Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Out of the Mouths of Babes....

Due to the ridiculous venture I have embarked upon of running 13.1 miles this weekend in Phoenix, I had to go for a brief training run in the 24 degree weather.

As I was shivering/running through Park Slope, I ran past a group of 2nd graders who had just gotten out of school. As I ran past, one of the little 7 year old boys yelled after me "Run like the wind!".

Right. Will do. Thanks for the encouragement, kiddo.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

What the..?

Hillary Duff is set to star in a new Fox series about the youngest girl to ever pass the bar exam at the age of 18. The name of this vehicle?

Barely Legal.

OK, can I just saw "Ewwww."? Secondly, I'm glad to see that Fox is finally targeting that all-important 40-60 year old borderline-pedophile demographic. They have been ignored by the networks for way too long. Good going Fox!

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Terrifying

I just saw this commercial:



This commercial is supposed to be about how "fun" Carnival Cruise Lines is, and how adults are just kids at heart who want to play with beach balls.

Let me tell you something, Carnival: The very first thing I thought as I watched this was that if a beachball that is approximately the size of my apartment dropped off the side of a building towards the street where I was standing, I would be FUCKING TERRIFIED. I literally felt anxious and almost started hyperventilating while watching this stupid fucking thing.

If this happened in reality, I would run screaming in terror and would have some sort of post-traumatic stress every time I saw a beach ball or was in a city or was in a crowd of people or was alive. This is like a very bizarre terrorist attack that somehow taps into my memories of being the outcast in gym class when I used to cower in the corner as volleyballs flew overhead.

Clearly a marketing genius made this commercial, because I am feeling so anxious that I must immediately go on a cruise.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

Gethard

This post will be exclusively about my friend Chris Gethard and his new show that you should go see.

Gethard and I have known each other for about 6 or 7 years now. He is an improvisor, actor, and writer and has really weird shit happen to him on an almost daily basis. It's not uncommon to run into Chris and have him tell you in detail about the high speed car chase he was in earlier in the day or how he acquired the black eye that you have just inquired about. (Usually related to his brutal Brazilian Jiu Jitsu training that he seems to do about 8 hours a day). Chris's many stories were the inspiration for my "30 Day Challenge" on this blog last year. He also shows his love/obsession with certain athletes by writing one man shows about them, or producing videos in which he states how gay he is for them. (Chris may have a hint of stalker about him, but he at least expresses it creatively).

On to the real point of this post: Chris has taken his penchant for attracting random happenings and combined it with his love of storytelling (at which he is a master), and the result is his new show "Chris Gethard's Magic Box of Stories", currently running at UCB. He has video commentary by his mother after each story he tells, and even if you have heard them many times (as I have) you will enjoy hearing them again. (At the last show I attended, people yelled out the names of their favorite stories-- repeat patrons!) You should see this. Go to here and make a reservation. He has a show tonight and a few more to come.

Also, please watch this:

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Some things I recommend and stuff

I am still sick. It is now day number five and I am finally on the upswing, after trying to be productive whilst simultaneously dying over the last few days. The most frustrating/uncomfortable side effect of this illness has been an asthmatic cough that seems to be infinite in its duration and ability to make me miserable.

In my illness I have managed to do a lot of web surfing and tv watching, during which I have stumbled upon some of the following delights:

http://www.xtranormal.com -- You get to make your own movies. So far I have made weird existential French films set in a Japanese rose garden and an English gangster film set in a playground.

Blogs: I highly recommend reading Julie Klausner's yearend wrapup blog. Julie is acerbic and hilarious, and will make you see the truth about Gwyneth Paltrow's GOOP website, Jackie Mason, and sharks.

http://www.orisinal.com: Games! I used to play these all the time, but forgot about it with the advent of the time sucking Facebook apps such as Scramble and now defunct Scrabulous. These are simple and beautiful and nicely diverting.

I know at least 6 people in this movie. Rob Huebel, one of the aformentioned 6 people, says the screening he saw was hilarious. SUCCESS:




I also watched a lot of horrible TV/films and can say unequivocally that The Brothers McMullen is an unwatchable sloppily written terribly acted (with the exception of Connie Britton who manages to make the wooden dialogue sound sortuv realistic) mess of a film and the fact that this launched the career of Ed Burns is completely mystifying to me.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Illness

I have had a wicked cold for 3 days. I seem to remember a time when a bad cold didn't make me want to die and crawl into bed but that seems to be the case these days. The fun of getting older. When I get sick I throw out my normal productive checklist and use my alternate only-when-I-am-sick checklist:

-Sleep
-Watch E! - show about 25 hottest Cougars in Hollywood
-Make Soup
-Take Dayquil
-Sleep
-Watch MTV's Hills Wrapup Show
-Take Zinc Lozenge-
-Make grilled cheese sandwich
-Watch E! True Hollywood Stories: Serial Killers
-Make Mac and Cheese
-Watch 27 Dresses on HBO
-Sleep

For some reason illness, starch, and bad movies and tabloid TV go hand in hand.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Bipartisan Comedy

I was just having a convo with a friend about how this year's election really reinvigorated the comedy scene -- comedy became relevant again and it's the first time my parents actually were impressed by who I work with and what I and my frineds do (My mom finally understood who Amy Poheler was when Hillary Clinton went on SNL).

Besides the obvious examples, my friends Seth and Chad made a series on Funny or Die that I watched about 200 times. It's pretty much my favorite thing ever-- hilarious and clever, and makes a great point without being preachy. The first episode of the series still holds up post-election, so if you haven't seen it already, click below:

A tidbit

I am in the midst of the hazy malaise/crippling depression that the impending New Year generally brings (at least to me), so I have avoided posting here so as to save you all from self-indulgent heartache-y posts.
Instead I will leave you with this.

When I was in Paris, I went to a restaurant, clearly aimed at tourists, as it had English translation written underneath each dish. My favorite entry was the following, under appetizers:

Crudites
(a collection of crudenesses)

I don't think that word means what those people think it means.

Tuesday, December 09, 2008

Would it be inappropriate if I...

....went up to the mother of the three children that are currently behind me in a coffee shop in Park Slope who are running in circles and screaming their heads off, oblivious to the glaring barely disguised vitriol of all the laptop-toting adults, and told her she was raising her children to be assholes? Just hypothetically.

Monday, December 08, 2008

This is a post where I complain about things

Don't say I didn't warn you people. It's right there in the title. I am cranky.

First of all. Holy shit it's fucking freezing outside. What the fuck?? I left my underheated home to go write in a coffee shop and the coffee shop is freezing. There is no escape. Fuck this bullshit.
I have noticed that there is a direct correlation between the drop in temperature and the rise in my expletive-usage. Fuck you cold weather.

Also, on Firefox my blog appears to be somewhat unreadable. These weird grey boxes appear over part of my text. It only happens in Firefox, and it's fine on other browsers. Anyone know why this is? If you do, please email me or send me a telgram or something. It probably has something to do with the fact that my computer is an antiquated piece of tin held together by duct tape that I suspect is operated by a little mouse running on a wheel.

My house is a mess. Another result of the cold. I pretty much end up under the covers if I stay home, which means the mountains of dirty clothes and paper/junk mail/old cereal boxes are simply left to pile up as I slowly shiver myself to death.

What a whiny post. I will shut up now.

Thursday, December 04, 2008

Paris

As mentioned in my previous post I recently returned from Paris. I haven't been there since I was a kid and I loved it.

I noted to a friend of mine that the cool thing about Paris is that it looks exactly the way it does in the movies. As opposed to NYC. New York is often shot in a splendorous-sunsetting-fall-foliage-Upper West Side/Greenwich Village-Sex-in-the-City-only-rich people-see-the-city-this-way-haze that bares only a passing resemblance to the New York I actually live in.

But the incredibly beautiful Parisian streets, French door/iron-balconied windows, boulangerie/cafe-filled streets that you see in movies actually exists. Everywhere. It is stunning.

Other things I noticed about Paris:

-People LOVE small dogs there.

-If French is spoken correctly it sounds like you are singing.

-The French apparently love old crappy American television shows, like Hunter and Simon & Simon, which are dubbed into French and run seemingly 24 hours per day. (They also have The Simpsons dubbed into French with actors that sound exactly like the American version).

-I saw a bar where you could buy 10 shots of absinthe for 30 Euros.

-At a cafe the average cost of a pint of beer was 10 euros. I did not drink a lot of beer.

-Every supermarket has a huge wine selection much of which costs only 2 euros. This made up for the beer thing.

-Many businesses close from 2 or 3pm until 5:30pm. I think this is cool.

-I went to Bon Marche which has an epic food hall. It's like Zabar's meets Whole Foods meets .... a lot of French people. I can't tell if it's cool or unbelievably sad that I spent like 5 hours wandering around looking at food.

-I am training for a marathon so had to run a lot while I was there. It's easier to run 9 miles when you get to run past Notre Dame, the Louvre, and the Eiffel Tower as you run along the Left Bank of the Seine.

-I went to the Paris Menagerie (zoo) on my last day there. Zoos are awesome no matter where you are.

-Homeless people are given huge comforters each night so they can sleep on the street in comfort.

-Buskers on the subway play accordion and violin and everyone gives them change.

Ah, Paris. So civilized.

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

Kazoo Love

A while ago me and my good friend Chuck D found this amazing kazoo rendition of "Whole Lotta Love" online. I highly recommend listening to this. It sounds like a mix of Led Zeppelin and chickens dying. Listen to the whole thing...it's a real lesson in heightening and will make you laugh. Or cry. Or something.

The first 20-30 seconds are garbled introductions, don't get discouraged.



Due to its sreechy-dying-animal-quality this might be NSFW if you work in a quiet or uptight office.

Holy Merde

I just returned from ten days in Paris. It was awesome. The French have exquisite taste and style: amazing food, fabulous wine, beautiful clothes and architecture.

However French sophistication stops short at their love for truly, truly terrible comedy. If someone is making hilarious faces and funny voices, the French will love it.

I saw posters for the movie "Agathe Clery" all over Paris, trailer below. As with most French comedy, you don't need to understand French to get the gist.



There is nothing more hilarious than racism and modern-day black face. Leave it to the French to remake Soul Man in 2008.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Some Pig

The couple who made this video won't allow embedding, clearly because people would be exploiting their amazing video to no end if they did, so all I can do is link below:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yQq_BF6GW8Y

This video manages to simulataneously make your heart swell due to the adorableness of the featured pig and cringe at the lunacy of its well-meaning owners.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Recommended!

-GAVIN AND STACY: No, this is not the name of the new Fountains of Wayne song (Good guess though!). It's the new show that premiered on BBC America last night. This show once again proves that British people are much more clever and hilarious than Americans. The striking thing is that this show is filled with quirky characters that on an American show would be unbelievable one-dimensional carictures, but on British TV come off as hilarious, well-rounded, and brilliant. ANNOYING! No, but seriously, watch this.

-THE FARMER'S MARKET: I have been eating tomato sandwiches almost exclusively for the last two weeks, thanks to the delectability of said produce, as available from The Farmer's Market. Recommending this is sort of like recommending water or oxygen -- we all know it's good for us, so it's a sort of useless recommendation. But I am flying in the face of futility and recommending it anyway.

-SLEEP: Another futile suggestion? Perhaps. But I have managed to get 8-9 hours of sleep per night for more than one night in a row and it has been fantastic. Recommended!! (I guess there is no such thing as "one night in a row" but you know what I mean)

Alright, clearly I just wanted to recommend Gavin and Stacy, but felt I needed a few other items, as a list containing only one item is not even a list. But that doesn't take away from my sincerity in recommending fresh produce and copious amounts of bedrest.

Health Kick

I quit smoking just over a week ago. I hadn't made any big plans to do it but after a debauchorous night out the thought of a cigarette made me gag, so I ended up not smoking for a few days and I just figured I would stick with it. It's hardest when I am drinking since that's when the impulse to smoke kicks in, but I remind myself at those weak moments that besides the fact that cigs in NYC now cost nine dollars a pack (!), I am training for a half marathon. Plus I don't want to have wrinkles. Or die of cancer. My mom is a pack a day smoker and her skin has an ashen grey undertone and she coughs all the time. Visions of my future if I don't stop now.

So if you see me with a cigarette dangling from my mouth you have my permission to tear it into a million pieces and then punch me in the stomach. Seriously.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Subsequent History Will Happen in the Eventual Present!

I recently sojourned briefly to the Catskills. In the Shandaken/Phoenicia area there are a number of local papers, most of which feature info on the local Spelling Bee Champion, news on the Rotary Club, and ads for the local fruit stand ("Alyce and Roger's Fruit Stand, Route 28, Mt. Tremper, NY" read one ad - no frills advertising at its best).

In one of the local papers I saw my favorite headline ever:

"The Greener the Better: Local Sustainabiilty is Inevitably Just as Historical as Our Present Futures"

EXACTLY. I think.

OK, No, Really....

I wil be the first to admit that my blog has been filled with empty promises and broken dreams, but I am issuing a challenge to myself: Write in this blog for 30 days straight**. This might be really really boring.

**Contingent on internet access while I travel for much of September.

Here it goes....

Friday, May 09, 2008

Back on the Blogwagon

So clearly my resolution to write in my blog everyday was a complete and miserable failure. But things got Cuh-razy over the past few months. I worked 2 jobs which equalled a (minimum) 70 hour work week. I broke my wrist, I got mugged, started a new Maude team at UCB, and I was overall just f--ing exhausted. So the blog took a backseat. But hopefully from now on it will be firmly ensconced in the passenger seat of my priority list.

So: A few month's ago I broke my wrist. I have broken a few bones in the past so I'm no stranger to the process involved : I once got punched in the face by a cab driver, getting my jaw broken in two places, requiring me to wear braces that were wired shut until my jaw healed. I also broke my right wrist years ago when I was stage managing at Irving Plaza, which effectively rendered me unable to work, and afterward my tendons atrophied and I couldn't move my fingers or wrist for 6 months. But this one took the cake, being possibly the most pathetic injury of ALL TIME.

Back in January I started a three month day job while still working at UCB full time in order to pay off debts. The day my job started also marked the first day I had an afternoon improv class with Anthony King. One of the exercises Anthony has the class do is to play Duck Duck Goose. In truth, I dreaded playing this game, since it took me right back to my gangly uncoordinated 9-year old self. And true to form, as I ran around the circle I (overenthusiastically) took a turn too hard, bounced off a wall and wiped out. And landed on my wrist. I knew things weren't good, but I convinced myself it was just a sprain, iced it down, borrowed a boxing wrap from Eli Newell in lieu of an ace bandage, and left for my first day of work at my new job. Then I went to UCB and bartended for 7 hours (one handed). Then I worked double shifts for three days in a row. Finally I went and go an X-ray and learned that I had broken two bones.

There is nothing like telling an ER doctor that you broke your wrist playing Duck Duck Goose. And then explaining that I am not a nursery school teacher (which was their assumption), but that I was playing with a bunch of twenty-somethings so that we coudl illustrate basic improv concepts.

I have since almost fully recovered, although I can't put a lot of weight on my wrist. This was the maybe the most exhausting period of my life, but I have survived to blog again. More to come!

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Swan Song

I have been part of a really great sketch team at the UCB Theater for the last 9 months or so. I have never been part of a more supportive and fun group of people --every meeting and rehearsal was guaranteed laughs, which can rarely be said. Sadly we are being disbanded as they are revamping the sketch team program and we are having our final show tonight. If you are looking for something to do tonight please come by to catch it. I am very proud of all of our work and this show in particular -- I feel like we took some risks and had a particular voice and it's been a blast. In short, my team kicks ass and I am so happy to have been a part of it.

iBadger final show!!
Monday January 21st
8pm
$5
UCB Theater
26th and 8th
Reservations: http://www.ucbtheatre.com/schedule/showdetails.php?showid=1425

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Homeland Obscurity

I recently did an online search to see what items one can bring on the plane in carry-on luggage. I have finally decided to kowtow to the demands of heightened security after waiting forever at baggage claim and losing my luggage on more than one occasion. The requirements for bringing travel items is both disturbing and hilarious.

One can only bring travel-size items on board if you have them packed separately in a plastic bag. Apparently the size of the bag is VERY important:

"All liquids, gels and aerosols must be placed in a single, quart-size, zip-top, clear plastic bag. Gallon size bags or bags that are not zip-top such as fold-over sandwich bags are not allowed. Each traveler can use only one, quart-size, zip-top, clear plastic bag."

Right after this very specific request the website reads:

"Please keep in mind that these rules were developed after extensive research and understanding of current threats."

Aha. The unknown threat of the gallon-size plastic bag! Here we all are, sleeping tight each night in blissful ignorance as our vigilant security forces uncover the myriad conspiracies that are slowly threatening to dissolve our wonderful Western democracy. We may not understand it, but let's just follow along, our lives depend on it. If they say quart-size bags only, then there must be a good reason for it. No rules are arbitrary in the fight for our nation's security!

There are exceptions to the 3 oz. rule of course. The TSA is not completely heartless. They understand that us lowly travelers have some needs that must be met. They allow baby formula, breast milk, water or juice (but only for people who medically require it, which I thought was every human being on earth, but apparently not), life support and life-sustaining liquids like bone marrow, blood, organ transplants, and "mastectomy products". They care, they really do. The best part of this list is that you ARE allowed to bring KY Jelly on the plane. Well thank God for that.

Among the other forbidden items:

-You cannot bring ice axes, sabers, or swords. Mountaineers and old-timey Sultans are screwed!
-Spear Guns. Is nothing sacred??
-Hatchets, Cattle Prods. Pretty prejudicial against cowboys and serial killers. Harumph.
-Throwing Stars. Ninjas are being targeted now. What the hell???
-Snow Globes. My grandma will be devastated.

Safe travels everyone.

Sunday, January 06, 2008

Samantha Huh?

I finally watched an episode of Samantha Who?. the Christina Applegate vehicle on ABC. I didn't really know much about it. It turns out that this show is about a girl who suffers massive head trauma, loses her memory, and thus can't remember her former life: wacky adventures ensue! The twist is that her character used to be a total douchebag so now she has to spend her time making amends for things she can't remember. So it's sort of like the female version of "My Name is Earl" except with the hilarious possibility of aneurism or embolism that could occur at any moment. Wow, what a GREAT idea!

This show has inspired me to come up with some pitches, so when the writer's strike ends I am ready to go:

The Blind Leading the Mind: A misogynist male model gets blinded by acid while getting a facial peel and must learn to appreciate true inner beauty. Shallow Hal meets Awakenings. Wacky Adventures Ensue!

Lead Foot: An arrogant world-class athlete loses her leg in a freak strength-training accident. She must learn how to navigate the world with a new iron leg and her new job as a toll booth operator. Like My Left Foot but hilarious. Wacky Adventures Ensue!

Objection!: A snarky fast-talking lawyer loses the ability to speak and hear after a freak gavel-throwing incident. Now he must learn to navigate the world by using interpretive dance. Wacky Adventures Ensue!

Come up with your own! TV shows guaranteed!

Saturday, January 05, 2008

Squalor

At the moment I am living in squalor. By the end of this day I hope to halve the said-squalor so maybe it no longer qualifies for that title and can be downgraded to minor disarray.

I am aided in this pursuit by the fact that my housemate didn't pay the cable bill so our service got shut off, thus disabling my unhealthy habit of watching 12 hours of America's Next Top Model reruns or Goodfellas which seems to be playing in an incessant loop on A&E lately.

To keep you occupied, I recommend you check out the blog of Dan Harmon, this post in particular. This will only work if you have a MySpace account. If you don't have one, sign up for one just so you can read his stuff. Whilst reading his rants I go between spectacular joy that someone can write something so weird and hilarious and clenched-fist rage that what he tosses off in two seconds with no thought whatsoever is a ten times better than any writing I spend ten hours laboring over. Seriously read it.

Until tomorrow. Or maybe later today depending on how my squalor bashing goes.

Friday, January 04, 2008

Let's Reevaluate

A number of things have come up recently that have caused me to reevaluate some fundamental points of my existence. But nothing as disturbing as this.

Yesterday my meals consisted of the following:

Chef Boyardee out of a can
Nissin Cup o' Noodles
Snickers
Power Bar

Some things need to change.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

My Life in J-Pop

When I was bumming around the music biz trying to have a respectable career so that my parents wouldn't freak out, one of the many jobs I held was working for a music management company. They dealt exclusively in J-Pop, their main client being the band Pizzicato Five which at the time was a cult sensation signed to Matador Records.

We operated out of a small one room office on Broadway and 25th Street. I got paid a pittance and worked weird hours. We always had more money going out then coming in and a few times they didn't have enough money to pay me. My two bosses were an awesome lady named Terri who was a total Japanophile and a Japanese man named Tom. They worked, quite literally 20 hours a day. Often I would come in to find Tom sleeping on the floor. They really had to hustle to get their deals done.

Dealing with the Japanese recording industry posed a unique set of challenges. First of all there is the obvious time difference--we would come in to find faxes littering the floor and the answering machine filled with messages. The mastermind of the p5 duo was named Konishi and he would send long hand-written letters via fax complete with pictures he had drawn and little cartoons to illustrate his points. At that time p5 was pretty big in Japan but not so much in America, and Konishi perceived this to be an unfair disparity, which we heard about constantly.

They also had a completely separate management company and record label in Japan which caused a lot of problems and wrangling so we could do deals without fucking up the pre-existing deals they had made in Japan. Matador Records fits the cliche of indie record companies - their office was in a loft space on lower Broadway and people wore ripped jeans to work and smoked cigarettes at their desks. The Japanese record executive wore suits, bowed upon meeting you, constantly talked about honor and things of that nature. Bringing both sides to the table for import/export deals and the like was an exercise in diplomacy that I hope I never have to deal with again. One time I had to forge a letter from Matador apologizing for some faulty product.

Through this job I met Simon Timony and his mom who ran our fan club. Simon was in a band called the Stinky Puffs which he had formed with the son of someone from Sonic Youth when he was 7 years old. I think he was about 10 or 11 when I met him and I set up some gigs for them at dives like the Continental since in those days I knew everyone that booked everything in the downtown music scene. Simon's biggest claim to fame was that Kurt Cobain had been a huge fan of the band and they had become friends before he died and had played together. Lots of heavy stuff for a 10 year old kid. I think he has a band in San Francisco now.

Anyway, after about 6 months, my interest in this high-pressure low-paying job began to wane and I decided to kiss the music industry good-bye. My bosses were really sweet people, and I think were relieved to have me go, as I was beginning to have a pretty bad attitude. Right around the time I left they signed Buffalo Daughter which went on to some success here in the States. Last I heard the whole company had relocated to Japan where I assume they still are hustling and working exhausting hours.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

New Year's Day

I had a better than expected New Year's Day. Tens of phone calls, text messages, and IMs later, I realized I have an amazing support system of super great friends. My evening was spent with two of my housemates and my friend Nate Smith, who came over to hang out and be the awesome supportive friend he always is. My housemate Poker made us all an enormous dinner: roast, salad, veggies, black eyed peas, home made scones, and pie. After a few hours of awesome conversation and red wine I felt like a zillion bucks. Or more accurately a zillion bucks that had been fished out of the river of regret. But still, a zillion bucks.

