the expeirence I related would have been horrific so horrific no one would have cared about grammar or my oral interpretation abilities. And wouldn't miss critical have felt foolish for being so coy to a victim such as myself. Yes, that's what Jesus would have done and I that's why people pray to him.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Orange Juice and Chicken Soup

Did you think I was on strike these last couple of days? Did you think that even though I'm not in a union or guild I was striking anyway because I love strikes that much? Well, I do love strikes but unfortunately I didn't stop writing due to some sense of solidarity with my hollywood brethren. Nope, I have a cold. I am sick. I reccommend after reading this you guys go and wash your eyes out to keep unwanted germs from infecting you. It doesn't have to be anti-bacterial regular old eye-soap will due. Let's nip this virus in the bud with good old eye sanitation.

Monday, November 05, 2007

Have You Had Your Break Today?

Many companies in the U.S. participate in programs that empower the mentally handicapped (or challenged). These companies provide jobs for those suffering with mental disablities which in turn gives these special employees a boost their self esteem, self worth, and ego. "Look, mom, I'm working just like everybody else. I'm wasting my life just like the rest of the people in this country so board members can by jet planes! Jet planes are fun."

On the surface these seems like a great idea. McDonalds hires a few mentally challenged people those people feel great and McDonalds gets a tax break. There is only one problem. What about the employees who do not suffer from mental disablities? How do you think they feel knowing someone with 70 IQ can do the same job as them? What about their self-esteem and ego? These people with a solid 100 point IQ score or perhaps higher had to fill out an application and have an interview maybe two interviews to land this job and now it turns out that anyone can do that job. Deep-frying french fries isn't as challenging as these employees once thought. Scanning the price on Wal-mart merchandise, a once seemingly complicated task, is now understood as simple. All I'm saying is that people with "normal" mental activity out number those who have dimished capabilities and yet we don't think of their sense of pride, self-worth, and self-esteem.

I think we need to stop and think things through before we go around throwing our money at charities, some charities are hurtful.

Friday, November 02, 2007


The brook I forged on brief new England Hike

"Zombie Burger Girl" Moments before Marching in The NYC Halloween Parade with the folks from the Off Broadway hit Mininum Wage.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

If I Actually Had Fellow Goonies My Life Would Be Less of Goonie Adventure

Tuesday I did make it out of my apartment and up to Egerton, MA for some hiking. Both Anna and Jack had to work so I went up there alone, which might not have been the best choice for a person scared to sleep by herself in the dark. I thought my personal history of traveling all over the globe alone would have given me the confidence to hike in desolate woods by myself the day before Halloween. Further, why should I miss out on experience just because the people I know aren't cool enough to come with me.

I get in the car and drive the 2.5 hours up to MA. I take a number of two lane highways and New England really is beautiful this time of year as cliche as that is. The colors on the trees are all that I hoped, bright reds, oranges and yellows mixed with the green of Evergreens. I find the small little parking lot at the trail head to that leads to the Race Brook Falls. I get out of the car and there is a lone man blowing leaves off the parking lot. I see him and realize he is going to kill me in the woods. He turns off the loud leaf blowing device and starts talking to me. He doesn't look creepy but why is he talking to me? He asks me suspicious questions like, "How far are you going?" I'm vague and say, "As long as I have daylight." He responds, "Well, it's a beautiful day." In my head I think, "No day is beautiful when it's the day you're murdered." To him I just nod in agreement.

I head up the blue blazed trail, the leaf blower starts up again. I see his game, no one will hear me scream over the blaring leaf blower. Oh he's good. He's done this before. I'm screwed. I begin to ascend the Mount Everett and my heart rate goes up. I don't know if this is because I'm out of shape or because I'm certain October 30, 2007 is the day I die. I come to a sign that reads, "view Falls" and an arrow pointing to my right. I say to myself, "OK we'll go look at the falls and then we'll go back down and we'll get some food at a quaint eatery in the Berkshires and it the trip won't have been a waste." Yes, when I'm scared, alone and talking to myself I use the Royal We. Who are we kidding I talk to myself like I'm two people. Those of you with friends should not judge until you've walked a mile in my shoes up a mountain alone.

Unfortunately, the trail to Falls is not marked. I basically follow what seems to be a path and get to the mid section of the Falls. I'm certain there is a way to get to the top of them, but from where I'm standing that way is not clear. I take a few pictures and then hear noise. "Oh shit, the leaf blower is on his way. Alright fuck this. Let's just go back down and get something to eat. We're starving anyway." It's true I was hungry I had only had some Farina earlier in the day. I head back down the mountain only to loose my way off the unmarked trail meaning, I can't find the blue marked trail that takes me back to my car. Thankfully, I have a map and notice if I follow the Race Brook it'll lead me to the trail at some point. As I'm climbing of over rocks and tree trunks I begin to think what I'm going to tell the homicidal lunatic leaf blower. I mean, I've only been hiking an hour and there is still plenty of day light left. I don't know why I feel the need to explain myself to someone who is going to kill me, but I do. He's the last person who's judgement I should be concerned with, but I am. Maybe because he is the only person I talked to all day that day.

