September 30th, 2009
I had a very brief stint of guitar playing in college. Yeah, I had some rock star fantasies. Like you didn’t? It’s a shame that I didn’t stick with the instrument because I have pretty good female singer/songwriter hair. Depending on the day and the weather, I tend to exhibit two looks. Marcia Brady or Bon Jovi circa ’86. Hair(or lack thereof) has proven to be a barometer that we use while attempting to navigate and judge our way through the human experience. Hair even found itself to be the title of the legendary musical. Clearly the protein filament that grows through the epidermis would inspire groups of political hippies of the "Age of Aquarius" to fight against conscription into the Vietnam War.
It’s important to note that hair assists in the deciphering of our own “sexibility” and that of others. It’s my understanding that men with receding hairlines interpret their growing forehead with a lessening of getting laid. I do give a lot of credit to bald men who own their lack of head coverage. Mr. Clean found a respectable niche. So skinheads, you had the option of becoming a spokes model for a multi-surface liquid cleaner. Shame on you for taking the hate crime route. You know, there are different organized social clubs out there for your kind. Um, Hair Club for Men. Instead of burning crosses, you can burn the illusion that you need to ignite crosses in lawns forever. There’s really no future in that.
As far as the female persuasion, word on the street is that blonds have more fun. Also, ladies with over teased mall hair imply that they are willing to offer up the goods pretty easily. Therefore, blonds with hairspray collections are the top contenders for the “Living a Happy and Productive Life with STD’s” public service announcement. It would be unruly for me not to mention my thoughts on waxing. My thorough analysis can be perused at Day 12 - Wax-achment. http://jacquelinekabat.blogspot.com/2009/08/day-12-this-entry-is-rated-r-youve-been.html
Last night, I found one of my long blond hairs in my dinner. I should really wear a hair net when I cook. Just run with that visual. I would put my brother and sister-in-law under the neat freak umbrella. When my nephew was born last year, I thought it would be helpful if I bought him a baby hair net or a baby doo-rag(just in case he were to join a baby gang.) I decided against it and went with a bib with a picture of the band Kiss. Is there a hair double standard? It’s good to have hair on our head, yet viewed as despicable when it resides in our food. Let’s talk eyebrows. Shouldn’t we raise one of these for easily accepting the normality of having two random patches of hair above our eyes? However, those who don’t have them look bizarre(to the delight of the folks in the eyebrow liner pencil industry.)
Hair affects the day to day of animals as well. How come humans don’t get hairballs? If you’re reading my blog..I know that you’ve indulged in a “self licking bath” at some point. It's really quite refreshing. Watching a cat about to vomit a tight elongated pack of fur is a disturbing sight to see. Imagine Garfield having a violent seizure. Poor standard poodles and those emasculating haircuts. I was at the dog park and saw one of these ridiculously coiffed creatures being made fun of by the other dogs. It broke my heart. I guess it’s worth mentioning Chia Pets in our animal portion of this blog. Have you ever met anyone in the market for animal-shaped figurines that sprout vegetated fur? Just typing about these things gives me the heebie jeebies.
I’m going to leave you with this televised hair related observation. Every CSI show(from New York to Duluth) seems to cast a very long lush haired woman as the lab researcher looking for the tiniest fibers and particles to identify the “perp.” Not once have I seen her beauty pageant mane pulled back or capped off with a hairnet. When I am hired to write for the show, be prepared to find this is the script.“Well, what do you know, this is my hair. I guess I killed the manager at the Dairy Queen.”
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Day 52 - My Bad
September 29th, 2009
Yesterday at the Yom Kippur service, the rabbi informed the famished congregation that the word “sin” isn’t as cryptic as we generally interpret it to be. It translates to Hamartia, a Classical Greek term that means "to miss the mark" or "to miss the target”. Oh you Greeks and your tragedy. I have to admit that your literature ‘s staple is consistent with having our hero take actions that generally involve some significant errors in judgment. Yeah, i’m talking to you Oedipus. But this confused boy’s actions weren’t inherently evil. Although, the ultimate mama’s boy scandal would have made for a gripping and highly rated Oprah episode.
I’m not suggesting that we strive to make unwitting mistakes but good parenting 101 tells our children that it is that very thing that we grow from. This is good news for Dick Cheney when he shot Harry Whittington, the 78-year-old Texas attorney, while participating in a quail hunt. On the topic of “gunning”, one of the only times I consistently made the target was 25 years ago in the skeet shooting competition on the Commodore 64 Summer Olympics Games. I have to admit, I was a bit of a savant. If only life was an outdated 8-bit home computer.
If we’re consistently hitting the mark every time it seems that we’re blessed with a certain amount of luck and will eventually suffer some hard to process disappointments when life serves up some reality. Perfectionists scare me. The twist seems to be that expecting nothing less than perfectionism every time is, in itself, missing the mark. Perhaps if we were gentler with ourselves we could look at our mistakes through a kinder filter. I know that I could benefit through the practice of self forgiveness. I will go as far as to say that most of us would never talk to anyone the way we can talk to ourselves.
If we are certain that we’re always going to make our target, then we’re not participating in situations and endeavors that stretch us, force us to step out of our comfort zones and ultimately result with experiencing growth.
Yesterday, I went ahead and pre-atoned for next year's sins because I’m certain there will be some really good ones.
Yesterday at the Yom Kippur service, the rabbi informed the famished congregation that the word “sin” isn’t as cryptic as we generally interpret it to be. It translates to Hamartia, a Classical Greek term that means "to miss the mark" or "to miss the target”. Oh you Greeks and your tragedy. I have to admit that your literature ‘s staple is consistent with having our hero take actions that generally involve some significant errors in judgment. Yeah, i’m talking to you Oedipus. But this confused boy’s actions weren’t inherently evil. Although, the ultimate mama’s boy scandal would have made for a gripping and highly rated Oprah episode.
I’m not suggesting that we strive to make unwitting mistakes but good parenting 101 tells our children that it is that very thing that we grow from. This is good news for Dick Cheney when he shot Harry Whittington, the 78-year-old Texas attorney, while participating in a quail hunt. On the topic of “gunning”, one of the only times I consistently made the target was 25 years ago in the skeet shooting competition on the Commodore 64 Summer Olympics Games. I have to admit, I was a bit of a savant. If only life was an outdated 8-bit home computer.
If we’re consistently hitting the mark every time it seems that we’re blessed with a certain amount of luck and will eventually suffer some hard to process disappointments when life serves up some reality. Perfectionists scare me. The twist seems to be that expecting nothing less than perfectionism every time is, in itself, missing the mark. Perhaps if we were gentler with ourselves we could look at our mistakes through a kinder filter. I know that I could benefit through the practice of self forgiveness. I will go as far as to say that most of us would never talk to anyone the way we can talk to ourselves.
If we are certain that we’re always going to make our target, then we’re not participating in situations and endeavors that stretch us, force us to step out of our comfort zones and ultimately result with experiencing growth.
Yesterday, I went ahead and pre-atoned for next year's sins because I’m certain there will be some really good ones.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Day 51 - Ask Jax - Part 2
September 28th, 2009
Question - What's the best TP tactic - fold or crumple?
Brian Levy Dallas, Texas
Jax’s Answer – Brian, I consider myself a bit of a toilet paper connoisseur. When participating in the sacred art of wipage, I feel the wiper should put great thought and care into the shape of their TP to create an experience that is memorable on a regular(hopefully if you’re healthy)basis. It should not be a decision made in haste. Remember, you’re sending a message to your derriere that says “Hey, I care about you. We’re in this together.” I highly suggest using the Japanese art form of origami when choosing your tactic. Luckily I befriended a very delightful Benihana chef who was more than happy to teach me how to make a delicate toilet paper swan. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to get you in touch with Yasashiku. Your steak chicken combo will be discounted if you tell him that you’re impressed with the size of his Hibachi.
Question - Dear Jax...You watch commercials, right? I'm assuming so.... and so you've seen the Cialis commercial with 2 middle-aged persons on the top of the hill in separate bath tubs. Well, Cialis is for Erectile Dysfunction (or "penis problems")....so if the medicine was working properly, wouldn't the 2 people need to SHARE the tub? This has me in a quandary....
Sincerely~
Claire Evans Adams, Raleigh, NC
Jax’s Answer – I know someone who is the sister of the roommate of the exchange student of the key grip who worked on that commercial. Here’s what I found out for you: There is actually a "third party” underwater in the man’s bath (well hidden by the bubbles.) If you look closely, you can see the snorkel. Cialis is also effective if you ever have the urge to drag your bathtub up a hill.
- Question - How on earth do you get the guts, courage, chutzpah to stand up and be funny in front of crowds of often inebriated and sometimes rather impolite strangers?
Melissa J Peltier , Nyack, NY
Jax’s Answer – My goal has always been to connect with the audience. If I come from that place, I don’t find that I get unwelcomed disturbances from the crowd. Audiences are generally on the side of the comedian. A few weeks ago I was doing a set at a show where another comedian was getting heckled. The performer gave the annoying audience member too much power by engaging him for too long. The next comedian asked the guy (who was below par on the looks scale) if he had a girlfriend. It was rather mean spirited and he continued to get heckled. I was next and was prepared for the same scenario. I decided to go in a totally different direction and began just praising the guy. He was caught off guard and remained quiet for my entire set. Granted, when I walked off the stage he told me, “I like you. You look like Vanna White.” Regardless, the most important comedy improvisational rule (and in my opinion, life rule) held true: If you make someone look good, you look good.
Question –Are ghosts real? If so, do they watch us shower? When we sex? Are they just pervs? Answer - Should I (stop teasing them when i get nekkid?)
Zachary B Atkinson – Wilmington, North Carolina
Jax’s Answer – It’s really just a matter of perspective when dealing with disembodied spirits or souls. Generally they don’t cross over until they complete some unfinished business. It seems as if you might sense apparitions when you’re in very exposed and vulnerable situations. I am not able to speak to ghosts but I did some research since you’re a loyal reader. I contacted Maria, a reputable psychic that I learned about on television in the middle of the night. I called her 1-900 number and asked her about your inquiry. She explained (in broken English) that some recently deceased perverted hottie wanted to shower and have sex with you. Sadly, she never had the chance. There’s good news because Maria provides a variety of services. Once you give her your credit card number, she’d be more than happy to send over one of her employees named Amber. This retired stripper will act as a “vessel” for the ghost and you could help the naughty hot girl fulfill her Zach fanatasies so she can venture to the other side. It would truly be a “paranormal mitzvah.”
Question - Want to hang out sometime?
Scott Garrison New York, NY
Jax’s answer - I assume you mean celebrate New Kids on the Block’s 1988 album “Hangin' Tough”. Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!
Question - What's the best TP tactic - fold or crumple?
Brian Levy Dallas, Texas
Jax’s Answer – Brian, I consider myself a bit of a toilet paper connoisseur. When participating in the sacred art of wipage, I feel the wiper should put great thought and care into the shape of their TP to create an experience that is memorable on a regular(hopefully if you’re healthy)basis. It should not be a decision made in haste. Remember, you’re sending a message to your derriere that says “Hey, I care about you. We’re in this together.” I highly suggest using the Japanese art form of origami when choosing your tactic. Luckily I befriended a very delightful Benihana chef who was more than happy to teach me how to make a delicate toilet paper swan. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to get you in touch with Yasashiku. Your steak chicken combo will be discounted if you tell him that you’re impressed with the size of his Hibachi.
Question - Dear Jax...You watch commercials, right? I'm assuming so.... and so you've seen the Cialis commercial with 2 middle-aged persons on the top of the hill in separate bath tubs. Well, Cialis is for Erectile Dysfunction (or "penis problems")....so if the medicine was working properly, wouldn't the 2 people need to SHARE the tub? This has me in a quandary....
Sincerely~
Claire Evans Adams, Raleigh, NC
Jax’s Answer – I know someone who is the sister of the roommate of the exchange student of the key grip who worked on that commercial. Here’s what I found out for you: There is actually a "third party” underwater in the man’s bath (well hidden by the bubbles.) If you look closely, you can see the snorkel. Cialis is also effective if you ever have the urge to drag your bathtub up a hill.
- Question - How on earth do you get the guts, courage, chutzpah to stand up and be funny in front of crowds of often inebriated and sometimes rather impolite strangers?
Melissa J Peltier , Nyack, NY
Jax’s Answer – My goal has always been to connect with the audience. If I come from that place, I don’t find that I get unwelcomed disturbances from the crowd. Audiences are generally on the side of the comedian. A few weeks ago I was doing a set at a show where another comedian was getting heckled. The performer gave the annoying audience member too much power by engaging him for too long. The next comedian asked the guy (who was below par on the looks scale) if he had a girlfriend. It was rather mean spirited and he continued to get heckled. I was next and was prepared for the same scenario. I decided to go in a totally different direction and began just praising the guy. He was caught off guard and remained quiet for my entire set. Granted, when I walked off the stage he told me, “I like you. You look like Vanna White.” Regardless, the most important comedy improvisational rule (and in my opinion, life rule) held true: If you make someone look good, you look good.
Question –Are ghosts real? If so, do they watch us shower? When we sex? Are they just pervs? Answer - Should I (stop teasing them when i get nekkid?)
Zachary B Atkinson – Wilmington, North Carolina
Jax’s Answer – It’s really just a matter of perspective when dealing with disembodied spirits or souls. Generally they don’t cross over until they complete some unfinished business. It seems as if you might sense apparitions when you’re in very exposed and vulnerable situations. I am not able to speak to ghosts but I did some research since you’re a loyal reader. I contacted Maria, a reputable psychic that I learned about on television in the middle of the night. I called her 1-900 number and asked her about your inquiry. She explained (in broken English) that some recently deceased perverted hottie wanted to shower and have sex with you. Sadly, she never had the chance. There’s good news because Maria provides a variety of services. Once you give her your credit card number, she’d be more than happy to send over one of her employees named Amber. This retired stripper will act as a “vessel” for the ghost and you could help the naughty hot girl fulfill her Zach fanatasies so she can venture to the other side. It would truly be a “paranormal mitzvah.”
Question - Want to hang out sometime?
Scott Garrison New York, NY
Jax’s answer - I assume you mean celebrate New Kids on the Block’s 1988 album “Hangin' Tough”. Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Day 50 - Ask Jax - Part 1
September 27th, 2009
This is the first installment of my "Ask Jax" series. I'm open to answering any of your pressing inquiries. Any topic. I can't guarantee instant publication, but I will hold onto all questions and attempt to answer them at some point during my 365 day blog entry challenge. Remember there are no stupid questions. Just stupid people who ask questions.
Question - Thanks j. My question is "Why?" Just "Why?" and if we're allowed two questions, I'd also like to know "how?"
Jeremy Shedrow, Atlanta, Georgia
Jax’s Answer - Existentialists have been philosophizing over this quandary for quite some time. We’ll begin with your second question. Clearly you want to know “HOW Fabio has a career? Well Jeremy Shedrow, the Italian male fashion model claimed fame in the romance world for appearing on hundreds of romance book covers. The first of which was “Hearts Aflame” in 1987. We read that in book club. Remember? Oh, you also ask “ WHY did he suffer a one-inch cut on his nose after a bird hit him while riding the new Apollo's Chariot roller coaster at Busch Gardens Williamsburg?” Officials say that it was a premeditated “birding”. When brought in for questioning, the disgruntled feathered animal admitted to seeking revenge after being replaced by Fabio Lanzoni for the lead in the “I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" commercial.
Question - I am having trouble with this equation:
f(x)= sin2xCos2x*ln e ** y * tan(x)
Dan Verkman, Bethesda Maryland
Jax’s answer – The bus made 9 stops.
Question - Why do certain groups of people talk so loudly on the subway...was that information I really needed and were they just helping me? Am I looking at a positive and seeing a negative...should I have joined in using the "n" word over and over and over , recounting the Karma Sutra positions used earlier on in the day, degraded the handicapped elderly man, who just wanted a seat?? I guess I have forgotten the fun of late night public transport...help Jax!! I need an answer! I think I had the Grandma look of disapproval all over my face for 55 blocks...without your help it may get stuck!!! -
Ruth Kabat Thomas - New York, NY
Jax’s Answer - If you had paid closer attention, you would have seen that the offender was actually Grandma causing the entire ruckus. For her 90th birthday, I am making a t-shirt for all of us that reads “My grandma went on the New York City subway, degraded a handicapped elderly man, dropped some "N" bombs and shared some dope Karma Sutra positions ….AND all I got was this stupid t-shirt.”
Question - Why don't people give the spork the respect it deserves? I mean, in registering for wedding gifts, which - I also think we should do for our yearly birthdays, I saw no Vera Wang or Kate Spade sporks!!!"
Emily Fitch, Charlotte, North Carolina
Jax’s Answer - I share your conundrum as I’ve always felt that sporks have unjustifiably been neglected in cutlery circles. In fact, I get so heated on this topic that I was inspired to write about it in one of my first blog entries. Please refer to Day 7 – SPORKIES.
Question - Dear Jax, Why doesn't the hybrid of an orange and a lime taste delicious? Signed, Disappointed.
Christine Rague, Brazil
Jax’s Answer - Oh sweet Christine, hybrids are indeed a bold choice. Not every cross breed can attain worldwide praise and hit the red carpet like labradoodles and the turduckens. You live in Brazil, so let me break it down for you in a way that you can understand. The unfortunate citrus overload union of lime and orange will never result in a “Carnival” in your mouth. Just the act of mixing the two colors will leave us with an aesthetically unattractive brownish color. And what else is brown and gross? That’s right Bobby Brown.
Question - What turn has your life ever taken that you didn't expect? What happened by chance that changed you forever?
Page Newsom Pelphrey, Guilford CT
Jax’s Answer - My cousin Gail (who was more of big sister) passed away two years ago at 37. She was married with a 3 year old daughter, a loving pediatrician and my biggest cheerleader. She epitomized power and courage while battling cancer for three years. I spent much time with her having very candid conversations. Watching someone who knew she was going to die live so presently and fearlessly changed me forever. I still feel her.
Question - What is the meaning of life?
Fredda, Gordon , North Bergen, NJ/NYC
Jax’s Answer – Rosebud
Question - What is the appropriate action to take when you are innocently sitting in the park with your child in her stroller when the father of a father & son duo, kicking a soccer ball in a way-to-small-park-to-be-kicking-a-soccer-ball park, kicks the ball directly into the right side of your child's face? Even though he apologizes and then stupidly says "I guess it's a little dangerous sitting here!
Debbie Ross Serrano – New York, NY
Jax’s Answer - Immediately hand him a copy of my book, “Even Though You’re a Father..You’re Still a Douche”.
This is the first installment of my "Ask Jax" series. I'm open to answering any of your pressing inquiries. Any topic. I can't guarantee instant publication, but I will hold onto all questions and attempt to answer them at some point during my 365 day blog entry challenge. Remember there are no stupid questions. Just stupid people who ask questions.
Question - Thanks j. My question is "Why?" Just "Why?" and if we're allowed two questions, I'd also like to know "how?"
Jeremy Shedrow, Atlanta, Georgia
Jax’s Answer - Existentialists have been philosophizing over this quandary for quite some time. We’ll begin with your second question. Clearly you want to know “HOW Fabio has a career? Well Jeremy Shedrow, the Italian male fashion model claimed fame in the romance world for appearing on hundreds of romance book covers. The first of which was “Hearts Aflame” in 1987. We read that in book club. Remember? Oh, you also ask “ WHY did he suffer a one-inch cut on his nose after a bird hit him while riding the new Apollo's Chariot roller coaster at Busch Gardens Williamsburg?” Officials say that it was a premeditated “birding”. When brought in for questioning, the disgruntled feathered animal admitted to seeking revenge after being replaced by Fabio Lanzoni for the lead in the “I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" commercial.
Question - I am having trouble with this equation:
f(x)= sin2xCos2x*ln e ** y * tan(x)
Dan Verkman, Bethesda Maryland
Jax’s answer – The bus made 9 stops.