I am following my friend Kate Spencer's lead and attempting to write in my blog every day in January. So look forward to more self-indulgent posts about what I ate for dinner. You're welcome.

**Edited to add: Please check out my friend Chris Gethard's blog. He is one of the best storytellers I have ever known, and the one who inspired my 30 Day Challenge blog last year. He is posting a new story every week, the first one having gone up today. Check it out.

Happy Fucking New Year Part 2

Within minutes of my last post I had three people call or text me to ask if I was okay. So my prediction was true. This IS the year of awesome friends.

In a related note, I got a MySpace message today from an old old friend I knew in the Scrap Bar days. He told me that the days of him being a homeless junkie are long gone and he is now married with a 9 year old son and has his own business. It's a nice reminder that things can turn around even after the worst of times.

I have been reading too much Deepak Chopra.

Happy Fucking New Year indeed.

Happy Fucking New Year

I had without a doubt the absolute Worst New Year's I have ever had in my life.

There is nothing like having an old good friend completely disrespect you without regard to your personal feelings to ring in the New Year. Fortunately my good friend Shannon O'Neill and her husband saw my utter meltdown and insisted in driving me all the way home to Brooklyn even though they live in far Queens. HEROES.

Plus I lost 50 bucks somewhere.

So I choose to see this New Year as out with the old crappy friends and in with the new awesome friends that step up and help you out in the worst of times. And the year that I lose 50 dollars.

Yeah I am putting a positive spin on this.

Happy New Year.

Monday, December 31, 2007

Resolutions

Every year we all go about making resolutions we don't keep. So I have decided to go the opposite route and list a bunch of resolutions that I will definitely keep, not matter how hard I may resist:

I resolve to:

-watch The Hills when I should be cleaning the house.
-forget to buy cat food at least once a month.
-say I am going to spend time writing and instead update my Facebook profile.
-let my laundry pile up until I have nothing left to wear.
-spend too much money on cabs and food and beer.
-spend too much money on the above even when I can't pay my rent.
-start at least one crafty project that will get only partially done and then sit in the corner of my room for six months.
-look up ex-boyfriends on MySpace and Facebook.
-make plans with people that never happen because I am too lazy to actaully call them when the time comes.

I am pretty sure I can keep these. Look for an update at the end of 2008 to see how I did!!!

Viva la New Year.

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Must Like Dogs

I have been sick for 5 days. FIVE. It hasn't been a full-blown flu, but rather a slow metamorphasis from fever/cold to cold/couch to cough/sore throat. I can't wait to see what evolves into next.

Anyway, being sick during the one week where I have next to no obligations is par for the course. On the bright side, I dont' have rent money so the fact that I have been bed-ridden for the past 5 days has kept me from frittering away money on things like food and taxis. Except for the one night in the middle of my flu-storm when I decided to go out and drink beer and 5 whiskies at McManus thus exposing me to the worst hangover I have had since college.

But that is not the point of this post. The point of this post is to talk about Match.com. After everyone I know has told me I have to try online dating, I filled out a profile on Match which is excruciating because you need to be charming and funny while you talk about why you hate Good Charlotte and love Dave Eggers without sounding like an asshole, which is pretty much impossible. You also have to fill out all sorts of lists as in Interests: Coffee and Conversation, Dining Out, Movies. Wow, that probably tells you a lot about me - I like coffee, conversation, eating, and movies. You like those things too? No kidding.

Then you get hilarious emails from Match.com which let you know that someone has contacted you. One email read, "Hello Rachael! You just got an email from a dog person!:

Then when you open the email it says:

Look how much you have in common:

He is a dog person too.
He also wants kids someday.

Wow. That is a match made in heaven. I am picking out my wedding dress right now.

Anyway, I have already given up on Match.com, partially because I am in a holding pattern with someone I like (and actually know in real life), but mostly because this shit costs like 40 DOLLARS for one month. I am broke y'all. I have no desire to pay 40 dollars just to meet someone who enjoys basic activities that only a retard/recluse would abstain from.

Happy New Year.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Smartin

I, along with every other comedy nerd on the planet, am reading Steve Martin's new book "Born Standing Up" which chronicles his stand up career. I recommend this book if you like Steve Martin, or comedy, or creativity, or life.

Among the many nuggets of wisdom contained in this book, the following is my favorite quote so far, as it pertains to any creative pursuit and sums up the challenges of that pursuit so well:

"It was easy to be great. Every entertainer has a night when everything is clicking. These nights are accidental and statistical: Like lucky cards in poker, you can account on them occurring over time. What was hard was to be good, consistently good, night after night, now matter what the abominable circumstances."

2008: Strive for goodness.

Monday, December 24, 2007

A New Old Video

I made this video a zillion years ago. It stars me, Billy Merritt, Sean Conroy, Michael Delaney, and a bunch of other familiar UCB faces. It's up on Funny or Die (www.funnyordie.com). If you like it please go there and rate it. Unfortuantely I didn't really know shit about filmmaking at the time so the sound is truly terrible, but other then that I am still pretty proud of it.



I am working on a bunch of short film scripts right now so hopefully there will be more to come.

Resurrected

Christmas seems as good a time as any to bring back this blog. And yes, I realize that on the religious calendar Christmas is not about resurrection but I don't play by the rules. Fun Fact #1: I had to look up the correct spelling of resurrection in the dictionary. Fun Fact #2: When I woke up today I wasn't sure if it was Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. I cannot tell if this makes my life unbelievably cool or unbelievably sad.

I am not sure what I will be writing about here. I feel like I have run out of fun stories from my past, although if I think of any I will surely share them here. So more then likely I will just rant about the strike, or what I had for lunch, or the people that annoyed me today, or The Hills. In other words, this blog will not be particularly distinguishable from anyone else's.

I thought of taking on a cool project, like my friend Jen McNeil's, but frankly I don't have the energy, or the time. My finances are dire which means that I will probably take another job soon, leaving me less time for doing things like visiting every museum in NYC and writing about it or watching every movie on the AFI's top 100 list and then giving you my amateur criticism which no one would care about but me. (I have legitimately thought of doing these things in the past, I am not being hip and ironic here).

I am going through a transitional period right now, although I always feel like I am going through a transitional period. Which means I will probably write a bunch of self-serving soul-searching posts about the state of my existence and how I am alone in this big black void we call life and how I can't get a date and how my cat is constantly throwing up and how my house is a mess. Also I will probably write about movies and food.

2008: the year of the meaningless rambling post. Now you have something to look forward to. (Yeah I ended my sentence with a preposition. Like I said, I don't play by the rules.)

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Strong Words

Entertainment Weekly has written the first fair article about the strike in the mainstream press. My favorite quote:

''Corporations are fond of reminding their employees that they're all a 'family' during tough times. But when families sit down to dinner, Dad doesn't get to say, 'I'm gonna eat until I decide I'm full, and then we'll see if there's anything left for the rest of you.'''

Full article here:

http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20159387,00.html

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Strike Day #2

Today a lot of disturbing information came out about the strike that is so infuriating and heart rending it's unbelievable. The Producer's Alliance has essentially pulled a fast one on the WGA, luring them to the table by saying that if they pulled the DVD issue off the table they would restructure the internet package. The WGA held up their end of the bargain. The AMPTP did not. Not only did this force the strike, but it will keep both sides from even going back to the table for quite some time.

For the time being I suspect this blog will be primarily about the strike. If you read this and agree (or are just interested), please pass this information on to your friends. Public support will be key. Fortunately the politicians have hopped on the writer's bandwagon -- Barack Obama and John Edwards have voiced their support for the writers, so that's something.

There have been a lot of eloquent and passionate articles and blogs appearing over the past few days that are well worth the read if you are interested in this issue. (We are writers after all, so you can expect a lot of prose flowing as the strike continues). I will be linking to or posting them here.

Here is one of them written by Micah Wright, passed on to me by my friend Brian Stack who writes for Conan O'Brien. I am assuming that he won't mind it being reprinted here, but I am sure someone will let me know if it is a problem. His overview of the issues is really interesting, passionate, and astute:

'WHY THE TIME IS NOW
(The following was written by Micah Wright on WriterAction. It's in response to a writer who takes issue with WGA leadership.)

The AMPTP clearly never intends to pay us one single cent for internet delivery. The music business model clearly indicates that internet delivery for most, if not all content is the future. What then were we supposed to do when faced with rollbacks and refusals to bargain in good faith? Pray? Or just swallow the bullshit they were trying to shove down our throats, and forget about not only what we're making, but also what every person who ever follows us into this union will ever make?

People like you keep bitching about the DVD negotiating point, and yeah, you're right: DVD was lost 20 years ago, but there's no magic rule which says we can't reopen that topic. More importantly, though, DVD didn't take off for almost a decade after the '88 strike... the Internet is here NOW, and it's here FOREVER, and if we give in and allow them to pay us ZERO on Internet delivery, we can just kiss the idea of ever getting paid residuals goodbye forever.

It's not self-righteousness which is driving this negotiation... it's quite simply the greed of the AMPTP, which clearly sees this as the year in which they intend to break the WGA on the rack once and for all. But you don't see that... you seem unable to get it through your head that the AMPTP doesn't want to ever pay us anything. If you think these people are so reasonable and that they deal in good faith, then try talking to writers who work in Animation and Reality... THAT is the future that the AMPTP has in store for EVERY WRITER IN THE WGA. Because if they don't have to pay residuals to the woman who wrote The Lion King, then why should they ever have to pay one to YOU? Or anyone else?

Oh, and before you give me some fucking sob story about the disastrous strike of 1988, let me bring you up to date with a more RECENT story: mine.

I came to this guild having had a "successful" career writing Animation for $1400/week for five years. During that time, I wrote on several of Nickelodeon's highest-rated shows. My writing partner wrote and directed 1/4 of the episodes of "SpongeBob SquarePants" and I was responsible for 1/5 of the episodes of "The Angry Beavers." The current value that those shows have generated for Viacom? $12 Billion dollars. My writing partner topped out at $2100/week. In the year 2001, tired of not receiving residuals for my endlessly-repeating work (even though the actors and composers for my episodes do), I joined with 28 other writers and we signed our WGA cards.

So, Nickelodeon quickly filed suit against our petition for an election, and set about trying to ferret out who the "ringleaders" were. In the meantime, they canceled the show that I had created 4 episodes into an order of 26. Then they fired the 3 writers who'd been working on my show. Then they fired 20 more of my fellow writers and shut down three more shows, kicking almost their entire primetime lineup for 2002 to the curb, and laying off 250 artists.

Then, once the WGA's petition for election was tied up in court over our illegal firings, Nickelodeon called in the IATSE Local 839 "Cartoonists Guild" -- a racket union which exists only the screw the WGA and its own members -- and they signed a deal which forever locks the WGA out of Nickelodeon, even though we were there first. Neato!

Then Nickelodeon's brass decided --out of thin fucking air-- that myself and two other writers had been "the ringleaders" of this organizing effort, so they called around to Warner Bros. Animation, the Cartoon Network, Disney Animation, and Fox Kids, effectively blacklisting the three of us out of animation permanently.

And why did Nickelodeon do this? Why were they so eager to decimate their own 2002 schedule, fire 24 writers, break multiple federal labor laws, sign a union deal, and to even bring back the fucking blacklist? They did all of that to prevent us from getting the same whopping $5 residual that the actors & composers of our shows get.

For five lousy fucking bucks, they destroyed three people's careers and put 250 artists out of work and fucked up their own channel for a year.

Ahh, but my episodes run about 400 times a year worldwide, though, so obviously Sumner Redstone (Salary in 2001: $65 million dollars) and Tom Freston (2001 salary: $55 million) were right to do what they did... myself and those other 23 writers might have broken the bank, what with each of us going to cost them another TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS each! OH NO! That... that's... FORTY EIGHT THOUSAND DOLLARS!

A YEAR!

So don't come crying to those of us who have EXPERIENCED what the AMPTP plans for all of the rest of you, that people who are deciding to stand up to bully-boy tactics like that are the crazy bunch of "horads" lustily marching "through" the streets searching for blood. The AMPTP are the barbarians sacking Rome in this scenario.

The AMPTP and their glittering-eyed weasel lawyers are a bunch of lying, blacklisting, law-breaking scumbags, and the fact that they haven't budged off of ANY of their proposals in the last three months proves that what they have in store for EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU is exactly what they did to us at Nickelodeon, and what they can do any day of the week in daytime animation. Or reality.

Strike or no strike. That's their plan: to winnow down your membership, to snip away at your MBA, to chew away at your health & pension plans until there's just nothing left of the WGA. Why? Because they've had a good strong drink of how much money they make off of animation when they don't have to cut the creators in for any of the cash, and now they want to extend that free ride to all of live action as well. THAT is why they have pushed for this strike at every step, with their insulting press releases, with their refusals to negotiate, etc. -- because they're HOPING we go on strike, and that enough cowards and Quislings come crawling out of the woodwork after six weeks that they can force us to accept the same deal that Reality TV show writers have.

If you doubt me, go read their contract proposals again... there's not ONE of them which isn't an insult and a deal-breaking non-starter.

So can we PLEASE stop hearing about how it's the current WGA management which is the fucking problem here? Because, frankly, that canard is getting a little stale.

Or perhaps you prefer presidents like the President of the Guild back in 2001 who just threw up her hands when we were fired and blacklisted out of our careers and said, and I quote, "oh well, it was a good try"?'

Monday, November 05, 2007

The Strike

The midst of the WGA writer's strike seems like as good a time as any to ressurect this blog. I certainly won't be writing anything else for a while.

Yesterday I walked the picket line in support of the Writer's Guild Strike. Most people who read this blog are fully aware of what is at issue, but for the few of you who are not indoctrinated here is a quick overview:

- DVD revenue: Currently writers get 4 cents per DVD. They are asking for 8 cents. The average DVD sale price ranges from 10-30 dollars, so this request is not exactly breaking the bank.

- Internet Coverage: Currently writers get no residuals for any television content shown on the networks websites (or elsewhere). Also there is no contract for any new content that is created for the internet, meaning any web shows, etc. Since, much like the music industry, internet is the future, this is a pretty serious issue. If the writers lose this battle, it in essence means that writers will not be paid for their work, since down the line most shows will be viewed via the internet.

The writers actually took the DVD issue off the table and the producers still walked out. Then they went to the trades and said that the writers walked out. Douchebags.

The AMPTP is trying to paint a picture which implies that writers are greedy and unreasonable when all they are asking is their fair share of the profits from content they helped to create. (A successful show can generate millions, sometimes even billions, of dollars and the writers get a very small portion of that.) Due to their complete unwillingness to negotiate, particularly on the topic of internet usage, they have forced the writers to strike, which seems to be what they want. They are in essence trying to break the union by showing reality TV and reruns. However if writers capitulate on the internet issue it is in effect saying that writers will not be paid for their work if it is shown on any medium other than television - like the music industry, new media is the future so capitulation on this issue is impossible.

The Producers Alliance keeps citing the fact that they don't know how new media will work, which is why they don't want to commit to any percentages. Which makes no sense. If they make money, writers get a percentage, but if they make no money writers get a percantage of nothing, which doesn't hurt the producers bottom line in the least.

What is inspiring is that many show runners (quite literally the people that run each show) have refused to cross picket lines even though they are technically producers. This includes showrunners from The Office, The Shield, and Grey's Anatomy, to name a few, which has brought production on those shows (and others) to a complete halt.

A few people have asked me why I chose to walk the line even though I am not a Guild member. Sadly this strike effects me and almost every one of my friends in innumerable ways. I walked because:

1-I want to support my many friends and acquaintances who are directly affected by the strike.

2-As a writer who expects to be in this union sooner or later they are essentially fighting for the contract that I will eventually live by, so as far as I am concerned this is my fight as much as anyone's.

This strike will affect me and all of my friends: no acting work outside of commercials and a few movies already in production, no pitch meetings, no industry to come see our shows, no development deals. My friends who recently sold shows to TV or got cast on shows are now going to wait around and hope their deals don't fall through by the time everyone gets back to work. This is what me and all of my friends work for and there will be nothing for us to do until the strike is over. Despite all this, we all support the strike because the producers want to give us (all writers and actors) literally nothing.

Good luck to everyone. Let's hope it resolves itself soon.



Me and my friend Doug Mand outside of 30 Rock. (picture by Dan Gregor)

Sunday, August 05, 2007

Vacation

I just returned from a much needed mini-vacation upstate with my folks. We take a yearly sojourn to the Catskills where we stay at a resort-esque German place complete with homemade Appalachian style housing and German food near the town of Phoenicia. It is a true getaway as there is no cell phone service and no email. Mostly I sat on the terrace and read, and napped for what seemed to be most of each day. I had no idea how tired and stressed out I was until I was forced to do nothing for three and a half days. It was also cool enough to do a few quick runs (I despise running in heat and running on treadmills which effectively makes me exercise-less in summer months). I was surprised to find that my DCM-acquired pack-a-day cigarette habit didn't adversely affect my running abilities.

This area we stay in caters to the summer season tourists, so has its fair share of nice restaurants (we ate well,) curio and tshirt shops (not sold to us), and it was hot enough on one day to use the pool, which is unusual since it's usually significantly cooler in the mountains. I love the paradox of small upstate towns: you can eat a five star meal at a restaurant, but the next table will probably be filled with bikers wearing leather, and your waitress will probably be a 15 year old freshman from the local high school. Also, if Phoenicia is anything to go by, the dying art of airbrushing vans and trucks is indeed alive and well.

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

The Blog is Back.

I have decided to bring this blog out of its temporary retirement. I have been too busy writing other things lately, but plan to designate more time to this in the months to come. I have been thinking of doing another 30 day challenge, but am afraid I have used up all the good stuff. My life apparently comes down to 30 posts. So I am trying to think up a more specific or different 30 day challenge...any ideas, dear readers? If so, leave a comment.

In the land of recent activity, I worked 125 hours (seriously!) last week due to the Del Close Marathon, which is an annual foray into controlled chaos that we at the UCB stage for the enjoyment of improv nerds from around the country. As usual I got to see almost no improv since I was running around doing damage control every spare second, and taking any nap I could. I had to miss my much anticipated sketch workshop with Matt Besser due to my work schedule which sucked, but otherwise I managed to keep it together. Sort of.

Here's a numerical overview of this year's DCM

Total sleep time (Friday morning to Monday morning) = 7.5 hours*
Total alcohol consumed = Several gallons
Total number of improv shows I got to watch in their entirety = 2**
Total Number of cigarettes smoked = 428***
Total of cute out of town boys flirted with = 3
Total number of makeout sessions = 0
Total Number of hours I worked a day, on average = 15
Total Number of workshops signed up for = 2
Total Number of workshops attended = 1
Total number of breakdowns = 3

*2.5 hours Saturday morning
1.5 hours Saturday night
3.5 hours Sunday morning

**Police Chief Rumble and Bruckheimer -- both wonderfully awesome.

***This is probably a lie.

Other highlights:

-Kevin Dorff showing up with a bag filled with 25 packs of cigarettes for the DCM staff
-Having awesome interns helping out every other second without being asked
-Shirt Swap!! If you don't know what this is, just use your imagination
-Sitting in a corner at the closing party quietly weeping.

I will be on a much needed vacation this week but the blog shall continue....

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Raffle for Charity!

My apartment hunt, marathon training, fundraising, show at UCB, and new sketch team have taken up a lot of my time lately, so please excuse my long absence from blogging -- I hope to soon be spinning more yarns about past NY stories, but for now I humbly submit the following plug for the charity raffle I am holding. I am raising money for cancer research by running a half marathon in Alaska, details below.

I have been fundraising for some time for my half marathon in Alaska --I am running for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and have agreed to raise $5100. My deadline is looming (June 8th) and I have a lot of money to raise! So I have decided to hold a raffle.
Details:

Tickets are $20.
TICKETS CAN BE BOUGHT ONLINE (instructions below).
The raffle is open until June 6th -- only 2 and a half weeks away!
List of prizes are below, and hopefully I will be adding a few things on Monday or Tuesday:

LIST OF PRIZES

4 VIP tickets to the Daily Show
2 tickets to the Colbert Report
2 tickets to Late Night with Conan O'Brien
2 more tickets to Late Night with Conan O'Brien (seperate prize)
Conan long-sleeved tshirt
Autographed Colbert tshirt
A UCB merchandise package with items signed by Amy Poehler (including UCB Season 1 DVD, Martin and Orloff, Matt Besser CD, UCB lighters, patches, and Tshirts)
A month-long pass to Assscat, UCB's most popular show!
A 1 hour massage from Jaya Bodywork

If you work in an office, have friends who might be interested, or can blog about this yourself, please link to this blog or cut and paste and send in an email. My goal is to sell 200 raffle tickets! You can buy tickets online so it's super easy!

Instructions for buying tickets:

1-If you are someone who sees me regularly, you can buy one in person. If you wish to pay by check (these contributions are tax deductible), then make the check out to "The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society".

2-You can pay online. Go to my donation page:
Rachael's Donation Page
Make a donation of $20 (or multiples of 20 if you want to buy more than one ticket). Once you have completed your donation, send me an email at TNTraffle@gmail.com. Let me know how many tickets you purchased and also send me your contact info: name, phone number, email, and mailing address. Once I have confirmed your donation I will email you the numbers of your raffle tickets. PLEASE EMAIL ME IF YOU WANT A TICKET. If you donate without emailing me I will assume it is just a donation and you will not be entered in the raffle.

The drawing will be Wednesday June 6th -- probably at a final fundraising party TBA. Please pass on the info! 100 percent of money raised goes towards the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Things you should see and looking for an apartment is slowly killing me

I will be back on track with this blog soon: I have a bunch of half finished posts that I will get to shortly.

In the meanwhile, please enjoy the following endorsements and complaints:

Please watch Human Giant on MTV. This will probably be the first and last time I ever recommend something on this channel (besides The Hills cuz that's an AMAZING show). It stars and is written by my friends Rob, Paul, and Aziz and is truly hilarious and smart. I can't quite believe what they have managed to get away with. Please check it out.

I have a show coming up at the UCB Theater called Half Empty which I am sure I will plug again down the road. Right now, we are working out the kinks and doing a few workshop shows in April, the first of which is this Thursday April 12th at 7pm. Please swing on by if you have nothing to do after work or before going out for a debauchorous night of karaoke or Scrabble.

Lastly, I have been looking for an apartment F-O-R-E-V-E-R. It is slowly erasing the need I have to exist. If anyone has any leads, let me know.

More to come, in a less whiny and self-serving format, in the near future....

Friday, April 06, 2007

Head. Ache.

So I received yet another notice from this person who seems to think I am personally out to get him, this time pertaining to cached content. Which I have no idea how to erase. I followed Google's instructions and it doesn't seem to make a difference. For all of my tech savvy friends out there, let me know what the secret is, besides robot meta tags, if there is one. I love that my inability to understand HTML tags has caused such an uproar. Viva technology.