My first execuse is that I twisted my knee or ankle. I rule that out. It makes no sense. How did I get back down the mountain? OK. What if I tell him that fell and scraped my knee and I needed to stop the bleeding. I decide against that because I think it's a bad choice to tell your prospective killer that you are lame. Would that make me a more enticing victim? By the time I find the blue blazed trail again I start thinking clearly and I realize I'll tell the fellow that my mother called me and my sister (he doesn't know I have sister) is in labor a month early and my presence at the hosipital is requested. I think that's pretty good. As I'm patting myself on the back for coming up with an exceptional lie for why my hike was so short I hear a twig break behind me. I look back. I see nothing. I freak out and sprint the last third mile on uneven ground back to the car. The leaf blower fellow is long gone. Or did he hide his car and I just out ran him to safety.

We'll never know.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

I Wrote it I Don't Have a Clue Either.

Today I relate to you a story that illustrates the relationship I have with my fairy godmother. Please don't confuse my fairy godmother with my actual godmother who happens to my mom's older sister. A fine lady but she's not a fairy she is just a godmother.

Several years ago I joined a knitting club-- a stitch and bitch if you will. I knitted and bitched with these ladies for a handful of weeks. Soon I began to freak out. I felt like maybe this knitting clique would be the last knitting clique I would ever join. Anyway, I decided to leave the knitting group. Well, I really I didn't know if I wanted to leave my new knitting buddies. I vacillated between staying and leaving. Finally, I resolved to just leave the knitting clique and let the chips fall where they may. Right before I sat the girls down and told them "I couldn't do this anymore" I conferred with my fairy godmother. My fairy godmother told me, that she thought it was a bad idea. Well, I left the stitch and bitch girls anyway. At first I felt free and relieved. But then I thought maybe I made a terrible mistake. Now, you're thinking that's right Rachael, fairy godmothers know best. I would agree with you, however, I don't think that is the case with my fairy godmother. I think my fairy godmother just takes the opposite opinion I have.

Why do I say that? Well, eventually my knitters let me back in the group, but it was never the same. They were cold and distant. I shared my hurt feelings with my fairy godmother, who told me that it was my fault for leaving them in the first place. Again, that is sort of true, but they took me back if they took me back they should have forgiven me or not taken me back. And, um...she's my fairy godmother she should take my side and empathize. Anyway, the girls were being to caddy so we disbanded once again. My fairy godmother told me I had hurt their feelings and basically the whole thing was my fault. Really? Fine. All I knew was that my knitting group and I were dysfunctional together but I missed them nonetheless.

A couple of years go by and I kind of reconcile with the stitch and bitch we all wind up going to a bar. Well, one of the girls accidentally, drunkenly threw-up on a nun which wound up getting us all thrown out of the bar. Where she proceeds to throw up on the curb in front of Christian Bale. It was a little embarrassing. Though, in her defense what is a nun doing at a bar? And none of us ever had an actual chance with Christian Bale. Anyway, my brother Stephen told this story my fairy godmother. My fairy godmother says, "Yeah, those girls are pathetic idiots." OK granted the whole thing was embarrassing. But you know I did choose these girls to be my friends. And wasn't my fairy godmother always on the side of these girls? Until of course I'm making an effort to hang out with them.

My point is that Cinderella's fairy godmother made her dress and carriage and got her to the ball; she didn't debate the merits of the ball with Cinderella. I just think a fairy godmother should be more supportive. That's all I'm saying.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Fowl Cliches

I usually don't believe in "The Early Bird Gets the worm." Getting the worm requires skill, determination, timing and a little bit of luck. There is nothing in the worm's genetic code to make it more willing to be a bird's dinner early in the morning then in the afternoon or at dusk, or a 2am. And I say if the bird can nab a worm at 2am after hours of drinking then kudos to that bird.

My point is there is nothing that is done at 6am that can't be done at 12noon. Except hiking in the fall or winter if you are not a racoon. As I write this the time on my computer shows 11:30am. Today is my third attempt to travel out to the Berkshires to hike and take in fall foliage before the leaves hit the ground. It's over a 2 hour drive, so to make the most of day light I should get my ass out of bed earlier, but I can't.

In a semi-related note (as many of you think waking up late is a sign of laziness. I say you are lazy for going to bed so early when there is still so much work to be done.) I finally have confidence that I am not an alcoholic. Yesterday, after a series of disappointing events, I decided to go home, watch a movie and drink some wine. The problem was I have no wine at home. I figured I'd stop on my way home. When I got off the subway I realized I would have to walk a couple of blocks out of my way to purchase a bottle of wine. So I didn't. That's what's great about depression. It strips you of your motivation to self medicate.

Monday, October 29, 2007

Is There Really No One Out There?

Last week Robert Chambers aka the preppy murderer was arrested for cocaine possesion and sentenced to life in prison. Chambers raped and murdered a girl in 1986. His crime 21 years ago did not warrant life without parol. However, posession of cocaine did. What?! Supposedly, the reason the coke possession landed him in jail for life was because it was his "3rd strike." According to some law that means he goes away forever. Which means that if you want to earn a life sentence you have to kill a woman and then commit two more crimes. Remember if you rape her before you kill her that still only counts as one crime. To get a life sentence you still need to commit two more crimes.