Question - Why do certain groups of people talk so loudly on the subway...was that information I really needed and were they just helping me? Am I looking at a positive and seeing a negative...should I have joined in using the "n" word over and over and over , recounting the Karma Sutra positions used earlier on in the day, degraded the handicapped elderly man, who just wanted a seat?? I guess I have forgotten the fun of late night public transport...help Jax!! I need an answer! I think I had the Grandma look of disapproval all over my face for 55 blocks...without your help it may get stuck!!! -
Ruth Kabat Thomas - New York, NY
Jax’s Answer - If you had paid closer attention, you would have seen that the offender was actually Grandma causing the entire ruckus. For her 90th birthday, I am making a t-shirt for all of us that reads “My grandma went on the New York City subway, degraded a handicapped elderly man, dropped some "N" bombs and shared some dope Karma Sutra positions ….AND all I got was this stupid t-shirt.”
Question - Why don't people give the spork the respect it deserves? I mean, in registering for wedding gifts, which - I also think we should do for our yearly birthdays, I saw no Vera Wang or Kate Spade sporks!!!"
Emily Fitch, Charlotte, North Carolina
Jax’s Answer - I share your conundrum as I’ve always felt that sporks have unjustifiably been neglected in cutlery circles. In fact, I get so heated on this topic that I was inspired to write about it in one of my first blog entries. Please refer to Day 7 – SPORKIES.
Question - Dear Jax, Why doesn't the hybrid of an orange and a lime taste delicious? Signed, Disappointed.
Christine Rague, Brazil
Jax’s Answer - Oh sweet Christine, hybrids are indeed a bold choice. Not every cross breed can attain worldwide praise and hit the red carpet like labradoodles and the turduckens. You live in Brazil, so let me break it down for you in a way that you can understand. The unfortunate citrus overload union of lime and orange will never result in a “Carnival” in your mouth. Just the act of mixing the two colors will leave us with an aesthetically unattractive brownish color. And what else is brown and gross? That’s right Bobby Brown.
Question - What turn has your life ever taken that you didn't expect? What happened by chance that changed you forever?
Page Newsom Pelphrey, Guilford CT
Jax’s Answer - My cousin Gail (who was more of big sister) passed away two years ago at 37. She was married with a 3 year old daughter, a loving pediatrician and my biggest cheerleader. She epitomized power and courage while battling cancer for three years. I spent much time with her having very candid conversations. Watching someone who knew she was going to die live so presently and fearlessly changed me forever. I still feel her.
Question - What is the meaning of life?
Fredda, Gordon , North Bergen, NJ/NYC
Jax’s Answer – Rosebud
Question - What is the appropriate action to take when you are innocently sitting in the park with your child in her stroller when the father of a father & son duo, kicking a soccer ball in a way-to-small-park-to-be-kicking-a-soccer-ball park, kicks the ball directly into the right side of your child's face? Even though he apologizes and then stupidly says "I guess it's a little dangerous sitting here!
Debbie Ross Serrano – New York, NY
Jax’s Answer - Immediately hand him a copy of my book, “Even Though You’re a Father..You’re Still a Douche”.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Day 49 - Coincidence? You Make the Call
September 26th , 2009
Last week deep in the depths of the suburbs of San Francisco, I was watching Sesame Street with my niece. This particular episode was brought to me by the letter R and number 7. In one vignette, multiracial kids were sitting on a stoop with a “safe” adult. It occurred to me that my neighborhood in Brooklyn is pretty much an exact replica of the locale for this children's television series. Can I tell you how to get to Sesame Street? Funny you should ask because yes, yes I can. Just take the F train to the Bergen stop.
On the urban stairs, the man started to play a tune with his small-bodied guitar. I don’t recall what the song was about so let’s just say it pertained to the 1917 Russian Revolution that lead to civil war and the creation of a communist government. As the song gained momentum, passer buyers with their own instruments in hand, started to join the original group on the stoop. One man just happened to be walking by with his uncased 40 pound double bass. I was just relieved that this guy found a band in the making that(at that very moment) needed a ginormous instrument that could provide tones in a low-pitched range. What were the chances? I took pause and was reminded that throughout my life, I’ve had a hard time ignoring a good coincidence.
Such occurrences tend to present themselves quite frequently in commercials. My first recollection of a solid coinkidink was the televised ad for REESE’S peanut butter cups in the early 80’s . A strapping man eating chocolate and a pretty lady eating peanut butter (with a spoon out of the tub… who doesn’t?) turn opposite corners and their edibles collide. “You stuck your chocolate in my peanut butter!” You stuck your peanut butter in my chocolate!” Giggling, the birth of my favorite dessert and a solid introduction to sexual education ensued. Also, every jewelry commercial seems to have at least one obligatory advertisement that involves a man giving a woman a diamond engagement ring in some Italian Piazza. Cut to the "to be married” couple spinning around in glee. It seems conveniently coincidental that she always says yes. I guess her rejecting the proposal would make the rest of their Italian getaway rather awkward. ‘”I just need more time because I’m sleeping with your best friend.” Next up: pantyhose commercials: Finding the perfect close fitting woman’s garment will undoubtedly inspire attractive shiny haired white teethed women to prance around town to celebrate finding a pantyhose that flatters the contour of their figures. I’ve been happy a lot in my life. Seldom have I had the urge to express that joy through exaggerated mobility. However, I assume it will happen when I get a marriage proposal in an Italian piazza while wearing some kick ass pantyhose.
3 other Jax observed coincidences:
1) The formation of the Village people exemplifies a gay as in happy accident. The universe connected a homosexual police officer, Indian, cowboy, construction worker, biker, & a military man that just wanted to sing. The sum of their parts..really was..magical.
2) Girls I’m not friends with all just happen to drink appletinis , watch Grey’s Anatomy and sing along to “I will Survive”.
3)Any type of ailment you go to at the health center in college will be diagnosed as “pink eye”.
SCENARIOS -
You: I think I have an ingrown toenail.
Doctor: Nope, it’s pink eye.
You: I’m a little itchy. I assume it’s from partaking in many random acts of unsafe promiscuous sex.
Doctor: Think again. It is most definitely pink eye.
You: I have this problem..it’s in my eye..it’s pink…
Doctor: I’ve never seen this before. It’s safe to assume that it’s incurable and you have a 3-5 business days to live. I suggest that you get your affairs in order.
Blog reader, as you know..I feel a connection between us. You might burn your hand on a stove. I assure you that I will feel your burn. My burn. Our burn.
I leave you with an incident that is sure to blow your mind. A plane leaves O’Hare airport at exactly 125 miles per hour. At the SAME time a man in Little Rock, Arkansas buys a pound of ground beef. Coincidence? You Make the Call.
Last week deep in the depths of the suburbs of San Francisco, I was watching Sesame Street with my niece. This particular episode was brought to me by the letter R and number 7. In one vignette, multiracial kids were sitting on a stoop with a “safe” adult. It occurred to me that my neighborhood in Brooklyn is pretty much an exact replica of the locale for this children's television series. Can I tell you how to get to Sesame Street? Funny you should ask because yes, yes I can. Just take the F train to the Bergen stop.
On the urban stairs, the man started to play a tune with his small-bodied guitar. I don’t recall what the song was about so let’s just say it pertained to the 1917 Russian Revolution that lead to civil war and the creation of a communist government. As the song gained momentum, passer buyers with their own instruments in hand, started to join the original group on the stoop. One man just happened to be walking by with his uncased 40 pound double bass. I was just relieved that this guy found a band in the making that(at that very moment) needed a ginormous instrument that could provide tones in a low-pitched range. What were the chances? I took pause and was reminded that throughout my life, I’ve had a hard time ignoring a good coincidence.
Such occurrences tend to present themselves quite frequently in commercials. My first recollection of a solid coinkidink was the televised ad for REESE’S peanut butter cups in the early 80’s . A strapping man eating chocolate and a pretty lady eating peanut butter (with a spoon out of the tub… who doesn’t?) turn opposite corners and their edibles collide. “You stuck your chocolate in my peanut butter!” You stuck your peanut butter in my chocolate!” Giggling, the birth of my favorite dessert and a solid introduction to sexual education ensued. Also, every jewelry commercial seems to have at least one obligatory advertisement that involves a man giving a woman a diamond engagement ring in some Italian Piazza. Cut to the "to be married” couple spinning around in glee. It seems conveniently coincidental that she always says yes. I guess her rejecting the proposal would make the rest of their Italian getaway rather awkward. ‘”I just need more time because I’m sleeping with your best friend.” Next up: pantyhose commercials: Finding the perfect close fitting woman’s garment will undoubtedly inspire attractive shiny haired white teethed women to prance around town to celebrate finding a pantyhose that flatters the contour of their figures. I’ve been happy a lot in my life. Seldom have I had the urge to express that joy through exaggerated mobility. However, I assume it will happen when I get a marriage proposal in an Italian piazza while wearing some kick ass pantyhose.
3 other Jax observed coincidences:
1) The formation of the Village people exemplifies a gay as in happy accident. The universe connected a homosexual police officer, Indian, cowboy, construction worker, biker, & a military man that just wanted to sing. The sum of their parts..really was..magical.
2) Girls I’m not friends with all just happen to drink appletinis , watch Grey’s Anatomy and sing along to “I will Survive”.
3)Any type of ailment you go to at the health center in college will be diagnosed as “pink eye”.
SCENARIOS -
You: I think I have an ingrown toenail.
Doctor: Nope, it’s pink eye.
You: I’m a little itchy. I assume it’s from partaking in many random acts of unsafe promiscuous sex.
Doctor: Think again. It is most definitely pink eye.
You: I have this problem..it’s in my eye..it’s pink…
Doctor: I’ve never seen this before. It’s safe to assume that it’s incurable and you have a 3-5 business days to live. I suggest that you get your affairs in order.
Blog reader, as you know..I feel a connection between us. You might burn your hand on a stove. I assure you that I will feel your burn. My burn. Our burn.
I leave you with an incident that is sure to blow your mind. A plane leaves O’Hare airport at exactly 125 miles per hour. At the SAME time a man in Little Rock, Arkansas buys a pound of ground beef. Coincidence? You Make the Call.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Day 48 - Good Day Sunshine. Or Not
September 25th, 2009
Today is a stream of consciousness entry. I've prepared no outline for this blog so i will just jump right in. When I started my 365 day writing challenge, I made a promise to always be honest with you. Well today is day 48 and I’m having some anxiety. It’s not debilitating but I’m feeling a bit dim. We all suffer from the bullshit scripts that we create in our head. It’s not real. I’m fabulous at being the voice of reason and telling my friends that these hypothetical stories that we tell ourselves are worthless fiction. I’ve been at the bottom looking up and I’ve been at the top looking down. For better or for worse, I have a wide range of feelings to compare my present mood to. I could feel worse. I could feel better.
I have this “special” quality. My friend Danny tells me, “Jax, you’re a feeler.” Most creative people are and it’s a blessing and curse. We all are the sum of our life experiences and I do understand the significance of ambiguity. We have to have our blah days for a frame of reference that helps us recognize the joy when life shines brighter. But riding through unpleasantness isn’t so fun. Logically, I know what I have to do. For me, surrounding myself with positive people and releasing some angst through creative endeavors consistently proves to be quite healing. I’d be lying if I told you that I’m the poster child for self help and always make an immediate commitment to turn my mood around . Perhaps there is some wisdom to just sitting with what is contributing to feeling off unbalance. But marinating in it is the worse type of punishment that we can impose on ourselves. The challenge is for us to be in control of dimness and not allow it control us. So easy to say.
Yesterday I mentioned the joie de vivre of Richard Simmons. Sure, I can interpret his essence as sunshine because I’ve only experienced his manic vibe on television and seemingly pleasant demeanor one time on the street. But I don’t jade myself. Anyone who is that chipper is masking some well hidden demon filled dark side. This is why I can’t live in LA. I’d miss the rainy days where I’m given permission to hibernate. No questions asked. That city is like a giant over lit sound stage where people eat a lot of fish tacos.
A relative of mine is married with the lovely family and living in a lovely house in a lovely southern town. If you ask him how life is, he will, without hesitation, reply, “Livin’ the dream.” And he is living his dream. No doubt. I’ve accepted that the capacity for one’s happiness ranges and the scope is wide. For me, I need to fill a jug. Some people need to fill a thimble.
The people that I gravitate towards tend to be unique, fascinatingly complicated and evolved. The principles of the laws of attraction have held true. Everyone in our lives is an exact mirror of where and who we we are on our particular journey. This philosophy helps me keep the faith because I like who I’m drawing in. So, thank you people in my life. I can ride through the angst ridden days in stride because your reflection reminds me that I am on the right path for me and “livin’ my dream."
Today is a stream of consciousness entry. I've prepared no outline for this blog so i will just jump right in. When I started my 365 day writing challenge, I made a promise to always be honest with you. Well today is day 48 and I’m having some anxiety. It’s not debilitating but I’m feeling a bit dim. We all suffer from the bullshit scripts that we create in our head. It’s not real. I’m fabulous at being the voice of reason and telling my friends that these hypothetical stories that we tell ourselves are worthless fiction. I’ve been at the bottom looking up and I’ve been at the top looking down. For better or for worse, I have a wide range of feelings to compare my present mood to. I could feel worse. I could feel better.
I have this “special” quality. My friend Danny tells me, “Jax, you’re a feeler.” Most creative people are and it’s a blessing and curse. We all are the sum of our life experiences and I do understand the significance of ambiguity. We have to have our blah days for a frame of reference that helps us recognize the joy when life shines brighter. But riding through unpleasantness isn’t so fun. Logically, I know what I have to do. For me, surrounding myself with positive people and releasing some angst through creative endeavors consistently proves to be quite healing. I’d be lying if I told you that I’m the poster child for self help and always make an immediate commitment to turn my mood around . Perhaps there is some wisdom to just sitting with what is contributing to feeling off unbalance. But marinating in it is the worse type of punishment that we can impose on ourselves. The challenge is for us to be in control of dimness and not allow it control us. So easy to say.
Yesterday I mentioned the joie de vivre of Richard Simmons. Sure, I can interpret his essence as sunshine because I’ve only experienced his manic vibe on television and seemingly pleasant demeanor one time on the street. But I don’t jade myself. Anyone who is that chipper is masking some well hidden demon filled dark side. This is why I can’t live in LA. I’d miss the rainy days where I’m given permission to hibernate. No questions asked. That city is like a giant over lit sound stage where people eat a lot of fish tacos.
A relative of mine is married with the lovely family and living in a lovely house in a lovely southern town. If you ask him how life is, he will, without hesitation, reply, “Livin’ the dream.” And he is living his dream. No doubt. I’ve accepted that the capacity for one’s happiness ranges and the scope is wide. For me, I need to fill a jug. Some people need to fill a thimble.
The people that I gravitate towards tend to be unique, fascinatingly complicated and evolved. The principles of the laws of attraction have held true. Everyone in our lives is an exact mirror of where and who we we are on our particular journey. This philosophy helps me keep the faith because I like who I’m drawing in. So, thank you people in my life. I can ride through the angst ridden days in stride because your reflection reminds me that I am on the right path for me and “livin’ my dream."
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Day 47 - I’m With Evil
September 24th, 2009
Last winter I passed Richard Simmons on the streets of midtown Manhattan. There really is none more sassy about weight loss than he. “Sweatin’ to the Oldies”. Brilliant stuff.
Sadly the eccentric fitness personality was not wearing his signature über short shorts on this cold day. But I’ll tell you what he was wearing. A smile. This guy truly is a caricature of a caricature and I love him. Not like run through the fields, scream it from the rooftops and let’s make a baby kind of love. I just have to give a piece of my heart to the little guy for having such fervor and commitment towards his agenda. Granted, Hitler did too. But his plan seems relatively harmless. There really is nothing inherently evil about the guy.
I hate evil people and their ugly souls. I’m blessed to be surrounded by genuinely authentic, driven and kind people. However, every now and then, I’ve gotten a glimpse of some individuals who insight the devil. My thoughts on the Prince of Darkness: I’m generally sympathetic to a powerful, evil entity who is the tempter of humankind. I “get” that he/she is just misunderstood. I just don’t appreciate when it fucks with me personally.
Blog reader. Sharing is caring. I don’t want evil to cross your path. I love you. I want to protect you from the people who have demons lurking inside their souls. Below are a few signs to look for if you suspect that someone in your life might be evil.
1)Does the person cut out letters from magazines? Beware. Evil doers love 2 things: Ransom notes and scrap booking.
2) Do they prefer bald cats?
3) If you cross paths with twin babies it is safe to assume that one of them is morally corrupt. It generally is not well received to casually ask the parents, “So which one is evil?”
4) Do they read literature entitled “Evil Enthusiast”?
5) Are they the type of person who continuously will say something mean..realize they don’t get a positive reaction..then tries to cover up by saying they’re just kidding? No, they’re evil. And an asshole.
6) Do they watch Fox news?
7) Have they described “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” as comic gold?
8) Expecting a baby? Has your spouse said, “Gosh, I hope the child has your hair and my evil.”
9) Do they say things like “The Middle East conflict is adorable! I wish I could tie a pretty red bow around the chaos and put it on my mantle. Next to the urn."
10) Have they said, “You know, Al Roker seems like a real stand up guy. I’d like to be friends with him. Perhaps share a latté.”
If the above applies to people in your life..please call me immediately. Of course, it might take me 3 to 5 business days to save you. Until my arrival, it is crucial that you play(over and over) the Richard Simmon’s DVD, “Shimmy Into Shape”. It’s like kryptonite to the evil.
Last winter I passed Richard Simmons on the streets of midtown Manhattan. There really is none more sassy about weight loss than he. “Sweatin’ to the Oldies”. Brilliant stuff.
Sadly the eccentric fitness personality was not wearing his signature über short shorts on this cold day. But I’ll tell you what he was wearing. A smile. This guy truly is a caricature of a caricature and I love him. Not like run through the fields, scream it from the rooftops and let’s make a baby kind of love. I just have to give a piece of my heart to the little guy for having such fervor and commitment towards his agenda. Granted, Hitler did too. But his plan seems relatively harmless. There really is nothing inherently evil about the guy.
I hate evil people and their ugly souls. I’m blessed to be surrounded by genuinely authentic, driven and kind people. However, every now and then, I’ve gotten a glimpse of some individuals who insight the devil. My thoughts on the Prince of Darkness: I’m generally sympathetic to a powerful, evil entity who is the tempter of humankind. I “get” that he/she is just misunderstood. I just don’t appreciate when it fucks with me personally.
Blog reader. Sharing is caring. I don’t want evil to cross your path. I love you. I want to protect you from the people who have demons lurking inside their souls. Below are a few signs to look for if you suspect that someone in your life might be evil.
1)Does the person cut out letters from magazines? Beware. Evil doers love 2 things: Ransom notes and scrap booking.
2) Do they prefer bald cats?
3) If you cross paths with twin babies it is safe to assume that one of them is morally corrupt. It generally is not well received to casually ask the parents, “So which one is evil?”
4) Do they read literature entitled “Evil Enthusiast”?
5) Are they the type of person who continuously will say something mean..realize they don’t get a positive reaction..then tries to cover up by saying they’re just kidding? No, they’re evil. And an asshole.
6) Do they watch Fox news?
7) Have they described “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” as comic gold?
8) Expecting a baby? Has your spouse said, “Gosh, I hope the child has your hair and my evil.”
9) Do they say things like “The Middle East conflict is adorable! I wish I could tie a pretty red bow around the chaos and put it on my mantle. Next to the urn."
10) Have they said, “You know, Al Roker seems like a real stand up guy. I’d like to be friends with him. Perhaps share a latté.”
If the above applies to people in your life..please call me immediately. Of course, it might take me 3 to 5 business days to save you. Until my arrival, it is crucial that you play(over and over) the Richard Simmon’s DVD, “Shimmy Into Shape”. It’s like kryptonite to the evil.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Day 46 - Conscience Be Gone
September, 23rd, 2009
Taylor Swift should be thanking Kanye West. Hardcore. Don’t get me wrong. I know that KW is the exaggeration of self righteousness and lives in a giant statue of himself in the land of delusions of grandeur. But from a PR standpoint, his VMA opera moment(me me me me me I I I I I) introduced the innocent young country pop star to many who were unfamiliar to the Swift that is Taylor. The newest fans are now personally invested in her career and post interruption emotional state. “I just feel her pain. Taylor has been like a daughter to me.” Heartwarming stuff.