Cease and Desist and Remove All "Cached" Content Containing Your Slanderous Statements Pertaining to ---- on Your Blogspot Blog

I have been informed by Google you have made no attempt to remove your false and slanderous statements about me from Google search engines . Meaning "cached" content linking my name to your slanderous comments continues to be released to the public. Since this can be easily done through your google help center. I take this as an knowingly and willfull, continued act of slander and harassment.
You did not know me 15 years ago. I have never met you.I have never talked to you. I do not ever care to know you. All parties involved in this slander and harassment, will be held legally liable for all damages done to my business and personal reputation.
CEASE AND DESIST THE RELEASE TO THE PUBLIC YOUR SLANDEROUS STATEMENTS ABOUT ------. REMOVE ALL CACHED CONTENT CONTAINING YOUR SLANDEROUS STATEMENTS PERTAINING TO ------- ON YOUR BLOGSPOT BLOG.

(name withheld)
04/06/07

Friday, March 30, 2007

The Power of the Internet

As the saying goes, with great power comes great responsibility. And those of us who use the internet do wield at least some power.
As I posted earlier I received a cease and desist notice. At first I thought it was over the top but then, upon reading the post in question, I realized that they actually had a good reason to be pissed. (I posted a full name and the possibly less than legal activities that they may or may not have engaged in). This person may be applying for jobs, have a child who does google searches, or just may not want their name posted in a public forum and I have to say that isn't a lot to ask. I forget that as much as I assume that the only people that read these recollections and thoughts may be friends or friends of friends it is still available for everyone or anyone to read and there is a certain responsibility that goes along with that. I will be combing through my past posts and changing or deleting names if I feel it is warranted.
Lesson learned. Welcome to the internet.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Cease and Desist!

I just received a cease and desist request via MySpace because I used someone's name in a story on one of my blogs. Goddamn those google searches:

It has come to my attention that you have been releasing to the public false and slanderous statements about me.
Cease, desist, and remove your slanderous public statements or legal civil action will begin.
(name withheld 3/29/07)

Yikes! Will do, good sir. (or madam, if you wish to truly remain anonymous).

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Hiatus Over!

I have taken a longer than expected hiatus from this blog to recuperate after my 30 day challenge and to work on my sketch show at UCB which went up on Monday, allowing me to breathe a relief-filled sigh and return to the comfort of my online journal.

A quick plug is in order before I get to a story:

I highly encourage you to check out the Most Awkward Boy in the World series of video shorts made by my friends Chris Gethard and Zach Woods. They are each less than a minute long, are high-larious and star a bunch of my friends being completely insane, which as far as I am concerned, is a great combination. One of my favorites is below, and you can check out a bunch more at their Youtube page under Cutman films.



Stories about Camp

I went to two sleepaway camps when I was a kid. And I fucking hated it. I grew up in the city and spending that much time in the wilderness was not even remotely appealing. The first camp I went to was Lenox Hill -- I was asked not to return after punching a girl in the face which then set off her asthma and sent her to the hospital. I am not sure why they didn't expel me immediately. I was really really difficult -- I remember refusing to take showers and crying a lot. I did not go back to Lenox Hill.

The second one was called Camp Incarnation, also known as "ECCC" which stood for Episcopal Camp and Conference Center. It was in Connecticut and in retrospect, it was a really terrible camp. I attended it for three years. My best friend, Alex Coveleski, went there and LOVED it. She was, and is to this day, a real outdoor nature buff kind of girl. So my parents figured that if she loved it, I would to. MISTAKE.

The camp was divided into different areas, separated by age. I don't remember what the boys' sections were called (Dave Thunder went to this camp so he can chime in if he ever reads this) , but the girl's sections were "Woodlands" which were for 10-11 year olds, Highlands for 12 year olds, and Winds for 13 year olds. After that you went to Pioneer Village, known as "PV" which was essentially full time outdoor camping, which sounds like a nightmare. How they duped parents into shelling out a bunch of bread so that kids could fend for themselves outdoors for 1-2 months is beyond me.

Many of my memories came from dining hall. The food here was so terrible it was amazing. The secret to making the food remotely tolerable was literally putting ketchup on everything: chicken, fish, eggs, etc. My parents said that one year on parent's day they overheard the following conversation by two of fellow campers: "Wow, that soup at lunch was terrrible." The second girl responded "That wasn't soup, that was meatloaf." My parents thougth that this was hysterical and kept sending me to hell camp. (Welcome to my parents' sense of humour). We also sang songs at meals including "Sardines and Pork and Beans", and the Bumblebee Tuna theme song (which had a mime-like dance attached to it that I still know to this day).

Once per session we had to go an "overnight" which meant real camping out in the woods. I hated these more than anything. I am a mosquito magnet and would usually have a hundred bites by morning, plus peeing in the woods and eating burnt food was not my idea of a good time. I was already a complete whiner through these sessions, but usually at least one legitimately horrible thing would happen to me on these trips: one year they were carrying a pot of boiled water to make hot chocolate and someone tripped and the hot water went all over my legs causing minor burns. Another year as we hiked back to camp I complained of feeling dizzy and nauseous. The counselors didn't believe me and forced me to march another two miles or so in the hot sun until we got back to camp. I collapsed on the floor of our tent and another camper dragged me to the infirmary where I was informed that I had a 104 degree favor and was completely dehydrated. I then spent three days in the unairconditioned infirmary in the blazing heat.

I made some pretty good friends at camp. The one that I kept in touch with for years was Siobhan Oakley. She was from Australia and her dad was a diplomat who worked at the UN. She was the toast of camp due to her exotic accent and her super cute appearance. She made out with boys, which I remember being sort of shocking to my 12 year old self.

The year I met Siobhan, a girl named Katie was in our group, and I guess upon seeing Siobhan's immediate acceptance and popularity due to her accent, Katie decided to pretend she was British. We all knew she was faking and we were merciless and vicious. We would quiz her about British food and history and politics, we would ask her to repeat herself whenever she accidentally dropped her accent, and on parents' day we came dangerously close to busting her in front of her clearly American parents. In retrospect, it's clear that this was probably a split second decision that she made on the first day of camp during introductions which then completely screwed her for full month afterwards.

I am sure I wil recall more camp horror stories....This post has been long enough. It won't be another 20 days before I post again.

Thursday, March 01, 2007

And thus endeth the challenge....

Today is the end of my 30 Day Challenge. It has been an interesting road. Thanks to everyone who has read, commented, linked to and otherwise encouraged me during this experiment. I encourage you to do the same (or a shorter version) because a) it makes you write every day, b) it makes you examine your life in a completely different way, and c) your life is more interesting than you think. My favorite blogs have always been the ones that detail past or current stories from people's own lives. I will continue writing whatever random memories come to me, just not every day....

This final story reveals me at my most pathetic. Plus if future employers read this, they probably won't hire me:

When I worked at the Scrap Bar I was just a young puddle of insecurity. I partied a lot, met rock stars, and generally had a good time, but was often relegated to the role of funny friend amongst my set of gorgeous rocker chick supermodel friends. This led to some disastrous decisions on my part, since the minute any guy paid attention to me, logic and self-esteem went out the window to be replaced by stupidity and desperation for acceptance.

Enter Nick. Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, tattoos, in a band, charming, boyish, flirty. The other elements of his lifestyle included heroin addiction, lack of job, lack of money, and lack of a place to live. I chose to see these aspects as signs of his rebellious nature. Nick loved to spend nights at my house, mainly because he was homeless. I chose to see this as his undying love for me. Plus he was in a band! What more could I want?

Things were going swimmingly until his ex-girlfriend came back to town. She was the love of his life and they had one of those tempestuous and tortured relationships that are horrendous to live through but from a distance seem romantic and passionate. I was horribly jealous. Predictably, Nick stopped turning up on my doorstep soon after. I never had really thought Nick was my boyfriend, but I still felt betrayed. I dreamed of the many ways I would make him jealous and he would realize what a horrible mistake he had made. And inevitably, one day, I walked into the bar and there he was. No girlfirend in sight. I planned to tell him what a jerk he was, but as soon as I got up to him he kissed me and asked if I wanted to get high. Within the drug culture, getting high is an excuse to bond with people around you. So I immediately trashed any version of self respect that I had floating around and said yes. I envisioned doing some drugs, going into a corner of the bar, making out, going home and confessing our undying love for one another.

Instead of hanging out, Nick led me out to the street and into a cab which quickly took us to the very sketchy corner that was 9th Street and Avenue A where he flagged down a go between -- a young, early 20s at most, Hispanic dude who led us to an apartment complex somewhere between Avenues C and D. And suddenly I was in a crack house.

Nick went off into a corner to make a buy and I was left surrounded by a bunch of emaciated men and women with pockmarked skin and rotting teeth (the beautiful hallmarks of serious drug addiction). Nick quickly returned with a pipe and it was passed around the group. When it was offered to me, I had no desire to take it but then noticed the ten sets of eyes peering at me. So...I ended up smoking crack. To impress a dude.

After it was all over, Nick and I crashed at my house. The crash from this drug is terrible. You are wired and exhausted at the same time, making it impossible to sleep. The next day I woke up and was horrified at what I had done. That was the beginning of the end....I rarely saw Nick after that. The last time I did he was on the corner of St. Marks and 2nd handing out flyers for a hair salon. Can you say winner? I completely debased myself for a guy whose last name I can't even remember now.

Ah, young love.

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Two more.....

I have been swamped and falling behind! Today, two posts to make up for yesterday's lack thereof:

After Hours
The days of going to After Hours joints are long past for me, so I have no idea if or where they still exist. But my feeling is they are not as prevalent as they used to be. (By after hours, I mean TRUE after hours -- places that didn't open until 2 or 3 am and would close at noon or later). When I was growing up and hanging out on the LES, the main after hours was called Save the Robots. It was on Avenue B between 2nd and 3rd Streets, which back then was a much more shady area. Roger, the singer from the punk band Nausea, would work the door and go around and let us in the back way. Save the Robots was a real 80s club. It had different themed rooms -- the downstairs had a beach theme and the floor was covered in sand. The drinks were pricey and the music fell more into the dance/techno category. Still it was some place to go at 4am (which when you are 18 in NYC is important). I believe the club reopened again in the last few years with the same name, but of course, nothing close to the original.

The other infamous places were Brownie's and Frankie's. Brownie's I didn't go too as often. You needed a password and people needed to know you, and I didn't have the connections, so I only went with other people. Frankie's was my hang out. It was on 2nd Street just off 1st Avenue. The front was totally innocuous -- a boarded up store front painted black which you would walk right by if you didn't know that it was there. Once you opened the door you would be in a liviing room/bar. It was cluttered with all sorts of memorobilia and had a ratty pool table that was impossible to play on. The pool table was ripped up and the room was so narrow that you couldn't properly line up a shot because the cue wouldn't fit between the wall and the table.

In the back was a bar which served 10 dollar beers. This was the after hours for nightclub employees who liked to do a lot of drugs. There was a bathroom out in the hallway where everyone would discreetly go to do their intake. The hallway was actually the downstairs of a residential building and I can only imagine what they thought of this club that ran every night underneath their apartments. The owner of the place, Frankie, must have been in his 60s or 70s and would give cocaine to all the pretty girls (while trying to cop a feel). There was a backyard where we would hang out as well. I remember a lot of drug-fueled arguments happening back there. There were no windows in the bar, which often led to people staying there until noon or 1pm. Cocaine messes with time -- you are so speeded out that you have no idea what time it is.

Frankie would take pictures of everyone. The next time you came in he would whip out a little box which had envelopes with people's names on them and hand you an envelope of pictures of yourself from the last time you were there so you could have a memento of your last trashed bender at Frankie's.

Guns n Roses Parties

Guns n Roses lived a life of excess and threw lavish parties after every single concert on their tours. Over the years I went to a few of them. They often had a theme: Toga party (complete with bartenders etc. in togas and a roasted pig on a spit being carried through the party), Game night, Casino, etc. One particular time comes to mind as one of the more ridiculous parties I attended: They came to NYC with Metallica and Faith No More to play the Meadowlands. My friend Betty, who had been in the Cycle Sluts, and Jerry, who worked at the Scrap Bar, decided we wanted to go. Back then it was pretty common for us to just decide to go to a concert without tickets and talk our way in. We knew enough people that somebody would usually vouch for you.

We got to the Meadowlands after having taken a drunken bus ride out there and found our way back to the stage door gates. I don't remember exactly how we got in. I think Jerry may have talked us in, or Stuart, Axl's brother, whom I had dated for about 10 seconds, shooed us in, but we ended up tooling around backstage for a while and then grabbing seats right next to the stage during Metallica's set. Afterwards we went backstage and hung out with those guys -- Betty used to date James Hetfield. There was a really big feud between Metallica and GnR then, and I remember James (and Lars in other occasions around this same period), railing against how they were idiots to spend so much money on these parties and how Axl was a lunatic who didn't take care of his voice.

The party was the usual antics: It was a speakeasy theme. They had fake Guns n Roses money that you could use to play any number of casino games they had set up. Whoever won the most fake money would win some crazy prize, like a stereo system or something. They had a huge spread: steak, sushi, etc. There was a magician wandering around, and free video games, and pool. Me and James played pool and I talked to the Faith No More dudes for a while. I also did about 12 shots of Jack Daniels. At some point somebody pointed out that there was a hot tub in the corner in this curtained off area. Me and Betty had about 10 gallons of liquor each in us and decided it would be a GREAT idea to get in....completely naked. So we did. We figured no one would know. Well within seconds it seemed the entire party was peering in to that corner throught the curtains to see which crazy groupies were being decadent and stupid enough to jump into a hot tub naked in the middle of a crowded party. Axl came in and chatted with us, guys were leering. Me and Betty laughed it off, but we didn't have a choice...finally someone came and brought us towels so we could get out. Stuart was pretty annoyed at me I think.

The only other thing I remember about that party was that Axl Rose was dating Stephanie Seymour and she dragged me into the DJ booth proclaiming that the music sucked and that we should DJ for a while, which we proceeded to do. The rest of the night is a haze. I vaugely remember getting a ride to the city and going to some bar and then crawling home and sleeping for two days.

You wouldn't know it to look at me, wouldya?

The Crazies

The thing about the bar/rock n roll scene is that it definitely attracts some shady characters. I have met my fair share of drug dealers and just plain psychos hanging out in that scene. There was a drug dealer who was constantly talking about getting me to go to the "dark side" with him. This was sort of laughable except that he took it so sersiouly himself that it definitely creeped me out.

The serial killer Joel Rifkin hung around the fringes of the scene. I never talked to him but I remember being aware of him -- other girls talked about the fact that he was creepy and/or socially retarded. He mainly gravitated towards the really screwed up druggie girls. When he was arrested it creeped everyone out, as you can imagine.

When I was 17 my friend Liz was dating a young dude who was very intense. His name escapes me, but he ended up hitting on me, and I think I made out with him mainly due to the fact that it was the first time (maybe the last) when a guy actually chose me over one of my hot friends. (Girls are horrible people when they are 17.) I finally came to my senses and told him I couldn't see him because of LIz and he said okay but pursued me pretty intensey for a while anyway. He went off to college at Syracuse and two months later got arrested for digging up a body, taking the remains, and boiling them in his dorm room. He was supposedly using them for an art project. It made the front page of the News or the Post. (People wonder why I'm single....)

More on this in future posts.....

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Scrap Bar

I have mentioned the Scrap Bar in quite a few previous posts, and figured I should designate a little more time to it. Scrap Bar was a small bar on McDougal Street between Bleecker and West Third Street. Its name came from the fact that the entire bar was decorated with pieces of scrap metal. It was in a basement and the stairs leading down to it were also decorated with various pieces of scrap metal. Today I think it's some frat bar, as everything on that block is, called the Wreck Room. You can see pics from that era at the Scrap Bar website. It was definitely the metal years and the pictures prove it.

Scrap Bar was a huge rock star hangout. MTV did one of its first rockumentaries on Guns n Roses and used the bar as a location. Should you ever see it, the bartenders working in the background were my friends Fiona and Jerry. I don't know whether that doc started the mass influx of wannabe rockstars and actual rockstars to this little hole in the wall bar or if it had already happened, but Scrap Bar became pretty famous. If a band was playing in NYC, you could almost certainly be guaranteed that they would make an appearance at the Scrap Bar afterwards.

As I have mentioned before, it was a big biker hangout -- the Angels were our security. Add to the mix a bunch of heroin addict musicians, a bunch of celebrities, a bunch of groupies, and then the occasional tourist, and you get an interesting and volatile combo. There were a lot of fights there. Not every single night, but enough that I remember them.

There were a lot of interesting characters there, as well as some shady ones. A lot of people did a lot of drugs. Heroin was incredibly popular then and a lot of people were addicts. Because of the drug fueled energy there was a lot of violence and death. One of the bartender's boyfriends killed himself, a guy named John threw himself off a roof, our friend Reuben who was the door person at the Limelight and a real scenester did the same after finding out he was HIV positive. My friend Mikey, who was one of our barbacks, was always high and getting into horrible accidents which he would miraculously survive. He once fell down the stairs AND out of a window and was fine the next day. Sadly his luck ended when he fell off a roof -- there was always speculation about whether it was an accident or suicide. I also watched a lot of people spiral out of control --heroin is really an evil drug and will make the smartest coolest person turn into a smarmy dirty beggar -- an evolution that is pretty painful to watch.

As I have noted, a lot of rock stars and celebrities came through the place. Guns n Roses hung out a lot. Slash supposedly got a BJ from Savannah (the porn star) while sitting at the bar -- it got written up in some rag and he freaked out and said it wasn't true. I was there that night and I heard people talking about it all night so I guess it was, although I didn't see the action happening myself. I did a lot of shots with Chris Robinson of the Black Crowes. He was really into trading clothes. He would see something he liked of yours and offer to trade you his jacket or vest or belt for it. My friend Mick had Chris Robinson's jacket for years. The Metallica dudes were in there a lot, Sebastian Bach, the guys from Alice in Chains, Eddie Van Halen, and just about everyone else you can think of. I got to see a lot of bands for free and get a lot of backstage passes just by working at that bar.

I think working there was my first real brush with fame and decadence, as well as real violence and sadness. An interesting dichotomy.

Saturday, February 24, 2007

I missed a day!

Friday was a long and boozy adventure: So much so that when I began this post at 3am I realized it was pointless and abandoned the whole venture. So today I will have to come up with two for the price of one:

Harris Day

Every school has some version of "senior cut day." It usually takes place on the last day of school and allows seniors a glimpse into their future as college students who can sleep through all of their classes should they so choose. I went to the Bronx High School of Science, which you could probably guess from the creative name, is located in the Bronx. Most schools in NYC don't have any outdoor space, but in many ways we were a much more suburban high school and actually had a field across the street. It was called Harris Field and was rarely used for gym or anything constructive. It served mainly as a place for people to get high, have keg parties, and make out.

Our version of senior cut day was called Harris Day and it was pretty famous throughout the city. Kids would come from all of the other schools to come to it. Esseentially the entire field was overrun by insane high school students. Kids would erect tents, people would bring kegs of beer, everyone would be on acid, bands would show up and play acoustic sets. It was like being at an open air concert. With lots and lots of drunk idiot teenageers. The main thing about Harris day was that just about everyone got sick: Mixing a bunch of high school students with unlimited drinks and drugs is a decidedly unsavory mix. The field and the surrounding area was unbelievably trashed for days afterwards. I pity the poor souls who had to clean it.

We had this insane party in full view of the high school. The ultimate fuck you to those that kept our young minds caged with late passes and homeroom bells during the school year. The school, as one can imagine, was not pleased. I am sure there were many outraged phone calls from parents that inevitably occurred when their bright straight A-on-the-way-to-Harvard son or daugther came home from school covered in vomit and hallucinating from the acid they dropped. As a result, around my sophomore year, the powers that be announced that anyone caught on Harris Field on the last day of school would be expelled and that seniors would not get to graduate. I don't know if that threat was even sustainable, but I went to a school of academics, so with rare exception the thought of expulsion was too nightmare-ish to comprehend. That year a very mild version of Harris Day occurred. It was mostly kids from other schools that couldn't get in trouble for being there. The following year it petered out completely.

PS3 Stories

In a previous post I wrote a little bit about my hippie elementary school, PS3, which was located in the heart of the village, on Christopher and Hudson Streets.

It was an old building, but actually was nicer than most of the crappy turn-of-the-century schools that dot the city. There were five floors, but the fifth was not in use and remained locked. This spawned many a ghost story: Rumours were that kids had died up there or that a crazy man lived up there. Someone even took the trouble to create the myth of the "Red Hand" which was a ghost that supposedly roamed the school. Someone went around the school with paint and put red handprints in various stairways to effectively scare the bejeezus out of us poor elementary school children. I finally ended up filming some movie up there that one of the parents was making and very diappointedly discovering that it was just old classrooms and no crazy people lived up there. (For some reason if you were a kid in the village you ended up being in a lot of movies).

We had a lot of arts-oriented classes. We had a mandatory dance class we had to attend run by Joan, a short squat woman who would carry around a drum and beat rhythmically to it. We were all supposed to dance around to it and then when she stopped drumming we were supposed to freeze. We had singing classes. Every year we did a weird celebration of May Day with a maypole dance. (I suspect that we were the only school in the country to do this).

About half the teachers at my school were gay: Diane, my third grade teacher was a super butch. She was really no nonsense. I remember a boy lifted up a girl's skirt and Diane told him to drop his pants. The boy freaked out. I don't think she actually made him do it, but that response was par for the course - she was all about quid pro quo. The rest of the teachers were pretty liberal as well, as you can imagine. The day after John Lennon died I remember half of the kids staying home from school and most of the teachers being absent. As kids we were all aware of who he was, but I don't think any of us understood the ramifications of his death for our hippie parents and teachers. I remember my friend Shanti being baffled as she told me that her mother went out on the fire escape and started yelling "Why? Why" down on to the street.

I wonder if anyone would scream "Why?" and keep their child home from school if a musician got shot today.....Just a thought.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

I Am a DJ and I Am What I Play....

I was a rock n roll DJ.

A few years ago, my friends Melanie and Kate were waitresses and DJs at Lucky Strike, the only cool and semi inexpensive place left to eat in SoHo. I would go and watch Melanie spin her vinyl collection and it dawned on me that I had tons of vinyl myself. I approached the manager and told him that I had TONS of DJ experience (lie #1) and I would bring tons of people in to the place if he hired me (Lie #2). He called me to fill in for someone the next day.

DJing at Lucky Strike was great because you could pretty much play what you wanted, so in one night I would go from Billie Holiday to Outkast to Neil Diamond to The Damned and back again. DJing is like playing the game Chain Reaction. If I am playing a Howard Jones 80s classic but want to get to a heavy Black Sabbath number, there are a few steps one can take: Howard Jones - Joe Jackson -Elvis Costello - The Clash - The Dickies - Black Sabbath. Conversely, if I am playing Weezer but want to get to the Dolly Parton/Kenny Rogers classic "Islands in the Stream" one has to get creative: Weezer - The Muffs - AC/DC - Lynyrd Skynyrd - Steve Miller - Paul Simon - Parton/Rogers. It all really appeals to my sense of order and logic. (Not surprisingly, High Fidelity is one of my favorite books, as it would be for any obsessive record collector).