What gets me about the latest story on Chambers is that he was busted for coke with his girlfriend. Who is dating a raping murderer? Are you telling me all the sczitophrenic, homeless guys are all taken? It was suggested that Chamber's girlfriend was merely a crack head and therefore wasn't making sound decissions. Pardon me, but crack heads love getting high I think rape and murder are buzz kills. It was also suggested that perhaps this lady didn't know her current boyfriend once raped and killed a girl. You'd think would have been a hint.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Problem Solved

The MPAA (The Motion Picture Association of America) rates movies so parents know how suitable movies are for their children. This rating system has led to censorship. Film makers re-cut their films in order to get a more marketable rating for their films (It's hard to advertise a movie that has been rated NC-17). It seems children and film makers are at odds. I think I have found a solution: prohibit children under 17 from watching movies. If children aren't allowed to watch movies then there is no need for a rating system or censorship. We already disallow children from consuming alcohol, tabacco, and transfats. They can't vote or drive. Let's take away cinema. If they need to be entertained give them a book by Henry Miller or Anis Nin, both are highly respected authors. Give them Moby Dick by the time they finish it they'll be old enough to rent the Gregory Peck movie version. Or make them play outside. If we really want to protect kids then let's stop paying lip service and really protect them. The movie theatre seats are bad for their backs, the popcorn will scar their lungs, the dark is scary, and movies corrupt the innocent.

You know what? Let's just ban children. No more procreating. If you want a child you have to clone your 18-year-old self. Don't worry most kids live at home well past their 18th birthday you'd still get quality time with

Just Another Bit for The One Woman Show I'll Never Do (Rewritten)

Those of you on my mailing list know that I have performed many times at the east village bar Mo Pitkins. As of Saturday October 20th Mo Pitkin's is no more. They've closed their doors. Shut down. Gone out of business. To say good bye to the bar I have graced with my funny so many times in the last two years I stopped by the Chicks and Giggles show. It was the last Chicks and Giggles show to be produced at Mo's. (The show moves to The Ochi lounge at Comix later this month.) My best friend Anna accompanied me. She had played a few folk shows at Mo's in the past and once or twice was a special, musical guest on the Chicks and Giggles show. The host of the show Carolyn Castiglia asked some of us girls hanging out if we would like to share anecdotes about the Chicks and Giggles show or about Mo Pitkins with the audience. I didn't really have any note worthy stories. Anna said she did. Anna said even though she isn't a comedian and just a folk singer she'd tell a story if Carolyn needed someone. Carolyn agreed to have Anna tell her story.

I'm slightly tramautized by what I heard my best friend tell a room full of strangers, but I will recount her story as best I can.

It was a Sunday night in mid May Anna was attending Faceboy's open mic upstairs. Downstairs a folk-singer boy she had been having casual sex with for the past few weeks was guest hosting "Rock Star Karaoke." Needless to say they ran into each other. Each with at least one drink riding on red blood cells on a journey to their respective livers. Here's what happened:

Yeah so we couldn't agree on whose place to go back to. He had some appointment. Which I didn't really believe, I think he was just sick of going back to my place. Whatever. I was working a day job where I had to dress business professional. know, I don't usually dress the same for an open mic run by a guy who goes by "faceboy" where people are not dissuaded from shitting on stage (as long as they have a drop cloth) as I do to a corporate, law office.

We spent probably an hour trying to negotiate where to go or if we could meet up later in the week. The more we debated the fewer people remained in the bar. Exasperated, I think he suggested the bathroom. I thought to myself, "Yeah! I'm sexually adventurous woman, and now I can prove it! Look at me, mom. I'm a New York City adult!" And to be fair I had thought about doing something like this for years, so I thought this was a great opportunity and I should seize the moment. The Mo Pitkin's bathrooms are logistically perfect for a first time public sex act. The doors leave no cap for veiwing. These single toilet stalls have thick wooden doors that travel the full length from ceiling to floor. And the doors lock.

Alright, well. My imagination is a lot hotter than reality. It was kind of gross in there. There was toilet paper strewn about and parts of the floor were wet, and there was pervasive dampness. I'm not much of skirt wearer but I wish I had been wearing one. OK. So we get to it. He lifts me up, but that doesn't really work because he can't keep me up or he can but he as to lean back, and it's awkward. I'm not big, people. I think a man over 5' 10" should be able to hold me up especially if I'm braced against the wall. Whatever, though. I mean, I'm having sex in a bathroom. I'm winning. So we stop (something that he's good at it--sorry folks that's an inside joke, right Rachael?) and I say, "Just sit on the toilet." I wouldn't learn that standing from behind is the best position for public bathroom sex until the next day when I sent an email to friends asking for advice. Sure it was gross in their but that doesn't mean I'm not committed to getting this right.

Now we're on the toilet and he says "I should fart, right now." Or something like that. He mentioned himself and the act of passing gas-- describing said act with the word fart. Which I was like, "Ohh. That's so hot. Ugh! Come on man, it's gross enough in hear any way, can we at least pretend it's not or something." I guess I should be happy if he can't imagine he's not in a bathroom when he is I guess he wasn't fantasizing about another woman when he was with me. And can I just say? If there is a place to use a condom it's the Mo Pitkin's bathroom. Anyway, maybe a minute goes by since he makes the comment and then I hear this sound reverberate out of the porcelain and bounce between the three tiled walls. Well, that was it. I lost my erection, as it were. I put myself back together and left the restroom. He was like, "What? I'm human." Barely, dude.