But as far as Kanye’s own future..I just want to simplify his episode and sum it up as a bad bad …baaaaad idea.
YET, it did inspire me to create a syllabus for a day that I would like to dedicate to BAD DECISION MAKING.
Jax’s agenda for her a day of self sabotage:
• Hold auditions for an all lesbian production of “12 Angry Men”
• Go to dinner at the Olive Garden and yell over and over, “ It really does feel like the old country!”
• Plan to kill someone and journal about it
• Throw a party where all invitees must bring a copy of their W-2’s
• Go to a red state and find a locale where middle aged white women congregate. I will calmly(yet firmly) announce, “You know, I don’t really care for Oprah.” Then run away. Fast
• Get married and withhold sex from my husband
• Get a lot of cats
• Call everyone I know at work and ask, “Working hard or hardly working?” Giggle. Hang up
• Perform a comedy set in Dutch
• Wear an adult onesie
• If taunted, tell said taunter "Bring it" or “Your Mama “
• Take my older brother’s camera. Get defensive when he asks if I used it. When the pictures get developed there is a fuzzy close-up of my face which I took of myself. Oops. I already did that in 1983. Check.
• Follow Madonna’s lead and acquire a British accent for no apparent reason
• Get a tattoo on my forehead that says “I’m with stupid. That’s right you.”
• Tell someone, “I’m sure your baby will ‘grow into’ her looks. Well, let’s hope so.” Then laugh.
• Go to the airport and ride on the luggage carousel
• Sit in on an AA meeting and say to the group, “Come on..part of you must miss when alcohol mixes with lack of reason and accountability? Seriously. Right?”
• Get trapped in a well. For publicity
• Take a post-Renaissance sculpting class and sculpt a bust of Lionel Ritchie‘s head
• Put a photo of a child as my profile picture on Facebook. But not of my niece, nephew or friend’s kids. I’ll just Google Image search “Kid” and post the first picture that comes up
• Go to a concert where the lead singer yells, Are you ready to rock?!” I reply, “No. No I am not.”
Eventually I would complete my day of no conscience. After the disorder, shear madness and shits & giggles, I would gently ask to have my moral goodness returned.
Taylor Swift should be thanking Kanye West. Hardcore. Don’t get me wrong. I know that KW is the exaggeration of self righteousness and lives in a giant statue of himself in the land of delusions of grandeur. But from a PR standpoint, his VMA opera moment(me me me me me I I I I I) introduced the innocent young country pop star to many who were unfamiliar to the Swift that is Taylor. The newest fans are now personally invested in her career and post interruption emotional state. “I just feel her pain. Taylor has been like a daughter to me.” Heartwarming stuff.
But as far as Kanye’s own future..I just want to simplify his episode and sum it up as a bad bad …baaaaad idea.
YET, it did inspire me to create a syllabus for a day that I would like to dedicate to BAD DECISION MAKING.
Jax’s agenda for her a day of self sabotage:
• Hold auditions for an all lesbian production of “12 Angry Men”
• Go to dinner at the Olive Garden and yell over and over, “ It really does feel like the old country!”
• Plan to kill someone and journal about it
• Throw a party where all invitees must bring a copy of their W-2’s
• Go to a red state and find a locale where middle aged white women congregate. I will calmly(yet firmly) announce, “You know, I don’t really care for Oprah.” Then run away. Fast
• Get married and withhold sex from my husband
• Get a lot of cats
• Call everyone I know at work and ask, “Working hard or hardly working?” Giggle. Hang up
• Perform a comedy set in Dutch
• Wear an adult onesie
• If taunted, tell said taunter "Bring it" or “Your Mama “
• Take my older brother’s camera. Get defensive when he asks if I used it. When the pictures get developed there is a fuzzy close-up of my face which I took of myself. Oops. I already did that in 1983. Check.
• Follow Madonna’s lead and acquire a British accent for no apparent reason
• Get a tattoo on my forehead that says “I’m with stupid. That’s right you.”
• Tell someone, “I’m sure your baby will ‘grow into’ her looks. Well, let’s hope so.” Then laugh.
• Go to the airport and ride on the luggage carousel
• Sit in on an AA meeting and say to the group, “Come on..part of you must miss when alcohol mixes with lack of reason and accountability? Seriously. Right?”
• Get trapped in a well. For publicity
• Take a post-Renaissance sculpting class and sculpt a bust of Lionel Ritchie‘s head
• Put a photo of a child as my profile picture on Facebook. But not of my niece, nephew or friend’s kids. I’ll just Google Image search “Kid” and post the first picture that comes up
• Go to a concert where the lead singer yells, Are you ready to rock?!” I reply, “No. No I am not.”
Eventually I would complete my day of no conscience. After the disorder, shear madness and shits & giggles, I would gently ask to have my moral goodness returned.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Day 45 - Feel This Way Now! Dammit!
September 22, 2009
Picking a font is like picking a mate. Arial is super sexy. Looks good in Bold and Italics. But I also dig Times Roman. More reliable. A total sweetheart.
Here’s the deal. I have an objection to the the surplus of symbols and expressions intended to set the tone to our writing. If we want to feel the same way as the person next to us, let’s go see a mediocre summer Blockbuster movie about communism. I feel that all authentic expression being oozed out to the universe through any artistic vehicle should allow the recipient to make his or her own interpretation. It seems a bit presumptuous to assume that what I write or perform would reach everyone in the same way. If this happens, I’m not stretching myself enough.
An example if you will: Let’s take 2 people's response to viewing the Mona Lisa at Musée du Louvre:
Person A - This masterpiece really defines Italian renaissance work with its sfumato technique, realistic portrayal, chiaroscuro, no excessive detail, simple but real background, serenity and idealism.
Person B - She’s totally following me with her eyes. Nice.
Both answers are fine. Feelings were felt, both peep A & B had a reaction and I imagine that Leonardo da Vinci would have given himself an internal high-five.
Emoticons, the newest mood indicating symbol on the literature scene, scare me. Where is the rest of their body? I assume they’re having sex and procreating because there seems to be an overflow of them these days. If a smiley faced emoticon were to breed with a frowning face , the baby emoticon would clearly be born with a neutral expression. Did you read about the emoticon rape trial where the mischievous angry face said that the winking face was asking for it?
Punctuations have been trying to sway our interpretation since we’ve been hooked on phonics . This sassy line dot combo was created to induce enthusiasm. Pompous. This bugs me and I lashed out when a friend had me proofread a speech. I added exclamation points to the end of every sentence. It wasn’t well received. He said it was totally inappropriate for a eulogy.
I’ve conceptualized my next creative project: “Punctuation!” the movie. This is who I’ve casted so far:
– Exclamation Point -Jim Carey or Richard Simmons
– Quotation Marks –The Olsen or Doublemint Twins
–Period –Tom Hanks – He’s reliable. Gets the jobs done.
– Question Mark – -Geraldo Rivera. Even despicable journalists ask questions. His frightening looks and demeanor make for the perfect antagonist.
– Semi Colon (which I don’t really understand)–Al Roker – Because I don’t know why he has a career.
The Tag line: “In a time when run on sentences were threatening to take over the world as we know it..only a group of symbols that separate words into sentences, clauses, and phrases could save our existence. DreamWorks Pictures present: PUNCTATION!”
This film would be a huge hit and inspire the spectacular, “Punctuation on Ice”.
Ultimately there would be the sequel, “Punctuation VS Emoticon”. In the final climatic scene, the dueling symbols would be convinced to harmoniously work together and save sentence structure by Sir Asterisk, the Yoda of the symbol world.
I smell Oscar
Picking a font is like picking a mate. Arial is super sexy. Looks good in Bold and Italics. But I also dig Times Roman. More reliable. A total sweetheart.
Here’s the deal. I have an objection to the the surplus of symbols and expressions intended to set the tone to our writing. If we want to feel the same way as the person next to us, let’s go see a mediocre summer Blockbuster movie about communism. I feel that all authentic expression being oozed out to the universe through any artistic vehicle should allow the recipient to make his or her own interpretation. It seems a bit presumptuous to assume that what I write or perform would reach everyone in the same way. If this happens, I’m not stretching myself enough.
An example if you will: Let’s take 2 people's response to viewing the Mona Lisa at Musée du Louvre:
Person A - This masterpiece really defines Italian renaissance work with its sfumato technique, realistic portrayal, chiaroscuro, no excessive detail, simple but real background, serenity and idealism.
Person B - She’s totally following me with her eyes. Nice.
Both answers are fine. Feelings were felt, both peep A & B had a reaction and I imagine that Leonardo da Vinci would have given himself an internal high-five.
Emoticons, the newest mood indicating symbol on the literature scene, scare me. Where is the rest of their body? I assume they’re having sex and procreating because there seems to be an overflow of them these days. If a smiley faced emoticon were to breed with a frowning face , the baby emoticon would clearly be born with a neutral expression. Did you read about the emoticon rape trial where the mischievous angry face said that the winking face was asking for it?
Punctuations have been trying to sway our interpretation since we’ve been hooked on phonics . This sassy line dot combo was created to induce enthusiasm. Pompous. This bugs me and I lashed out when a friend had me proofread a speech. I added exclamation points to the end of every sentence. It wasn’t well received. He said it was totally inappropriate for a eulogy.
I’ve conceptualized my next creative project: “Punctuation!” the movie. This is who I’ve casted so far:
– Exclamation Point -Jim Carey or Richard Simmons
– Quotation Marks –The Olsen or Doublemint Twins
–Period –Tom Hanks – He’s reliable. Gets the jobs done.
– Question Mark – -Geraldo Rivera. Even despicable journalists ask questions. His frightening looks and demeanor make for the perfect antagonist.
– Semi Colon (which I don’t really understand)–Al Roker – Because I don’t know why he has a career.
The Tag line: “In a time when run on sentences were threatening to take over the world as we know it..only a group of symbols that separate words into sentences, clauses, and phrases could save our existence. DreamWorks Pictures present: PUNCTATION!”
This film would be a huge hit and inspire the spectacular, “Punctuation on Ice”.
Ultimately there would be the sequel, “Punctuation VS Emoticon”. In the final climatic scene, the dueling symbols would be convinced to harmoniously work together and save sentence structure by Sir Asterisk, the Yoda of the symbol world.
I smell Oscar
Monday, September 21, 2009
Day 44 - Deludapalooza
September 21st, 2009
I’d like to organize an annual outdoor festival in Amphitheaters around the country. It shall be called Deludapalooza. Attendants will consist of disillusioned people who have, over time, stayed committed to believing all that is untrue. This will include:
• Insecure girls at spring break who think that drunk frat boys are after ‘their personality”
• Whoever labeled David Caruso a sex symbol
• Tom cruise and his galactic confederacy
• “Straight” musical theater majors
• Hecklers who think they have a comic gift
• David Hasselhoff fans
• Judgmental vegetarians
• Thin people who think they’re too fat and fat people who think they’re too thin
• Mall speed walkers who think we don’t make fun of them
• Air travelers who don’t expect delays
• OctoMom
• My friend who claims that her boyfriend is a horseback rider. He works at Medieval Times.
• People who
-care about Jon & Kate.
-think they’re carrying a tune in karaoke.
-read the New York Post. It’s like the Onion without the credibility and humor.
-say they love sushi but only order California rolls.
-think there aren’t germs in the bowl of peanuts on the bar
-assume Facebook is here to stay.
-don’t believe that a muffin is just mediocre cake.
Of course I won’t be able to attended Deludapalooza because it coincides with my “People Who Think that Preparing for Retirement is overrated” meeting.
I’d like to organize an annual outdoor festival in Amphitheaters around the country. It shall be called Deludapalooza. Attendants will consist of disillusioned people who have, over time, stayed committed to believing all that is untrue. This will include:
• Insecure girls at spring break who think that drunk frat boys are after ‘their personality”
• Whoever labeled David Caruso a sex symbol
• Tom cruise and his galactic confederacy
• “Straight” musical theater majors
• Hecklers who think they have a comic gift
• David Hasselhoff fans
• Judgmental vegetarians
• Thin people who think they’re too fat and fat people who think they’re too thin
• Mall speed walkers who think we don’t make fun of them
• Air travelers who don’t expect delays
• OctoMom
• My friend who claims that her boyfriend is a horseback rider. He works at Medieval Times.
• People who
-care about Jon & Kate.
-think they’re carrying a tune in karaoke.
-read the New York Post. It’s like the Onion without the credibility and humor.
-say they love sushi but only order California rolls.
-think there aren’t germs in the bowl of peanuts on the bar
-assume Facebook is here to stay.
-don’t believe that a muffin is just mediocre cake.
Of course I won’t be able to attended Deludapalooza because it coincides with my “People Who Think that Preparing for Retirement is overrated” meeting.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Day 43 - Take a Load Off Annie
September 20th, 2009
Spending the last few days with my 10 month old nephew and 3 year old niece inspired a welcome combination of creativity and nostalgia. After reenacting the music of Les Misérables with the Sesame Street dolls(gripping shit), I cuddled with my niece and watched the movie “Annie”. This musical has proven to be a constant throughout my life. There is simply no escaping it.
1) At 5 years old, my family took a vacation to New York City and saw “Annie” live on Broadway. This was back when Times Square was dangerous and Iron Maiden's debut self titled album “ Iron Maiden” was released. Just a little trivial trivia for you. You can thank Wikipedia.
2) At 9 years old, my family ventured to see everyone’s favorite orphan again in Greensboro, North Carolina’s community theater production. My father’s coworker’s dog was making his stage debut as Annie’s beloved furry companion, Sandy. His real life name was Fred Mertz( named after the landlord on "I Love Lucy".) Yes, we went to support the dog. The canine persevered due to his Stanislavski training at the kennel.
3) At 22 years old, I was invited to see the play again with my aunt and younger cousin during its Broadway revival . Nell Carter(The sassy housekeeper in the 80’s sitcom “Gimme a Break!”) played Ms. Hannigan, the tyrannical drunk who runs the orphanage. It seemed like an odd casting choice because all my other “ Annie” experiences had a skinny older white woman playing this character(including the iconic and brilliant Carol Burnett in the movie. ) But Nell gave us a lively and spirited performance . I was satisfied.
Earlier today, while cozily watching the movie with my 3 year old niece, I had the good kind of déjà vu chills and my heart was wonderfully full. Several times, we would just look at each other, scrunch our shoulders up to our ears and giggle. I don’t take any blissful connections lightly. This bonding experience has already been stored in my favorite moment piggy bank.
I am compelled to write a hand written thank you letter(that I will scan and then email) to the people who conceptualized A-N-N-I-E. The problem is that this character has been around many decades(originally featured in a comic book) and has earned herself too many handlers to choose from. For the sake of continuity, I will express my gratitude to Johnson and Phillips. I introduced them to you in “Day 16 - Bacon Fetish”. They are reoccurring fictionalized (but real in my heart) ahead of their time marketing executives with a mutual interest in each other’s wives and unsubtle sexual innuendo for each other.
It’s safe to assume that Ms. Annie was invented in a Manhattan board room like so: (and if you have your doubts..all I ask is that you just allow yourself to believe…)
JOHNSON: Phillips I got it! Annie will be a fiery young orphan girl who lives in a miserable orphanage where every child just happens to be blessed with remarkable singing and dancing talent.
PHILLIPS: So.. like Fame..but an orphanage.
JOHNSON: I love it! Phillips, sometimes I just want to lick you in a way that might result in shame and self-loathing. OK, so this little girl will have a red Afro and an affinity for stray dogs. Her seemingly hopeless situation improves drastically when she is chosen to live with a rich bald Republican. We’ll call him Diddy Warbucks. NO. Daddy Warbucks!
PHILLIPS: Like Different Strokes”..just not with two African American boys being picked up at a playground by another rich white man in a limo to live in a deluxe Manhattan penthouse.
.
JOHNSON : Phillips, if you were heroine..I’d shoot you into my veins. With a dirty needle. Back to Annie! Her charm will obviously inspire Franklin Delano Roosevelt to accompany her in her signature show tune “Tomorrow”.
PHILLIPS : This will provoke the viewers to ask , “Was FDR a musical theater major?”
JOHNSON: Goddamn Phillips..you’re as genius as your wife is flexible. Let’s adopt an Asian baby.
Spending the last few days with my 10 month old nephew and 3 year old niece inspired a welcome combination of creativity and nostalgia. After reenacting the music of Les Misérables with the Sesame Street dolls(gripping shit), I cuddled with my niece and watched the movie “Annie”. This musical has proven to be a constant throughout my life. There is simply no escaping it.
1) At 5 years old, my family took a vacation to New York City and saw “Annie” live on Broadway. This was back when Times Square was dangerous and Iron Maiden's debut self titled album “ Iron Maiden” was released. Just a little trivial trivia for you. You can thank Wikipedia.
2) At 9 years old, my family ventured to see everyone’s favorite orphan again in Greensboro, North Carolina’s community theater production. My father’s coworker’s dog was making his stage debut as Annie’s beloved furry companion, Sandy. His real life name was Fred Mertz( named after the landlord on "I Love Lucy".) Yes, we went to support the dog. The canine persevered due to his Stanislavski training at the kennel.
3) At 22 years old, I was invited to see the play again with my aunt and younger cousin during its Broadway revival . Nell Carter(The sassy housekeeper in the 80’s sitcom “Gimme a Break!”) played Ms. Hannigan, the tyrannical drunk who runs the orphanage. It seemed like an odd casting choice because all my other “ Annie” experiences had a skinny older white woman playing this character(including the iconic and brilliant Carol Burnett in the movie. ) But Nell gave us a lively and spirited performance . I was satisfied.
Earlier today, while cozily watching the movie with my 3 year old niece, I had the good kind of déjà vu chills and my heart was wonderfully full. Several times, we would just look at each other, scrunch our shoulders up to our ears and giggle. I don’t take any blissful connections lightly. This bonding experience has already been stored in my favorite moment piggy bank.
I am compelled to write a hand written thank you letter(that I will scan and then email) to the people who conceptualized A-N-N-I-E. The problem is that this character has been around many decades(originally featured in a comic book) and has earned herself too many handlers to choose from. For the sake of continuity, I will express my gratitude to Johnson and Phillips. I introduced them to you in “Day 16 - Bacon Fetish”. They are reoccurring fictionalized (but real in my heart) ahead of their time marketing executives with a mutual interest in each other’s wives and unsubtle sexual innuendo for each other.
It’s safe to assume that Ms. Annie was invented in a Manhattan board room like so: (and if you have your doubts..all I ask is that you just allow yourself to believe…)
JOHNSON: Phillips I got it! Annie will be a fiery young orphan girl who lives in a miserable orphanage where every child just happens to be blessed with remarkable singing and dancing talent.
PHILLIPS: So.. like Fame..but an orphanage.
JOHNSON: I love it! Phillips, sometimes I just want to lick you in a way that might result in shame and self-loathing. OK, so this little girl will have a red Afro and an affinity for stray dogs. Her seemingly hopeless situation improves drastically when she is chosen to live with a rich bald Republican. We’ll call him Diddy Warbucks. NO. Daddy Warbucks!
PHILLIPS: Like Different Strokes”..just not with two African American boys being picked up at a playground by another rich white man in a limo to live in a deluxe Manhattan penthouse.
.
JOHNSON : Phillips, if you were heroine..I’d shoot you into my veins. With a dirty needle. Back to Annie! Her charm will obviously inspire Franklin Delano Roosevelt to accompany her in her signature show tune “Tomorrow”.
PHILLIPS : This will provoke the viewers to ask , “Was FDR a musical theater major?”
JOHNSON: Goddamn Phillips..you’re as genius as your wife is flexible. Let’s adopt an Asian baby.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Day 42 - Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman
September 19th, 2009
My sister-in-law is a Harvard graduate and a reality TV junkie. When I visit her, my brother and the kids out in the burbs of San Francisco, I expect to be introduced to the newest reality series that is the current darling of the Nielsen Ratings. This time ‘round: “18 Kids and Counting”. This program consists of parents Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar and their 18 children (and she’s preggers.) All the offspring have “J” names BUT they are missing a Jax. Not fundamentalist enough. Please meet Joshua, Jana, John-David, Jill, Jessa, Jinger, Joseph, Josiah, Joy-Anna, Jedidiah, Jeremiah, Jason, James, Justin, Jackson, Johannah, Jennifer, and Jordyn-Grace. All home schooled, remarkably well spoken and seemingly unaffected. Kind of.