The other great thing about DJing was that I essentially got paid to sit around with my friends, play music, smoke cigarettes, eat food, and get drunk. All of my friends worked in this place and enough of my friends stopped by that it was a pretty jovial work environment. I met Jimmy Jatho who now works at the UCB in LA and who is a good frined of mine at Lucky Strike, and Mike Myers was a regular as well -- he would sit in the DJ booth and help pick out songs.

I occasionally DJ'd elsewhere -- friends hired me for parties and such. I even worked the big clubs once in a while which was nerve-racking -- at Lucky Strike nobody really cares if thiings go silent for a moment, or a record skips, but in a large club with a killer sound system those kind of errors are a nightmare.

I haven't DJ'd in a long time -- I still have over 600 vinyl records, many I still have from my youth , and I can't quite bear to get rid of them even though they take up too much space and I don't play them as often as I should. I keep thinking I will eventually DJ again or that I will eventually live in a place where I can dedicate a room to my old school albums.

(Tangential Note: Buying albums as a kid was a thrilling experience -- there were pictures and liner notes and all sorts of extras. There used to a huge record store on my corner in SoHo and I would peruse the albums and save my allowance to buy one. Packaging doesn't mean much in this era of the electronic download, and I think that is a shame. Once upon a time, album covers were a way for a band to convey their image and who they were which made buying albums very exciting.)

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Beginning of the End....

When I was in junior high I was a straight A student, was the president of my class, starred in the school play, and was an all around examplary young lady. This was the last time I really walked a straight and narrow path. By the time I started freshman year of high school I became a paradigm of adolescent rebellion (mohawk, smoking, drinking, cutting class, etc.) But while in junior high I was still an innocent. The first glimpses of the life I was about to lead came from my friend Kyla who was one of my best friends in Junior High.

Kyla was pretty, charismatic, self-centered, and a real bitch. She was bright but not educated. She got C's in school, and learned very early how to trade in on her looks. She was one of those girls who would become your "best friend" so she could berate you. She also lived what to me was a very glamorous East Village life. Her mom was British (or maybe Australian) and owned a vintage shop on 1st Avenue. They lived in rambling apartment in a rundown tenement building on the corner of 14 Street and 2nd Avenue. Kyla's mom would let us borrow these cool vintage clothing and let us wander around the East Side. Her mom was also friends with all sorts of cool downtown musicians, including Cyndi Lauper which was the coolest thing ever. Kyla was a badass. She flirted with boys, wore bright red lipstick, and smoked cigarettes. I was her goody two-shoes best friend. She treated my pretty horribly but I didn't know any better and was pretty much content to bask in the glow of her popularity.

My other good friend in junior high was named Dame. She was a pretty black girl who was super smart -- her mother was a teacher. They lived in the projects and I would go up to Harlem and hang out with them a lot - lots of sleepovers. I remember that their furniture had plastic slip covers on it which I had never seen before, and which I thought was weird. Dame and I grew apart when she became a hardcore born again Christian in 8th grade. I remember thinkinig that she had gone crazy (not much different from what my reaction would be today). It was the first time I mourned the loss of a friend over differences in lifestyle or ideology.

The only enemy I remember having at school was a girl named Sarah Diamond. She was really crazy and threatened to beat me up a bunch of times. I remember finally getting so mad at her that I told her to meet me outside after school. But at the end of the day nothing happened and I guess we both chose to ignore the argument -- it was just easier then beating the shit out of each other. (NYC kids are nothing if not pragmatic).

School dances are not really a part of a New York public school student's lexicon -- our buildings our old and crappy and no one, including the teachers wants to spend any more time there than possible. The only school dance I ever remember attending was during junior high in our cafeteria which the faculty had half-heartedly decorated with some streamers. I think it was a Halloween dance and I spent the night at Kyla's. Her mom let us borrow all of these cool vintage clothes -- we dressed in a 50s style -- poodle skirts and beaded sweaters. Kyla looked stunning -- I looked like a chubby little apple squeezed into too small clothes. I remember hating the music which was Madonna and a bunch of rap -- I had just discovered The Specials and David Bowie and The Clash. I remember some of the kids were drinking which I thought was absolutely shocking. The whole thing was over by 9pm at which time Kyla and I went back to her place and watched TV. A big night out in junior high.

Junior High really was the last bastion of innocence for me. I ended up going to a high school with 3,000 kids in the Bronx, which was so different that it probably kind of ruined me. I will talk about that more in an upcoming post.....

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Clinton Junior High

I went to junior high school in Chelsea. Our school had a weird setup. Admission was by interview, so it was a lot of kids from the neighborhood. We occupied the top floor of an elementary school on 21st Street between 8th and 9th Avenue. We used the back entrance on 20th Street which had this weird sort of lobby/room which we would hang out in until they let us go upstairs. We had to be given the okay because we used the same stairs as the kids in the elementary school and they had to time our use of the stairs so as not to cause traffic jams.

(Sidenote: For years I thought that high school depicted in movies were completely mythological -- in NYC no one drives a car to school and the thought of modern buildings was pretty much unheard of. The average school in NYC was built at the turn of the century (no kidding) without modern amenities like elevators or air conditioning. Most schools had peeling paint and bars on the windows. Kind of like jail! NYC kids hate school. So you can imagine what I thought when I saw Sixteen Candles et al.--I literally though that the types of schools depicted were fairytale/movie schools, not remotely based on reality.)

Clinton Junior High only had about 90 or so kids. 83 of them were black or Puerto Rican. (At that time Chelsea was essentially a Puerto Rican neighborhood). We had five classrooms along one hallway. We didn't have a proper gym -- the school converted one of the far rooms to a "volleyball" room which was hilarious because if you spiked the ball too hard it would bounce off the ceiling. The other "gym" we had was the roof -- the game that we played for gym was called "Killer." This was essentially a free-form version of dodge ball and it was vicious. This was a school-sanctioned game, which was weird.

Our principal was Mr. Catugno, known as Mr. C. The rest of our teachers were a melting pot -- Mr. Nazario, our animated super gay Spanish teacher (who sadly later died of AIDS), Mrs. Get, our very cranky Asian math teacher (when you got questions wrong she woudl throw chalk at your head), Mr. Fialkof,f our very professorial mid-50s white English teacher, a science teacher who was Indian who was universally hated for some reason (his name escapes me), and the Social Studies teacher, Mrs. Tennenbaum. Mrs Tennenbaum wore those weird polyester brightly colored 70s prints that you see in the Salvation Army and wonder "Who would ever wear that?" She had grey hair and wore a super bright red-orange lipstick. She always spoke about herself in the third person ("Mrs. Tennenbaum is going to assign homework tonight!") and was constantly asking us to present outlines of assignments, rather than acutal assignemnts.

The school offered what I guess was a decent enough education. Even though the racial mix was lopsided I remember always feeling respected. There was definitely a divide -- when most of my class was listening to Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam, I was listenign to the Clash. However I was voted president of the school my last year there and when I came in third in the city wide spelling bee, I remember pretty much everyone in the school came up to me to personally congratulate me. I had some classmates that went on to fame and fortune: Jerry O'Connell (who filmed Stand By Me while we were in school together), and Mario Sorrenti, who went on to become a famous photographer who dated Kate Moss and Milla Jovovich. On the other hand I ran into a girl years later who had become a hooker.

I remember our graduation ceremony being super hilarious -- they made us sing "I Believe the Children are Our Future" and then had some lame speakers. I was completely unsentimental about it. Everyone was crying and I was just like "Get me the F-- out of here."

Monday, February 19, 2007

Dancin'

As I mentioned in a previous post, I danced as a kid. My parents took me to see ballet all of the time. We went to see American Ballet Theater and at the time Mikhail Baryshnikov danced with them so I saw him many many times as a kid. I remember being really perplexed when we went to see ballets and he wasn't in them -- I think I sort of thought that seeing ballet meant you would see Baryshnikov dance.

When I was in high school and finally getting over my wild child phase, I took up ballet for a second time. I had danced pretty seriously up until about junior high and then I lost interest. For whatever reason I found myself drawn back to dance around my senior year of high school. I would go to the David Howard Studios which was located off of Amsterdam Avenue right behind Lincoln Center.

It was a beatiful studio with tons of light. David Howard was a very famous ballet teacher and it was a small studio. One of the studios had a little area that was carpeted and had benches so you could watch the class previous to yours finish up. This was pretty amazing because all of the major dancers from the big companies took classes there. I watched Mikhail Baryshnikov take class there a few times which was pretty mindblowing. It was even more amazing because it was just a casual thing -- the fact that these amazing dancers were at this studio and then someone like me could walk in and take a class right afterwards.

I would go to see ballet at Lincoln Center all the time. You used to be able to buy standing room tickets for $5.00 -- literally cheaper then going to the movies, and you always got a seat -- the ushers would let you go find oneup in the fourth ring as soon as the lights went down.

I used to take ballet class until about 9pm and then I would walk over to the State Theater where the New York City Ballet danced. They usually did 3 or 4 shorter pieces per night and sometimes people would leave early in between ballets. As people left I would ask people if they were leaving and if I could take their ticket stub and I would go in and watch the last two ballets of the night. After a while the ticket guys got to know me and they would save me the best unsold ticket and let me go in to see the last ballet. So I would get this 70 dollar ticket in the middle of the orchestra for free. This is the sort of thing that I love about growing up here -- only in this town can you strike that kind of deal with the friendly ticket dude.

Sunday, February 18, 2007

Bikers

When I worked at the Scrap Bar, a rock bar that was favored by rock stars and rock star wannabes, our main security was done by some members of the Hell's Angels. Angels are not allowed to wear their colors when they are working, but they were pretty easy to spot. Some of those guys were not the most even-tempered, and perhaps not the best choice to monitor security. There were some pretty serious fights that happened in that bar and many times they were started by the guys that were supposed to be preventing them. Besides the Angel's, there were a few other biker gangs that hung out at the bar, mostly from Jersey, and sometimes it felt more like a biker clubhouse then a rock bar. Their domain was the back of the bar near the pinball machines by the bathroom, which often meant being somewhat harassed by a bunch of drunk biker dudes if you were waiting in line.

One of the girls that worked the door lived at the Angel's clubhouse on 3rd Street -- she went out with Steve, a big biker who was a real sweetheart. Steve and a few of the other guys worked in films a lot, doing background or featured small roles when they needed biker types. Steve was in the movie A Bronx Tale and filmed a scene where he wipes out on his bike. A year later Steve got killed in a motorcycle accident, which was really sad. Heather, who was a recovering addict, fell off the wagon and left town owing a lot of people a lot of money, including a few of my good friends.

A good friend of mine and Lisa's was a biker dude named Eddie. His nickname was Flathead, I don't know why, and he was the nicest guy in the world. He had a house in Long Island and we would go out there and swim in his pool and barbeque. He wasn't in a motorcycle club but he was really close with all of those guys. Our friend Greg, who was an Angel and lived in Long Island, would come pick us up and we would bike around Long Island. The great dichotomy was that Eddie always wanted to go to awesome places, like the Arboretum in Oyster Bay, which was hilarious because everyone would be staring at these huge biker dudes, wearing leather and covered in tattoos, who were walking around admiring orchids in the green house.

For the most part the guys I knew who were bikers were actully pretty cool and creative people. In some ways they fit the stereotype exactly and in other ways they broke the mold. I will say that you did not fuck around with these dudes and those who did found out pretty quickly that it was a mistake. There is an unspoken code about the level of respect that certain people get in these scenes. I witnessed some really violent episodes in those days. Those were interesting times, but I am glad they are over for me now.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Hold Up

An alarming number of these posts start with me describing a bar. Just an observation.

One of my first bar jobs was at Bond Street Cafe.

What is today the upscale sushi joint BondSt, was, once upon a time, a coke den bar with crappy bands. I worked there on and off for a year or two. Eveyone who worked there was a coked up mess and it played host to many many terrible bands. The guy who ran the place also booked the Sunday night shows called "Rock n Roll Church" at Limelight back in the day. His girlfriend was my friend Sally. She was from England and had gone out with Slash from GnR (she is in the Sweet Child oh Mine and Paradise City videos). She hung out all the time, as did my frineds Mary, Raph, and Lisa -- but those were pretty much the only cool people that hung out there. It was mostly kids from Jersey who wanted to see metal bands.Sometimes it would be packed but usually it was really slow and I didn't make a lot of money. The building was owned by a Japanese businessman who would come into town once in a while and bring a karaoke machine. If you sang a karaoke song and did a shot with him he would give you a hundred dollars.

The bartender who hired me was a real boozy broad - gorgeous, loud, charismatic. Years later she would marry the guy who was our barback at the time. The barback was in a methadone program, trying to kick heroin. One night he missed his dose and showed up to work all shaky and pale. He said he could get through the night as long as he could drink. I must have poured him 20 Jack and Cokes. He managed to make it until 6am when the clinic opened by using sheer willpower. Amazing. The rest of the staff did tons and tons of cocaine. Sometimes we would close at 4am and would end up leaving the bar at one in the afternoon because we had all been hanging drinking and partaking of various substances.

One night a bunch of us stayed after work and were downstairs in the offiices (what is now the Bond St lounge, for those who have been there). We sent our barback out to lock the gates and a minute later he was coming back down the stairs with these two huge black dudes behind him holding guns. Sally saw the guys coming, locked the door and started yelling "Call 911." We had to unlock the door because the two dudes had a gun to our barback's head. They came in, stole all the cash in the joint and split. There is nothing like having a gun pointed in your face to make you sober up. Sally probably saved our asses because, even though we didn't have time to call the police, the robbers definitely were under the impression that we did, so they got in and out fast. We then had to wait for the police to arrive and go to the station to give statements etc. A month or two later I got called into look at some pictures of suspects, but I didn't recognize anyone, and as far as I know they were never caught.

I eventually got let go, supposedly at the behest of the promoter, but in actuality because the other bartender didn't want me around anymore. There was a lot of drug-fueled paranoia and intrigue in those days -- people would turn on each other just because they had nothnig better to do -- in those days you worked until 7am, slept until 5pm and were back to work by 9pm so your whole life revolved around being at a bar and the drugs you were doing. I cannot even imagine that lifestyle today, but at the time it just seemed like the thing to do.

Friday, February 16, 2007

I need an apartment.

Today my landlady told me she needs me to move out. Not because she is some evil corporate honcho looking to price-gouge her tenants, but beause she is sick and having surgery and needs a full time nurse to move in. Sort of hard to argue with, especially since her eyes were welling with tears as she told me how sorry she was. I had no plans to move, and have no money to move. I feel like I have been dumped by a long time boyfriend. (It probably says something about my relationships that I equate eviction with romance, but whatevs.) This is the first time I had my own apartment. MINE. And I love it here. And I will continue to love it until the day I move out out of here and move into some overpriced tiny dark hole in the wall with 12 roommates in three months from now. Speaking of which...anyone need a roommate?

My phone charger also chose to die today, which was great because after I came back into my apartment and had a nervous breakdown for half an hour, I couldn't call anyone. I went all the way to Atlantic Center to be told they were out of chargers. Of course. I don't mean to bitch, but I have really had better days.

So I will rhapsodize quickly about my old apartment, which I also loved, on East 1st Street, and the Cycle Sluts years.

My friend Ginny, who was in the band the Cycle Sluts from Hell, had an apartment for many years on East 1st Street. Over the years, it seemed that everyone of our mutual friends had lived there at some point or another -- Betty and Donna from the CSFH also lived there at various points, as well as just about everyone I knew on the Lower East Side at the time. Ginny finally moved out to take care of her boyfriend who had been in a terrible motorcycle accident. My friend Lisa and I moved in and lived there for about 4 years.

First street was sort of dicey when we moved in -- lots of drugs etc. Donna once got stabbed in our hallway (she survived), but it had mellowed a bit by the time we got there. It was a cool street. There was a playground across the street, a juice and coffee shack on the corner right next to the train. There was a storefront that was rented out by a weird Japanese performance artist that would stand in the window and play guitar with weird lights and wear an all white outfit every night on the weekends for hours. What was weird was that he had no audience and he would just stand there and play. There was also a Catholic charities homeless shelter on the block. It really exemplified the way the LES was back then -- a real mish mash of people all thrown together.

Lisa's sister Raphael, was also in the Cycle Sluts, and managed Coney Island High. As a result, we hung around the band a lot and reaped the benefits of being friends with rock stars. The Cycle Sluts had started out as a romp: Betty, Donna, Raph, and Ginny all worked at the Lismar Lounge on 1st Avenue together, which was a really cool small rock club. They and some other girls started a fake gang called the "Cycle Sluts from Hell" and eventually put up a show at the club, I think doing covers. One thing led to another, they wrote a few songs, and then they got signed by Sony, made a record, and went on tour with Motorhead. They had a cult following: their video was on Beavis and Butthead, they were on Headbanger's Ball on MTV, etc.

The things that I remember specifically about hanging out back then: I dropped by a rehearsal and Bebe Beull and LIv Tyler were there -- Bebe, who has gone on to romance or marry everyone of my downtown rock guitarist friends would sometimes drop Liv off at Cycle Sluts rehearsal and ask them to keep an eye on her. I met a lot of rock stars cuz of the Cycle Sluts: Tracii Guns from LA Guns loved Raphael, Betty dated James Hetfield from Metallica for a while, Sebastian Bach was a fan, etc.

One time they played a show at the Limelight, which back then was a big deal venue. To get on to the stage you had to walk on to this catwalk and down these stairs in full view of the audience. Lisa and I walked out on to the catwalk to find a good place to stand to watch the show and suddenly the crowd went nuts. Apparently they mistook me and Lisa for members of the band. I got the rare privelege of having 2,000 excited fans screaming and pointing at me. Lisa and I waved at them and blew kisses. Eventually the real band came out, but we had our rock star moment which was fun.

The great thing about the Cycle Sluts was that they turned the tables in a really male dominated world. It was a lot of fun to be a part of: they had groupies, they would get free drinks, they had crazy tempers. (Which they often took out on each other: believe me, you haven't seen a fight until you have seen two girl rockstars trying to kill each other.) All of the accoutrements of rock stardom.

They eventually broke up and went their separate ways. Recently three of them have reunited and occasionally play shows together. Going to those are amazing because people I haven't seen in years show up to them and it's like an impromptu Lismar Lounge/Scrap Bar reunion. Good times indeed:

Thursday, February 15, 2007

SoHo Part 2

More Stuff About Growing Up in SoHo.

When my parents and I first moved back from Europe, we ended up subletting places. One was on St. Mark's Place between 2nd and 3rd Avenue, which I only vaguely remember. I also remember sleeping on the floor of a friend's loft in a sleeping bag. I think that was how my parent's discovered SoHo. So we ended up getting the loft and became SoHo residents. The area used to be a really tight knit community. Besides the fact that it was very centrally located, there was nothing to recommend it. We had two delis, about 4 restaurants, a smattering of upscale boutiques (portents of things to come), and a ton of art galleries. Pretty much all of the above were closed by 7pm. There was no grocery store, video store, dry cleaners, hardware store, etc. All of the basic necessities required a walk up to the Village. Weirdly that is pretty much the case today as well, except that people pay millions of dollars to live in this center of inconvenience.

In those days it was a small community, and everyone knew everyone else. I used to play with my friends Natasha and Arianna around the corner, and my friends Heather and Ama across the street. Everyone's parent was an artist and everyone's loft had a workshop or art studio in it. My first real great SoHo friend, whom I still have today, is Melanie Vesey.

Melanie had lived in Michigan with her mom, and moved to New York at age 12 to live with her dad, a photographer, and stepmom, a bigtime ad exec. Melanie was a whirl of energy, as she is today. Totally gorgeous, and always on the go, she became my partner in crime for the next few years, until she got into Interlachen Arts Academy and moved back to Michigan to study dance. Melanie was a year older then me, and thus was always a step ahead. She was my first friend who had an interest in boys, which was totally foreign to me at that point.

Her family was really really different from mine. They had a really modern loft: I remember them having a large red couch, a huge pink armchair and a shiny black 50s style kidney-shaped table. They always had candy out in little dishes. They had a dog named Nordan. They had a housekeeper -- something I didn't really think existed outside of The Brady Bunch. David, Mel's dad, had a huge record collection and there was always Iggy Pop or something like that blaring when I walked into their house. David wore Buddy Holly glasses and these stylish white shirts with tiny collars. Deyna, Mel's stepmom, wore poodle skirts and white shirts with matching 50s style sweaters and little black shoes. I distinctly recall Melanie showing me a pair of her mom's shoes and telling me that they cost $300. I remember thinking she had to be lying, that there was no way that shoes could possibly cost that much. At Christmas the Veseys family tradition was to go see the Big Apple Circus, which I thought was amazing. I also remember their Christmas tree was always decorated in red, white, and blue. The Veseys were not just glamorous, but very very cool.

My home life was the polar opposite: I grew up in a cluttered, antique mish-mash of furniture and trinkets and books. My dad always had piles of lumber lying around the house and my parents shopped mainly at thrift shops and discount stores. We had old books and magazines everywhere. Fashion was never a high priority, although my mom loves clothes and jewelery. Ironically, Melanie's parents were way more strict than mine, so I ended up doing way crazier stuff and getting in a lot less trouble than Melanie ever did. Her parents were the type that would ground her for being five minutes late. My parents gave me a pretty long leash, figuring I would deal with it. We still joke about how different our parents were and how differently we were perceived -- Melanie was thought of as the wild child and I was the quiet studious one, when in reality Mel was usually in bed by 10pm while I was off with my friends smoking cigarettes and drinking beer.

My other good friend was a boy named Loic who lived upstairs. He and his family were from France. Even though he was around my age he seemed a lot older because he had lived everywhere and spoke French and drank wine with dinner. The first time I got drunk was with Loic -- I think I was maybe 13 and we stole scotch from his parents liquor cabinet and went to the movies and poured it in our soda. This event ended with me throwing up in a parking lot around the corner from my house and Loic dragging me home. Fortunately my parents were out and I managed to feign illness when they came home and pass out.

This has been a long and rambling post...I promise to come up with a real story, or at least a shorter ramble, when I post tomorrow.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Short and Sweet

Today was a lovely day: Improv rehearsal with Birch Harms, coached by the fantastic Shannon O'Neill, then home, wrote some stuff, went to a non Valentine's dinner with Tony Carnevale at the Chip Shop where I ate the most self-indulgent and awesome meal ever: Meaty Mac (combo of Mac and cheese and Shepard's pie), fried Mars Bar and beer. So bad for me. So delicious. Also, today this here blog was chosen as "Blog of the Month" by the lovely ladies of Hello HIlarious. Thanks ladies! (If you click on that link you can see the headshot that I never use for anything finally being put to use. Yay!

(Fun Fact: I have never ever celebrated Valentine's day. At those times when I have had a beau, one or both of us ended up being out of town or having to work. A double edged sword in that I have no attachment to the holiday whatsoever. Like being a Jew on Christmas. Except my version of Chinese food is fried English foods.)