So people Mo Pitkins might be gone, but I'll (and now you all will) always have that memory.

Anna told me what happened after she left the bathroom. She and the fellow folk singer sat on the bench that is right outside the bathrooms. A patron came down to use one, and saw them sitting there. "Ha. That's funny. I thought you guys had come down here to have sex."

Europe on $5 A Day

My paternal grandmother has a full time nurse from Eastern Europe taking care of her. Last night my father told me that this nurse has told her family back in the Czech Republic and Hungry how wonderful and nice my father's family is and that we are welcome to visit at any time. The nurse's family would be happy to take us around Budapest sight seeing and what not. My father the constant paranoid thinks this is just a ploy for the nurse's family to kidnap us. I thought sure that was possible, but is that really a problem?

Having a kidnapped vacation seems like a really cheap way to travel. I mean, the kidnapper's are putting us up on their dime. Sure, they are hoping it's merely an investment and that someone will pay a ransom which will turn them a profit, but it wouldn't be us paying the ransom. We'll probably be fed local, peasant cuisine. We don't have to go to some fancy shmancy resturaunt that might be a tourist trap to get a taste of Eastern Europe, which is potato fritters and meat or Italian food. The kidnapper's would be doing all the housework we wouldn't have to lift a finger, nor would we have to tip them for their housekeeping like one does when staying multiple days in a hotel. It is rather goash to tip your captivators. Much like a person doesn't tip the owner of a hair salon or bar. The biggest benefit to being kidnapped on a Eastern European vacation is the extra time off you get from work. I think it's against the law to be fired for being kidnapped. Further, if you ever do get released from your kidnappers you're employer would probably owe you back pay. They'd have to pay for your mostly free vacation. Sweet!

My father was able to see the silver lining, but thought that there was no one home that would pay the ransom. I asked, "What about your brother?" His wife, my aunt, has claimed that dad's bro and she have buckets of money. My father responded, "Yes, but we don't talk to 'what's her name' and it's really hard to transport a bucket full of currency overseas." I said, so we retire a little early in Eastern Europe and have free assisted living. I imagine the quarters might be cramped, but you get what you pay for.

Monday, October 22, 2007

When Presumption Kills the Mood

I've heard that sometimes when women pick up a man with whom to make-out or have sex they sometimes have to endure certain pointless talks. One woman told me once that a dude said to her, right before they were going to kiss, "I know that it seems like 'it's on!' right now. But I need to stop. Before anything happens I want to be open and honest with you and let you know that I'm not looking to be in anything committed. I am seeing other people. Well, I plan to. OK?" In fact I've been told this has happened on three other seperate occassion and only once was the girl in any sort of relationship with the fella.

Many of you people, who are like me and in a relationship, think I'm making this up. I swear I'm not. I know it's hard to believe that a man would ruin the mood and be so presumptious as to think a woman he just met would want him to be her boyfriend. I guess maybe if she were homeless and needed a place to live and was hoping to trade sex with a place to stay--forever. But, it happens to women who have a place to live and a career to pursue. Now, I know that I'm in a loving committed relationship with my boyfriend Jack, but I still fill the need to help my single sisters out there in the dating world. If any of you ladies find yourself with a gentleman caller who doesn't have enough sense to be "open and honest" with you in the bar, laundrymat, library, or where ever you met him, I have some responses you might want to consider.

1) If you don't care about getting any that evening (and clearly this partner you've found in a bar doesn't) you can verbally castrate him. You can say something like, "Umm. I'm sorry. You're not really boyfriend material. I mean look at you. You live in this dump, and have a shitty job (say this even if he makes alot of money, like if he works at an Investment Bank call him an office monkey with no balls who is a slave to "the man."), and if this is the way you always dress there is no way I can introduce to my friends, never mind my family."

2) Fuck with him. This one is the most fun. Begin to cry and say, "What you mean you can't be my boyfriend? I found these last 3.5 hours at the bar magical. When I went to the bathroom I secretly texted my mother to retrieve her wedding dress from storage. I told her 'I have found "the one."' I can't believe you're breaking up with me like this. Doesn't the vodka and cranberry we shared mean anything to you? What about the great memories. Like when Luna's song 'Tiger Lily' played on the jukebox and we both knew all the words. It's not everyday you meet someone who is so into pretentious, indie rock. For the love of god, please don't leave me! Reconsider!" Then blow your nose into his shirt, drop down to the floor, grab onto his leg, and don't let go."

3) Or, since he's being so honest, why not you also be honest. You can say something like. "I think it's only fair and proper to also be honest and open with you, since you've been so honest with me. I want to let you know I'm not really looking for a boyfriend right now, well I am, but I have specific one picked out and that's where you or anyone else with decent hygene comes in. What I really want is someone to make-out with me in public. I would like to invite you to certain events and bars where men I used to date will be attending, and then make-out in front of them in the hopes to create jealousy or anger. Don't worry none of the men I have ever dated would hit you or anything, they're like you and not so manly...I mean, more sensitive. I have a type. I don't like to be sexual with someone who could kill me. Afterwards we may have sex in private, but I don't want to promise anything. Granted, I do need to have sex with one more person to reach my sexaul partner goal, I don't know if that'll be you, but it could be, but if it's not I don't want you to be dissappointed because I misspoke. I wouldn't want you to try to rape me and say that I promised you something. I'd hate to have to fustigate you with the broom handle I keep next to my bed. You know? I don't want you to get hurt, physically or emotionally. So would you be interested in helping me be emotionally manipulative? Because that's all I can give right now."

