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.

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

(chorus)
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

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

(bridge)
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

(chorus)
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?
(chorus)
(bridge)
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

Pix







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.