Today's edition of Glimpses from my Past will be short and sweet because I feel my health taking a nosedive as I type:

The first time I went backstage at a rock concert was when I was 14 at a David Bowie concert at Madison Square Garden.

My friend Carise's dad was an agent or something at William Morris and he got us free tickets and passes. I remember the concert being pretty amazing (I suspect pretty much anytime you get to hear David Bowie sing "Jean Jeanie" in person it is pretty amazing so that't not saying much.) After the concert we were led to a hospitality suite with cheese and fruit and sodas. I am sure there was booze too, but as we were too young to partake at the time, I don't recall any. We were really excited to be backstage and meet David Bowie. We stood in the meet and greet room for about an hour and then realized that he had left without ever setting foot in the vicinity. My first (but not last) lesson regarding glamorous idea=boring reality.

Downward Spiral

I was filming a short film I wrote with my friend Anthony King today and then had to run off to work at UCB, so this post is technically late, but to me it's still February 13th, so here it goes:

I used to work at a bar called the Spiral on Houston Street.

For a few years, the Spiral was the go-to crappy dive bar of the Lower East Side -- a huge drug bar, with junkies constantly locking themselves in the bathroom and passing out. After a few years it started to lag in popularity and it was taken over by a sweet guy who was one of those ex-rock star wannabes who feels that the next best thing is to own a bar, book bands, and get free drinks (which aren't really free since they own the joint). This was the Spiral era in which I worked. We had bands booked every night from Jersey and Long Island and their attendant crew of roadies and groupies. The band were all really terrible and it was a sonic nightmare, but eventually one managed to tune it out.

My crew of regulars consisted of the dregs of Lower East Side junkiedom. The guys were actually very sweet dudes: besides their meth amphetamine/heroine/cocaine addictions, they were awesome customers. They would literally lay down their lives for me (we had no bouncer, and these guys were my only line of defense). When I first started working there, I was shown the baseball bat under the bar, but it wasn't until after a crazed angel-dust psycho came in one night that I found out we had a loaded shotgun hidden under one of the coolers as well. This realization came after my most loyal junkie customers leapt behind the bar and pointed it in the guy's face. (I did have a word with the manager about the fact that our druggie clientele had more intimate knowledge of the lethal weapon cache hidden in the bar then myself).

The main lesson I learned from this job was that even if you are not at the bottom of the barrel, if you are surrounded by the bottom of the barrel, you will begin to feel that way yourself. I broke my wrist and they fired my abruptly. Thank God for small favors.

Monday, February 12, 2007

The Pink Lady

When I was 8 or 9, my parents threw a lot of dinner parties to which were invited many interesting guests. A friend of theirs brought a young artist named Barbara who lived in a house (an actual house!) on Avenue A, which at the time was pretty exotic. She brought her friend, Silvia, who was from England -- a performance artist who had gotten a grant to travel to New York City. She was tall, had pink hair, and was very very smart. My mother didn't like her immediately because she announced that she was a vegetarian after mom had dished up whatever meat and potatoes meal she had prepared.

But as it so happened we were going out of town that weekend and my parents needed a house/cat sitter and thus Silvia was invited to stay the weekend. Upon our return, it was decided that she should stay the week because we were going out of town the following weekend, and thus she could house sit again. And so on. And in this way Silvia became a sort of live in nanny who lived with us for 9 or 10 months.

Silvia dressed all in pink and had shocking pink hair. She ran with the fabulous art crowd of the time -- that whole Andy Warhol downtown set. She did incredible performance pieces at places like the Franklin Furnace. Her pieces were based on wordplay and visual contrasts, often involving the color pink. She could speak many languages, including Arabic. It was like having a bizarro version of Mary Poppins as a babysitter. She would stay out all night but then very cheerfully wake up in the morning and make me breakfast. She took me and my mom to the Pyramid on Avenue A and it I remember seeing transvestite go-go dancers on the bar and thinking it was very fun and glamorous.

Eventually Silvia left us, but we would get amazing letters from her (on pink paper, written in pink ink), from around the world. Once she wrote us from a tent in Kenya right after she had seen a lion. Suffice it to say, she was, and is, a pretty cool role model.

I hadn't seen her for many years when I finally reunited with her in London a few years back. She took me to a zillion fabulous parties including the opening of the Bloomberg Museum (where they handed you your own personal Moet champagne bottle with straw upon entrance) and a book launch party held on a terrace overlooking Green Park (London's version of Central Park, with same cache). Clearly Silvia's life was as interesting as ever.

The last time I saw her was in her house in England, with her two beautiful and (not surprisingly) precocious children. As you can see from the picture below, some things never change:



I count myself lucky to have had such an interesting and amazing woman watching over me during part of my formative years.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

I am Bad at being Sick.

Yesterday I felt under the weather, and by this morning I woke up with a head that was filled with glue. Glue that weighed a few hundred pounds. Today's original agenda was class from 11am-2pm, class show from 5pm-6:30pm, work from 6:30-midnight. My amended agenda is me lying on my couch watching the Slings and Arrows marathon on Sundance. (Even when sick I prefer quality television.)

It is 4pm and I only just called off my class show and work. I always refuse to believe that I am actually sick. When I woke up at 9:30am it was pretty clear that I had to stay in bed, but between doses of Nyquil, Emergen-C, Echinacea, and Zinc, I started to feel passably well...Something I have learned to recognize as dangerous because I will work under the assumption that I am really fine and not only go perform, work, and have a few drinks, but I will run a few miles and clean my house just to prove how well I really am. Which will then put me into a coma for three days.

So I am "relaxing" instead of being productive, and writing this meaningless post.

So today, a very quick one, as part of my 30 Day Challenge:

I was a roller disco queen.

When I was 8, there was a huge roller disco craze. My best friend, Olivia, and her beautiful exotic fashion-designer mom, Carola, and I would go to the Metropolis roller rink on West 18th Street. Carola would make us roller skating clothes: shiny spandex pants and headbands, velour sweatshirts etc. (I realize that I desperately need to get a scanner because I have pics from this era that are amazing). We went every Saturday afternoon and I LOVED it. There was an area in the center where you could do tricks and practice doing rollerskate pirhouetttes and I would spend hours practicing jumps and turns. A skill that hasn't gotten me anywhere, but was super enjoyable at the time.

My birthday parties in elementary school were all held at the Roxy, which I think is still around as a nightclub, but back then was exclusively a roller rink. It was considered super cool to have your birthday there, especially since the DJ would yell out your name, which makes you feel like rollerdisco queen of the universe when you are 8. I remember liking the Roxy, but loving Metropolis, which was smaller, more intimate, and less crowded. Even at a young age I enjoyed smaller mom and pop operations.

My friend Manray, who I met many years later, told me that he was a DJ at the Roxy when he first came to NY at 17. As Manray is about 9 years older then me, we figured out that he was probably the DJ yelling out my name at my 8th Birthday party. Small World.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Tompkins Square Park

As I mentioned in my last post the epicenter of Alphabet City was Tompkins Square Park. I would say the hands down scariest moment in my life happened there when I was about 14 or 15 years old. My friends were over at my house and we decided to head over the park to to hang out. When we arrived there was a demonstration going on on Avenue A, protesting the removal of the shantytown/homeless village that was in existence in the park at the time. At the time it was really a contentious issue--especially since most of the people in the neighborhood were living in poverty and the area housed a lot of anarchistic anti-goverment organizations. It was a really hot night and as I have mentioned in previous posts, there was a pretty violent and dangerous energy downtown in those days. The combination of all of these factors led to one of the most dramatic and frightening moments I have ever experienced.

As we walked up towards the park it became pretty evident that things had gone seriously awry. People were runnning and screaming, cops on horses were bearing down on us from every direction and I saw a cop grab a guy walking out of the Odessa and start beating him over the head for no reason. I stood there completely horrified and then suddenly realized that pretty much anyone who was standing in the street was a target. I took off and started running down Avenue A only to be met by a phalanx of cops on horses coming straight at me. It seemed like every where I turned there were cops in riot gear and all they cared about was potentially beating the shit out of me or someone near me.

After a few minutes there were helicopters with spotlights all over the place and I can honestly never say that I have never felt so close to dying as I did in that half hour--it felt quite literally like a warzone. The scariest realization was that you were running for your life (or at least it felt like it) and the enemy was the police. Meaning that you were completely on your own -- there wasn't some benevolent authority that was going to sweep in and make everything okay. Eventually I made my way to 9th Street to a club called the Aztec where I hung out regularly, which was just off of Avenue A. I banged on the door and finally Charlie the bouncer opened the door and yanked me inside. We hunkered down in the club and occasionally Charlie would pull other regulars looking for refuge inside. I was surrounded by a bunch of young punk rock kids, some of whom had been beaten, bleeding from the head. We were all pretty dazed. The whole situation seemed surreal. The entire East Side had been taken over by cops, from Houston all the way to 10th Street, and that section of the city had literally become a mini-police state.

In the end, over 100 complaints of police brutality were filed. As far as I know only a few officers were ever disciplined. This is one of those experiences I haven't really thought about in years, but it definitely shaped the way I view a lot of things, including authority figures in general.

You can listen to a recording from that night below (if you listen to this, it's worth listening to the whole thing so you can hear the escalation of events--it's only 2-3 minutes):

Audio Recording of the Tompkins Square Riots.

There's also a pretty comprehensive explanation of what took place and the aftermath here.

I feel like this post is pretty depressing. I will try to come up with something more upbeat for tomorrow.

Friday, February 09, 2007

Alphabet City

When I was growing up, the East Village was known as Alphabet City. In those days the Bowery still had Bowery bums, and the residential hotels and dive bars that catered to them. (My favorite of which was called "Hank's Crystal Palace" -- constanly filled with guys that came in and threw piles of change on the bar to get their alchohol fix. It wouldn't be uncommon for one of these gentlemen to nod off and fall right off their bar stool. At this no one would bat an eye or go to help the poor soul either, as I guess it was par for the course.)

The first time I ventured past 3rd Avenue/Bowery and into what was then the heart of Alphabet City, Tompkins Square Park, I felt like a rebel. Today that sounds ridiculous, but Alphabet City was once a much more dangerous (and interesting) place. Avenue A was really bohemian, a lot of artists and poets and punk rockers. Tompkins Square was the social center of a punk rock and anarchist movement and housed a shantytown filled with homeless people. Once you ventured past Tompkins Square you really were in the ghetto. The city let this entire neighborhood -- from Avenue A to Avenue D completely disintegrate. Most buildings were barely standing. It looked like, and to some extent was, a war zone. I found these pictures to illustrate my point. It's hard to equate these images to the Alphabet City of today, but this is what it was when I was growing up, and when I first lived there:





I also found this amazing picture on Flickr. Most buildings in Alphabet City back were surrounded by lots with leftover demolition, burned out cars, ripped up furniture, etc. This proves the point:



When I was in high school I spent a lot of my time in this area. I went to the matinees at CBGB which were hardcore, occasionally ska and filled with young angry youth (so much so that they eventually cancelled them permanently due to the excessive figthing that took place). There were also a lot of local bands that were famous in punk rock circles: Nausea, Reagan Youth, the Casualties. They did a lot of shows at the Tompkins Square Bandshell and in squats. Things eventually moved over to ABC No Rio, a punk rock collective that still exists today on Rivington Street.

Most of the buildings between Avenue B and Avenue D were not legally livable so the young punk runaways/artists/anarchists took them over and lived in them. I spent a lot of time in burned out buildings in my teen years as a result. It was pretty dangerous -- the buildings were not secure and back then there was a lot of crime in the area -- it was a huge drug neighborhood at the time and well into the 90s. Also, the buildings were literally falling apart, alot of them had no windows, missing floors, no ceilings, were filled with rats. There were a few that were well known as shooting galleries which we steered clear of. Some people put incredible effort into their spaces, and they ended up being pretty nice. Most squatters figtured out ways to steal electricity from street lamps, so they had lights and a few even had heat. Suffice it to say it was a pretty different place then it is today.

One of the squats was called Lucky 13, and I remember going to shows there. The shows were held in the basement with jerry-rigged lightbulbs and electricity for amps etc. A bunch of 16-21 year olds squeezed into a basement of an illegal squat with illegal electricity -- it's a wonder we all didn't die in some kind of horrible inferno. There were also shows at Charas Hall which up until not too long ago was a community center. I got into a fight with a Puerto Rican dude outside one of those shows and we ended up chasing the guy down the street. I got into a lot of trouble for this at the time, as there was an uneasy truce between the punk rock kids and the large Puerto Rican community that inhabited the area. It's hard to imagine how disenfranchised people felt back then, but the city had simply completely abandoned large areas of the city including the South Bronx and the Lower East Side, and there was a really high level of poverty and crime, and with it a lot of anger and resentment that came with it.

My first apartment was on Avenue B and was really dicey. The first day in my apartment I came home to find crow bar marks on my door signifying someone's attempt at a break-in. There was a heroin "store" around the corner: Back then there was a huge heroin trade in the area, and they had a pretty orderly system--they would take over a store front or a garage or something and then people would show up, get in line, go in, buy, shoot and then stumble down the street until they passed out. Many times I would find junkies in the hallway of my building with needles still in their arms. That building at the time housed young musicians, and everyone not only lived in their apartments, but rehearsed there as well. At any given moment you could hear the sounds of wailing guitars and crashing drums. Todd from Murphy's Law lived there, the Clowns for Progress were right next door. (Johnny T. who is now Ryan Adams drummer was there at the time). My friend Roy who was in Nausea crashed there for a while (he went on to play with Ozzy and Dave Navarro). I feel a lot of buildings back then were like that: The area sucked so the only people that wanted to live in them were the young artists who all already knew each other. There was a real sense of community back then which had a lot to do with your day to day health and survival. Of course, we didn't see it that way then. At the time, we were just having fun.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Marathon! (half) and Coney Island High-Jinx

I am running a half-marathon in Anchorage, Alaska in June. It is a fundraiser for blood cancer research. If you are so inclined to support this masochistic adventure please click here. ANY amount will help (seriously, if you have 5 bucks to spare, donate it! It really helps. Really. No, REALLY.). If I know you personally, then I am sure I will hit you up again in the future. I am sure I will post more on my training adventures as time goes on.

Post #9 (?) of my 30 Day Challenge:

I Worked at the Nightclub Coney Island High:

My friend Chris mentioned the fact that I used to work at Coney Island High in his blog yesterday, so I figured now would be a good time to talk about those years. Working at Coney was awesome. Next to my job at UCB, I would say it was the best job I ever had. Besides the great money and the amazing bands, it was owned by my friends Jesse Malin and Lindsay Anderson, and managed by my friend Raffaele, formerly of the band the Cycle Sluts from Hell. They hired their friends and people from the local rock scene and it really was, for the most part, one large insane dysfunctional family.

A bunch of us had worked at the Scrap Bar, another infamous nightspot, which had closed down the year before, so Jesse hired Raph to manage who in turn hired me and her sister (my roommate at the time) to bartend. I don't know if I ever had a regular shift -- I think I just worked when they needed someone -- at the time I worked in about a zillion different bars and also temped etc. This was when St. Mark's really was the epitomy of the East Village. Back then there were no Quiznos or Gaps -- the building next door (which used to be the Electric Circus in the 70s) was a rehab that seemed to spew forth a nonstop deluge of AA participants on to the streets. The street was a cacophony of drunkards and tourists, a sort of bizarro Times Square for the disenfranchised. I will talk more about the loss of the East Village in some other post, but the point is that Coney was much more in the center of things at the time then something on St. Mark's would be today.

The greatest bands played Coney Island High: Joey Ramone, who was Jesse's good friend, held his annual birthday bash there and the club generally provided a showcase for a lot of the mainstays of the NY punk/hardcore rock scene (Murphy's Law), NY rock legends and old school bands (Sylvain, Jayne County, The Dictators), visiting rock royalty (Toy Dolls) and those reuniting for one last hurrah (Missing Persons). Not to mention of course all of the local up and coming bands that played almost every night of the week.

Probably one of my personal highlights was during one of Joey's birthday bashes-- he brought up Scott Asheton from the Stooges and Wayne Kramer of the MC-5 and they did a set together singing some stooges, and I think, "Kick Out the Jams". This may mean nothing to 90 percent of you, but aficionados of the 70s rock/punk scene will understand what an amazing moment that was.

There were great dance parties there as well. I seem to remember a ton of go-go dancers on the bar over the years. CIH definitely had an anything goes vibe: lots of cute gay boys and drag queens, mixed with long hair rockers, skinheads, fashionistas, bikers, and drug dealers. We had a swing night called Ivan's Drive-In which was a lot of fun and I went dancing every Thursday at Beavher after they moved from Don Hill's (currently the only great nightclub left in NYC). I remember Ivan was datiing Marisa Tomei and she would come and sit behind the bar while he made drinks. She had just won an Oscar so that was a pretty interesting dichotomy.

There were some crazy behind the scenes moments there. Once one of the manager/part-owners staged a weird coup d'etat where he barricaded himself in the offices and wouldn't come out for three days. I don't remember how it got settled or exactly what his demands were (it had something to do with control of the club), but that seemed like a pretty extreme way to settle one's differences.

After a while the city seeemed hellbent on gettting us shut down. I think I only worked there occasionally at that point, but I recall being there one night on a Saturday around midnight -- Raph and Jessie were throwing a new party and it was hopping, when upwards of thirty uniformed firemen came in, ordered the lights up, the music off, and the bartender to stop serving drinks while they checked every light bulb, fire exit, etc. in the place which took all thirty of them a full hour and a half to do. People often think the claims of Giuliani's nightclub harrassment is exaggerated, but this was proof of the extremes they were willing to go. If you can't have a nightclub on St. Mark's Place, which even today is no picnic, where can you have it?

I eventually stopped working there while I was in acting school -- late nights were impossible, and was sad to see its demise in 2001. The constant harrassment and the changing neighborhood were too much for the club to take. The building has been torn down and condos have been erected where CIH once stood. Jesse Malin went on to own Niagara and become a rock star, Raphael is Patricia Field's right hand woman and still plays with the reunited Cycle Sluts, Lindsay went off to live in Europe and recently got married. Most of us from that scene still see each other around. I will say that for much of that time I really didn't know what I wanted to do with myself, and my main aim was to go out and have fun each night, probably get drunk, and work enough to pay the rent and go to a hangover brunch. After a few years this gets pretty vacuous, but for a few years it was a lot of fun to have no higher ambition then to hang out with my friends at my home away from home, Coney Island High.

(Fun Fact: Lindsay was briefly a teacher at my high school when she was 21 and I was 17. Who knew she would latear be my boss? At the time I hung out a lot with my friend Kurt, who was a member of the Radicts and the LES Stitches, and whom Lindsay would later marry. And divorce.)

This has been a rambling post, and I wish I had a better memory of those alcohol-soaked years. If I think of more interesting stuff, I will post it down the road.

Frozen=Disgruntled

The weather has put me in a foul mood. My apartment does not have substantial heat so I have been sitting around under blankets trying to be productive which is near impossible. This level of cold just makes me tired and uncreative and grumpy. This level of cold also makes the pipes in my building freeze, so I have no water whatsoever. I just went out to the deli to buy a jug of water so I could brush my teeth and freshen up the cat's water bowl. The main reason for my gym membership these days is for emergency showers. Totes worth the $90 a month.

This has also been a rough week because I have had a zillion projects to do while having a bunch of freelance gigs come pouring in all at once. Who knew web editors were in such high demand? These jobs are great because I do them at home and they are pretty simple. Usually. One of my jobs this week was dealing with a high maintenance douchefuck who lives in Sacramento who doesn't understand the concept of time differences. I told him on Monday that I needed to be done by 6pm. One would think that it would be fairly obvious that I was talking about 6pm in my own time zone. Apparently not. Which is why I ended up working until almost 8pm instead of going to improv class. One of my other freelance jobs consists of me updating a section of a subscription web service used by libraries. One of the women who works at this place is a weird anal retentive passive agressive bitchrag who sends me "reminder" emails to do things that I am already working on. This woman is not my boss. Other then the fact that she is full time and I am freelance, we essentially do the same job. However she constantly checks on my work and tells me what I am doing wrong, how things could be improved, or questions why things are being done a certain way even though I have no power to change the procedures she is questioning. I once had to work on her computer at the office and she has NOTHING on her desktop. She had one folder and inside were all of these other work related folders. She had nothing personal on her computer whatsoever. Creepy.

Other than that, my week has been awesome. No really.

Rant over.

Tiddlybits from my past:

-My high school job was working at St. Mark's Comics.

I worked at St. Marks Comics for a few years during high school. I didn't know anything about comics, but the owner was smart enough to realize that cute girls + comics = comic dork paradise. I grew to like some of the comics, usually more of the underground-ish stuff like "Hate" and graphic novels like "I Hate Saturn"-- I never really got into the superhero stuff, although I can appreciate it. The level of obsession that comics inspires is really interesting to observe. (Fun Fact: For those improvisors reading this post, Mike Hagen was my boss at this job.)

-I worked at a film warehouse for 4 months and it was the worst job I ever had.

My first "real" job was working as a receptionist at a film warehouse on 21st Street and 11th Avenue. In those days it was a pretty dicey area -- lots of drug dealers and hookers. The warehouse had no windows because we stored film and it had to be climate controlled. The boss was this fat hideous guy names Jerry, who immediately reminded me of Jabba the Hut when I met him. He was a yeller. He loved to yell at people and make up ridiculous rules, like employees can't get personal phone calls even in an emergency situation. We had a time clock but the coup de grace was that we even had a whistle! A WHISTLE! Like the Flintstones. The whistle would go off at 10am, signifying "coffee break" and would sound again at 10:15 signifying "end of coffee break." Same for lunch. This was one of those soul crushing jobs that make you realize that being poor is better than being demoralized on an every day basis. I pretty much stopped showing up and they fired me.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Xanadu!

One of my favorite movies of all time is the amazing "Xanadu." I can't put my finger on what makes this movie quite so dazzling: Is it the terrible acting of Olivia Newton John and Michael Beck? The awesome ELO soundtrack? Gene Kelly on rollerskates? The ridiculous Greek mythology references? It's hard to say.

Apparently a stage version is in the works starring Jane Krakowski. I understand the impetus, but I defy any stage adaptation to live up to this:

Plagiarism

Continuing on with my 30 Day Challenge:

I plagiarized a story. From Highlights Magazine.

When I was 8 I plagiarized a story from Highlights magazine and handed it in as my own to my 3rd grade teacher, Diane. (We called our teachers by their first names due to the progressive/hippie environment of our school). The story had something to do with mummies, and I remember thinking it was really funny and clever. What's weird is that I loved to write, and was really good at it, so I think the only reason for my deceit was that I must have really liked the story. My teacher totally caught on, but instead of confronting me she took the passive aggressive approach by asking me to read it to the class. I think she figured that guilt combined with my well-known stage fright would break me. It did not. I read it in front of the class without batting an eye.

I find it amusing that the only time I ever cheated was when I was 8 for no apparent reason.