They're just ideas to help combat the ridiculousness of single men.

(no, this wasn't the sex story. I promise to get to that)

Thursday, October 18, 2007

The Stars: The Mendacious Sales People of the Universe

I really need to quit the horoscopes. It's time I stopped reading them. They are ruining my life. I read a bunch of horoscopes they all tell me how awesome my Cancer day is going to be and then it's not awesome. The love, the riches, the accollades, and the real-estate ventures, never arrive and I find by midnight I'm highly disappointed. If I never read a horoscope I wouldn't expect anything but the mundane. Horoscopes give me hope and that hope is killing me.

Public Service Announcement

The following post has no intention of being funny. I just feel a strong desire to inform the public about friendship. This week I have had two separate conversations regarding friendship. It seems that people don't know what makes a friend. So for the benefit of humanity I'm going to post the four guideposts in determining if someone you know is a friend. I came up with these guideposts 7 years ago, but I think it still holds true today.

1. You have a strong desire to share the events of your life with the other person. Something good happens you want to celebrate. Something bad happens you want to be consoled. You feel comfortable divulging your secrets to the other person.

2. You want to know about the other person's life. You want them to share their tragedies and victories with you. If you find out they have gotten engaged through a third party you'd be hurt that they didn't tell you. You have a genuine curiosity about what they are doing with their days.

3. You create memories. You socialize. You go on vacation or to the movies or to a bar together. Whatever it is you spend time together and make plans to do so.

4. You reminisce about the memories you've created together. You also reminisce about the events you weren't there for but heard about and vice versa.

All four must be present otherwise you're not friends. That doesn't mean you don't have a great affinity for the other person, but you are not friends. If all you do is reminisce you might have once been friends, but probably aren't any more. Back in college I never thought that love would have to be a signpost of friendship. I thought that was a given. But I guess we can put it down as number 5-- you have to be in love with that person and they love you back.

There is no such thing as just friends. There is just dating, just neighbors, just colleagues, just peers but there is nothing slight about friendship. About this subject I am dead serious.

Tomorrow (or next week-- as I go to New England this weekend to tell jokes and look at foliage) I'll have a horrific and hopefully funny sex story.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

I can't even trust plastic

Yesterday after asking the magic 8 ball a series of questions and getting the answers I wanted I asked one more question, "Are you, the magic 8 ball, lying to me?" The magic 8 ball responded, "without a doubt."


Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Matriarch Allegory #1

The following is a fictious event for the purpose of illustrating a point.

I went to a car show last week. I had a fabulous time while I was there, sure the consession were overpriced--but nothing is perfect. All the cars sat in the convention center glowing in the glow of admiration of all the car lovers. Out of no where a fire started. Smoke filled the room distressing my lungs. At one point there was a glimmer of hope. It seemed the fire was put out, but it came raging back burning the whole place down. No more cars. No more car show. Disappointed and irrationally dejected I wandered the streets of NYC. I stopped in at a coffee shop and ran into a red-headed woman I know. We decided to lunch together. We made small talk for a few minutes but my despair overtook me and I told my red-headed friend about my sorrow regarding the events of the car show. The red-headed woman said, "Don't be upset. You don't even like cars."

"Umm. OK. I thought I did, but I guess you would know more than me what I like. I thougth I went to the car show because I liked cars."

"The way I've heard you talk about cars..."

"How do I talk about cars?"

"You hate the pollution and the global warming."

"Well, yeah sure, but that doesn't mean I don't like cars. I talk about cars. I don't talk about fishing ever. I mean there are aspects of cars that can suck but they also get me to and from comedy gigs out of city. I've seen a great deal of this country via the driver's seat of an automobile."

"Anytime I hear you talk you complain about how much you hate traffic."
"Sure, I hate traffic. Traffic is very frustrating aspect of driving. I wish traffic didn't exist. Just because I don't gush about cars and frequently complain about traffic doesn't mean I don't like cars. How can you negate my feelings like this? I complain about my mom a lot would you say I don't like her?"

"You're probably a bad daughter."

"Now, you're just being passive agressive."

"Well, all I know is that is not how I act when I like something."

"Yeah, but you have red hair. You do things differently."

"I don't see why the car show has you so down in the dumps."

"I'm sorry, red-headed woman, I like cars. Hell, I love cars! Despite your pressumption otherwise. And now, I have just witnessed a building full of cars burn down that's upsetting. A little devastating. I guess there was a part of me that thought I was going to win a free car at the car show. Not only did I not win a free car, all the cars exploded."

"I guess now you can try fishing. And one day you'll have good sex."

"I don't want to fish. And I have had good sex, thank you very much. Not everyday, but it's happened."

Then I ordered a cheeseburger and the red-headed woman ordered a turkey club.

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Sunday Koan

There is a philosophy out there that states, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend." Fair enough. However, what if the enemey of your enemy is already your enemy? Are you just a very contentious person?