I actually knew about this clan from my comedian friend/brother from another mother, Troy Bynum. He has a bit about mummy Duggar’s who-ha resembling a bell. He breaks into some physical comedy when he has her chiming the time for her excessively virile husband. Yeah, I just went here.
Nine years ago I wrote a sketch that tapped into some thoughts about reality television. Mind you, this was conceptualized during this genre’s infancy stage. Intriguing that it still holds true a decade later.
FRANK THE LOVABLE INFLATABLE BLUE-COLLAR CAMERAMAN
(Setting - a restaurant. Husband seated at table. Wife enters)
Husband
Hi Honey! How was your day?
Wife
(Unenthusiastically)
Alright
Husband
Isn’t this place elegant? I hear their Cod is just divine.
(Wife Nods)
I have some exciting news! Mark and Barbara invited us to their country home for the weekend!
Wife
(Monotone)
That should be real nice.
(Wife now remains in “catatonic” state for most of sketch)
Husband
(In a concerned aside)
Gees…ever since Pam returned home from being a cast member on that reality TV show, she’s become so removed and uncommunicative.
Waiter
(Serving water)
It’s more common than you think.
Husband
(Startled)
Excuse me?
Waiter
(Apologetic)
Oh…I’m sorry sir. I just couldn’t help but overhear your pensive aside. I should let you know that when my sister returned home after her stint on a reality TV show, she was also distant and melancholy. At first the symptoms were not so obvious because she was invited to be on all the late-night talk shows and early morning news programs. But when those 15 minutes ended, she simply could not communicate…that is unless she was being filmed. You see your wife has lost the ability to communicate effectively with you or anyone else for that matter unless there is a video camera recording her.
Husband
Hey that must explain why she is so alert and alive when we’re at the ATM machines (Light bulb going off in head)…the cameraaaas. It’s just so sad.
Waiter
You’re telling me. But there is a remedy for this: Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman
Husband
(Confused)
Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman?
Waiter
Yes, Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman. You see, there always seems to be a cameraman, usually named Frank, on every reality TV show. There is something about Frank…be it his soothing Staten Island accent or his jeans that hang just a little too low on his behind. But let’s face it…when Frank is there…people talk.
(A nonchalant observer walks over)
Nonchalant Observer
Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman saved my marriage.
Husband and Waiter
(Startled)
Wait…Who are you?
Nonchalant Observer
Oh..I’m sorry. I’m just a nonchalant observer who was sitting over there enjoying my cod. I couldn’t help but overhear everything you were saying…and believe you me, Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman will bring your wife out of this state of depression.
Husband
Wait..I’m confused. Who and what is Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman?
Nonchalant Observer
I’ll explain. In order to facilitate a loved one’s return to this odd bizarre world with no cameras, reality TV executives are willing to provide you with a Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman to help with this tough transition.
Waiter
Even though this is just a blow-up version of the human Frank…this replica is almost like the living, breathing and beloved cameraman Frank.
Nonchalant Observer
It’s true. He comes with a camera and even sports a stylish mullet. (Hands the “deflated Frank” to the husband) Here Try!Just Blow!
Husband
Blow?
Waiter
(Enthusiastically)
That’s right! blow!
Nonchalant Observer and Waiter
It’s Just That Simple!
Husband
OK…here goes…
(The husband begins to “blow” Frank in a way that appears suggestive. Once doll is blown up, husband is impressed and holds inflated Frank in the direction of the
wife who has been lifeless.) Oh sweetheart…look who came to visit you!
Wife
(Suddenly very awake and alert)
Even though Mark’s cheap and Barbara has that drinking problem…I think a weekend away is just what we need!
Husband
Now there’s the woman I fell in love with.
Waiter
Another success story. Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman is almost as good as that Cod.
(Everyone starts laughing)
THE END
My sister-in-law is a Harvard graduate and a reality TV junkie. When I visit her, my brother and the kids out in the burbs of San Francisco, I expect to be introduced to the newest reality series that is the current darling of the Nielsen Ratings. This time ‘round: “18 Kids and Counting”. This program consists of parents Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar and their 18 children (and she’s preggers.) All the offspring have “J” names BUT they are missing a Jax. Not fundamentalist enough. Please meet Joshua, Jana, John-David, Jill, Jessa, Jinger, Joseph, Josiah, Joy-Anna, Jedidiah, Jeremiah, Jason, James, Justin, Jackson, Johannah, Jennifer, and Jordyn-Grace. All home schooled, remarkably well spoken and seemingly unaffected. Kind of.
I actually knew about this clan from my comedian friend/brother from another mother, Troy Bynum. He has a bit about mummy Duggar’s who-ha resembling a bell. He breaks into some physical comedy when he has her chiming the time for her excessively virile husband. Yeah, I just went here.
Nine years ago I wrote a sketch that tapped into some thoughts about reality television. Mind you, this was conceptualized during this genre’s infancy stage. Intriguing that it still holds true a decade later.
FRANK THE LOVABLE INFLATABLE BLUE-COLLAR CAMERAMAN
(Setting - a restaurant. Husband seated at table. Wife enters)
Husband
Hi Honey! How was your day?
Wife
(Unenthusiastically)
Alright
Husband
Isn’t this place elegant? I hear their Cod is just divine.
(Wife Nods)
I have some exciting news! Mark and Barbara invited us to their country home for the weekend!
Wife
(Monotone)
That should be real nice.
(Wife now remains in “catatonic” state for most of sketch)
Husband
(In a concerned aside)
Gees…ever since Pam returned home from being a cast member on that reality TV show, she’s become so removed and uncommunicative.
Waiter
(Serving water)
It’s more common than you think.
Husband
(Startled)
Excuse me?
Waiter
(Apologetic)
Oh…I’m sorry sir. I just couldn’t help but overhear your pensive aside. I should let you know that when my sister returned home after her stint on a reality TV show, she was also distant and melancholy. At first the symptoms were not so obvious because she was invited to be on all the late-night talk shows and early morning news programs. But when those 15 minutes ended, she simply could not communicate…that is unless she was being filmed. You see your wife has lost the ability to communicate effectively with you or anyone else for that matter unless there is a video camera recording her.
Husband
Hey that must explain why she is so alert and alive when we’re at the ATM machines (Light bulb going off in head)…the cameraaaas. It’s just so sad.
Waiter
You’re telling me. But there is a remedy for this: Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman
Husband
(Confused)
Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman?
Waiter
Yes, Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman. You see, there always seems to be a cameraman, usually named Frank, on every reality TV show. There is something about Frank…be it his soothing Staten Island accent or his jeans that hang just a little too low on his behind. But let’s face it…when Frank is there…people talk.
(A nonchalant observer walks over)
Nonchalant Observer
Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman saved my marriage.
Husband and Waiter
(Startled)
Wait…Who are you?
Nonchalant Observer
Oh..I’m sorry. I’m just a nonchalant observer who was sitting over there enjoying my cod. I couldn’t help but overhear everything you were saying…and believe you me, Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman will bring your wife out of this state of depression.
Husband
Wait..I’m confused. Who and what is Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman?
Nonchalant Observer
I’ll explain. In order to facilitate a loved one’s return to this odd bizarre world with no cameras, reality TV executives are willing to provide you with a Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman to help with this tough transition.
Waiter
Even though this is just a blow-up version of the human Frank…this replica is almost like the living, breathing and beloved cameraman Frank.
Nonchalant Observer
It’s true. He comes with a camera and even sports a stylish mullet. (Hands the “deflated Frank” to the husband) Here Try!Just Blow!
Husband
Blow?
Waiter
(Enthusiastically)
That’s right! blow!
Nonchalant Observer and Waiter
It’s Just That Simple!
Husband
OK…here goes…
(The husband begins to “blow” Frank in a way that appears suggestive. Once doll is blown up, husband is impressed and holds inflated Frank in the direction of the
wife who has been lifeless.) Oh sweetheart…look who came to visit you!
Wife
(Suddenly very awake and alert)
Even though Mark’s cheap and Barbara has that drinking problem…I think a weekend away is just what we need!
Husband
Now there’s the woman I fell in love with.
Waiter
Another success story. Frank the Lovable Inflatable Blue-collar Cameraman is almost as good as that Cod.
(Everyone starts laughing)
THE END
Friday, September 18, 2009
Day 41 - Planes, Trains, Magical Unicorns and Automobiles
September 18th, 2009
I have utilized a paella of modes of transportation in the midst of this Los Angeles/ San Francisco getaway. I know what you’re thinking, “Jax got to ride on a mythological horned horse…(pause for effect)…um, that’s awesommmme. Lucky bee-atch.”
Yesterday I was waiting at the gate for my LA to San Francisco flight with random travelers in medium to high tax brackets. Meandering around an enclosed space with other people with roll luggage seems comparable to taking a dog to the dog park. Have you ever noticed how people look like their luggage? As I was taking note that every airport carpet from metropolitan hubs to podunk towns seems to be modeled after a Cosby sweater, the passengers from my “soon to be plane” started to deboard the aircraft. They all looked unbelievably fatigued and disoriented. Really? I mean, you just sat in a chair in the sky for a few hours. I was perplexed as to why they looked like they had just finished a 10K run and were stumbling to the porta potty. Even if your flight was exhausting..the first thing you see is a Cosby sweater. That is guaranteed to give you an intense kick of hardcore pizzazz. Sometimes the deboarders resemble people exiting a movie we’re about to see. We should get the lowdown as to what is in store for us. “Did the pilot deliver his on board announcement with that pleasant combination of clarity and chutzpah? Did you get reprimanded for not returning your seat to a full upright position? Any mile highers? ” The seasoned passengers would then give us the information requested, we’d express our gratitude and then give them a high-five.
Stewardesses. It seems to me that their function is becoming more and more obsolete. I yearn for the days of the live "how to use a seat belt" show. That was a classic with the demonstrator’s “S&M is easier than it looks” suave delivery. Now we have a televised safety informational video exemplifying that half animated passengers are geniuses at applying their oxygen masks before assisting a small child. Jesus Harold Christ, robotic forces have taken over these people’s jobs. I thought if I watched “Short Circuit”(Guttenberg was brilliant) over and over that I could create a mechanical artificial agent to write and perform for me. It didn’t take.
These glorified waitresses of peanuts and beverages just seem bored. I was tempted to press the stewardess button and expect to see every flight attendant running towards me to avoid the dull emotional state caused by lack of activity. I decided against the experiment since I had smuggled 2 ounces of face lotion on board. My behaving badly quota had been filled for the day.
No one should feel that their job no longer has use for them. Am I right…people who created New Coke? I want to reach out to the stewardesses across the land and encourage them to take control and switch careers before they get the ax. Don’t delude yourself Missy. It’s comin’. Just having picked up my 3 year old niece from daycare, I would strongly recommend turning in the winged pin for the opportunity to be a preschool teacher. Flight attendant’s skills are 100% transferable to working with the little youth of today. Let’s take a look...
Stewardesses and preschool teachers both
• Greet and see off passengers/kids with a sugary sweet welcome and good bye.
• Provide blankets and pillows for nap time.
• Hand out things to read.
• Encourage single file lines.
• Have the same look. Young and kinda hot or old and kinda cuddly. Seldom anything in-between.
• Assist with trips to the bathroom
• Assign cubbies(overheads)to store belongings.
• Serve apple juice.
• Teach how to tie neckerchiefs
The last one might stretch the truth as to what went down during my own preschool years. But if I had studied the art of fun neck wear tying when I was four… I am certain that I might have chosen a career 35,000 miles up in the air. And by that, I mean operating a unicorn dude ranch in the sky.
I have utilized a paella of modes of transportation in the midst of this Los Angeles/ San Francisco getaway. I know what you’re thinking, “Jax got to ride on a mythological horned horse…(pause for effect)…um, that’s awesommmme. Lucky bee-atch.”
Yesterday I was waiting at the gate for my LA to San Francisco flight with random travelers in medium to high tax brackets. Meandering around an enclosed space with other people with roll luggage seems comparable to taking a dog to the dog park. Have you ever noticed how people look like their luggage? As I was taking note that every airport carpet from metropolitan hubs to podunk towns seems to be modeled after a Cosby sweater, the passengers from my “soon to be plane” started to deboard the aircraft. They all looked unbelievably fatigued and disoriented. Really? I mean, you just sat in a chair in the sky for a few hours. I was perplexed as to why they looked like they had just finished a 10K run and were stumbling to the porta potty. Even if your flight was exhausting..the first thing you see is a Cosby sweater. That is guaranteed to give you an intense kick of hardcore pizzazz. Sometimes the deboarders resemble people exiting a movie we’re about to see. We should get the lowdown as to what is in store for us. “Did the pilot deliver his on board announcement with that pleasant combination of clarity and chutzpah? Did you get reprimanded for not returning your seat to a full upright position? Any mile highers? ” The seasoned passengers would then give us the information requested, we’d express our gratitude and then give them a high-five.
Stewardesses. It seems to me that their function is becoming more and more obsolete. I yearn for the days of the live "how to use a seat belt" show. That was a classic with the demonstrator’s “S&M is easier than it looks” suave delivery. Now we have a televised safety informational video exemplifying that half animated passengers are geniuses at applying their oxygen masks before assisting a small child. Jesus Harold Christ, robotic forces have taken over these people’s jobs. I thought if I watched “Short Circuit”(Guttenberg was brilliant) over and over that I could create a mechanical artificial agent to write and perform for me. It didn’t take.
These glorified waitresses of peanuts and beverages just seem bored. I was tempted to press the stewardess button and expect to see every flight attendant running towards me to avoid the dull emotional state caused by lack of activity. I decided against the experiment since I had smuggled 2 ounces of face lotion on board. My behaving badly quota had been filled for the day.
No one should feel that their job no longer has use for them. Am I right…people who created New Coke? I want to reach out to the stewardesses across the land and encourage them to take control and switch careers before they get the ax. Don’t delude yourself Missy. It’s comin’. Just having picked up my 3 year old niece from daycare, I would strongly recommend turning in the winged pin for the opportunity to be a preschool teacher. Flight attendant’s skills are 100% transferable to working with the little youth of today. Let’s take a look...
Stewardesses and preschool teachers both
• Greet and see off passengers/kids with a sugary sweet welcome and good bye.
• Provide blankets and pillows for nap time.
• Hand out things to read.
• Encourage single file lines.
• Have the same look. Young and kinda hot or old and kinda cuddly. Seldom anything in-between.
• Assist with trips to the bathroom
• Assign cubbies(overheads)to store belongings.
• Serve apple juice.
• Teach how to tie neckerchiefs
The last one might stretch the truth as to what went down during my own preschool years. But if I had studied the art of fun neck wear tying when I was four… I am certain that I might have chosen a career 35,000 miles up in the air. And by that, I mean operating a unicorn dude ranch in the sky.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Day 40 – Bombchelle
September 17th, 2009
A generous amount of my best friends throughout my life have ended up in Los angeles. I have flirted with the idea of moving out here so many times that I have acquired the name “moving tease.” New York is where I need to be based but I do love visiting my friends in Southern California. Interesting note, they all find the LA mentality undoubtedly horrible and miss east coast rawness. But careers, marriages and sunshine have kept them here.That works for me… what’s better than reconnecting and reminiscing with some of the most colorful people who embody my favorite unique characteristics. Plus the reunions take place in perfect weather. I absorb everything around me so this scenario is heaven.
Yesterday I met up with Michelle.We met when I was 14 and she was 15 and haven’t seen each other in about 16 years. We always had mutual respect for each other’s thang.
I dug her because this chick ALWAYS owned her free spirited “authenticness.” Let's face it, exploring our one of a kindness is a rarity as a youngish person. Especially in the South. Her realness comes from some soulful heartfelt place at the core of her being. She wasn’t one of those bullshitters who claimed to like the Grateful Dead but only knew the song “Truckin”. She is smart as hell, just wild enough, endearingly OCD, detail oriented and the exaggeration of a loyal care taking friend who is open to experiences in the spirit of health and heightening. Interpret that as you wish. But I salute her.
As we were eating lunch at a casual Brazilian restaurant on the beach, magical verbal driblets of gold were just oozing out of her. After the second time I spit out my water, it became clear that I needed to conduct an interview so these linguistic gems wouldn’t get lost in the entirety of space and time.
Out came my ghetto spiral notebook and we were off….
Jax - Who gave you your nickname Bombchelle?
Michelle –(Pause) I think I gave it to myself.
Jax – Awesome
Jax – The Piercings. Tell me about them?
Michelle – I’ve worn 14 piercings at once. BUT I’ve never had them on my tongue and naval. Cheesy. For amateurs. Redick.
Jax – Where does the most risqué piercing reside?
Michelle – South of the Border
(Guy walking by overhears. Winks)
Michelle – I have a tattoo on my pelvis. Wanna see?
Jax – Um, yeah.
(Michelle lifts up her shorts and I see a giant green amphibian with red stripes.)
Michelle – I had a huge chili pepper tattoo and then a few years later had it covered it up with an iguana. I call him my Lucky Gecko.
Jax – What do you remember about me as a teenager?
Michelle – You always were smiling. But there was mischief behind it. I felt like you were suppressing your freak flag
Jax - -Fair enough
Jax – I know you’ve been communicating long distance with a special gentleman. In a few weeks, you’ll be meeting him face to face. Most importantly, what do you know about his body?
Michelle – He looks like he’s packing heat.
Jax – Nice
Jax – Old Elvis stamp or Young Elvis stamp?
Michelle – Young. Old makes me think of him croaking on the toilet.
Jax – What sexual position would you not want to revisit?
Michelle - Can we come back to this?
(never did)
Jax – Your skin is just perfect. Such a delightful rosy hue. Why?
Michelle - I get a European facial every 25 days from my Armenian esthetician. I’d go without food before I’d go without facials.
Jax – Final revelations?
Michelle – You might think I’m high maintenance. I’m just expensive to maintain.
Jax – I fucking love you.
A generous amount of my best friends throughout my life have ended up in Los angeles. I have flirted with the idea of moving out here so many times that I have acquired the name “moving tease.” New York is where I need to be based but I do love visiting my friends in Southern California. Interesting note, they all find the LA mentality undoubtedly horrible and miss east coast rawness. But careers, marriages and sunshine have kept them here.That works for me… what’s better than reconnecting and reminiscing with some of the most colorful people who embody my favorite unique characteristics. Plus the reunions take place in perfect weather. I absorb everything around me so this scenario is heaven.
Yesterday I met up with Michelle.We met when I was 14 and she was 15 and haven’t seen each other in about 16 years. We always had mutual respect for each other’s thang.
I dug her because this chick ALWAYS owned her free spirited “authenticness.” Let's face it, exploring our one of a kindness is a rarity as a youngish person. Especially in the South. Her realness comes from some soulful heartfelt place at the core of her being. She wasn’t one of those bullshitters who claimed to like the Grateful Dead but only knew the song “Truckin”. She is smart as hell, just wild enough, endearingly OCD, detail oriented and the exaggeration of a loyal care taking friend who is open to experiences in the spirit of health and heightening. Interpret that as you wish. But I salute her.
As we were eating lunch at a casual Brazilian restaurant on the beach, magical verbal driblets of gold were just oozing out of her. After the second time I spit out my water, it became clear that I needed to conduct an interview so these linguistic gems wouldn’t get lost in the entirety of space and time.
Out came my ghetto spiral notebook and we were off….
Jax - Who gave you your nickname Bombchelle?
Michelle –(Pause) I think I gave it to myself.
Jax – Awesome
Jax – The Piercings. Tell me about them?
Michelle – I’ve worn 14 piercings at once. BUT I’ve never had them on my tongue and naval. Cheesy. For amateurs. Redick.
Jax – Where does the most risqué piercing reside?
Michelle – South of the Border
(Guy walking by overhears. Winks)
Michelle – I have a tattoo on my pelvis. Wanna see?
Jax – Um, yeah.
(Michelle lifts up her shorts and I see a giant green amphibian with red stripes.)