Monday, February 05, 2007

SoHo

I grew up in a loft in SoHo.

People ask me about my upbringing a lot. I have nothing to compare it to, but I loved growing up in New York. SoHo was once the domain of cool artists and young families. When we moved in nobody had lived there prior to us: there was minimal plumbing and three inches of dirt on the floor. There were no walls and rats came up through the pipes. I remember sleeping on the floor on a mattress in a sleeping bag and getting dressed under the covers because we didn't have heat. We were living there illegally and the city turned the heat off (they finally had to relent because it was freezing and the pipes would burst, which would have pretty much destroyed the building). We would boil water on the stove and then pour it into the bathtub in order to bathe. It was a pretty crazy existence.

My dad was a carpenter and he built up our whole loft himself. For the first few years he built two bedrooms right next to each other, but the walls didn't go all the way to the ceiling. Eventually he tore that down and built us a new set of bedrooms, with real walls. You could see on the floor the remnants of the old floor plan, which I always thought was funny. My dad had a huge workshop in the back where he made stained glass and furniture. Besides the bedrooms and the workshop the rest of the house was just a huge open space. I rollerskated and rode my Big Wheel through it all the time.

The weird thing about SoHo buildings is they were all factories at one point and many of the buildings interconnect in strange ways. Our building shared a staircase with the building next to ours. So my neighbors, who lived on the same floor, technicaly were stepping into another building once they left the landing and went into their loft. My friend's loft around the corner had a huge metal sliding door that led into another loft in another building next door. (The people in that loft had a kid our age, so we would open the doors and run around in both lofts during playtime).

The other big part of growing up in SoHo was the art galleries and the avant garde theater scene. Back then SoHo was the art capital of the city, the way Chelsea is today. There were a ton of art galleries and I spent much of my youth wandering aroung various exhibits eating cheese cubes and drinking wine or soda. The Performing Garage, home of the Wooster Group, was across the street from my house. Spalding Gray, Willem Dafoe, and Liz LeCompte all lived on my block. Everyone in our building was an artist (except for the Chens who lived next door and owned Pearl River, the best Chinese department store ever.) As a result it seemed that we had a never-ending array of parties and performance art events to go to. I have seen my fair share of sculptures made of dirt, people being body painted, and video installations.

I am sure that there is more to say on this subject, but I am losing my voice and need to try to warm up my house, the temperature of which is currently hovering around 30 degrees. If you need me I will be buried under 5 blankets.

Sunday, February 04, 2007

Plugs, Entreaties, Referrals

If you are in NYC, please check out Gutenberg! The Musical! written by my friend Anthony King. If you love musicals, you will love this. If you hate musicals, you will love this. It is hi-larious. And playing for the next 10 weeks at the Actor's Playhouse.

For those of you who don't already know about it and regularly attend, the latest Channel 102 shows are really great. The show "Defenders of Stan" is really fun and original. I don't check the Channel 101 site as often but I love Dan Harmon's new meta treatise "Exposure" as well. I have a secret long distance crush on Dan Harmon based solely on his 101 shows and his MySpace blog.

If you like weird internet stuff, please check out my friend Birch Harms's blog, which is filled with amazing and astounding finds from the internet, and occasional interesting facts about the man himself.

As per my 30 Day Challenge, the following story:

-I modelled for a book on how to make dolls when I was 9 and I was in an indie movie when I was 11. Both times neighbors hired me.

One of my neighbors wrote a book about doll making. I somehow got coerced into being one of the models who does the "how-to" photos that accompany the instructions. My mother still has the book somewhere. I look super dorky in these pictures. I really want to find it but don't know the name of the book. If I do, I will scan and post pics here.

The first movie I was in was when I was 11. I played a punk-rock teen runaway. It was for my mother's friend, Deborah, also a neighbor, who made this movie which I have never seen. I suspect it's terrible. There were a bunch of us pre-teen punk rock looking kids who were supposed to look all drugged up lying around a loft. I remember this being very excitiing, but I was mad that I didnt' get to wear makeup since they wanted me to look as young as possible. My first glimpse into the glamorous world of filmmaking.

Both of these projects were shot on my block in my neighbor's lofts. Proof that SoHo was once a bastion of creativity instead of a bastion of Eurotrash and high priced shoes.

Saturday, February 03, 2007

The Price is Right Out of My Reach

In a few weeks a bunch of my friends are going to the Price is Right in LA. My friend Zach Tobacco brilliantly arranged this and put it all together. I am unbelievably jealous. I was just in LA a few weeks ago and can't afford another trip so soon afterwards. I will post stories about their exploits so that I can live vicariously and can pretend I was there. If anyone wants to buy me a plane ticket to LA I will love you forever and post a picture of you on my blog. Who can pass that up? Anyone? No? Too bad.

In other news, my friend Jen MacNeil is doing a project wherein she does something she has never done before every day for a year and then writes about it here. Which is pretty cool. She asked for a list of things she should do, so I sent her the following NY-centric list. Most things on the list are things I myself have never done. A few are things I have done and think are definitely worth doing. I would like to do all of them at some point in the next few months:

Hang out on the roof garden at the Met
Have tea at the Algonquin Hotel
Walk across the BK Bridge (or some other bridge that you haven't already
walked)
Go the Bx Zoo
Sail around Manhattan on a boat
Take a hip hop class
See ballet at Lincoln Center
Watch videos at the NY Library for the Performing Arts
Go to the Museum of Natural History and lie down under the big blue whale
Go to the Hayden Planetarium
Go to one of those free meditation classes
Go to the free movie at the Church of Latter Day Saints in Lincoln Square
Go to the Scientology center and watch their weird free movie
Take the water taxi from the Bklyn Bridge to Manhattan
Take the Staten Island Ferry
Eat at a restaurant/drink at a bar on Staten Island

Speaking of cool blogs etc.: If you haven't read Chris Gethard's blog, you should. Read it cover to cover (or post to post, as the case may be). He is a natural and hilarious storyteller, and is part of my inspiration for trying to become a better storyteller about my own experiences on this here journal. He is the cat's meow meow. (Sidenote: I am taking a great improv class with Chris at the moment which is filled with Ridic-amazing improvisors. So much fun.)

Now on to today's edition of Me Blathering About Past Experiences:

I have ridden the Greyhound bus line across the country twice.

For reasons too varied and uninteresting to explain here I have had to take the bus back and forth across the country twice, from San Francisco to New York and back again. Sleeping on a bus in an upright seat as you tour middle America is quite an experience. You never fully sleep, you only eat Burger King and McDonald's, and you shower at sinks in truck stops for four fun-filled days. It is a pretty cost effective way to see a lot of the country: I will never forget the incredible beauty of Salt Lake City and the crazy canyons in Nevada and Utah, or standing in the middle of the Mojave Desert at a Burger King and feeling like it was the middle of nowhere. You also see the worst: Pulling into Gary, Indiana at 2 in the morning was like being on the set of a post-apocalyptic Terminator movie -- smokestacks shooting fire, grit, grime, garbage. Fairly amazing in a depressing way. Below are other highlights from the two trips I have taken:

On one trip a large black woman was on the bus. She had on these weird flowy purple robes and had hair that stood straight up from her head--she sort of looked like a cross between Miss Cleo and Don King. She had a glittery scarf wrapped around her updo and carried a long black cane. For three of the four days she sat on the bus rocking back and forth, making weird arm and finger movements and chanting to herself. She was scary. On the second day she got up to use the lou in the back. Someone had fallen asleep and had his legs out in the aisle. She stopped and stared at his legs. For a full two minutes. Finally someone said "Well if you are not going to step over his legs, just wake him up." She did so. By taking her cane and hitting him full force over the head. He woke up and moved his legs and she continued her journey without saying a word. A few more instances like this happened and I spent the whole trip sleeping with one eye open as a result. The bus driver told me that she was a "regular", meaning that she apparently spent all of her time riding Greyhound buses, proving that there are indeed professional crazies on bus lines.

On another trip I was traveling from New York to San Francisco. As I waited for the bus to arrive at the Port Authority, a young lady named Betty went down the line introducing herself. Betty was sweet, and perky, and weighed approximately 250 pounds. She wore a snoopy sweatshirt, and pink sweatpants, and bottle-bottom glasses that sat upon her round featureless face, and wore a ponytail that sat square on the top of her head, secured by a scrunchie. This all gave her the appearance of being mildly retarded, which she wasn't. She was, however, very excited about this trip. She wanted to know everyone's name and where they were going. I prayed that her destination would be Chicago or Nebraska, but it turned out that she was going to Sacramento which meant an entire bus ride with Bubbly Betty.

Once on the bus, Betty wasted no time making friends with a crew of drunken biker types (bikers that ride buses, apparently) and they loudly and bawdily told dirty jokes, naughty limericks, talked about porn, and generally treated the bus like a pool room sans pool or jukeboxes. About a third of the way through the trip, Betty decided to rectify the lack of jukebox and stood up in front of the bus and announced that she was having a wonderful time and as it was so close the the holidays, she thought it would be a lovely idea if we all sang Christmas Carols together. (It was December.) I responded with "You've Got to Be Kidding," however the rest of the bus responded "Yay!" and I endured three days of Christmas Carols sang by a bus of slightly retarded off-key busriders. I vaguely remember two Jewish girls getting upset and complaining to the bus driver because they felt this was anti-Jewish harrassment. A bit of a stretch.

The other thing I remember about that particular trip is that I managed to keep the seat next to me free for two whole days. I think I perfected giving people the evil eye as they got on the bus. Finally, around Ohio, there was only one seat left on the bus, so clearly my leg-stretching days were over. A woman got on the bus and sat next to me. She was very mousy -- brown hair, big glasses, all brown drab clothes. We chatted about where she was going, which turned out to be Oregon, and what she was doing, which turned out to be living on an ashram and growing organic vegetables. She was very quiet and shy and seemed to be a sort of nervous type. As were talking, Betty and her Bawdy Boozy Buccaneers burst into song and then started shouting dirty jokes at one another. My seat mate turned to me and said, very seriously "You know what? (pause) The psychic energy on this bus is really dense." Indeed.

Friday, February 02, 2007

Mi Casa es Su Madrassa

By now everyone has heard the brouhaha over the non-story of Barack Obama's educational background: He attended a madrassa in Indonesia when he was six. Madrassa means school in Arabic so this isn't exactly startling news (Obama went to SCHOOL!), but according to Insight, a website run by the Universalist Church of Sun Young Moon, it means "Islamic terrorist training school." But who cares what a two-bit website says, right? That is until the good folks at Fox News decide to quote it as fact on their cheerful "Fox and Friends" morning show.

Besides the fact that these are non-facts, I love the idea that now it is okay to reach as far back as the womb when investigating a presidential candidate's background. What's next, A scathing report on the number of time outs a candidate received in first grade? Sonogram pics? Yeesh.

Once Fox realized their mistake, they of course hurried to correct their mistake: (Make sure to watch the whole thing).



Now there is a moving and heartfelt apology. Nothing makes up for people calling you a terrorist on national television like sort of being invited to do the weather.


Related Facts from My Past:

I went to a progressive elementary school called PS3 in Greenwich Village. We didn't have desks, we had "work areas" which were shared tables, and rugs and benches. We called all of our teachers by the first name. We had mandatory art, dance, music, and acting classes. Our principal's name was John Meltzer and he was a striking man from New Zealand who was very thin, stood about 6'5", and always wore a white/cream colored suit with open collar. (I am sure he wore other things, but I think this was a sort of uniform). He was bald on top but had flowing white hair along the sides. He was a pretty charismatic and scary presence around the school. It was a real hippie/liberal school. Half of my teachers were openly gay, and we discussed politics a great deal. I recall taking a class trip and our teacher having us chant some sort of political slogan on the streets as we went to wherever we were going. I am pretty sure this was illegal, but I think if you had asked any of us at the time we would have said it was fine with us because we supported whoever the candidate was -- we were a pretty politically savvy group of youngsters.

I also once almost got kicked out of camp for beating a girl up. When I was young I had a CRAZY temper. Something would set me off, and I would literally see red -- I had some kind of weird inner rage issue, which fortunately has mellowed into vague irritation as I have gotten older. I don't remember what happened exactly. I was about 10 years old and it was my first year at sleepaway camp, and a girl who was in my cabin called me a name or something and I just lit into her--I punched her in the face and scratched the shit out of her stomach. It turned out that she had asthma, so the fight set off this severe attack and she got sent to the hospital. I don't know why they didn't send me home at the time, but I think camp was almost over and it was more trouble than it was worth. So I lucked out there.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

God Gave Rock n Roll To Us

This post inspired by a conversation earlier this evening and by the fact that I am currently watching the New York Dolls, possibly my favorite rock band ever, on Channel 13 on some show called "Soundstage":

What the fuck has happened to rock n roll?

Rock has lost all danger. When mainstream "rock" is represented by Lenny Kravitz and Coldplay, we are in serious trouble. This is one of the reasons I dont' know what is happening in music these days....

The pseudo pop punk of Blink 182/Sum 41/Unoriginal Name 2000 summons up images of spoiled 20 somethings playing Nintendo with their skater girlfriends in their suburban living rooms, while the rock of White Stripes and Yeah Yeah Yeahs has me visualizing teenagers cutting themselves in bathroom stalls and standing in the corner at the prom making fun of the jocks on the dance floor.

I want my rock stars to summon up images of depraved drug use and sexual acts that take place while trashing hotel rooms. This just doesn't happen anymore, and I do think it speaks to the decline of rock music in the public domain. No wonder rock is dead! Rap stars have supplanted rock stars at least in part due to the fact that they are the ones living the dangerous and outrageous lifestyles that once were the domain of the guitar gods. Rock is just a safe series of three chord ditties. The danger is gone.

Why were the last great rock stars Axl Rose and Kurt Cobain? I'm not saying I want every rock star to become a hermit, get weird fake dreads and take 13 years to make one album, or that they should blow their heads off with a shotgun, but c'mon!? The only "rock stars" on view are those that started their careers 20 or more years ago: Tommy Lee and Gene Simmons in their boring reality shows, the reunited New York Doll or Rolling Stones, etc etc....all fairly uninspiring....

Give me some fucked up misogynstic leather clad heroin addicts already!

Related stories from my past:

-My first concert was Duran Duran at Madison Square Garden.

I was 11 or 12 when I begged, BEGGED my parents to buy the $16 ticket (which they said was way too expensive) to sit in the nosebleed seats at MSG. I remember being 100 percent sure that myself and Simon Le Bon made eye contact from 500 feet away. Ah, youth.

-I was in a Buster Poindexter video (aka David Johansen from the New York Dolls).

I worked on a benefit concert with David Johansen and got a call a few days later asking if I wanted to be in a video and help them cast other people to be in the video. The name of the song was "Breaking Up the House" and the concept was that Buster had an apartment that was usurped by various groups that used it for their own purposes. The groups included curler-wearing mommies with strollers and skinheads. My group was the "Lipstick Lesbians for the Ethical Treatment of Sheep". I wore a very tight red dress and thigh-high boots. The end result really didn't highlight the original idea, but was still fun to watch. The shoot was directed by Amos Poe who was this very cool downtown filmmaker who made weird movies with Debbie Harry and the whole downtown punk rock scene. This shoot was fun and we all got drunk throughout it. The last shot was of us coming in and destroying the set, which we actually got to do on camera. Fun. You can see the video here. I am the one carrying the indecipherable sign that says "Lipstick Lesbians for the Ethical Treatment of Sheep." For the rest of the video, whenever you see a flash of a red dress, that's me. (You never see my face. Of course.)

Telling these stories makes me realize that my life is very very boring now.

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

30 Day Challenge

So my previous post regarding blog tag seemed to garner a lot of interest. I guess I've led a varied enough existence to have some interesting stories, but I have a terrible memory and am not the greatest storyteller in the world, so its tough for me to relate past events in any kind of meaningful way.

However, as a result of the torrent of feedback (and by torrent I mean three people told me I was sort of cool--for me that's a torrent), I have decided to challenge myself to write at least one or two semi-interesting facts from my past every day for 30 days. This will probably be of little to no interest to anyone, but I find it to be an good reason to have to scrutinize my past for things that are not horribly boring and then relay them to my eight or nine readers in an understandable or reasonably enertaining way. Plus it will make me write in this long neglected journal every single day. Fruitless and self indulgent exercise you say? Most definitely. But as those adjectives are cornerstones of my very existence I feel that I am completely justified. (If you don't believe me, I made a house out of paper clips instead of finishing my freelance project WHILE drinking an entire bottle of Perrier Jouet champagne the other day. Don't tell me I'm not fruitless and self-indulgent.) I start today off with the following tidbits:

-I was once punched in the face so hard that my jaw broke in two places.

When I was 19 a cab driver mistakenly seemed to think that I was trying to get out of paying a fare. After a protracted argument, we ended up on my doorstep where he hauled off and hit me so hard that my mouth started bleeding immediately. He then got in his cab and drove off. Due to a brutal combination of shock, stupidity, and drunkenness (some things never change), I didn't get the taxi license number so he never got caught. I, on the other hand, endured being in the hospital for three days, having my teeth wired together, and the inability to eat anything solid for six weeks. It was probably the skinniest I have ever been (hey, there's always a bright side).

-I was an extra in the film Krush Groove.

When I was in junior high I decided I wanted to be an actress. I immediately went to the newsstand and bought a copy of "Backstage". How I knew what this was or how to get it is beyond me, but clearly I was a resourceful child. I then found an open call for a film seeking extras, went to it by myself (and I think by cutting school) and got "cast". How an 11 year old unaccompanied minor managed to get herself hired for a film is beyond me, but I did. I think the pay was something like $30 per day plus lunch. When you are 11 this seems like a HUGE amount of money. Plus I worked on a film set! So exciting! I am pretty sure I somehow coerced my parents into letting me cut school (they were not big fans of this "acting career" of mine -- a harbinger of things to come). I also vaguely remember that in that pre-cell phone era, my parents seriously freaked out because they didn't really know where I was and why I was gone for a 12 or 13 hour work day - I think they thought that I would be gone for a few hours to do the whole thing. I worked two days -- one up at Columbia University and the other at a concert hall where I spent an entire day watching Sheila E., Run DMC, the Fat Boys, and Kurtis Blow do concerts. Plus they bought us McDonald's for lunch. I think I can seriously say that on that day I was the coolest 11 year old alive.

I suspect that as time goes on these entries will get a lot more boring or a lot more personal.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Giant Puppets

Puppets are amazing. Especially the 50 foot puppet featured in the video below. Truly amazing.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Five Things You Don't Know About Me

My friend Rosemary Stevens has tagged me (in this game of blog tag) to tell you five things you don't know about me. After careful consideration I have come up with the following:

1-I Used To Be a Rock n Roll Groupie. Sort of.

Yes, it's true, I have spent my fair share of time partying with major rock stars. I categorize myself as a half-groupie since I never slept with anyone (which I half-heartedly regret. At the time I thought I was filled with integrity, now I realize I could have had an amazing "I slept with Axl Rose" story.) At 18 I worked in a bunch of rock bars in NYC, including the infamous Scrap Bar, the stomping ground for the major rock bands of the day, giving me All Access to some of the heavy hitters of the rock and metal bonanza of the early 90s. I have played pool with Metallica, eaten breakfast with Alice In Chains, jumped in a hot tub at a Guns n Roses party, done shots with Chris Robinson and Joey Ramone, slow danced with the crazy guitarist from Faith No More, sat on Lemmy's lap in a crowded car driving down the LES, was in a Monster Magnet video, rode in Siouxsie's limo, and have had more backstage passes and been to more backstage parties then I can count. If you are curious you can ask me more about these escapades in person. My life was once exciting. (sigh)

2-I Don't Know How to Ride a Bike or Drive a Car.

One of the consequences of an Urban NYC Upbringing. My parents never bought me a bike and there is no driver's ed in schools here. (My parents only owned a car up until I was about 12.) And to follow your inevitable next question, yes, I do know how to swim. (Weirdly, the NYC public education system placed a particular emphasis on water skills when I was growing up.) Thus far I have only driven one time in a parking lot in Queens.

3-I was a Dancer.

I danced from the age of six or seven and performed regularly as a kid. I took class six days a week. I quit at age thirteen, just in time for my metabolism to change so I could blossom into my awkward chubby adolescence.

4-English is my third language.

I was born in London and moved to Dusseldorf, Germany at the age of 1. My parents, who are American, were curious to know whether my first words would be English or German since I was regularly exposed to both. (Question answered when I touched the stove and yelled "hice" -- "hot" in German. A common first word for stupid children everywhere.) We regularly went to France on vacation and I started speaking French as well. I didn't start speaking English until we moved to NYC when I was five years old. I then promptly forgot all of my previously spoken languages.

5-I once lived with a nudist.

At 18 I lived for a brief period in San Francisco and ended up living on Haight Street with a closeted goth dude whose name esapes me, and a 40 year old nudist speed freak named Randall. I would come home to find him naked on his hands and knees in the bathroom scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush. (The plus side to speed is that your house stays VERY clean). Randall also had a penchant for inviting the homeless street kids from Haight Street into our apartment and going downstairs to borrow cups of sugar from the neighbors. While high. And naked. We got evicted-- I kept the letter from our landlord describing why we were getting evicted for years. The list of complaints against us (meaning Randall) was nothing short of hilarious.

I have decided to tag Tony Carnevale and Jackie Clarke as well as my west coast counterparts:

Eric Appel, Julie Brister, Sean Conroy, and Chad Carter.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Further favorable portents....

One of my favorite things to do is to take evening walks through the city observing the late night quiet. This was really effective in SoHo where I grew up -- Before it became the Eurotrash bar capital of the world there was nothing there but art galleries which closed by 7pm which would render the neighborhood completely desolate.
I now live in Brooklyn, and I go on late night walks less often (since I work nights and don't come home until 2am as it is), but I still really love it. (Especially with the addition of my ipod shuffle--Thanks JP!)
I was restless last night and I thought a nice start to my year would be to walk around and also scrounge up some food since I had nothing in the house. I took an hour long walk through Park Slope and then stopped at my local diner where I frequently pick up dinner or lunch to go since I never have food in the house and my weird hours make cooking next to impossible. I ordered the totally self-indulgent grilled cheese with bacon and tomato and talked to the old Greek counter guy while I waited. When my order came he refused my money and wished me a happy new year.
This year is looking up already.

Monday, January 01, 2007

Auspicious Beginnings

My New Year's Eve was fraught with both pleasure and intrigue: I got kissed, bitten (really HARD!), held my friend's hair back while she got sick, received some very nice and meaningful compliments, shook hands with an amazon supermodel, and got text messaged by a celebrity.

All in all, things bode interesting for 2007.

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Idiots

Two weeks ago the Iranian government hosted a holocaust denial conference attended by such adorable and distinguished guests as David Duke (former head of the KKK) and Robert Faurisson (one of those awesome high-profile French anti-semites who has published numerous papers and books saying that the gas chambers were too "complicated" to have actually existed). What a lovely group! Cruella Deville and Dr. Evil were supposed to be there but were too busy drowning puppies to attend. (Always a tough choice: drowning puppies or denying the holocaust? So many choices, so little time.)