Friday, October 12, 2007

Don't Go Breaking My Heart

As long time readers and friends know I am a Yankee fan. Unlike most Yankees fans I'm in the unfortunate position of being friends with Redsox fans. A series of events starting with my acceptance to Emerson College located in Boston, MA followed by my matriculation and then graduation from said college led to this development. I made some good friends up in New England and some of those good friends moved down here to NYC. These friends frequent a Redsox friendly bar on 2nd Avenue and so, to spend quality time with them I find myself frequenting a Redsox friendly bar on 2nd Avenue.

My time spent at this bar as given me insight into this "Redsox Nation" (the fans that devote their lives to the Redsox). I find these fans are overly obsessed, not with the Redsox, but with the Yankees. The night the Redsox swept the Los Angeles Angels of Aneheim the bar patrons began to chant "Yankees Suck! Yankees Suck!" Uhhh. The Yankees were not playing the Redsox that night. In fact the Yankees weren't playing at all that night. I think a more logical chant would be something like "We're number 1! We're number !" Or "Here we go Redsox! Here we go!" But instead of loving themselves these Redsox fans obsessively hate the Yankees. This type of behaviour is also found in broken hearted people who just can't seem to move on from the relationship.

Yes, I'm saying that the "Redsox Nation" once dated the Yankees long ago and their collective heart is still broken. They can't see their own accomplishments because their ex-boyfriend still exists, and he's going about living his life as if the Redsox never existed. We know the Redsox Nation once dated the Yankees how else would they be familiar with the Yankees sexual practices such as "sucking?" And you know how much you loved that action when you were together. There is nothing demeaning in providing pleasure to a partner, Redsox Nation. I know it hurts Redsox Nation but it's time to move on with your life. Find a new boyfriend. Stop with all this negative energy and go forth and find new love. Perhaps those Cleavland Indians you'll be hanging out with this week or maybe the Mets. You and the Mets have less of a conflict of interest. All I'm saying is nothing sounds more inferior than the constant mentioning of your supposed rival.

And let's face it, everyone. The Rookies are winning the whole thing.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

The Missing Emily Post Lesson on Party Conversation

Let my follies guide you to a less awkward social life. The following is a rule for playing the "small world" game. (The "small world" game is that game you play when meeting new people. It usually goes something like this: "Oh you were once in Tyler, Texas. Do you know Britney Nichols? No." Or you could win and it could go like this, "Oh you're from Jacksonville, Florida. Do you know Lou Venterillo? Really, you do? What a small world.")

When playing the "small world" game don't ask if your new acquatance, whom you've just engaged in conversation at a fun and happening party, if they know a person who is deceased. Especially, if the deceased person was murdered. For example, "Oh you lived in Seattle doing theatre? What years did you live there?"
The other party guest replies, "2003-until last month."
"Oh yeah, I think my friend Nicole was still there in 2003. Yeah, I think that's the year I went to bumbershoot and stayed at her place. She did theatre."
"Oh. Wait. Wasn't she murdered a couple of years ago?"
"What a small world!" Big smiley grin. Your new party pal gets awkward and somber. Leading you to say, "Oh, uhh. I didn't mean to be dour I just thought we'd know someone in common. I...I thought there was a good chance because theatre scenes outside of nyc are pretty small. She did other thing besides die. I...I...I... guess you're not going to introduce me to your single, rich, handsome brother now."

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

Economic Down Turn: Sign 1

I know the economy has taken a turn for the worse. I saw a man with economically valuable langauge skills selling phone cards on the subway. He first pitched them to riders in English and then in Spanish. An American who can speak--no, more than that--sell in two separate langauges has been relegated to the subway, sales car.

The rest of us are doomed.

Monday, October 08, 2007

De-Corking: A question on Eatery Policy

Restuarants and bars have this thing. If you bring an outside bottle of wine to their establishment you can drink it at their place of business as long as they open the bottle for you and charge you a corking fee.

My question is do mother's breast feeding their babies in eateries get charged a corking fee? I mean as long as the breasts were outside breasts of course, not having been purchased at the restuarant. Does de-corking a breast merely involve unhooking a bra? I'm just saying that these women are bringing in an outside beverage to a beverage serving establishment just as the wine drinkers are. I'm sure the baby or toddler could imbibe water provided by the resturaunt or bar. Or that brunch places could start carrying breast milk.

I don't know the answer to this question. I'm just posing it.

Thursday, October 04, 2007

A Senior Moment

I've decided that high school students and politicians are the same.

Every election the candidates like to tell us how humbly they began. They all started out poor working in a coal mine, near a coal mine, digging trapped miners out of mines, or at worked at a McDonalds. I think they try to impress upon us the "I was poor just like you" so that we think they'll have our interests at heart when they are elected. When they are elected they don't do shit for us, rather they do the bidding of mega corporations and interest groups. Is it that formerly poor people are easily bribed? No. I think it's a case of Senioritis.

Senioritis is usually defined as a particular type of laziness that afflicts seniors in the second half of their senior year after they have already been accepted to college. I suggest there is a second type of Senoritis and I like to dub it Senioritis B (Like Hepatitis B except it's not blood virus). Senioritis B afflicts more than just high school seniors. I believe it's also the cause for politician poverty amnesia. In many high schools in the U.S. Freshman begin their high school career (the only career that is deemed more successful the fewer years you spend doing it) in September where they get beaten on and harassed by Juniors and Seniors while previously abused Sophomores look on quietly. Eventually, these freshman become seniors, and when they do they in turn beat-up and humiliate the incoming freshman. The new seniors never say, "I remember when I was a freshman and the beatings were awful. It took me 6 months to realize there wasn't actually a pool on the roof of the school. Every Friday in December I'd search for the heated roof pool while wearing nothing but a speedo. I contracted pneumonia that year." Instead, the new seniors think to themselves, "It's my turn to do a little ass kicking."