Michelle – I had a huge chili pepper tattoo and then a few years later had it covered it up with an iguana. I call him my Lucky Gecko.
Jax – What do you remember about me as a teenager?
Michelle – You always were smiling. But there was mischief behind it. I felt like you were suppressing your freak flag
Jax - -Fair enough
Jax – I know you’ve been communicating long distance with a special gentleman. In a few weeks, you’ll be meeting him face to face. Most importantly, what do you know about his body?
Michelle – He looks like he’s packing heat.
Jax – Nice
Jax – Old Elvis stamp or Young Elvis stamp?
Michelle – Young. Old makes me think of him croaking on the toilet.
Jax – What sexual position would you not want to revisit?
Michelle - Can we come back to this?
(never did)
Jax – Your skin is just perfect. Such a delightful rosy hue. Why?
Michelle - I get a European facial every 25 days from my Armenian esthetician. I’d go without food before I’d go without facials.
Jax – Final revelations?
Michelle – You might think I’m high maintenance. I’m just expensive to maintain.
Jax – I fucking love you.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Day 39 - Keep Movin', Movin', Movin'
September 16th, 2009
Charles Dickens has an extraordinary quote about what the true essence of home is. I’m a little antsy because Google search is not stepping up to the plate so I can share it with you. The overall message is that home is not any structure but a concept that encompasses the people and circumstances that make us feel the most safe, warm and real. I'll settle with Christian Morgenstern’s “Home is not where you live, but where they understand you.” Thanks for the assist German author and poet from Munich.
I received the word that I will need to be leaving my apartment in the next few months. I’m not particularly attached to the space but I have become smitten with my Brooklyn neighborhood. People look like me. People act like me. People get me. I lived in Manhattan for 10 years and then had a short stint in the woods 45 minutes outside of Boston. The details of this particular seemingly odd choice of locales are inconsequential at this moment but(loyal readers) I’ll reveal more once we get more acquainted. While I appreciated the natural beauty of New England suburbia, I truly ached for New York’s fervor, my friends, my life and my sanity. Cobble Hill Brooklyn might be considered the lovechild of the breeding of city life and a quieter way life. Side note: Would a red state and a blue state make a purple state baby. We’ll touch on that in 2012. Back to our topic at hand.CH feels like the right place for me..and I haven’t been able to say that(and believe it) in the last few years. This new sensation of knowing a neighborhood or way of life is a fit for me is as comforting and soothing as Ann Curry’s voice.
If I have some anchors in my life, I’m alright with transition. One of these needs to be grounding me so I can deal with the shifts when other’s are awry: Health, home, work, creative outlet, (healthy) loving relationship. Part of me admits to gravitating towards seeking for creative ways to deal with ambiguous and constantly changing circumstances. That’s why I performed improv for so many years . Teaching the art of comedy improvisation, in particular, keeps me in check. After all, teachers teach what they need to learn. Right? Ehem..have you ever wondered why therapists seem to have pretty extensive issues of their own?
Dear Change,
I get you. I really do. You don’t scare me as much as you used to. I’ve thought about you more in the last few days as I’m writing from Southern California. 12 months of summer? Really? You don’t get here much. I guess I just don’t tell you enough that I appreciate your seasonal work. It’s like a really good PowerPoint presentation that demonstrates the significance of experiencing some shedding in order to experience a rebirth of sorts. It took a while, but I accept this cycle will be a constant throughout our lives. You have tested the hell out of me...but I know I'm always better for it in the end. Did you hang out with my “Brighton Beach Memoirs” director in college? He told an “over the top” actor(Jim Carey-ish) that “If every moment was a moment..there would be no moments.” I resonated with that and assumed he stole it from you. You should copy write your stuff. Wanna grab a Shawarma when I’m back in NY?
XOXO
Jax
So, in the next few months I will(once again)be sitting in a room of packed boxes and it will feel like the series finale of a sitcom. I will experience the obligatory flashbacks to all the “zany” sheee-at that went down in that space. Yes, it’s safe to assume the final scene will be a zoom in of me leaving the keys on the table as I exit. Slowly zoom out. I give one final pensive turn of the head to survey the space, do the smirk/sigh combo and then this song will fade in. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dG_5xWUf7kQ
Charles Dickens has an extraordinary quote about what the true essence of home is. I’m a little antsy because Google search is not stepping up to the plate so I can share it with you. The overall message is that home is not any structure but a concept that encompasses the people and circumstances that make us feel the most safe, warm and real. I'll settle with Christian Morgenstern’s “Home is not where you live, but where they understand you.” Thanks for the assist German author and poet from Munich.
I received the word that I will need to be leaving my apartment in the next few months. I’m not particularly attached to the space but I have become smitten with my Brooklyn neighborhood. People look like me. People act like me. People get me. I lived in Manhattan for 10 years and then had a short stint in the woods 45 minutes outside of Boston. The details of this particular seemingly odd choice of locales are inconsequential at this moment but(loyal readers) I’ll reveal more once we get more acquainted. While I appreciated the natural beauty of New England suburbia, I truly ached for New York’s fervor, my friends, my life and my sanity. Cobble Hill Brooklyn might be considered the lovechild of the breeding of city life and a quieter way life. Side note: Would a red state and a blue state make a purple state baby. We’ll touch on that in 2012. Back to our topic at hand.CH feels like the right place for me..and I haven’t been able to say that(and believe it) in the last few years. This new sensation of knowing a neighborhood or way of life is a fit for me is as comforting and soothing as Ann Curry’s voice.
If I have some anchors in my life, I’m alright with transition. One of these needs to be grounding me so I can deal with the shifts when other’s are awry: Health, home, work, creative outlet, (healthy) loving relationship. Part of me admits to gravitating towards seeking for creative ways to deal with ambiguous and constantly changing circumstances. That’s why I performed improv for so many years . Teaching the art of comedy improvisation, in particular, keeps me in check. After all, teachers teach what they need to learn. Right? Ehem..have you ever wondered why therapists seem to have pretty extensive issues of their own?
Dear Change,
I get you. I really do. You don’t scare me as much as you used to. I’ve thought about you more in the last few days as I’m writing from Southern California. 12 months of summer? Really? You don’t get here much. I guess I just don’t tell you enough that I appreciate your seasonal work. It’s like a really good PowerPoint presentation that demonstrates the significance of experiencing some shedding in order to experience a rebirth of sorts. It took a while, but I accept this cycle will be a constant throughout our lives. You have tested the hell out of me...but I know I'm always better for it in the end. Did you hang out with my “Brighton Beach Memoirs” director in college? He told an “over the top” actor(Jim Carey-ish) that “If every moment was a moment..there would be no moments.” I resonated with that and assumed he stole it from you. You should copy write your stuff. Wanna grab a Shawarma when I’m back in NY?
XOXO
Jax
So, in the next few months I will(once again)be sitting in a room of packed boxes and it will feel like the series finale of a sitcom. I will experience the obligatory flashbacks to all the “zany” sheee-at that went down in that space. Yes, it’s safe to assume the final scene will be a zoom in of me leaving the keys on the table as I exit. Slowly zoom out. I give one final pensive turn of the head to survey the space, do the smirk/sigh combo and then this song will fade in. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dG_5xWUf7kQ
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Day 38 - Nonchalant Observer -Installment # 2 - Hermosa Beach
September 15th, 2009
Yesterday was ½ work ½ play. During the afternoon, I treated myself to a (leisurely ) stroll along the strand. This is the paved path that runs through the beach cities of Los Angeles’s South Bay. I started at Manhattan Beach and ultimately ended up at Hermosa, the party community of beach loving surfers and volleyball participants, sun worshipers and 70 degrees weather accompanied by a “lovely” westerly sea breeze.
I took a brief respite from my low octane saunter to sit on the beach to read(currently checking out the linguistic message of Anne Lamott’s: “Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life.”) Pretty good read. I’d like to start a book club and run it in parliamentary procedure. Wear powdered wigs. If you’re interested in joining, please contact my assistant Voldar at Voldar@Jax’supercoolexclusivecult.com.(Please refer to Day 15 - Jax's Cult)
I was distracted by three things:
1) A heavyset 60 something woman was laying in the sand and doing leg lifts. I am certain we’d find Richard Simmons’s “Sweatin to the Oldies” in her attic. How come only fat people do leg lifts? Kenyan marathon runners do not.
2) A girl around my age was reading a book called Passion Test. Just the choice of reads seems to imply that her compelling emotions and feelings for love are on the lower end of the passion richter scale.
3) Buff 17 year olds were in a circle tackling and assisting each other with handstands. Presumably they were sharing Power Bars and pensises by late afternoon.
Clearly I had entered extreme observational mode and decided to formalize my interpretative sightings for Installment # 2 of my Nonchalant Observer series. This time round: Hermosa Beach. I relocated to Hennessey's Tavern, a pubbish establishment with outdoor seating with a full view of the beach, surf shops, and bars with names like Mermaids and Cantina.
I got situated at my outdoor table and ordered a Bloody Mary (with Absolut Peppar ) and chili. I know. Weird. I’m not sure why I was craving what I normally would order for brunch at a ski lodge. I indulged my craving. Why? Because I’m passionate. Take that girl on the beach!
I made detailed notes from 3:00pm-4:00pm on Monday September 14th, 2009.
The following is presented in “real” time:
3:01 - Behind me are Italian men drinking Mexican beer at an Irish Pub. They are joined by a 40 something bella Italian woman carrying some carbonated orange soda. Europeans love that stuff.
3:08 - At the restaurant next door, I see a plump Dominican woman in a pink tie-dye falling asleep at the table. She keeps catching herself. Makes me think of a pigeon for some reason.
3:15 - I notice a statue near the beach of a young tike surfing. I imagine that the artist who graduated from the University of Statue Making hit rock bottom when he was asked to create a bronze and marble replica of a finned board used by guys named Bane.
3:21 - Getting eyed by Guido gold chain wearing sweaty guy a few tables down. Please don’t come over. Seriously, don’t come over.
3:27- See a white heavy bearded homeless elderly man. Either Santa or ZZ Top are down on their luck.
3:38 - Skinny Vietnam Vet wearing a Hawaiian shirt is nudging (now in a full-fledged slumber or crossed over to the other side) Dominican lady next door. My heart rate escalates with a smidge of panic. She’s alive. The other option would have been really awkward.
3:42 - Kid in hooded sweatshirt is passing on his bike. Looks like a punk. “I want my two dollars.”
3:49 - Youngish tourist couple behind me are sharing the Hennessey's signature ice cream sundae. If she said, “Babe you get the sundae…maybe I’ll take a bite. I’m stuffed.” Um, she lied. I’m tempted to say, “A moment on your lips an eternity on your hips.” Says the girl eating chili with a generous amount of cheddar at 3:49.
3:56 - Shit. Guido walking over. Please hold
3:58 - Saved by my AT&T ring tone..ironically it happened to be AT&T offering something annoying. I tell Guido McGuide that it’s my dad. He exits stage right.
3:59 - I ask myself , “When I’m judging someone..am I really just judging myself?” I come to the quick conclusion that, “No, I am judging them.”
Yesterday was ½ work ½ play. During the afternoon, I treated myself to a (leisurely ) stroll along the strand. This is the paved path that runs through the beach cities of Los Angeles’s South Bay. I started at Manhattan Beach and ultimately ended up at Hermosa, the party community of beach loving surfers and volleyball participants, sun worshipers and 70 degrees weather accompanied by a “lovely” westerly sea breeze.
I took a brief respite from my low octane saunter to sit on the beach to read(currently checking out the linguistic message of Anne Lamott’s: “Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life.”) Pretty good read. I’d like to start a book club and run it in parliamentary procedure. Wear powdered wigs. If you’re interested in joining, please contact my assistant Voldar at Voldar@Jax’supercoolexclusivecult.com.(Please refer to Day 15 - Jax's Cult)
I was distracted by three things:
1) A heavyset 60 something woman was laying in the sand and doing leg lifts. I am certain we’d find Richard Simmons’s “Sweatin to the Oldies” in her attic. How come only fat people do leg lifts? Kenyan marathon runners do not.
2) A girl around my age was reading a book called Passion Test. Just the choice of reads seems to imply that her compelling emotions and feelings for love are on the lower end of the passion richter scale.
3) Buff 17 year olds were in a circle tackling and assisting each other with handstands. Presumably they were sharing Power Bars and pensises by late afternoon.
Clearly I had entered extreme observational mode and decided to formalize my interpretative sightings for Installment # 2 of my Nonchalant Observer series. This time round: Hermosa Beach. I relocated to Hennessey's Tavern, a pubbish establishment with outdoor seating with a full view of the beach, surf shops, and bars with names like Mermaids and Cantina.
I got situated at my outdoor table and ordered a Bloody Mary (with Absolut Peppar ) and chili. I know. Weird. I’m not sure why I was craving what I normally would order for brunch at a ski lodge. I indulged my craving. Why? Because I’m passionate. Take that girl on the beach!
I made detailed notes from 3:00pm-4:00pm on Monday September 14th, 2009.
The following is presented in “real” time:
3:01 - Behind me are Italian men drinking Mexican beer at an Irish Pub. They are joined by a 40 something bella Italian woman carrying some carbonated orange soda. Europeans love that stuff.
3:08 - At the restaurant next door, I see a plump Dominican woman in a pink tie-dye falling asleep at the table. She keeps catching herself. Makes me think of a pigeon for some reason.
3:15 - I notice a statue near the beach of a young tike surfing. I imagine that the artist who graduated from the University of Statue Making hit rock bottom when he was asked to create a bronze and marble replica of a finned board used by guys named Bane.
3:21 - Getting eyed by Guido gold chain wearing sweaty guy a few tables down. Please don’t come over. Seriously, don’t come over.
3:27- See a white heavy bearded homeless elderly man. Either Santa or ZZ Top are down on their luck.
3:38 - Skinny Vietnam Vet wearing a Hawaiian shirt is nudging (now in a full-fledged slumber or crossed over to the other side) Dominican lady next door. My heart rate escalates with a smidge of panic. She’s alive. The other option would have been really awkward.
3:42 - Kid in hooded sweatshirt is passing on his bike. Looks like a punk. “I want my two dollars.”
3:49 - Youngish tourist couple behind me are sharing the Hennessey's signature ice cream sundae. If she said, “Babe you get the sundae…maybe I’ll take a bite. I’m stuffed.” Um, she lied. I’m tempted to say, “A moment on your lips an eternity on your hips.” Says the girl eating chili with a generous amount of cheddar at 3:49.
3:56 - Shit. Guido walking over. Please hold
3:58 - Saved by my AT&T ring tone..ironically it happened to be AT&T offering something annoying. I tell Guido McGuide that it’s my dad. He exits stage right.
3:59 - I ask myself , “When I’m judging someone..am I really just judging myself?” I come to the quick conclusion that, “No, I am judging them.”
Monday, September 14, 2009
Day 37 - HARMONY VS ADDICT
September 14th, 2009
Voice Over:
Welcome to the Who Gets to Date the Guy Whose Not that Great to Begin with Game. Before we bring out our lucky mediocre bachelor, let’s meet the women who will try to win him over. First we have Miss Harmony Dosha. She works for a nonprofit that evaluates and develops sustainable approaches to enhancing people's health and well-being in underprivileged nations. In her free time she likes to keep her chi in flow by doing visualization, Vinyasa yoga and practicing forgiveness.
Harmony
Hello. Namaste
Voice Over
And Namaste to you. Our next contestant is Lotti Addictions
Addict
(Wearing a shirt that says Yoga is for Pussies!)
Please, call me Addict.
Voice Over
You got it! “Addict” is currently unemployed due to her need to fill an empty dark void with such things as alcohol, gambling, food, sex, pornography, exercise, Sudoku, shopping, cutting and watching LOST.
Addict
(Very charismatically high fives people in front row)
Yeah!
Voice Over
Now let’s meet our incredibly average bachelor. His name is Bob Jones, he never left his hometown, makes several spreadsheets a day at his 9 to 5 job, loves a good burger and has a really cool recliner chair.
Bob
My Lazy Boy is sweet!
Voice Over
Nice. Bob has prepared a series of questions for the ladies. Let’s see who will win his heart on Who Gets to Date the Guy Whose Not that Great to Begin with Game!
Bob
Hey there girls
Harmony
Hello Robert
Addict
Hey ‘sup Bob
Bob
The first question is for Harmony. If you could have dinner with a famous person, dead or alive, who would you choose and why?
Harmony
Beautiful question. Now does this include angels, ascended masters, ghosts, and space aliens?
Bob
Sure. That’s cool.
Harmony
I’m going to have to say that I would want to have dinner with myself.
Bob
Nice..with yourself. Hot
Harmony
My devotion to mind, body and spiritual work continues to remind me that I am Godlike and I must love myself to achieve my Karmic purpose here on earth. God is inside all of us Bob. We just have to be open enough to explore our barriers in order to be in sync with nature and ignite our true light.
Addict
(Turns to Harmony with a cigarette )
Do you have a light?
Bob
Thank you Harmony. Now Addict. Can you tell me what our perfect first date would be?
Addict
Well Bob, Bobster…Bobbay. We would head to a sad rustic bar at 3PM on a weekday. There would probably be a lot of older gruff sailor looking men there. You would buy me many rounds of well vodka and soda, we’d chain smoke, laugh and I would quickly transform into the life of the party. After the drinks and a raunchy public make out session, I would need to continue feeding my compulsive disorders by inviting myself back to your apartment for an all-nighter of dirty, naughty Skinamax type sex.
Bob
Nice! Addict you sound just delightful and so much fun.
Addict
I really am Bob...well,..until the next morning or when my high wears off. I’ll wake up woozy knowing that my physical and psychological dependencies have once again resulted in behavior that fills me with shame and a hollow coldness at the core of my soul. I know the only way to overcome this unbearable low would be for us to head to a brunch consisting of unlimited Bloody Mary’s before we head to the Off Track Betting.
Harmony
(Taking Addict's Hand)
That’s so sad. Let me teach you some meditations,Tai Chi and other resources to deal with these addictions in a way that is in flow with your life force. It works if you work it so work it its worth it.
Bob
Harmony. Shut your new age pie hole. Now Addict, to be clear. If we were to do the Bloodies and the OTB, I would absolutely be guaranteed one more night of meaningless “filling your void” sex before I never called you again?
Addict
Indeed. Oh Bob. It’s like you know me better than I know myself. Let’s get outta here
(Bob comes out)
Bob
(Looks at a very strung out Addict)
Score
Harmony
I have to say that I am so saddened by this unnatural display of working against the collective consciousness that supports that we are all spiritually interconnected and can change the world if you both would just allow your frozen heart chakras to melt like a peaceful and loving river.
Addict
Sure misery does like company…but while you’re busy eating kale and repeating positive affirmations, I don’t have to be lonely tonight because Pedro chose me.
Bob
Bob
Addict
Shut up...I’m strung out on anxiolytics, hypnotics and anticonvulsants.
Harmony
(Breathing deeply)
I choose not to match this anger. I choose not to match this anger. I choose not to match this anger. I choose not to match this anger….
Addict
Alright. Keep loving yourself because that's all you have for now.
Bob
(To Harmony)
Word
Addict
(To Bob)
Shut up
(Addict and Bob walk off. Harmony is left alone on stage. She picks up her guitar and starts to play "While My Guitar Gently Weeps"...then she is abruptly interrupted by "peppy" beach music and Go-Go dancers as the credits roles.)
Voice Over
Thank you for joining us for Who Gets to Date the Guy Whose Not that Great to Begin with Game! We’d like to thank our sponsor, Illiteracy. Remember America: Reading isn’t what it’s cracked up to be! See you next week when two disturbed ladies try to win the affection of a can of Tab.
THE END
Voice Over:
Welcome to the Who Gets to Date the Guy Whose Not that Great to Begin with Game. Before we bring out our lucky mediocre bachelor, let’s meet the women who will try to win him over. First we have Miss Harmony Dosha. She works for a nonprofit that evaluates and develops sustainable approaches to enhancing people's health and well-being in underprivileged nations. In her free time she likes to keep her chi in flow by doing visualization, Vinyasa yoga and practicing forgiveness.