The main contention of many participants was that the Holocaust was just an excuse for the creation of Israel. That's right: An entire week was spent discussing the benefits and advantages the Jews got from the Holocaust! Those lucky Jews! They sure lucked out with that Holocaust thing! Boy, that is some glass-is-half-full thinking for you! Who needs Tony Robbins? You can just go the "International Conference to Review the Global Vision of the Holocaust" and you will learn how to think of the worst possible situation as a gift! Thanks anti-semites!

One of the papers that was presented at the conference was entitled "Holocaust, the Achilles Heel of a Primordial Jewish Trojan." What does that even mean? I am not sure what the metaphor is supposed to be: Is Israel the Trojan Horse, and thus the holocaust is the Achilles Heel of the state of Israel? Or is being Jewish the equivalent of being a Trojan Horse and thus the Holocaust is an Achilles Heel for Jewish people? I wish they would stop using confusing metaphors and just name their papers something straight forward like "I hate Jews" so I wouldn't have to do all this deep thinking.

Iranian President Mahmoud Amhadinajad, who held the conference, was interviewed regarding his beliefs about the Holocaust. He was quoted as saying "I will not believe something is true unless I am convinced of it." Good policy! I will not believe something is true unless I see photos, documents, testimonials, newsreels......oh, wait a minute! Those things do exist? Huh. So what does convince you Mahmoud? Oh, Allah has to come down and visit you in the form of a talking crocodile, take you to a club to go crumping, and then tell you exactly at the stroke of midnight while getting a handie from a hooker with a glass eye that the Holocaust actually happened? Oh, well if that's what it takes to convince you, then I guess I see why you are not convinced. Screw all of those documents and photos!

Most of the presentations had the theme that the holocaust did not happen, that only 5,000 people died (from disesase), and that the world "overreacted". That seems reasonable. I am sure those camps were just one big party. Like a rave. (The DJ at Treblinka used to shout "When I say Holla, you say Cost!"). These camps were the inspiration for "Burning Man", right?

Really, the underlying idea behind this conference is that these guys are smarter than the rest of us: According to them essentially the entire world is part of a conspiracy where we made up the Holocuast. And these guys are pissed that they were not invited to the meeting! According to them, the entire world got together (without Mahmoud, or David Duke, or any of those other losers that the world stuffed in their proverbial lockers before the first period bell rang) and decided that we, the entire world, were going to support the Jews and the best way to do that would be to doctor up a bunch of horrible atrocities and fake photos and newsreels and thus the state of Israel would be born. That seems plausible, right? But these guys are too smart! They saw through the entire world's obvious attempt to pull the wool over their eyes. It's like these maverick truth-seekers are Keanu Reeves and the entire world is The Matrix, or it's like they are Blaine in Pretty in Pink and the entire world is the obnoxious James Spader character who can't understand how pretty Andie the weird girl is, or those guys are Mel Gibson in that movie Conspiracy and the entire world is ..... who ever the bad guys were in that movie. Mel Gibson is a hero and so are these guys!

So it really comes down to the fact that these guys need to feel like mighty righteous warriors cuz their parents didn't love them, or they couldn't make the football team, or they didn't get enough blow jobs from cute girls during college. Oh, plus they hate Jews.

Sunday, December 24, 2006

Slow News Day

Today's Daily News front page declared "BRING IT ON: Christmas Shoppers Swarm City". Wow! That IS breaking news. I would never have been aware that a lot of people shop in the city on Christmas Eve. Thanks Daily News! You are clearly the go-to paper for uninteresting-facts-that-are-common-knowledge-masquerading-as-news. I look forward to tomorrow's headline: "SHUT DOWN: Many businesses closed to celebrate annual religious holiday."

Friday, December 22, 2006

Wiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!! Ouch.

I have been having a rough week, mostly due to my many paradoxical life circumstances: lots of work, zero chillax time, many Christmas presents to buy, zero money, Super messy house, zero time to clean it, etc. etc.

I did manage to take a break from these conundrums by hanging out with my good friend Tony Carnevale and his friend Brian to enjoy the new technological breakthrough that is the Nintendo Wiiii. It's pretty fun -- over the course of a few hours we played golf (not good at that), bowling (not good at that either), baseball (just watched this one), and boxing (I am apparently great at beating the shit out of people), as well as the inventively named "Excite Truck" (guess what? you drive trucks in that game!). After three hours I was exhausted.

I woke up the next day having found that I strained a muscle in my arm. That's right. I am in such peak physical condition that I strained myself playing a video game. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go work out by lifting some pencils and killing myself.

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Huh?

I always enjoy looking at what internet searches have led people here. Recent interesting and bizarre examples (typos and mispellings left intact):

has a sweater with an ipod in it been invented yet??
"fuck all cats"
lowes has unisex bathroom?
the perfect weapon in the perfect murder
who wore a boa constrictor around his neck while on stage?
craig's list flight attendants marriage minded
do andy milonakis hava a disease
which comon kitchen item is a;so a type of drum?
alcoholic husband "roller coaster"
sites for women whose husbands cheat


I am sorry that none of the above questions can be answered by this journal. I am now very curious to know what common kitchen item is also a drum. Anyone?

Saturday, December 09, 2006

Advice

I wrote a brief comment about Thanksgiving two weeks ago, when it was topical, and then never posted it. I am going to post it now, as I think the sentiment expressed is still completely valid, even though it won't be relevant again for about 11 months:

If you are over the age of 10 and you are not talking to a preschooler, please do not use the terms "Happy Turkey Day!" and "Gobble gobble!" around Thanksgiving. Even if you think you are doing it ironcially, you are not. Seriously. That shit is really annoying. Stop it.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Guerilla Attacks Paris!

The UK artist Banksy has slipped 500 tampered-with versions of the new Paris Hilton album into record stores, altering song titles to "Why am I Famous?," "What Have I Done?" and "What Am I For?" The inside cover declares "Every CD you buy puts me further out of your league." Brilliant.

Monday, September 04, 2006

Update!

I have taken way more blogging time off then intended, for a variety of reasons. I have been doing a lot of non-internet related writing (sketches, spec scripts, stories, etc.) so with all that I guess I haven't found time to write my random, dull, and meaningless comments here. Below are some quick updates about things I am doing/have done and things my friends are doing/have done and finally, of course, the requisite pictures of cats that all bloggers resort to when they don't have anything interesting to say. Here it goes:

I have had about two days off all summer (I wish I was kidding), and will finally get some needed break time this week as I head up to Fire Island to a beach house and then off to Mexico in a few weeks for my good friends Heidi and Ryan's wedding. This week will be the first time this year I have stepped on the beach. I am clearly having my summer in the fall.

I am addicted to Project Runway--I already loved it, but my friend Jeffrey Sebelia is on it this season, so it's twice as addictive. The respect I had for Heidi Klum has dissipated to a loathing and disdain I that is reserved only for bitchy self-important supermodels with hit TV shows (this is entirely different than the loathing and disdain I have for bitchy self-important politicians such as our president, should you be wondering.)

One of my cats has been getting sick constantly, the cause of which is a mystery. The diagnosis ended up being protein allergies, forcing me to feed them new foods they have never had before. These foods so far have consisted of rabbit, venison, and duck. Mealtimes consist of the cats happily gobbling down the anonymous food stuffs as I sit in the corner, glaring, slurping down Ramen Noodles. Feline Irony, alive and well. (Also, my cat has managed to vomit on every piece of clothing, blanket, purse, etc. that I hold dear, and once even managed to throw up inside my cowboy boots. Asshole.)

My awesome friend Kate Spencer has both inspired me and made me completely ashamed of my own laziness! Her mother was diagnosed recently with pancreatic cancer and in response she has started www.runningformymom.com which is raising money for pancreatic cancer research and forcing Kate to train everyday for a half marathon--go to this site, check out her workout journal, feel super lazy, and then donate! Every bit helps. For real.

A steady stream of people have recently made the move to California. I may end up there soon...more to come.....

And now, as promised, cats!:


My two cats, Franklin and Sparkleen


Franklin (Vomit Machine) on my kitchen table


Sparkleen in my Kitchen Window


Cat in a Bag!


Cat in a Box!

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Time Out

I have been sick more often then I have been well this winter, and have once again been beset by a cold/flu/fever/cough/sore throat thing that has kept me in bed for the last few days. I managed to get to work one night this week, but other than that I have been laying in bed half-watching European travel shows and Do It Yourself home design projects on cable TV.

This sheer volume of illness has overwhelmed me and finally led to non-stop weeping for pretty much all of yesterday afternoon. After a while I wasn't even aware of it anymore--it was just a neverending and consistent cascade of tears that accompanied me as I did the dishes, ate my soup, checked my email and half dozed on the couch. Once in a while, a sappy commercial or Animal Planet special would come on (watching a baby rhinocerous and baby elephant become best friends and then get seperated as they are settled into different wild life reserves is NOT a good idea when you are in this state, FYI) and then my emotions would catch up to the waterworks, but the rest of the time it was as if my body was on auto-pilot, liberating me from all of the pent up frustration that being unwell brings.

Today I feel somewhat better physically and much better psychically. Apparently languishing for an entire day is good for the soul.

That said, I begin acupuncture treatments next week. Needles! Scary. Reports to come.

Friday, March 24, 2006

The Bright Side

I was crossing 4th Avenue in Brooklyn a few minutes ago and passed by an ambulance, doors open, man strapped to a gurney inside, cops congregated. One of the officers was clearly trying to contain laughter, which I thought was kind of odd since she had clearly just put an injured person into an ambulance. And that's when I heard it: A strong baritone voice belting out opera. Upon closer inspection, I could see the man strapped to the gurney, head wobbling back and forth, singing his heart out as he lay on the stretcher. Apparently, he was intent on getting his voice heard regardless of the circumstances.

There is nothing like a crazy singing injured person to put life into perspective.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Logic of Youth

Walking through Chelsea Market today I overheard a 10 year old earnestly ask his friends:

"If someone is half Native American and half Chinese, are they orange?"

It's rare that a kid can be vaguely racist and vaguely adorable simultaneously.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Swingin for the Fences

I have known some overly libidinous males in my life, and besides the obvious downsides of emotional immaturity and possible disease, I have also considered these types an unindustrious lot. Well, tonight that all changed:

Tonight riding home on the D train I noticed that someone had scotch taped little flyers to the windows of EVERY door on the train. Upon closer inspection, the handwritten flyers read:


*******
Are you a promiscuous female?
Or a female going through a (promiscuous) spell?
Call
A PROMISCUOUS MALE
(718) XXX-XXXX


Brown skin, light skin, and yellow skin females are the most promiscuous females.
*******

WOW. Both an inventive way to get laid and a social commentary on the promiscuity of the female gender. (Which, according to this description, includes all women of every skin type.) The author of this flyer is apparently a real go-getter as this clearly took some serious thought, intitiative, and elbow grease.

I now must reexamine my prejudicial view of the slothful male playboy. Not to mention that this is real lesson in the American dream. Don't just sit around waiting for what you want, make it happen. By taping flyers to the doors of the D train. What an inspiration! Dare to dream, promiscuous male, dare to dream.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Observations from the Sidelines

I have been catching glimpses of the Winter Olympic Games here and there, usually from the comfort of a bar stool at my favorite watering hole. The winter olympic sports are pretty engaging as pretty much everything involves grace and speed, two things I can appreciate even after three shots of Jameson on a Tuesday night, plus there is the added advantage of needing to know next to nothing about each event: They go down a hill or do pirhouettes on ice. If they are the fastest or most graceful, they win. If they fall, they don't. Perfect for those of us with minimal interest in sporting events.

Most of these sports are pretty straight forward: Skiing, skating, bobsledding. But I happened to watch a bit of the Curling event the other night and I was thoroughly confounded. This event seems to have been invented for unathletic people who like to sweep. A fairly specialized niche to my untrained eye. The event involves one person sliding what appear to be tea kettles down the ice and then some other people take little brooms and sweeping the ice. People who do this clearly do it for the love of the sport, as I I don't see any cereal endorsements coming down the pipeline for the Olympic curling champions.

The other head-scratching event is the biathlon where contestants ski down a hill and then stop and shoot at things. This seems like a fairly arbitrary pairing. Why not have contestants bowl a game and then knit a sweater? Or run a marathon and then sit down and figure out some physics problems? Please submit any ideas you may have for like-minded events and we'll get it going for Olympics 2010.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Please shut the fuck up

I can't stand it when people say "Oh my God! I (missed my train/was late for work/spilled ketchup on my shirt etc.). This ALWAYS happens to me. That is SO the way my life goes. Why me? Oh why is my life so full of drama and negativity?"

Stop complaining. Your life is fine. Annoying shit happens to everyone. It doesn't just happen to you because there is some universal conspiracy designed to make your life cumbersome. Shut up and smile asshole.

Rant over.

Lazy Sunday

Recently the awesome Lonely Island guys did a hilarious video on SNL, Lazy Sunday.

Leave it to two eight-year old kids to come up with the ultimate tribute.

Hilarious.

Friday, January 13, 2006

time's a wastin'

In the tradition of talking about television and other useless and already well-documented topics, and thanks to the addition of cable and Netflix to my life, I submit my newest obessions:

24--My friend was on the first season which got me completely hooked. Due to my schedule I stopped watching but recently got caught up on Seasons 2 and 3 via my DVD player and am about to embark on a marathon of watching Season 4 before Season 5 starts on Sunday. Holy Moly! This is really one of the best shows ever. It's impossible to watch just one. I want to be Jack Bauer when I grow up. And by that I mean, I want to be a heroin-addicted, ruthless, detached federal agent with emotional problems who will stop at nothing to save his country.

Project Runway--I have always eschewed reality TV (Except for Tough Enough, the MTV show about people competing to become WWF wrestlers), but this has got me hooked. The clothes! The egos! The hilarious bitchiness of Michael Kors and Nina Garcia! And the awesome Tim Gunn who tempers elegant support with blunt criticism. I even sort of like Heidi Klum. This show has made me respect a model. What is the world coming to?

Movies!
I am currently taking a very enjoyable improv class studying the form "The Movie." Our teacher, Dyna Moe, gives us assignments of movies to watch. This is great because I can spend hours in front of my TV and feel like I am actually accomplishing something! Thus far I have watched:
Breaking Away (old favorite, great movie)
Miracle (sappy, crappy, but great hockey game at the end, which is probably only enjoyable if you like hockey, which I do. Plus a friend of mine from acting school plays the goalie.)
High Noon (classic western, dated but fun)
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (Sergio Leone was a genius--great music, great visuals, great story)
The Maltese Falcon (ridiculous plot, great Bogart)
Touch of Evil (Orson Welles can't be beat)
Singin' in the Rain (Gene Kelly=Great Dancer, Terrible Actor).

On Deck: The Music Man, The Blue Dahlia. Brief and Useless Reviews Forthcoming.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

The Usual Suspects

It's always interesting to see what leads people to this journal. Recent examples include:

f line bagels
what are to comon signs of ill cats (spelled exactly this way)
superfree sex
the nemisis paper plane
horrible alcoholic husband boyfriend stories

and of course:

black mariachi toddler outfits.

Clearly, all of these people have been led exactly to the right place.

As If I Didn't Have Enough to Worry About

Another Cheerful Note from Dad:

Email Header: DIABETES!!

"Daunting report in the NYT about the pernicious stealth attack from this disease -- people often don't know for years, until the body is in a fairly advanced stage of infection, with most dire results -- lost toes, feet, legs. This even in youngish people, and with NYC leading the nation in new cases all are advised to listen up.

Two key causes - weight and sugar, followed by lack of exercise and insufficient diet (of green veg and fruit, natch).

Don't want to raise alarm but a serious thought -- maybe more motivation for more gym time. Next time you get to an MD ask for test on this.

Dad"

Apparently I am currently overweight and will eventually lose a limb.

Uh, thanks Dad.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Cheat Sheet

A recent look at the site meter for this journal reveals that I have a surprising amount of visitors from across the country and around the world (UK, Singapore, Saudi Arabia, Korea). Most of them come here from my friends' sites and the occcasional internet search for "Rachael Mason" or "Rachael Mason improv", the latter probably being a search for the Rachael Mason who runs IO in Chicago and is a much more prolific improvisor than I. There are other mundane search items for things like the Coney Island Aquarium and Carpet cleaning and Cat Meows that I am sure have misled many a disappointed websurfer here as well.

But occasionally a baffling search turns up: Recently someone googled "Married women in Warwick who fuck around." For some reason this led them to my blog, which has little to do with married women or fucking around or Warwick, Rhode Island.

Even more puzzling is the fact that someone googled this item to begin with. I mean it seems like an oddly specific request. Does someone out there think there are websites that contain databases of women who not only live in Rhode Island, but in the specific town of Warwick, who are looking to have affairs? Or a jealous husband whose suspicions have aroused some far-flung hope that his cheating spouse has actually created a website proving her adultery?

I realize that now that I have written an entire entry about this, this site will now be flooded by the countless men searching for the loose women of Rhode Island. So out of both courtesy and curiousity I entered that exact search into google and came up with this site. So for those of you who were accidentally led here, your search won't have been in vain. Happy hunting.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Buy This Book

I am back from London and will post some hilarious and descriptive story about the trip shortly, but in the meantime:

My friend Chris Gethard just published a book called "Weird NY" which has all sorts of awesomely creepy tales about the Empire State. Chris is a great writer and storyteller and just an awesome dude all around, so do yourself a favor and order the book here. You can preview a few of the stories at Chris's website.

Now you may carry on with your day.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Have a Good Trip

I am going to London tomorrow to see friends and drink beer.

My dad sent me an email containing names and numbers of some family friends in the area. As usual, he signed off with his characteristic cheery advice:



"Do take care, wash your hands frequently, walk as much as possible during flight - Charlotte got an aneurism on her flight
back from Italy. Have a jolly good time.

Dad"

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Sick

I am sick. I woke up with some kind of horrific flu-type thing that came out of nowhere. Last night I felt totally fine and today I am barely able to walk the length of my tiny BK apartment. Illness allows me the luxury of watching a few zillion hours of reality TV. A quick rundown:

-Laguna Beach: My friend Kate is obsessed with this show and has been begging me to watch it ever since I got cable. At first I completely didn't get it, but after watching several episodes in quick succession, I finally understand. Watching vapid bleach blondes cavort in their multi-million dollar houses, drive around in their gas guzzling motor vehicles, lust over lame unattractive dudes who are addicted to hair gel, and get manicures (they seem to get one in every episode), really makes me feel okay about my life. I would rather be poor, passably attractive, and smart than rich, charmlessly beautiful, and completely stupid.

-The Girls Next Door: Playboy bunnies are real people too. Real people that cavort in bathing suits 24 hours a day and have sex with a famous octigenarian on a daily basis. They are just like us. Really.

-Breaking Bonaduce: Watching this show is like being addicted to watching a horrible deadly train wreck. It's so awful it is almost impossible to tear one's eyes away. Danny Bonaduce loves his kids and his wife, is addicted to working out, takes steroids, and is a horrible alcoholic. If this is your life, what would you do? Get a reality show documenting your therapy sessions and your horrible self-destructive neurotic lifestyle? But of course.

-My Fair Brady: This is a super boring show about a lackluster ex-celebrity (Chris Knight of the Brady Bunch) dating an idiotic self-obsessed 22-year-old super model. I fell asleep during this show.

I redeemed myself slightly by watching a bunch of shows about Alaska on the Travel Channel. I now really want to go to Glacier Bay National Park.

Illness: Bad for the soul, excellent for reality TV ratings.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Hard Up

I was sitting at a sidewalk cafe in BK yesterday when I overheard this part of a conversation as a woman passed behind me walking down the street:

".....orgasms. I haven't had an orgasm in three years."

I turned around to see who this woman was and who she was imparting this information to. Answer: No one! She was walking down the street talking to, I guess, herself, or an imaginary friend.

My love life may leave something to be desired, but at least I am not wandering the streets telling an imaginary sex therapist my problems. This sure puts things in perspective. Thanks, Crazy Unsatisfied Lady!

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

The Perfect Weapon

Last night I had a dream about getting away with the perfect murder. My solution was to carbo-freeze water into bullets. Ice Bullets. What a fucking brilliant idea. Once they impact they melt leaving the police, I am sure, scratching their heads. If my acting career goes south (or more south, to be accurate) I will open a weapons store callled Glock 'n Roll that only features ice weapons. I am a genius.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Double Edged Sword

Tonight my friend Christina and I went to a local bar in Brooklyn and quickly discovered it was a shark-infested sea of single drunk men. When Christina went to check out the jukebox, an extremely drunk middle-aged man came up to me and slurred the following words before stumbling away:

"You are too hot for your own good"

This was in stark contrast to earlier in the day when I was walking through the streets of Carroll Gardens and passed a gang of pre-teens sitting on a stoop.

"Weight Watchers!" yelled one of the chubby pre-adolescents.

Weighing the two options, I am not sure which scenario I would rather endure: being hit on by a drunken desperate 45 year old or being berated by a fat tween.

My life is awesome.

Saturday, October 01, 2005

FINALLY!

It's about time that someone posted a website that explains how to properly dance goth. Classic.

My favorites are definitely:

Stuck in My Coffin

My Aritfical Hip Joint

and the classic:

Ow! I Cut My Wrists!

Thursday, September 29, 2005

Wheeeeeeee!

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Siren's Song

I have named the new cat "Siren" because every night she whines incessantly and has kept me awake for days on end. Besides the annoying drone, the name seemed appropriate: the Siren's Song is known for its alluring beauty, but eventually makes you want to kill yourself. It is true that the cliffs of cuteness lead to the rocks of regret.

On my third sleepless night I found myself completely losing my mind. I was so exhausted that I got up and started sobbing while screaming at the cat. Me: "Just SHUT UP! PLEASE just STOP! STOP IT!" Cat: "Meow. Meow. Meow." Me: "You are a DIRTY HORRIBLE animal! I have spent two hundred dollars on you and you are FUCKING me OVER!" Cat: "Meow. Meow. Meow." Me, now hsyterically sobbing and throwing things at the cat. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Fuck you! Fuck all cats everywhere! Fuck your ancestors and the evolutionary path that has brought you into my living room!" Cat: "Meow. Meow. Meow." Me: "I understand why mothers drown their children!"

I have spent two hundred dollars getting this cat checked out, it has fleas which are now in my house, I can't get it placed anywhere, and I now apparently have no moral compass. I believe I have martyred myself on the altar of animal rescue for the first and last time.

Monday, September 19, 2005

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Walking home from a bar in BK last night, I stumbled across a cute cat outside my buildiing. He ran up to me and started purring. I presumed he belonged to a neighbor and must have gotten locked out and as my two cats are currently residing at my folks place, I took him in and gave him some food. He then happily took residence underneath my couch.