Power and money in the U.S. work just like high school. You have some son/daughter of a pig farmer who grew up too poor to even eat the pigs his parents raised. He/She somehow was able to "make something” of herself/himself and then when he/she gets into power she/he thinks, "Yes! It's my turn to greedily horde resources; my turn to take bribes and sell out my fellow man; and, my turn to look the other way when health violations are violated by big business. Sure I was once poor, but not any more suckers!!!!" Clearly a case of Senioritis B.

The only solution is to quarantine the victims of this silent disease and to shut down public and private schools as well as most governmental offices, save the post office. Until a vaccine is found this is the only way to prevent the spread of this dangerous condition.

God Bless Everyone.

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Error In Design

The problem with the magic 8 ball is that it doesn't answer "why" questions.

Monday, October 01, 2007

Obligatory Love and Football Metaphor

Next week the NY Football Giants take on the NY Jets in what is not a subway series as both teams play at the same stadium located in NJ nowhere near a subway. Football is unlike baseball in that rivalries within a city are not a big deal. I am by no means a Jets fan, but that doesn't mean I wish them ill will. The Jets are kind of like a pleasant co-worker. I am happy for them when their cat has kittens or their kids get cast in the school play. I’m also, thankful that my co-worker and I are not actually friends. We don’t have an intimacy that obliges me to attend my affable co-worker’s kid's school play. I like the co-worker well enough and would be sad if he/she came down with a case of cancer or something. As opposed to the Cowboys on whom I wish leukemia (metaphorically speaking). On the other hand the Giants are like a boyfriend. I love them. I love them unconditionally. It doesn’t matter how disappointing they, or how they toy with my emotions with their unpredictable play. I love them and want nothing but the best for them, even if I do curse them through the television every week and tell all my friends how agonizing having a relationship with them is. So here I am with a friendly yet not always contempt co-worker, the Jets, and my boyfriend the Giants. We are all living harmoniously on the planet together. Then, In comes the NFL and decides that my boyfriend needs to battle my affable co-worker. I wish no ill on my co-worker but I also need my boyfriend to succeed, even if that means my boyfriend has to pummel my already sick acquaintance on national television (OK regional television unless you have some special package from Direct TV) humiliating them in front of thousands of on lookers. I don't usually wish for the worst for the Jets but this Sunday they're messin' with my man and for that (even though it's not their choice) they need to be destroyed.

My 2016 Platform

I can't wait until I'm old enough to run for president. I have some great ideas for this country. The other day I learned that the Iraq war has cost over $1 trillion dollars. That's quite a bit of money. I don't think I'll ever make that much money as a stand-up comedian even if I do get a career, but maybe I'm selling myself short. Perhaps, if I just implement some positive thinking I could earn $1 trillion dollars. Like if I went over to a foreign land and just killed everyone with laughter. My only expense would be plane fare over to said foreign country and some incidentals. After slaying the enemy with my jokes I could then charge the U.S. government $1 trillion bill. That is the going price for a contemporary war. Well, it's a thought. Though, not a presidential one. My great presidential thought is the following. Next time we U.S. citizens are thinking of going to war we should abstain. Then, we take $1 trillion and divide it among all working adults in the U.S. To qualify as a working adult in the U.S. you have to be a legal citizen over the age of 18 who has worked 75 days or more in the year we divide up the trillion dollars.

Let's do the math. If every single person in the US was over 18 and working and there are approximately 301 million people that means every person would receive $3322.25. Which isn't allot of money. But there are a ton of children in this country. I don't know how many the Internet wouldn’t tell me, nor would the census bureau answer my calls. Perhaps, I shouldn't have called on a Sunday. But if we take a conservative figure that we all children are only children (and therefore amazing individuals with many gifts and talents) every third person would be a child as it takes two adults to produce one child. That gets our population down to 201 million increasing our non-war reimbursement fund to $4975.12 per person. Now we're getting somewhere. We're talking a summer vacation on a cruise. Granted cruises are a big waste of money, but the government was going to waste that money anyway, and some people have allot of fun on cruises, while others die of Legionnaire’s Disease.