Harmony
Hello. Namaste
Voice Over
And Namaste to you. Our next contestant is Lotti Addictions
Addict
(Wearing a shirt that says Yoga is for Pussies!)
Please, call me Addict.
Voice Over
You got it! “Addict” is currently unemployed due to her need to fill an empty dark void with such things as alcohol, gambling, food, sex, pornography, exercise, Sudoku, shopping, cutting and watching LOST.
Addict
(Very charismatically high fives people in front row)
Yeah!
Voice Over
Now let’s meet our incredibly average bachelor. His name is Bob Jones, he never left his hometown, makes several spreadsheets a day at his 9 to 5 job, loves a good burger and has a really cool recliner chair.
Bob
My Lazy Boy is sweet!
Voice Over
Nice. Bob has prepared a series of questions for the ladies. Let’s see who will win his heart on Who Gets to Date the Guy Whose Not that Great to Begin with Game!
Bob
Hey there girls
Harmony
Hello Robert
Addict
Hey ‘sup Bob
Bob
The first question is for Harmony. If you could have dinner with a famous person, dead or alive, who would you choose and why?
Harmony
Beautiful question. Now does this include angels, ascended masters, ghosts, and space aliens?
Bob
Sure. That’s cool.
Harmony
I’m going to have to say that I would want to have dinner with myself.
Bob
Nice..with yourself. Hot
Harmony
My devotion to mind, body and spiritual work continues to remind me that I am Godlike and I must love myself to achieve my Karmic purpose here on earth. God is inside all of us Bob. We just have to be open enough to explore our barriers in order to be in sync with nature and ignite our true light.
Addict
(Turns to Harmony with a cigarette )
Do you have a light?
Bob
Thank you Harmony. Now Addict. Can you tell me what our perfect first date would be?
Addict
Well Bob, Bobster…Bobbay. We would head to a sad rustic bar at 3PM on a weekday. There would probably be a lot of older gruff sailor looking men there. You would buy me many rounds of well vodka and soda, we’d chain smoke, laugh and I would quickly transform into the life of the party. After the drinks and a raunchy public make out session, I would need to continue feeding my compulsive disorders by inviting myself back to your apartment for an all-nighter of dirty, naughty Skinamax type sex.
Bob
Nice! Addict you sound just delightful and so much fun.
Addict
I really am Bob...well,..until the next morning or when my high wears off. I’ll wake up woozy knowing that my physical and psychological dependencies have once again resulted in behavior that fills me with shame and a hollow coldness at the core of my soul. I know the only way to overcome this unbearable low would be for us to head to a brunch consisting of unlimited Bloody Mary’s before we head to the Off Track Betting.
Harmony
(Taking Addict's Hand)
That’s so sad. Let me teach you some meditations,Tai Chi and other resources to deal with these addictions in a way that is in flow with your life force. It works if you work it so work it its worth it.
Bob
Harmony. Shut your new age pie hole. Now Addict, to be clear. If we were to do the Bloodies and the OTB, I would absolutely be guaranteed one more night of meaningless “filling your void” sex before I never called you again?
Addict
Indeed. Oh Bob. It’s like you know me better than I know myself. Let’s get outta here
(Bob comes out)
Bob
(Looks at a very strung out Addict)
Score
Harmony
I have to say that I am so saddened by this unnatural display of working against the collective consciousness that supports that we are all spiritually interconnected and can change the world if you both would just allow your frozen heart chakras to melt like a peaceful and loving river.
Addict
Sure misery does like company…but while you’re busy eating kale and repeating positive affirmations, I don’t have to be lonely tonight because Pedro chose me.
Bob
Bob
Addict
Shut up...I’m strung out on anxiolytics, hypnotics and anticonvulsants.
Harmony
(Breathing deeply)
I choose not to match this anger. I choose not to match this anger. I choose not to match this anger. I choose not to match this anger….
Addict
Alright. Keep loving yourself because that's all you have for now.
Bob
(To Harmony)
Word
Addict
(To Bob)
Shut up
(Addict and Bob walk off. Harmony is left alone on stage. She picks up her guitar and starts to play "While My Guitar Gently Weeps"...then she is abruptly interrupted by "peppy" beach music and Go-Go dancers as the credits roles.)
Voice Over
Thank you for joining us for Who Gets to Date the Guy Whose Not that Great to Begin with Game! We’d like to thank our sponsor, Illiteracy. Remember America: Reading isn’t what it’s cracked up to be! See you next week when two disturbed ladies try to win the affection of a can of Tab.
THE END
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Day 36 - Olive Garden in the Sky
September 13th, 2009
This is my first blog entry that I write to you airborne on American Airlines flight 201 from New York to Los Angeles. I debated pulling an all-nighter as it seemed to make sense to book a 6:35am flight three months ago. At 1:00am I thought my “edgy journalistic self” would just saunter down to Smith Street , a popular nightlife destination filled with a writable mix of authentic artsy brooders and douchalicious gems. I’m a good candidate for this observational task because I’m young enough to blend and old enough to judge.
Um, yeah. This little middle of the night field trip never happened. But I assure you that such an escapade will be noted down the line after 8-10 overpriced Starbucks espressos.
So now I’m left 35,000 miles up in the sky(with internet access..thank you 2009) only to estimate how many Olive Gardens are in between JFK and LAX. I’ve always had an odd fascination with the über “American” Italian style eatery. I give the actors in their commercials a lot of credit for pulling off the believability factor of pretending to enjoy eating at a chain restaurant at a strip mall in Duluth. Olive Garden, I see that you’re trying to replicate Italia with your old-world, stucco walled and foliaged décor. Kudos for the addition of background music consisting of Italian themes. It’s very cute. But you’re a bit presumptuous to assume that “When You’re Here, You’re Family.” Really Olive Garden? Does that mean you’ll encourage me to contribute to a ROTH IRA to prepare for retirement? You’ll have the awkward sex talk with me when I’m coming of age? Should I assume some Lifetime Original Movie unpleasant family secrets might be revealed during Thanksgiving? I recall a commercial from years ago that had a red state-esque citizen exclaim, “When my Uncle Gino comes to visit us from the old country, we take him to the Olive Garden!” What we don’t see is Uncle Gino’s (you have to be kidding me) response...”Fuck Youuuuuuu.”
Maybe I’m being too hard on the OG. After all, there is something soothing about its reliable mediocrity. Accepting the mediocre works for us when getting a haircut at Supercuts, drinking draft beer and seeing a Julia Roberts Blockbuster(well, that might be one notch below the middle.)
Could there be something complex about this chain restaurant’s simplicity? Who are they hiring? What is the essence of the server of the Never Ending Pasta Bowl? I saw a more intricate angle of the Olive Garden after spending time(in my head) with longtime employee/waitress Boberta. You can refer to her as Bobert for shirt. Bobert for shirt? Yes, Bobert for shirt. Her freakishly masculine demeanor and Isaac Hayes low voice can be a bit off putting..especially since she has such nice supple breasts. After speaking with this born-again something, I saw the inner workings of the Garden and who they were willing to bring on board. I visited the restaurant in their Livingston, NJ location( still in my mind )and over the Five Cheese Ziti al Forno, Boberta shared her story. Interesting note, the background Italian melodies were replaced by The Young and the Restless theme music.
BOBERTA:
“Listen. I know. I get it. I’ve been mannish since my blood flowing years. Once puberty hit, my voice and mannerisms became what the doctors called “Delayed Onset Dudeness”. My dads turned down the idea of having me get a “a dudetectomy”….the risks of the procedure were just too high. My teenage years were filled with ridicule and shame. But then I had a salvation, a conversion, a spiritual rebirth if you will. My life altering moment came when I was introduced to the ballads of a musical group called Menudo, lovable teenage Puerto Ricans. As you might recall, this Latin group made a medium-sized splash in America during the mid-'80s The initial lineup formed around brothers Carlos and Oscar Melendez plus Nefty and Fernando Sallaberry. But, to the world’s dismay, each of these innocent Latin manboys were forced out once they reached the age of 16…only to be replaced by a new breed of awkward Puerto Ricans prepubescents. One ousted lad by the name of Enrique Martín Morales(Ricky Martin in layman's terms) was blessed with a divine perseverance that guided and empowered him exceptional courage to pursue a mediocre solo career of his own. One day while watching Die Hard: With a Vengeance, I decided that I too could overcome aversion and journey to the middle. I went to the closest Olive Garden(where they paved paradise to put up a parking lot) and the management saw this determination…this fire in my eye…they took a chance. Yes, they are more than a family restaurant…they are… my family.”
This is my first blog entry that I write to you airborne on American Airlines flight 201 from New York to Los Angeles. I debated pulling an all-nighter as it seemed to make sense to book a 6:35am flight three months ago. At 1:00am I thought my “edgy journalistic self” would just saunter down to Smith Street , a popular nightlife destination filled with a writable mix of authentic artsy brooders and douchalicious gems. I’m a good candidate for this observational task because I’m young enough to blend and old enough to judge.
Um, yeah. This little middle of the night field trip never happened. But I assure you that such an escapade will be noted down the line after 8-10 overpriced Starbucks espressos.
So now I’m left 35,000 miles up in the sky(with internet access..thank you 2009) only to estimate how many Olive Gardens are in between JFK and LAX. I’ve always had an odd fascination with the über “American” Italian style eatery. I give the actors in their commercials a lot of credit for pulling off the believability factor of pretending to enjoy eating at a chain restaurant at a strip mall in Duluth. Olive Garden, I see that you’re trying to replicate Italia with your old-world, stucco walled and foliaged décor. Kudos for the addition of background music consisting of Italian themes. It’s very cute. But you’re a bit presumptuous to assume that “When You’re Here, You’re Family.” Really Olive Garden? Does that mean you’ll encourage me to contribute to a ROTH IRA to prepare for retirement? You’ll have the awkward sex talk with me when I’m coming of age? Should I assume some Lifetime Original Movie unpleasant family secrets might be revealed during Thanksgiving? I recall a commercial from years ago that had a red state-esque citizen exclaim, “When my Uncle Gino comes to visit us from the old country, we take him to the Olive Garden!” What we don’t see is Uncle Gino’s (you have to be kidding me) response...”Fuck Youuuuuuu.”
Maybe I’m being too hard on the OG. After all, there is something soothing about its reliable mediocrity. Accepting the mediocre works for us when getting a haircut at Supercuts, drinking draft beer and seeing a Julia Roberts Blockbuster(well, that might be one notch below the middle.)
Could there be something complex about this chain restaurant’s simplicity? Who are they hiring? What is the essence of the server of the Never Ending Pasta Bowl? I saw a more intricate angle of the Olive Garden after spending time(in my head) with longtime employee/waitress Boberta. You can refer to her as Bobert for shirt. Bobert for shirt? Yes, Bobert for shirt. Her freakishly masculine demeanor and Isaac Hayes low voice can be a bit off putting..especially since she has such nice supple breasts. After speaking with this born-again something, I saw the inner workings of the Garden and who they were willing to bring on board. I visited the restaurant in their Livingston, NJ location( still in my mind )and over the Five Cheese Ziti al Forno, Boberta shared her story. Interesting note, the background Italian melodies were replaced by The Young and the Restless theme music.
BOBERTA:
“Listen. I know. I get it. I’ve been mannish since my blood flowing years. Once puberty hit, my voice and mannerisms became what the doctors called “Delayed Onset Dudeness”. My dads turned down the idea of having me get a “a dudetectomy”….the risks of the procedure were just too high. My teenage years were filled with ridicule and shame. But then I had a salvation, a conversion, a spiritual rebirth if you will. My life altering moment came when I was introduced to the ballads of a musical group called Menudo, lovable teenage Puerto Ricans. As you might recall, this Latin group made a medium-sized splash in America during the mid-'80s The initial lineup formed around brothers Carlos and Oscar Melendez plus Nefty and Fernando Sallaberry. But, to the world’s dismay, each of these innocent Latin manboys were forced out once they reached the age of 16…only to be replaced by a new breed of awkward Puerto Ricans prepubescents. One ousted lad by the name of Enrique Martín Morales(Ricky Martin in layman's terms) was blessed with a divine perseverance that guided and empowered him exceptional courage to pursue a mediocre solo career of his own. One day while watching Die Hard: With a Vengeance, I decided that I too could overcome aversion and journey to the middle. I went to the closest Olive Garden(where they paved paradise to put up a parking lot) and the management saw this determination…this fire in my eye…they took a chance. Yes, they are more than a family restaurant…they are… my family.”
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Day 35 - Penis
September 12th, 2009
For many years, I was the only female in my comedy improv troupe. While enjoying my role as cool chick/den mother, there was one time when I would feel incredibly left out. It was quite challenging and lonely for me when the guys would all go to the men’s bathroom together. Leaving me. Alone and confused. Needing to be held. 1 Bonus - I had the time to imagine what really goes on in the mysterious room where the testosterone driven individuals go to relieve. Please join me if you will.
Cast of Characters
TROY– Handsome African American man with a heart of gold
BENNETT – Tall hippie-esque guitar playing sweetheart
KENNY – Gay. Just really gay
LOCATION – MEN’S BATHROOM(IN’S JAX’S HEAD)
SCENARIO 1
(3 guys standing in a line at the urinals…peeing)
Troy
Jax totally doesn’t have a penis
Kenny
How does she get out of bed in the morning?
Bennett
God DAMN! I LOVE HAVING A PENIS!!!
ALL
(Start joyfully peeing on each other)
PENIS! PENIS! PENIS….etc…
SCENARIO 2
(Standing in a line peeing)
Bennett
..and that’s how the pyramids in Egypt were built, who shot Kennedy and how the common cold is cured
Kenny
Wow…what an informative bathroom break that Jax will never be included in because she doesn’t have a penis
Troy
God DAMN! I LOVE HAVING A PENIS!!!
ALL
(Start joyfully peeing on each other)
PENIS! PENIS! PENIS….etc…
SCENARIO 3
(Standing in a line peeing)
Bennett
Kenny. Man. Um. I have a “friend” who wants to know some of the best gay hangouts in New York. Any suggestions for me..I mean my friend?
Troy
Yeah..I also have a “friend” who wanted to know where he can go to explore his gayness
Kenny
Sure. I can give you some suggestions. But before I do.. I need to know if “your friend” loves having a penis because …God DAMN! I LOVE HAVING A PENIS!!!
ALL
(Start joyfully peeing on each other)
PENIS! PENIS! PENIS….etc…
THE END
For many years, I was the only female in my comedy improv troupe. While enjoying my role as cool chick/den mother, there was one time when I would feel incredibly left out. It was quite challenging and lonely for me when the guys would all go to the men’s bathroom together. Leaving me. Alone and confused. Needing to be held. 1 Bonus - I had the time to imagine what really goes on in the mysterious room where the testosterone driven individuals go to relieve. Please join me if you will.
Cast of Characters
TROY– Handsome African American man with a heart of gold
BENNETT – Tall hippie-esque guitar playing sweetheart
KENNY – Gay. Just really gay
LOCATION – MEN’S BATHROOM(IN’S JAX’S HEAD)
SCENARIO 1
(3 guys standing in a line at the urinals…peeing)
Troy
Jax totally doesn’t have a penis
Kenny
How does she get out of bed in the morning?
Bennett
God DAMN! I LOVE HAVING A PENIS!!!
ALL
(Start joyfully peeing on each other)
PENIS! PENIS! PENIS….etc…
SCENARIO 2
(Standing in a line peeing)
Bennett
..and that’s how the pyramids in Egypt were built, who shot Kennedy and how the common cold is cured
Kenny
Wow…what an informative bathroom break that Jax will never be included in because she doesn’t have a penis
Troy
God DAMN! I LOVE HAVING A PENIS!!!
ALL
(Start joyfully peeing on each other)
PENIS! PENIS! PENIS….etc…
SCENARIO 3
(Standing in a line peeing)
Bennett
Kenny. Man. Um. I have a “friend” who wants to know some of the best gay hangouts in New York. Any suggestions for me..I mean my friend?
Troy
Yeah..I also have a “friend” who wanted to know where he can go to explore his gayness
Kenny
Sure. I can give you some suggestions. But before I do.. I need to know if “your friend” loves having a penis because …God DAMN! I LOVE HAVING A PENIS!!!
ALL
(Start joyfully peeing on each other)
PENIS! PENIS! PENIS….etc…
THE END
Friday, September 11, 2009
Day 34 - Beer Beer Beer!
September 11th, 2009
I feel like it would be too obvious for me to write the obligatory September 11th anniversary commemorative entry. I was there. Close to the dreaded site and suffered some post traumatic “what the fuck.” I came home to my doorman checking off surviving tenants like a teacher taking class attendance in 9th grade geometry class. Once the towers fell there was very little to do. In the spirit of wanting to make a difference, I headed over to St Vincent’s hospital like thousands of other dazed New Yorkers. Our collective intention was to offer up our blood. There were card board signs indicating blood types, chaplains & rabbis and preparation galore(swivel chairs covered in sheets waiting for the wounded.) Waiting…waiting..but no one showed up because you survived or you didn’t. A haunting site on a beautiful day. I am ethical enough not to investigate a comical twist on this subject. Too soon. Always will be too soon. But I will say that there was a soothing softer side to New York post horror. Some people sought solace in group vigils at Union Square and Washington Square Park, some decided to revisit God after a sabbatical and some took refuge in the safety of the bars.
And now we’re off on a today’s lighter topic…Liquor Pushing Establishments.
I had a brief stint as a bartender 12 years ago. I was brilliant and horrible at the same time. Possessing the gift of gab while “smiley” wiping the bar, I put on one bad ass one woman show worthy of a Tony Award. The downside... I am admittedly poorly versed and skilled in the art of drink mixing. Although I am impressively capable of pouring you a glass of red wine. Big fan of antioxidants. Luckily my (from what I’ve been told) likability factor made my audiences very forgiving. Lucky me. In fact one of the Fleet Week guys invited me to go to Letterman(which was located right next door.) Side note: I will devote another blog to Fleet Week down the line. Just know that Sex and the City made quite a bold choice when depicting the week of the fleet as glamorous.
You don’t meet a lot of Jewish alcoholics. We’ve been drinking wine since our first Seder. Elijah didn’t show up so we needed the pain to go away. I did try to become a drinking addict and was absolutely adorable while trying. It didn’t take. I’ve dated many men of Irish decent and EVERY one of them has the same dream of opening their own bar. Consistent. I’ve had many conversations with these guys about what attributes they need to seek when hiring their alcohol mixologist for their not yet existent establishment. The best pusher of the legal liquid drug will have the best qualities of a therapist, a cleaning lady, entertainer and a concierge(calling a cab for the shameless lush.) The super in tune ones even possess psychic abilities. They know when a couple is doomed before the couple accepts that they're heading down the road to inevitable destruction.
Perhaps I should revisit my days as a barmaid. This time round I would read Bartending for Dummies”(the cliff notes) to up my game. Of course I want to be working at MY dream bar which will obviously be called Bar Mitzvah. I’ll have an endless supply of top shelf Manishevitz, patrons will pay in savings bonds and I’ll have a sign behind that bar that says," Hava Nagila Have a Tequila!”
If this Bar Mitzvah fails, I’ll open my backup bar where everyone is required to wear an eye patch.
I feel like it would be too obvious for me to write the obligatory September 11th anniversary commemorative entry. I was there. Close to the dreaded site and suffered some post traumatic “what the fuck.” I came home to my doorman checking off surviving tenants like a teacher taking class attendance in 9th grade geometry class. Once the towers fell there was very little to do. In the spirit of wanting to make a difference, I headed over to St Vincent’s hospital like thousands of other dazed New Yorkers. Our collective intention was to offer up our blood. There were card board signs indicating blood types, chaplains & rabbis and preparation galore(swivel chairs covered in sheets waiting for the wounded.) Waiting…waiting..but no one showed up because you survived or you didn’t. A haunting site on a beautiful day. I am ethical enough not to investigate a comical twist on this subject. Too soon. Always will be too soon. But I will say that there was a soothing softer side to New York post horror. Some people sought solace in group vigils at Union Square and Washington Square Park, some decided to revisit God after a sabbatical and some took refuge in the safety of the bars.
And now we’re off on a today’s lighter topic…Liquor Pushing Establishments.
I had a brief stint as a bartender 12 years ago. I was brilliant and horrible at the same time. Possessing the gift of gab while “smiley” wiping the bar, I put on one bad ass one woman show worthy of a Tony Award. The downside... I am admittedly poorly versed and skilled in the art of drink mixing. Although I am impressively capable of pouring you a glass of red wine. Big fan of antioxidants. Luckily my (from what I’ve been told) likability factor made my audiences very forgiving. Lucky me. In fact one of the Fleet Week guys invited me to go to Letterman(which was located right next door.) Side note: I will devote another blog to Fleet Week down the line. Just know that Sex and the City made quite a bold choice when depicting the week of the fleet as glamorous.
You don’t meet a lot of Jewish alcoholics. We’ve been drinking wine since our first Seder. Elijah didn’t show up so we needed the pain to go away. I did try to become a drinking addict and was absolutely adorable while trying. It didn’t take. I’ve dated many men of Irish decent and EVERY one of them has the same dream of opening their own bar. Consistent. I’ve had many conversations with these guys about what attributes they need to seek when hiring their alcohol mixologist for their not yet existent establishment. The best pusher of the legal liquid drug will have the best qualities of a therapist, a cleaning lady, entertainer and a concierge(calling a cab for the shameless lush.) The super in tune ones even possess psychic abilities. They know when a couple is doomed before the couple accepts that they're heading down the road to inevitable destruction.
Perhaps I should revisit my days as a barmaid. This time round I would read Bartending for Dummies”(the cliff notes) to up my game. Of course I want to be working at MY dream bar which will obviously be called Bar Mitzvah. I’ll have an endless supply of top shelf Manishevitz, patrons will pay in savings bonds and I’ll have a sign behind that bar that says," Hava Nagila Have a Tequila!”
If this Bar Mitzvah fails, I’ll open my backup bar where everyone is required to wear an eye patch.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Day 33 - Summer, Didn't We Almost Have it All?
September 10th, 2009
Hello Fall. Well, this is a little awkward. It's, um, good to see you again. You look....good.
JAX’S LETTER TO SUMMER
Hey Summer. What’s up?
I write to you after the most unfortunate run in with Fall. Against my will the days are getting shorter, my skin is getting lighter and my bikini is now in storage. I know what I have to say might not seem appropriate as you are about to leave for Australia . Yes, I have known Fall just as long as I have known you sweet Summer…but my loyalty to Autumn seized the day he added more shitty sitcoms to the Must See TV line up, took my tan away and made me crave unreasonable amounts of carbs. Moreover, he took punitive action against me for bashing the movie Autumn in New York with Richard Gere and Winona Ryder. I am just a girl who simply can’t hold in her feelings any longer. You make me melt and I am deeply in love with you Summer. I know you have feelings for me too. I see how you cherish giving me a happier disposition and blonder hair. I often dream of us running through a golf course (hand in rays) filled with high-end grills, gladiolus and drinking teenagers. Yes, we come from different worlds. You’re a season and I have a heartbeat. You encourage promiscuous sex and I am more ethical when it comes to that. You’re prone to hurricanes and I have an opposable thumb. Let me say this to you my precious petunia. I have the resources to make Fall disappear. I have befriended Winter and let’s just say he owes me a favor. I have several good years left and you’ll be around indefinitely since Al Gore decided to fix that pesky global warming issue after he invented the internet. All I ask is that you allow me to pick you up and take you into the night and show you a love like you've never seen before.
XOXO
Jax
Hello Fall. Well, this is a little awkward. It's, um, good to see you again. You look....good.
JAX’S LETTER TO SUMMER
Hey Summer. What’s up?
I write to you after the most unfortunate run in with Fall. Against my will the days are getting shorter, my skin is getting lighter and my bikini is now in storage. I know what I have to say might not seem appropriate as you are about to leave for Australia . Yes, I have known Fall just as long as I have known you sweet Summer…but my loyalty to Autumn seized the day he added more shitty sitcoms to the Must See TV line up, took my tan away and made me crave unreasonable amounts of carbs. Moreover, he took punitive action against me for bashing the movie Autumn in New York with Richard Gere and Winona Ryder. I am just a girl who simply can’t hold in her feelings any longer. You make me melt and I am deeply in love with you Summer. I know you have feelings for me too. I see how you cherish giving me a happier disposition and blonder hair. I often dream of us running through a golf course (hand in rays) filled with high-end grills, gladiolus and drinking teenagers. Yes, we come from different worlds. You’re a season and I have a heartbeat. You encourage promiscuous sex and I am more ethical when it comes to that. You’re prone to hurricanes and I have an opposable thumb. Let me say this to you my precious petunia. I have the resources to make Fall disappear. I have befriended Winter and let’s just say he owes me a favor. I have several good years left and you’ll be around indefinitely since Al Gore decided to fix that pesky global warming issue after he invented the internet. All I ask is that you allow me to pick you up and take you into the night and show you a love like you've never seen before.
XOXO
Jax
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Day 32 - Shiny Happy People Holding Hands
September 9th, 2009
ARE ALL COMEDIANS DEPRESSED?
Oh you precious blog reader, I am here to tell you that we are all not depressed. Sure, some comics suffer from a debilitating anxiety that includes rage, self loathing and horrible horrible shame. But depressed? Not so much.
I’m here to firmly declare that I am not depressed or bitter. Not at all. I use comedy to transmute what is stirring inside my head into something tangible. It’s cathartic for me and hopefully for the people that are paying to see me. If I hit the stage feeling below an adequate standard then my audience will undoubtedly pick up on that negativity. My intention is to add a little light and joy to those who are willing to watch me chat for 6-10 minutes. Amazing phenomenon..right? Positive energy is contagious and that’s what I want to put out there. Hopefully I'm succeeding. Comedy can tap into themes that collectively make ALL of us feel angry or ill at ease. We “amusers” have the unique ability and opportunity to address these ironic universal stress ridden truths HEAD ON and pop the tension filled balloon. It’s like a good massage that allows us to breathe again. Some people call this release laughter. Jon Stewart is a genius at this.
It is fascinating who the frequent askers of “Are all comedians are “depressed?” are. I received the obligatory question when I was visiting a friend and her family in Long Island. Ironic because I find it hard to believe that she's in high spirits when her husband is fucking around on her ( I know this because he’s hit on me,) she’s addicted to Quaaludes and butter and they say their son has ADD…but no, Timmy’s just an Asshole.
That’s depressing.
ARE ALL COMEDIANS DEPRESSED?
Oh you precious blog reader, I am here to tell you that we are all not depressed. Sure, some comics suffer from a debilitating anxiety that includes rage, self loathing and horrible horrible shame. But depressed? Not so much.
I’m here to firmly declare that I am not depressed or bitter. Not at all. I use comedy to transmute what is stirring inside my head into something tangible. It’s cathartic for me and hopefully for the people that are paying to see me. If I hit the stage feeling below an adequate standard then my audience will undoubtedly pick up on that negativity. My intention is to add a little light and joy to those who are willing to watch me chat for 6-10 minutes. Amazing phenomenon..right? Positive energy is contagious and that’s what I want to put out there. Hopefully I'm succeeding. Comedy can tap into themes that collectively make ALL of us feel angry or ill at ease. We “amusers” have the unique ability and opportunity to address these ironic universal stress ridden truths HEAD ON and pop the tension filled balloon. It’s like a good massage that allows us to breathe again. Some people call this release laughter. Jon Stewart is a genius at this.
It is fascinating who the frequent askers of “Are all comedians are “depressed?” are. I received the obligatory question when I was visiting a friend and her family in Long Island. Ironic because I find it hard to believe that she's in high spirits when her husband is fucking around on her ( I know this because he’s hit on me,) she’s addicted to Quaaludes and butter and they say their son has ADD…but no, Timmy’s just an Asshole.
That’s depressing.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Day 31 - Juan Valdez is Smokin' Hot
September 8th, 2009
I avoided a momentous tragic event this morning. I was in the process of making my morning coffee and then I realized that I had run out of filters. The logical response would have been to run down the street and buy the overpriced coffee at the fancy shmancy cafe. I don’t apologize for spending what should be my retirement money on liquid crack. I simply can’t skimp on coffee, jeans & bedding. But I was expecting an important call from LA on my land line (how bad ass does that sound?) so I was stuck in my apartment undrugged. My initial response was to situate myself in a rocking fetal position in the shower. Miraculously through the catastrophic distress, I was blessed with the idea of using a paper towel as the filter. Sigh…contentment ensued. You know why? I’m like MacGyver with estrogen.
Here’s the deal. I look forward to my coffee the night before. It’s the only thing that I’m addicted to…that’s legal…for now. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had a dream about getting beamed into the CNN newsroom to share a croissant and enjoy the taste and aroma of gourmet coffee with Wolf Blitzer.
Coffee can even be attached to heart touching philanthropic events. To the dismay of many loyal customers, Joe Jr’s diner recently shut their doors. This old school village established pulled the mitzvah of all mitzvahs during the blackout of 2003. Coffee addicts were unable to get their fix due to the massive electrical outage. Well J. Jr’s operated on gas and were handing out free coffees on 6th avenue. Briefly before the diner pulled the solids of all solids, physiologically and psychologically dependent folks briefly lived in a world where coffee went away. And it wasn’t pretty.
In the real world, coffee doesn’t discriminate. Its an equal opportunist addiction allowing people of all races, religions and economical statuses to indulge in its javany goodness. Yet television commercials imply that only upper middle class white people drink this brewed beverage and always end up having intimate taster choice moments. A friend of mine sent me a YouTube clip of a 20 yr old coffee commercial that always struck a chord with me.
2 upper middle class women(whiteys of course) are looking at old pictures as they sip a lovely Hazelnut Belgium Blend:
Woman 1 – These pictures are great
Woman 2 – They really are..what does this one remind you of?
Woman 1 - Senior year…Paris…that coffee shop…
Woman 2 – Who was that Waiter?
Both - JEAN LUC!!!!
(Song – “Celebrate the moments of your life coffee…sha la la…”)
Take it from someone who spent a semester abroad, Jean Luc was celebrating the moments of his life when he had a kinky 3-way with 2 naïve American girls.
What about prisoners? You know they’re drinking coffee. In fact, they probably committed the crime because that was the week they were trying to quit the stuff.
I’d like to see a commercial where 2 prisoners have a tender moment:
Prisoner 1 - You know Paco, this Vienna Blend really takes me back to capping Jimmie in the alley during the LA riots.
Prisoner 2 - (aka Paco) - Solid
(Song)
Oh Blog Reader. Ohhhh you…. come saunter over to me. I just want to thank you for reading and in a gesture of sincere appreciation I would like to celebrate the moments of our lives together and enjoy an intimate cup of General Foods international Coffee with YOU. Here's your mug that says "World's Greatest Blog Reader." So come cuddle with me over a succulent French Roast and we can be as happy as white people in coffee commercials.
I avoided a momentous tragic event this morning. I was in the process of making my morning coffee and then I realized that I had run out of filters. The logical response would have been to run down the street and buy the overpriced coffee at the fancy shmancy cafe. I don’t apologize for spending what should be my retirement money on liquid crack. I simply can’t skimp on coffee, jeans & bedding. But I was expecting an important call from LA on my land line (how bad ass does that sound?) so I was stuck in my apartment undrugged. My initial response was to situate myself in a rocking fetal position in the shower. Miraculously through the catastrophic distress, I was blessed with the idea of using a paper towel as the filter. Sigh…contentment ensued. You know why? I’m like MacGyver with estrogen.
Here’s the deal. I look forward to my coffee the night before. It’s the only thing that I’m addicted to…that’s legal…for now. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had a dream about getting beamed into the CNN newsroom to share a croissant and enjoy the taste and aroma of gourmet coffee with Wolf Blitzer.
Coffee can even be attached to heart touching philanthropic events. To the dismay of many loyal customers, Joe Jr’s diner recently shut their doors. This old school village established pulled the mitzvah of all mitzvahs during the blackout of 2003. Coffee addicts were unable to get their fix due to the massive electrical outage. Well J. Jr’s operated on gas and were handing out free coffees on 6th avenue. Briefly before the diner pulled the solids of all solids, physiologically and psychologically dependent folks briefly lived in a world where coffee went away. And it wasn’t pretty.
In the real world, coffee doesn’t discriminate. Its an equal opportunist addiction allowing people of all races, religions and economical statuses to indulge in its javany goodness. Yet television commercials imply that only upper middle class white people drink this brewed beverage and always end up having intimate taster choice moments. A friend of mine sent me a YouTube clip of a 20 yr old coffee commercial that always struck a chord with me.
2 upper middle class women(whiteys of course) are looking at old pictures as they sip a lovely Hazelnut Belgium Blend:
Woman 1 – These pictures are great
Woman 2 – They really are..what does this one remind you of?
Woman 1 - Senior year…Paris…that coffee shop…
Woman 2 – Who was that Waiter?
Both - JEAN LUC!!!!
(Song – “Celebrate the moments of your life coffee…sha la la…”)
Take it from someone who spent a semester abroad, Jean Luc was celebrating the moments of his life when he had a kinky 3-way with 2 naïve American girls.
What about prisoners? You know they’re drinking coffee. In fact, they probably committed the crime because that was the week they were trying to quit the stuff.
I’d like to see a commercial where 2 prisoners have a tender moment:
Prisoner 1 - You know Paco, this Vienna Blend really takes me back to capping Jimmie in the alley during the LA riots.
Prisoner 2 - (aka Paco) - Solid
(Song)
Oh Blog Reader. Ohhhh you…. come saunter over to me. I just want to thank you for reading and in a gesture of sincere appreciation I would like to celebrate the moments of our lives together and enjoy an intimate cup of General Foods international Coffee with YOU. Here's your mug that says "World's Greatest Blog Reader." So come cuddle with me over a succulent French Roast and we can be as happy as white people in coffee commercials.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Day 30 - Extra Cuspy Please
September 7th, 2009
L& L’s wedding last night. Liane looked stunning, Larry has like mad dancin’ skillz , the “crew” was reunited & the Rabbi tested some one-liners that are sure to kill at a Jewey Grossinger's-like Catskills resort.
I was standing at the bar talking to the “Is it really that big of a deal that he’s just out of college hottie” British cousin..then I’m approached by Pam and Dan. They’re the next to be married couple. I love them because they have a palpable love AND and are polar opposites. She’s endearingly yenta-licious and he’s an artist. He’s the Yin to her Yang , the Bert to her Ernie, the black Michael Jackson to her white Michael Jackson. They just work and it’s inspiring to watch. The only thing that confuses me is that they refer to each other as Monkey. The fact that I most likely will not get invited to the wedding is where this gets fun. It is questionable if I’ll get to watch the official union “live” in a few months because I am..wait for it..wait for it..A CUSP.
Now I’m OK with this and truly not surprised. I get how these things work. In fact, I offered to “out” myself to take some pressure off of them. No offense taken. Seriously.
I own my cuspness.
The formal definition is “A transitional point and time.” I am rather cuspy as I am frequently in some form of transition in time and strive to be a transitional-esque comedian who aims to coalesce the points with the funny.
So Monkeys, I’m cool with what could go down. Easy breezy…much like a Sunday morning.
However, I would like to throw out another option that you might find surprisingly appealing. Have a wedding and ONLY invite THE CUSPS
Everyone wins
I’ll be super content because cuspers aren’t expected to be there early for pictures and never deal with playing psychotherapist during the almost newlywed's pre-wedding jitters . We’re totally happy appreciating an open bar and swimming in the endless sea of pigs in the blankets. You won’t be offended(or notice) when I leave for an hour to hit the Lebedevitch Bar Mitzvah party in the other reception hall. I’ll return once I grow winded from Macarena-ing with the hired dancers and the dirty uncle becomes inappropriate.
On your end, old deep-rooted family issues won’t get triggered because well, you haven’t invited your relatives because they didn’t make the cusp list. You get to avoid the awkward “What unwanted details could they reveal about me” information that will undoubtedly be exposed during the best man/maid of honor speeches. Hey, I’ll give the speech. “Pam, remember when we got the seared tuna salads at Houston’s in the winter of 2006. That was awesome.” Plain and simple. No sucker punches and tears.
I really sense that the Cusp Only trend can change the wedding industry as we know it. Monkeys, you can be pioneers of what is certain to be the new hot wedding fad. When I’m on the subway and see a passenger reading the latest copy of the magazine, “Cusp Enthusiast”…I’ll think of my Monks and give them the ultimate Jax compliment: An internal high five.
Viva La Cusp!
L& L’s wedding last night. Liane looked stunning, Larry has like mad dancin’ skillz , the “crew” was reunited & the Rabbi tested some one-liners that are sure to kill at a Jewey Grossinger's-like Catskills resort.
I was standing at the bar talking to the “Is it really that big of a deal that he’s just out of college hottie” British cousin..then I’m approached by Pam and Dan. They’re the next to be married couple. I love them because they have a palpable love AND and are polar opposites. She’s endearingly yenta-licious and he’s an artist. He’s the Yin to her Yang , the Bert to her Ernie, the black Michael Jackson to her white Michael Jackson. They just work and it’s inspiring to watch. The only thing that confuses me is that they refer to each other as Monkey. The fact that I most likely will not get invited to the wedding is where this gets fun. It is questionable if I’ll get to watch the official union “live” in a few months because I am..wait for it..wait for it..A CUSP.
Now I’m OK with this and truly not surprised. I get how these things work. In fact, I offered to “out” myself to take some pressure off of them. No offense taken. Seriously.
I own my cuspness.
The formal definition is “A transitional point and time.” I am rather cuspy as I am frequently in some form of transition in time and strive to be a transitional-esque comedian who aims to coalesce the points with the funny.
So Monkeys, I’m cool with what could go down. Easy breezy…much like a Sunday morning.
However, I would like to throw out another option that you might find surprisingly appealing. Have a wedding and ONLY invite THE CUSPS
Everyone wins
I’ll be super content because cuspers aren’t expected to be there early for pictures and never deal with playing psychotherapist during the almost newlywed's pre-wedding jitters . We’re totally happy appreciating an open bar and swimming in the endless sea of pigs in the blankets. You won’t be offended(or notice) when I leave for an hour to hit the Lebedevitch Bar Mitzvah party in the other reception hall. I’ll return once I grow winded from Macarena-ing with the hired dancers and the dirty uncle becomes inappropriate.
On your end, old deep-rooted family issues won’t get triggered because well, you haven’t invited your relatives because they didn’t make the cusp list. You get to avoid the awkward “What unwanted details could they reveal about me” information that will undoubtedly be exposed during the best man/maid of honor speeches. Hey, I’ll give the speech. “Pam, remember when we got the seared tuna salads at Houston’s in the winter of 2006. That was awesome.” Plain and simple. No sucker punches and tears.
I really sense that the Cusp Only trend can change the wedding industry as we know it. Monkeys, you can be pioneers of what is certain to be the new hot wedding fad. When I’m on the subway and see a passenger reading the latest copy of the magazine, “Cusp Enthusiast”…I’ll think of my Monks and give them the ultimate Jax compliment: An internal high five.
Viva La Cusp!
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Day 29 - Elmo. Don’t tickle Me. Seriously, Hands Off.
September 6th, 2009
Questions that I would answer “no” to:
1) Didn’t we used to tailgate together in college?
2) Would you like to join me for a really moving John Tesh concert?
3) Have you ever dressed up in a giant chicken costume?
Let’s run with # 3 ...
Mascots of all sorts SCARE the hell out of me.
Actually any “live” oversized, furry or hairless creature, symbol or person with an exaggerated smile causes me nervous shivery apprehension.
My fearful uneasiness goes back to a trip to Disney World when I was four years old. One of the “costumed” seven dwarfs(who ironically happened to be ginormous) was taunting my brother. I don’t even have a very clear memory of what exactly went down but I think the McDwarf put his giant shirt over my brother’s head causing him to justifiably freak out. Seeing my big brother freak out ..caused me to freak out. The weird thing is that i’m not 100% sure if this incident really happened. Either way, I have firmly held onto some real or altered memory of the traumatic episode. Evil dwarf combined with me being tickled by a giant Elmo last Halloween has just confirmed that there is no space in my energy field for these beings or entities.