Next, we subtract the growing numbers of illegal immigrants. Illegal immigrants don't pay taxes so they don't get a cut of the non-war fund pie. Which I also think would peer pressure the illegals to return to their homelands. When they see ther rest of us going on our cruises and they have to stay behind and work they are going to be a little despondent and jealous. They'll probably say, "Fuck this, I'm going home." Well the British and Irish illegals would say that, the other ones don't speak English so they'd be saying something else. Which means we can eliminate the department of immigration. We save money as tax-payers on what will become an obsolete department, plus those working for the department will be unemployed and therefore they won’t qualify for a cut of the pie. Then we can make our kids pick fruits and vegetables. The kids would love it. Have you ever seen a little kid’s face light up as he carries a bushel of apples from a day of apple picking? Migrant farm work would substitute for costly day care. Farmers and other employers would do a good job looking after your kids. They’d have to it’s their work force. They don’t want their work force all hopped up on chocolate. There are 30 million illegal immigrants. I'm guessing. 201 million - 30 millions = 171 million.
Now, 12% percent of the US is over 65 years old. This I actually found on the census bureau’s website. 65 is the age of retirement so those people aren't putting in the 75 days of paid work they need to qualify for my fund. 12% of 171 million is 20,520,000. Subtract that number from 171 and you get approximately 150 million people.
Let’s take a look at the women folk. Ladies make up 50% of the population (or so) but only half of the US women work. I mean, if you're a lady and you're not going to get hired for a job that actually pays well, why bother working at all. This eliminates another 25% of the population this gets us down to 112,500,000 working people.

Let us remember to deduct full time students, those studying art and liberals arts will never fully join the work force—that’s promising. We have to also subtract the number of potheads most of whom don’t work and just leech off their friends—go medical marijuana! Add to the subtraction sheet regular drug addicts, people locked up in insane asylums, people in jail, Hollywood actors, semi-pro athletes and you're down to what? Like 5 million people who work 75 days a year. Which means that all of us will get $200,000 for a year. The whole country could take a years vacation. Now doesn't that sound like fun?

Maybe we could take a road trip to Canada or I know I've always wanted to hike the Inca Trail. I think we'd have a lot of fun vacationing as a country. It could be something that really bonds us as U.S. citizens plus saves money on immigration, and child care. You could even take that $200,000 and buy a house or pay for health insurance. The point is the choice is up to you not me.

“2016 No More War. More Days Off.”

Friday, September 28, 2007

Once Upon A Time In A Land 1500 Miles Away

Spring 2000 I traveled down to the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival to take in some great live music, eat fine food and see if I could run into an exboyfriend who attended the festival (attended by 100,000 people or so) each year. Not necessarily an ex, I mean he was never boyfriend, but we had a connection!--in our six months of dating 4 of which were long distance and conducted mostly through e-mail. You might read the previous statement and judge me. Perhaps you think I'm crazy. But nothing could be further from the truth. It wasn't like I was going to Chicago on a vacation to run into the dude. First off, Chicago is a big city with millions of people so my odds of running into him would be a long shot. Further, Chicago happens 365 days a year so who knows when he'd be there if ever. And, I mean Jazzfest is really cool, I'd go there anyway and if I could run into a boy I liked as well, then so much the better for me. I mean, all those jobs I was applying to post college were looking for a multi-tasker and now I could say I was one. I had genunine experience.

But that is all besides the point. This story isn't about me. It's about my Aunt Sue's friend Kathleen. A red-headed lady in her late forties who was orginally from New Jersey but would never cop to her garden state heritage. My Aunt heard that I was planning to travel the New Orleans Jazzfest by myself. I was hoping to rope some friends journeying down there with me, but most of my friends aren't jazz fans and none of them were Bill fans (he was the boy). Not that they didn't like him, they just didn't know him. It's like when I say I'm not a Margaret Cho fan, I have nothing against her, I'm just not familiar with her comedy, and my friends weren't really familar with Bill. It's a shame too because having friends on a stalking mission keeps you from looking like you're stalking and a little off kilter. Anyway, my aunt told me to contact her friend Kathleen, who had relocated to New Orleans a number of years ago, when I got down there. Which I did.

Kathleen invited me to a house party attended buy middle-aged, borderline alcoholics. They were sweet and seemed very concerned that I wore a wrist watch. "You're so New York with that wrist watch. Hey, Joey, get a load of this she's got a wrist watch. This is New Orleans you don't have to be anywhere at anytime." I tried defending myself by explaining the festival with it's many stages of music had a schedule and I hate to miss an act I was interested in. They laughed and then started telling me about the 70s when qualudes were fun.

Later in the weekend Kathleen was to perform with her gospel group at the gospel tent at 11am in the morning and she really wanted me to go. I really wanted to go to, how often does one get to see an all white gosspel choir in New Orleans? Unfortunately, I over slept and didn't make it to the fairgrounds in time to catch Kathleen and her choir. Apparently, one might not need a wrist watch in New Orleans, but an alarm clock sometimes comes in handy. Kathleen and I met up later on the festival grounds that day where I pretended I had actually heard her choir sing earlier. I was 22 and didn't want people hating me, so I lied. When she asked me what my favorite part was I responded, "When you guys brought up the little girl to sing 'This Little Light of Mine' with you guys backing her.' As a heathen from the North there is only one thing I know about gospel music: every choir sings "This Little Light of Mine" led by an adorable young girl. It just is.

As we're walking the fair grounds talking about her performance we bump into her boyfriend, an overweight, slightly dirty, drunkard. As they are talking I can tell there is some tension between them. He walks away without saying good-bye. Kathleen turns to me and says, "He wants to break-up with me, but I won't let him." What? How does that work? But before I can find out about her secret powers, her jedi-mind trick she's off scampering after her non-ex boyfriend. That was the last I saw of Kathleen. I never got an explanation. I didn't even know such a thing was possible. "I'm breaking up with you." "No, you're not. You're not allowed. I forbid it."

I might have attended Jazzfest on a mission to run into a boy, but I wasn't crazy.