No one aspires to be a questionable giant masked person, animal, or thing. “What do you wanna be when you grow up Timmy?” “I’d like to dress up as a mountain lion and run around a football field inspiring enthusiasm and glee. It’s sure to get me laid.” Even though Timmy’s “uniform” will imply that he possesses a jovial spirit…he will undoubtedly grow up to be a man who is crying on the inside.
I saw a chicken suited individual passing out flyers the other today and I absorbed that someone actually gets paid to wear that thing. What's fascinating is that there is a person that did not have what it takes to land the job of spokeschicken. What becomes of him? I fear that “Mr. not good enough for feathered costume” might have an irrational response that could inspire an after school special that will warn today's youth that such a rejection could lead to death and destruction. It can be called "Eggscentric". The height of the production will show the disgruntled chicken reaching his boiling point and grabbing an AK-47 and going on a bloody shooting rampage at what should have been his place of employment. A lot of chickens will die that day. The overall message would be: "Kids, playing with dairy is never the answer."
Questions that I would answer “no” to:
1) Didn’t we used to tailgate together in college?
2) Would you like to join me for a really moving John Tesh concert?
3) Have you ever dressed up in a giant chicken costume?
Let’s run with # 3 ...
Mascots of all sorts SCARE the hell out of me.
Actually any “live” oversized, furry or hairless creature, symbol or person with an exaggerated smile causes me nervous shivery apprehension.
My fearful uneasiness goes back to a trip to Disney World when I was four years old. One of the “costumed” seven dwarfs(who ironically happened to be ginormous) was taunting my brother. I don’t even have a very clear memory of what exactly went down but I think the McDwarf put his giant shirt over my brother’s head causing him to justifiably freak out. Seeing my big brother freak out ..caused me to freak out. The weird thing is that i’m not 100% sure if this incident really happened. Either way, I have firmly held onto some real or altered memory of the traumatic episode. Evil dwarf combined with me being tickled by a giant Elmo last Halloween has just confirmed that there is no space in my energy field for these beings or entities.
No one aspires to be a questionable giant masked person, animal, or thing. “What do you wanna be when you grow up Timmy?” “I’d like to dress up as a mountain lion and run around a football field inspiring enthusiasm and glee. It’s sure to get me laid.” Even though Timmy’s “uniform” will imply that he possesses a jovial spirit…he will undoubtedly grow up to be a man who is crying on the inside.
I saw a chicken suited individual passing out flyers the other today and I absorbed that someone actually gets paid to wear that thing. What's fascinating is that there is a person that did not have what it takes to land the job of spokeschicken. What becomes of him? I fear that “Mr. not good enough for feathered costume” might have an irrational response that could inspire an after school special that will warn today's youth that such a rejection could lead to death and destruction. It can be called "Eggscentric". The height of the production will show the disgruntled chicken reaching his boiling point and grabbing an AK-47 and going on a bloody shooting rampage at what should have been his place of employment. A lot of chickens will die that day. The overall message would be: "Kids, playing with dairy is never the answer."
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Day 28 - Let's Give Them Something to Talk About
September 5th, 2009
Who REALLY knows us? Our true selves, our essence & soul, our secrets, our be-all and end-all. I imagine the stock “go to” answer for the majority would be under the umbrella of individuals like our parents, spouse, children, best friend, therapist..perhaps even our psychic. Most of us can be guilty of exuding only our ‘best selves” to those who are closest to us. I don’t think there is malicious intent with our holding back. In fact, it might come from a place of protecting these people from aspects of ourselves that could concern them. Who witnesses us when we are stripped of our facade, at our rawest and our truth is revealed? I will tell you loyal blog reader: Our pet, pharmacist and doorman.
I’ve had animals most of my life and they are amazing listeners, willing to volunteer their affection and sympathetic as hell. Their loyal qualities are so consistent that it doesn’t even bother me if my domesticated furry friend wants to lick his ass while I’m crying about a recent break up. It just proves another one of his meritable qualities. Multitasking. Ironic that we leash our animals...yet they inspire an “unleashing” in us. Have you ever been self conscious about walking around naked in front of your pet? Exactly.
Pharmacists also are in the unique position to comprehend us at our very core. They hand us our medication. No questions asked. Just with a knowing(and sometimes loving glance.) People. Listen to Jax. Seriously consider a romantic relationship with your pharmacist because if he or she still loves you after distributing you psychotropic drugs or questionable rash cream… Total keeper.
But I think at the top of the list of who knows us best is our doorman. If you never have lived in a doorman building there is a good chance that you’ve never been in the position to have the truths of your life reflected right back at you. I no longer live in a building with a ‘keeper” that provides courtesy and security. A little piece of me has gone missing. In an effort to work through the loss I would like to salute my long lost doorman with an artistic expression that combines beat poetry with the grand eloquent movements of interpretive dance. Please envision me delivering the dialogue below while wearing a spandex body suit and miming the action of catching an imaginary butterfly.
THE SCRIPT:
He’s my New York City Doorman
New York City Doorman
He wears short sleeve button downs and comes from a faraway tropical land
The Island of Staten
He’ll buzz up my Chinese delivery and even feed my cat when I'm out of town
That’s right .Oh New York City Doorman, in a city full of misfits.. I seek solace in your lack of education and grammatically incorrect English
It’s so classy when you stare at my breasts, gossip with the UPS man about the strippers you fuck and I adore when you’re remarkably nicer when it comes time for your Christmas bonus
Thanks for just judging me behind my back after you wrongly assume that all my male friends that come and go from my apartment are a string of one night stands
I often fantasize that one day we can be together
I like the sound of Mrs. New York City Doorman
But in the meantime, I just want to thank you for making me like the way I feel about me
You’re my New York City Doorman
THE END
Let’s have some quiet time and digest that it is OK that the above populations have gotten “in” and broken our barriers. They’re the real deal. Besides, if we’re withholding information from our therapist because we don’t want to cause her any distress..it could be to our benefit to discuss this matter with our pet, pharmacist and doorman.
Who REALLY knows us? Our true selves, our essence & soul, our secrets, our be-all and end-all. I imagine the stock “go to” answer for the majority would be under the umbrella of individuals like our parents, spouse, children, best friend, therapist..perhaps even our psychic. Most of us can be guilty of exuding only our ‘best selves” to those who are closest to us. I don’t think there is malicious intent with our holding back. In fact, it might come from a place of protecting these people from aspects of ourselves that could concern them. Who witnesses us when we are stripped of our facade, at our rawest and our truth is revealed? I will tell you loyal blog reader: Our pet, pharmacist and doorman.
I’ve had animals most of my life and they are amazing listeners, willing to volunteer their affection and sympathetic as hell. Their loyal qualities are so consistent that it doesn’t even bother me if my domesticated furry friend wants to lick his ass while I’m crying about a recent break up. It just proves another one of his meritable qualities. Multitasking. Ironic that we leash our animals...yet they inspire an “unleashing” in us. Have you ever been self conscious about walking around naked in front of your pet? Exactly.
Pharmacists also are in the unique position to comprehend us at our very core. They hand us our medication. No questions asked. Just with a knowing(and sometimes loving glance.) People. Listen to Jax. Seriously consider a romantic relationship with your pharmacist because if he or she still loves you after distributing you psychotropic drugs or questionable rash cream… Total keeper.
But I think at the top of the list of who knows us best is our doorman. If you never have lived in a doorman building there is a good chance that you’ve never been in the position to have the truths of your life reflected right back at you. I no longer live in a building with a ‘keeper” that provides courtesy and security. A little piece of me has gone missing. In an effort to work through the loss I would like to salute my long lost doorman with an artistic expression that combines beat poetry with the grand eloquent movements of interpretive dance. Please envision me delivering the dialogue below while wearing a spandex body suit and miming the action of catching an imaginary butterfly.
THE SCRIPT:
He’s my New York City Doorman
New York City Doorman
He wears short sleeve button downs and comes from a faraway tropical land
The Island of Staten
He’ll buzz up my Chinese delivery and even feed my cat when I'm out of town
That’s right .Oh New York City Doorman, in a city full of misfits.. I seek solace in your lack of education and grammatically incorrect English
It’s so classy when you stare at my breasts, gossip with the UPS man about the strippers you fuck and I adore when you’re remarkably nicer when it comes time for your Christmas bonus
Thanks for just judging me behind my back after you wrongly assume that all my male friends that come and go from my apartment are a string of one night stands
I often fantasize that one day we can be together
I like the sound of Mrs. New York City Doorman
But in the meantime, I just want to thank you for making me like the way I feel about me
You’re my New York City Doorman
THE END
Let’s have some quiet time and digest that it is OK that the above populations have gotten “in” and broken our barriers. They’re the real deal. Besides, if we’re withholding information from our therapist because we don’t want to cause her any distress..it could be to our benefit to discuss this matter with our pet, pharmacist and doorman.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Day 27 - God's Subway
September 4th, 2009
I think the subway gets a bad rap. Sure, it’s not glamorous but there is something to be said that 99% of the time I find that the passengers are remarkably courteous and there tends to be a general sense of harmony. It’s pretty phenomenal considering the diversity. It’s almost like a reality show premise: “Let’s take people of every race, religion, sexual preference and lock them in a steel electric railway car that zooms through underground tunnels."
Yesterday I was cruising on the underground choo choo train and began eavesdropping in on a conversation between two 14 year old boys. It was just a paella of awkwardness and it became increasingly clear to me that I have never been a 14 year old boy.Prepubescent’s horror really is God’s cruel joke and college must be our reward for surviving puberty. Everything is physically and emotionally out of wack and someone figured that this is the time to be handed keys to a car. “Mikey is covered with zits, irritable, self conscious about his awkward body and cracking voice and filled with rage.…I think he should be operating heavy machinery."
It became a bit too painful to continue listening to Zack and Scooter’s grievances. I started perusing my neighbor’s New York Post and nausea continued. My only option was to read a poster across from me for Bowlmore Lanes. Their marketing angle is Celebrities Bowl With Us.” “Ethan Hawk, Matthew Broderick.…Rudolph Giuliani.”I was glad that they didn’t overlook Rudy because I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve thought “You know, I’d really like to bowl with that guy.”
Then right as nothing(besides my fingernails) seemed to be capturing my attention... God spoke to me. Well, not directly. A very passionate man on the subway was kind enough to pass along the message.God and I have had a bit of a turbulent relationship over the past few year and he was curious as to why I wasn’t returning his texts. We used to be real tight. I’d refer to him as “God-Dawg.” But I felt like he wasn’t really stepping up to the plate so I just needed a “break.” I feel like we’ll end up together in the long run.I just needed some space to flirt with other higher powers. I’ve been feeling that it’s about that time to stop playing “hard to get” and reestablish my connection with God. I needed some questions answered so I figured that the subway preaching conduit could relay my inquiries to the deity. I asked if he would be my channel and he replied that he’d be happy to “do me the solid.”
Questions for God:
Why did you cancel Arrested Development?
Why does Al Roker have celebrity status when he is a nasty man with zero talent and sex appeal?
How does a Bill become a Law?
Why are there so many commercials about yogurt that keep middle age women’s digestive tracks in order?
Is testing makeup on animals really that bad? Have you seen what a little mascara can do for a bunny?
Aren’t the Pope and Klan members essentially wearing the same thing?
Why do you allow people to dress up in chicken costumes?
Homosexuals get the Gay Pride Parade. Can heterosexuals have a “Straight Shame March?”
The questions were just flowing through me like rapid fire and my new “between worlds” friend looked winded. I could have kept going but my stop was approaching. I felt so cleansed. Space had been cleared. I figure that God will arrange for another “chance” meeting with "Mr. Sure the Lord chats it up with me.” And if you want to know the answers…join us at Fox for next week’s episode of “UNDERGROUND REALITY!”
I think the subway gets a bad rap. Sure, it’s not glamorous but there is something to be said that 99% of the time I find that the passengers are remarkably courteous and there tends to be a general sense of harmony. It’s pretty phenomenal considering the diversity. It’s almost like a reality show premise: “Let’s take people of every race, religion, sexual preference and lock them in a steel electric railway car that zooms through underground tunnels."
Yesterday I was cruising on the underground choo choo train and began eavesdropping in on a conversation between two 14 year old boys. It was just a paella of awkwardness and it became increasingly clear to me that I have never been a 14 year old boy.Prepubescent’s horror really is God’s cruel joke and college must be our reward for surviving puberty. Everything is physically and emotionally out of wack and someone figured that this is the time to be handed keys to a car. “Mikey is covered with zits, irritable, self conscious about his awkward body and cracking voice and filled with rage.…I think he should be operating heavy machinery."
It became a bit too painful to continue listening to Zack and Scooter’s grievances. I started perusing my neighbor’s New York Post and nausea continued. My only option was to read a poster across from me for Bowlmore Lanes. Their marketing angle is Celebrities Bowl With Us.” “Ethan Hawk, Matthew Broderick.…Rudolph Giuliani.”I was glad that they didn’t overlook Rudy because I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve thought “You know, I’d really like to bowl with that guy.”
Then right as nothing(besides my fingernails) seemed to be capturing my attention... God spoke to me. Well, not directly. A very passionate man on the subway was kind enough to pass along the message.God and I have had a bit of a turbulent relationship over the past few year and he was curious as to why I wasn’t returning his texts. We used to be real tight. I’d refer to him as “God-Dawg.” But I felt like he wasn’t really stepping up to the plate so I just needed a “break.” I feel like we’ll end up together in the long run.I just needed some space to flirt with other higher powers. I’ve been feeling that it’s about that time to stop playing “hard to get” and reestablish my connection with God. I needed some questions answered so I figured that the subway preaching conduit could relay my inquiries to the deity. I asked if he would be my channel and he replied that he’d be happy to “do me the solid.”
Questions for God:
Why did you cancel Arrested Development?
Why does Al Roker have celebrity status when he is a nasty man with zero talent and sex appeal?
How does a Bill become a Law?
Why are there so many commercials about yogurt that keep middle age women’s digestive tracks in order?
Is testing makeup on animals really that bad? Have you seen what a little mascara can do for a bunny?
Aren’t the Pope and Klan members essentially wearing the same thing?
Why do you allow people to dress up in chicken costumes?
Homosexuals get the Gay Pride Parade. Can heterosexuals have a “Straight Shame March?”
The questions were just flowing through me like rapid fire and my new “between worlds” friend looked winded. I could have kept going but my stop was approaching. I felt so cleansed. Space had been cleared. I figure that God will arrange for another “chance” meeting with "Mr. Sure the Lord chats it up with me.” And if you want to know the answers…join us at Fox for next week’s episode of “UNDERGROUND REALITY!”
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Day 26 - Topless Hot Dog
September 3rd, 2009
Every now and then I go to that place that is bedazzled with wonderment. This occurs when I put some attention on the reality that this very moment was determined by every grandiose and seemingly microscopic choice that I have made up until this point. I have no interest in getting into the “Is fate predetermined” debate. Although I have a hard time believing than any higher entity in the universe could have predicted that I would be having an exceptionally good hair day today based on switching conditioners. On the most basic level, there seems to be something almost science fiction about allowing ourselves to just accept that the rewarding and challenging experiences of our lifetimes are based on free will.
Getting into a summer theater program at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts was what initially brought me up to New York right after college. While I appreciate the craft of acting, I have never resonated with it..mind, body and spirit like I have with comedy. I prefer to write my own things and have a bit more creative control. Luckily I tapped into the New York comedic community very early on. This granted me a strong network and a variety of opportunities that continues to grow since performing with my first improv troupe in the Dean and Delucca basement in 1997. I have paid my dues.
However, there were a few months before I was nestled into the safe bosom of comedy. Being an “actress”..I hit the audition circuit and sat in casting rooms with 200 other tall blonds. Two memorable opportunities came my way..both of which I declined. Oh how life could have been altered if I had given the green light.
First missed opportunity. I was offered a part in the HBO show Oz…you know the wholesome family drama about men in a maximum-security prison. If you don’t recall this series, let me share some dialogue with you:
Schillinger: But Beecher knows too much about both of us. He's gotta die.
Keller: Yeah.
Schillinger: I'll deal with it.
Keller: No, I'll kill Beecher.
Schillinger: You?
Keller: Before I whack him, I just wanna fuck him in the ass one more time.
Yeah. That was from one of the more tame episodes. The part that I was offered involved me being topless. My ethics overrode the benefit of having an HBO credit on my resume. Moreover, I couldn’t stomach my brother and father catching that episode.Just wrong in every way.
The second “I accept the honor but decline the nomination” opportunity that I rejected was for the part of the mother in a Hebrew National Hot Dog Commercial. Mind you, I was 22 years old so I assumed my offspring would be some form of a baby. No. The marketing and advertising geniuses felt that the child should be a teenager. A few months later I ended up seeing the commercial on television and it went like so: Mom and child (that she evidently had when she was 7) drive up to the Hebrew National Hot Dog Window(..because those are everywhere?)
The mother undresses the hot dog with her eyes and then takes an alarmingly seductive bite then exclaims, (after an extended giggle) Thaaaaanks, I’ll have another!” Her delivery implied that the director required that she watch a B-grade porn film entitled, “Romancing the Bone" to get that deep bite “just so.”
Sure, I could have accepted those jobs but life would have flowed in the opposite direction. And I want to be where I'm at. I feel that I need to thank my 22 year old self and my comedy career as a whole for sparing me a lifetime of eating hot dogs topless.
Every now and then I go to that place that is bedazzled with wonderment. This occurs when I put some attention on the reality that this very moment was determined by every grandiose and seemingly microscopic choice that I have made up until this point. I have no interest in getting into the “Is fate predetermined” debate. Although I have a hard time believing than any higher entity in the universe could have predicted that I would be having an exceptionally good hair day today based on switching conditioners. On the most basic level, there seems to be something almost science fiction about allowing ourselves to just accept that the rewarding and challenging experiences of our lifetimes are based on free will.
Getting into a summer theater program at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts was what initially brought me up to New York right after college. While I appreciate the craft of acting, I have never resonated with it..mind, body and spirit like I have with comedy. I prefer to write my own things and have a bit more creative control. Luckily I tapped into the New York comedic community very early on. This granted me a strong network and a variety of opportunities that continues to grow since performing with my first improv troupe in the Dean and Delucca basement in 1997. I have paid my dues.
However, there were a few months before I was nestled into the safe bosom of comedy. Being an “actress”..I hit the audition circuit and sat in casting rooms with 200 other tall blonds. Two memorable opportunities came my way..both of which I declined. Oh how life could have been altered if I had given the green light.
First missed opportunity. I was offered a part in the HBO show Oz…you know the wholesome family drama about men in a maximum-security prison. If you don’t recall this series, let me share some dialogue with you:
Schillinger: But Beecher knows too much about both of us. He's gotta die.
Keller: Yeah.
Schillinger: I'll deal with it.
Keller: No, I'll kill Beecher.
Schillinger: You?
Keller: Before I whack him, I just wanna fuck him in the ass one more time.
Yeah. That was from one of the more tame episodes. The part that I was offered involved me being topless. My ethics overrode the benefit of having an HBO credit on my resume. Moreover, I couldn’t stomach my brother and father catching that episode.Just wrong in every way.
The second “I accept the honor but decline the nomination” opportunity that I rejected was for the part of the mother in a Hebrew National Hot Dog Commercial. Mind you, I was 22 years old so I assumed my offspring would be some form of a baby. No. The marketing and advertising geniuses felt that the child should be a teenager. A few months later I ended up seeing the commercial on television and it went like so: Mom and child (that she evidently had when she was 7) drive up to the Hebrew National Hot Dog Window(..because those are everywhere?)
The mother undresses the hot dog with her eyes and then takes an alarmingly seductive bite then exclaims, (after an extended giggle) Thaaaaanks, I’ll have another!” Her delivery implied that the director required that she watch a B-grade porn film entitled, “Romancing the Bone" to get that deep bite “just so.”
Sure, I could have accepted those jobs but life would have flowed in the opposite direction. And I want to be where I'm at. I feel that I need to thank my 22 year old self and my comedy career as a whole for sparing me a lifetime of eating hot dogs topless.
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