The problem with this cat is his agressive affection. He comes barreling towards you like the Tasmanian devil and throws himself on the floor with equal gusto. The larger and more aggravating problem is, as of night two, he never stops meowing. Ever. Even when you try to go to sleep. I mean, hours and hours and HOURS of meowing. I am beginning to understand why this cat got thrown onto the street. So now I have to figure out a way to break him of this habit. It is possible that he is sick, so I cant' be too harsh. But I took him in off the street and am now rewarded with sleepless nights and an unhealthy cat. Awesome.

I made up a bunch of fliers with his picture on it and posted them through the hood, but so far no luck. Once the meowing problem is solved, I think will make an awesome pet for someone. Who isn't me. Three cats somehow steps over some imaginary line in my life that turns me from cat-lover to girl destined to be alone forever with only cats as companions. Upon inspection today I think he may have been on the street for at least a few days, so not sure that there is an owner out there at this point.


So, uh, anyone want a cat?


Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Song Stars!

I just returned from a trip to LA which was a pretty satisfying short vacation. The trip started with me running through the airport sans shoes (flip flops are bad airport shoes) thanks to the untimely arrival of my car service, until a nice man in one of those golf-carts came to my rescue and got me to my gate with about a minute to spare. (Special thanks also to the super poorly designed JFK Airport--why are gates twenty minutes walk away from check-in? WTF?)

I took Delta Song to LA. I never thought an airline would be capable of levity, but Delta song is HI-larious. They have a sweet desperate quality that says "Look at me! I am hip! I am cool! I am not the poor cousin of Jet Blue!" The flight attendants were dressed in quirky green and black outfits and were clearly hired for their bubbly personalities and vivacious demeanors. One of them even had a mohawk (Clearly, punk rock haircuts=awesome airline. Good job, Delta!) Once on board they pipe in the newest Wallflowers album, and give you a chance to check out the plane decor which is green, orange, and purple. (Oh Delta, you are so wacky!) They had all sorts of baffling lingo: the attendants are called "Song Stars" and the flight was consistently referred to as the "Super Song Flight." And then possibly the most hilarious voiceover ever recorded began: Enya-esque music plays in the background while a soothing Sally Kellerman-esque voice asks the whole cabin to breathe in and breathe out together and to "let my voice wash over you like a bubbling brook". I was afraid that we were all going to have to submit to some sort of inflight yoga session, but it turned out this was the beginning of the safety announcement, which had cute asides like "smoking is bad for your chi, so we don't allow it on our Super Song flight." Really Delta Song? Because I thought that was a federal regulation, but whatevs.

Other highlights of my trip:

-Meeting my 7 day old niece and my best friend's 9-month old baby. Tres adorable!

-Staying with my old friend Michelle, her boyfriend Bill, and their adorable 3-year old daughter Josephine. The sweetest people in the world. I also got to experience the fabulous world of balloon animals, pony rides, face painting and other things that you will only do with a three-year old.

-Going to a UCB party and not knowing ANYBODY (except for about 10 people from NY). And as is par for the course with any UCB party, watching late night wrestling.

-Completely missing the blackout that LA was thrown into on Monday afternoon. My friend and I were driving around and completely missed it, even though all the lights on Venice Blvd. were flashing red. We took no notice.

-Crashing one night at the Regent Beverly Wilshire on Rodeo Drive, possibly the fanciest hotel in LA (the Pretty Woman hotel!). The bathroom was bigger than my apartment, and they left truffles in a martini glass on the night table. Is it possible to feel underdressed at a hotel? Answer: Yes, it is.

-I don't drive and I never got stuck for a ride, not once! Thank God for good friends with cars and a lot of free time. Also, satellite radio in cars is awesome: late night country radio can't be beat.

-Celebrity sightings were minimal, but we did see Jessica Simpson walk by the theater and I met the director of the House of Sand and Fog at the Santa Monica Farmer's Market.

-Having to actually utter the words "I will have a 'Goddess of Thought and Reason' salad" at a vegan eatery in Hollywood. Only in LA....

Monday, September 05, 2005

The FEMA Debacle

Saturday, September 03, 2005

The Beach

I spent the last two days at the beach, Jacob Riis National Park, out in Queens. Day one was spectacular: no people, hot lifeguards, warm water. Day two: a little less so. Last night my friend told me a story of a horrifying encounter with a small armada of jellyfish during his youth, which left him injured at the time and traumatized forever. So wouldn't you know it, the minute I stepped in the water I encountered a fairly large jellyfish which made me turn tail and run. The rest of the day was spent baking on the beach and cursing the evolutionary path that created these gargoyles of the deep. My friend Heidi than spotted several more during her foray into the water. Even at my most suposedly-relaxing moments, fear and consternation rule. Life is, indeed, a beach.

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

A Trip to the Vet

One of my cats is getting up there in age, and after the recent death of my friend's older feline, I got a little paranoid. So the other day when he started vomiting and then keeled over I was more than slightly alarmed. So I picked the nearest vet and took him in.

Trips to the vet are even more nerve-wracking then trips to the doctor because you are dealing with an extremely unhappy animal who has no idea what is going on. Getting my cat into the carrier is an experience, sort of like trying to squeeze a car into a jar of applesauce. If a car could be really pissed off and scratch the shit out of you. I have tried wrapping the cat in towel, and other tried and true techniques which others swear by, but the result is always the same: befuddled and angry cat, exhausted and injured owner.

I haven't taken my cat to the vet in about seven years. I guess this makes me a horrible pet-owner, but I have indoor cats that lie around all day and play with lint. Not exactly a life-threatening environment. So I am not used to the holy terror that is the vets' waiting room. Imagine if you will, a room filled with frightened animals, all barking, meowing, and hissing in some kind of dischordant ode to panic and chaos. It is pretty clear that some of these animals know exactly why they are there, and are not thrilled at the prospect of what is about to happen to them. Then imagine sitting in this room for over an hour. These are what good times are made of. They should really provide a bar, or at least a complimentary shot of whisky to the pet-owners.

After we were finally brought into the examination room, they weighed my cat and then felt it necessary to have me hold him down while they took his temperature. For some bizarre reason Franklin was none too happy about having a thermometer shoved up hs ass and put up quite a fight. The nurse (or whatever she is called in vet-speak), said, "Oh, I had better get some help!" as though it was unusual for a pet to be so put off by this obviously delightful experience. So two vet-nurses held my poor cat down while they took his temperature. He was rewarded by a cat treat which seems like a fair trade, sort of like being given a manicure after having your face ripped off. After his examination I was told he seemed fine and he gladly went back into his carrier, away from the horrilbe probing hands of his arch-nemisis.

I went for the full blood-workup recommended for aging cats, so I can have some piece of mind over his general health. So to recap: Having your cat raped by a thermometer, $165. Misplaced sense of pride over being a responsible pet-owner, priceless.

Sunday, August 28, 2005

A Really Dull Cutting Edge

I have recently invested in a bunch of gadgets for myself. By gadgets I mean a digital camera and cable TV. These probably don't qualify as gadgets for the rest of the world, but in the low-rent technological bubble I live in, they fall into that category.

So first of all, cable TV is great! Wow! Have you seen this? Not only are there high-brow interesting science shows on the Discovery Channel (MythBusters) and the Science Channel (World of Tomorrow, What Really Killed the Dinosaurs), but enough cheesy, embarassing, and ultimately satisfying shows to kill an entire weekend-full of time. Taradise? Yes! (How much idiocy can be contained in one person? Tara Reid will show you!) GhostHunters? Absolutely! (My favorite because they never seem to actually find evidence of ghosts). My Sweet Sixteen! Amazing! (Spoiled rich brats with zero self-esteem berate their parents and various people in their employ in order to pull off stunningly shallow and horrible sweet sixteen parties! Yay!) Seriously, check out this cable thing.

My digital camera: I haven't owned a camera in years. My new and proud ownership has helped me reach the conclusion that the main reason to own pets is so that you have something to take pictures of when you buy a new camera. I now have about a zillion pictures of my two cats, for no apparent reason. I mean they pretty much look the same in every picture. I so far have only one picture of a human being, a friend of mine who got suckered into letting me take a picture while traveling in a cab with me. No escape = awesome photo opportunity.

I feel so modern. Maybe one of these days I will even get an i-pod.

Baby steps, baby steps....

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Michigan

I just returned from a 5 day vacation in Traverse City, Michigan (the cherry capital of the world!), which is a beautiful town on Lake Michigan. I went to see my old roommate of 4 years, Lisa, her husband Scott, and their wicked smart 14-month-old baby boy Alexander. It was an awesome time which made me nostalgic for the old days living with one of my best friends. It was also an animal-heavy vacation, as Lisa has two cats and a dog, her mother, who lives nearby, has two Maltese, and her sister who was also visiting has an adorable but unfriendly and emotionally damaged Pekingese. It was like living in some kind of low-rent Animal Planet episode. This is par for the course with Lisa--when we lived together we had a small zoo (several pet rats, guinea pigs, a doberman, and a cat) squeezed into our small Lower East Side apartment. Ah, Good Times.

I notice that all of my trips lately center around visiting my friends with kids, including my upcoming trips to LA and London. Clearly, my biological clock is in a completely different time zone than the majority of my friends.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Always Look On the Bright Side

My parents went on vacation this week. As usual, I received an optimistic email from my dad on the subject:

Headline: Wills and living wills

Text: desk drawer in the den, Love, Dad

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Check it.

The secrets of Bush's amazing powers of oration.

Sunday, August 07, 2005

The Brood

I just returned from a much needed break, a weekend in the Berkshires with my family. While there were elements of this mini-vacation that were less than ideal (6 hours driving each way with my parents, sharing a hotel room with my parents, spending a lot of time with my parents), the plus side was catching up with the Ukrainian branch of my family and hanging out with my nieces and nephews. Man, are they adorable.

I have four Ukrainian cousins all of whom are married, plus the four children aged 1 and a half to 3. Quite a rambunctious bunch. Dinners were an event. Fortunately I got to just hang out with with the kids and play hide-and-seek, Uno, Good Robot Vs. Bad Robot (an awesome game made up by my brilliant three year old nephew, I swear he will be a millionaire one day), plus caught crickets, crawfish, and frogs. I never really had to be responsible or play disciplinarian. Plus as the aunt they never see, I was a hot commodity and was fought over constantly. There is a beautiful irony that I only find the adulation I seek while visiting my own family.

Saturday, July 30, 2005

Coney Island High

On Saturday I went to Coney Island, the rhinestone of Brooklyln. I love Coney Island because, with the exception of tearing down the old rollercoaster that had the house underneath it, and building the Cyclones baseball field, it has not changed one bit since I was a kid. My parents had no interest (or the financial means) to take me to Six Flags so Coney Island was the only amusement park I ever experienced growing up. From what I understand they plan to Disney-fy it in the next year or two, so sad. I also used to work at the best-job-ever nightclub, Coney Island High, and while many thought that this title had to do with drug use at amusement parks it was the owner Jesse Malin's ode to the yummy afterglow after a day spent on the boardwalk.

I had the pleasure of playing Coney Island tour guide to Tony Carnevale, Dave Thunder, and Jen McNeil, all of whom have never been there before:

The NY Aquarium: Tony Carnevale and I got there just in time to see the hilariously cheesy and adorable sea lion demonstration. We also saw the walruses which are very social animals and exhibitionists (last time I was there one masturbated in the window, much to the horror of toddler-toting parents and the vocal delight of the many pre-teens in the vicinity). A side note about penguins: they are only cute when there are a bunch of them waddling around. When there is a lone penguin standing there doing nothing their cuteness factor falls dramatically. What a letdown. On the plus side, they had a jellyfish exhibit that was awesomely creepy.

Spook-a-rama! We went to all three Haunted Houses in order to contrast and compare. The first one, Spook-a-rama, was great because it all takes place in one room which isn't really dark so you can totally see where you are going and make out all of the skeletons/ghouls/electric chairs etc. long before you reach them. This ride will also give you whiplash since it arbitrarily jerks you around in circles the whole time. It is 50 years old, and it shows. When Jen and Dave showed up we made them ride it for the full experience.

We went to the second, the awesomely-named "Ghost Hole" which was more of a standard haunted house in that it is pitch black until you reach each supposedly scary exhibit and you are routed through many levels and corridors. For some inexplicable reason, the sound effects consisted solely of car alarms and machine gun fire. I suspect that the sound designer grew up in some sort of wartorn neighborhood, as this was the auditory experience provided. This ride was also made better by the fact that every time we went through any doors or turned a corner Tony would yell out "Ghost Hole! GHOST HOLE!" This added to the experience considerably.

The last one, Dante's Inferno, was also pitch black and had much better (and appropriate) sound effects of people screaming, but the exhibits were mostly of gorillas and werewolves. I think there can never be enough fake gorillas in a haunted house. After sampling the trifecta, Dave and Tony pronounced Ghost Hole the winner for its use of car alarms. Spook-a-rama remains my favorite for its old school charm.

Rides: The water flume is the best ride in the park because it is relaxing, refreshing, and still provides you with that one moment of adrenaline-inducing fear as you are plummeted down a mini roller coaster sans seat belt or safety bar. We all agreed that its only fault is that it is a relatively short ride and they should let you go around twice for your four bucks. Still awesome though.

Dave convinced me to go on the Cyclone. I have only ridden it one other time and it scared the crap out of me. This time it was just fun. Score, Rachael=1, Childhood Neuroses=0. Thanks Dave Thunder!

Pizza: Tony had heard about a famous pizza place named Totonno's, which claims to be the oldest pizza parlor in the city. We trekked through the grizzled streets of Coney Island to find it and were met with the most awesomely gruff pizza parlor staff ever. Upon entering two 55 year old (ish) women come barreling at you telling you at very high volume to wait outside. Once you are finally invited to enter, they throw a bunch of styrofoam plates, cups, and plastic utensils at you and pressure you to order immediately. We ordered two pies: sausage and pepperoni. They were delicious and were completely worth being demoralized by middle aged Italian women.

Boardwalk Oddities: While it doesn't compare with Venice Beach, CI has its share of interesting people and attractions. Besides the now famous Shoot the Freak where you can paint ball some poor sucker in a strangely setup area that is filled with umbrellas and mannequin heads, we also encountered a guy with a bucket that read Animal Rescue. Besides looking suspiciously unofficial, he was wearing a boa constrictor around his neck, a parrot on his head, and had an uncomfortable looking giant lizard thrust under his arm. Somehow carrying animals around in the blazing sun for the better part of the day doesn't seem all that humane to me, but that's Coney Island irony for you.

We debated going to the sideshow, which in my recollection is pretty much a collection of tattooed people and other equally unimpressive attractions. Dave nixed the idea by saying "I would go if there were retards." I guess he has a point. A sword swallower is one thing, but a retarded sword-swallower? Now there is some real drama. (My apologies to any retards reading this journal).

There was also a mariachi band in full costume serenading people on the beach. Awesome.

Ices: Dave is very selective about ices and will only eat Gino's brand and no other. He says that you have to check to make sure that they are really Gino's because even though the signs say they are it is often false advertising. I am not sure how he checks this out but he has clearly devised a method for doing so and after we got the nod, we all indulged (Me-chocolate, Dave-rainbow, Tony-orange creme). Counterfeit ices! Who knew?

Karma is a Bitch: Jen had to leave to perform her Pearl Brunswick show and after walking her to the train, Tony, Dave, and I went to the beach to chill out. We watched a guy who was clearly a total asshole berate a 5-year-old for playing catch too close to his blanket on the beach. The ever gallant Dave Thunder got up and walked past his blanket and kicked a ton of sand in the guy's shoes. Tony dubbed Dave the passive-aggressive vigilante of Coney Island. I sense a Channel 102 pilot in the making.

After this, Tony and I went to see "You and Me and Everyone We Know" which was underwhelming. When a movie contains a discussion on existentialism involving a goldfish, you lose me (This sounds interesting as I am writing it, but believe me, it wasn't). However, I did not leave the theater with that knot of rage I can get in my stomach from mediocre movies, so I guess it was enjoyable enough.

Apparently a day at Coney Island lessens my critical instincts. Not entirely a bad thing.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Full Throttle Exhaust

This past weekend was the 7th Annual Del Close Marathon. For the one of you who reads this journal and does not know what that is, it's a 24 hour a day improv marathon that runs for three days at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater. I helped to manage the organized chaos that is the DCM, and logged in about 100 hours of work, 28 hours of sleep, 3 shows, 1 impov workshop, seeing Asscat at Summerstage, and some serious drinking over 7 days. I have never been so tired in my life.

Some highlights (and lowlights):

The Hotel. UCB graciously arranges for the managers to stay at a hotel during the marathon since otherwise we would get little to no sleep. This year's hotel of choice was The New Yorker, on the corner of 34th and 8th Avenue. This corner serves as home to many hookers and drug dealers, is across from the main branch of the NYC Post Office, and is also located a short distance from the two venues where we were holding the marathon. Convenience on so many fronts.

This is the most awesomely ghetto hotel ever. The hallways go on forever and are a putrid shade of stained yellow, the carpet is ratty and stained, and the walls are paper thin. It's sort of like The Shining via a very cracked out version of Motel 6. Normally I get that strange feeling of being very alone in hotel rooms. Fortunately for me an entire hispanic family was staying in the three hotel rooms surrounding mine and they saw fit to leave their doors open and yell across the hallway to one another as they were getting ready in the morning. I never felt alone. Not even for the briefest moment.

Also the hotel phone was not touch-tone, but pulse. I can't remember the last time I had to use a pulse phone. When attempting to reach the Wake Up Call center, it somehow connected me to another guest's room, leaving us both thoroughly confused since she woke up to take the call and I had not slept in over 24 hours. Oops.

The Out of Towners. We have a lot of out of towners at DCM every year and a few of them never leave the theater. One of them was a small blonde girl who was performing with some group from out of town. For Drunken Sonic Assault (a late night jam that devolves into chaos and features many drunk improvisors dressed up in various costumes) she chose to wear a drum around her middle and then wore it non stop for the next two days. I was standing with Paul Scheer when she approached him and told him how much she enjoyed his show. He of course thanked her and said how much he appreciated it, to which she replied: "Of course you appreciate it. I just gave you a fucking compliment. It's easy to appreciate it when someone flatters you." and then went off in a huff. By the last night everyone simply called her "Crazy Snare Drum Girl". I have no idea what her real name is.

Also one out-of-town group drove to the theater in an RV and parked it outside the theater for the three days. That is commitment.

Managing at Abingdon Theater. I had to manage the day shift at our second venue, the Abingdon Theater. I was going on about 5 hours sleep after working 24 hours the day before. Besides a group not showing up at the last moment and having to throw together an improv jam, things went smoothly. But during the last hour of the shift the toilet in the men's room decided to overflow sending a small deluge into the lobby, and a woman decided she wasn't feeling well and laid down on the floor, refusing to get up. All of this occurred as about 100 people filed into see a show. Good times.

Wrestling. This has become somewhat of a DCM tradition. The last night of the marathon we threw as many pillows as we could find onto the UCB stage and had many a wrestling match. Contestants included Matt Walsh, Charlie Todd, Eric Appel, Brian Berrebbi, Jawnee Conroy, DC Pierson, Alex Sidtis, Brian Waddell, many girls from out of town whose names I do not know, and of course, Crazy Snare Drum girl who kept getting disqualified for biting people. Matt Besser refereed. I suspect that this is Besser's ultimate reason for having the DCM. I have never seen him look so happy.

Around this time, I also enjoyed watching Brian Waddell, one of our fearless managers, down half a bottle of Petron by himself and getting into one of the most happy and blissful states I have ever seen anyone in ever.

Only 360 days until the next DCM. I hope to be recovered by then.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Let's Twist Again

I have a huge record collection, begun at the humble age of six with my first album "Grease." Since then it has grown to about 500 records. When I was DJing regularly (pre-ipod) I became pretty addicted to record shopping. I have slowed down considerably in my pursuit of rare vinyl finds, but every once in a while I get the urge to sift through loads of cheap records to unearth treasures from the past. Many times I end up buying stuff just because the record album cover is so awesome it's impossible to pass up.

Fortunately for me there is a used vinyl shop that looks like it has been in its location for a minimum of 50 years, where I can peruse dozens of records a mere two blocks from my house in Park Slope. Today I was walking by and noticed a Best of the Beach Boys album in one of the dollar bins outside, and suddenly found myself immersed in full-blown vinyl obsession. I scored big today. The haul included Artie Shaw, Harry Belafonte (singing Day-O!), an early Bill Cosby comedy album, a 50s compliation which includes 'The Madison' and 'The Chicken' plus the following:

•The 5th Dimension: Love's Lines, Angles, and Rhymes featuring an amazing picture of the band in black and white vertically striped outfits.

• A Dionne Warwick album which contains a bunch of Burt Bacharach songs wiith the cover featuring a very sultry Dionne in an amazingly bright multi-colored dress. (So sad that she was reduced to hosting Solid Gold and then schilling for that wierd psychic phone service. What happened, Dionne?)

• The Jacksons " Going Places" --the album cover features all the Jackson brothers in their late teens/early 20s (pre-MJ's Off the Wall album) wearing tuxedoes, top hats and aviator helmets (all with a tremendous amount of dust on them) looking at a map and getting directions from a bunch of old white farmers in overalls and plaid shirt at a gas station. Why are they wearing such weird outfits? Is this a comment on racism? I can't tell, but strange and hilarious either way.

And the absolute best of the bunch:

• Chubby Checker Twistin' Round the World which features Let's Twist (a Paloma) in Spanish, Let's Twist Again in German (Der Twist Beginnt), Twist with Me in German (Twist Mit Mir), Twistin Round the World (Allouette) and All You Twisters in French, and the bizarre inclusion of a rock version of Hava Nagela. I have no idea what kind of marketing strategy Chubby's people were going for with this album, but I am so very happy they did.

Also, I have been voraciously reading. A partial list of books I have just blown through: The Other Hollywood by Legs McNeil, a fascinating but somewhat depressing history of the porn industry, Joan Didion's A Book of Comon Prayer which was gripping and weird, as well as rereading some favorites: JD Salinger's short stories (awesome because they usually abruptly end with someone killing themselves out of nowhere), The Sun Also Rises by Hemingway, which I haven't read since high school, and Hero with a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell.

Sometimes it's worth revisiting the classics.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

The Dish

I had to go into the city today to do some reconnaissance at the Abingdon Theater, the site of the second and third stage of this year's Del Close Marathon. By this I mean looking around to see where shit is at, but I like the word reconnaissance because it makes it sound much more exciting. After popping down to the UCB offices, I decided to grab some lunch before heading back to BK, and walked around Chelsea, peering into different restaurants, when I hit upon The Dish. This was my favorite diner back when I worked at the Atlantic Theater around the corner years ago. Good food, nice atmosphere as far as diners go.

So I sat down and looked at the menu and realized that nothing looked appetizing. Suddenly the waitress appeared and I felt that weird pressure to order immediately. I don't know why I gave into this feeling, but I did. I ordered an unappealing dish called a Chicken Kabob. I regretted it immediately and pondered changing the order when suddenly my salad appeared (part of the Chicken Kabob package, apparently), so I decided to just go with it. I sipped on my iced coffee and waited and waited and waited. And waited. Apparently they have to actually kill a chicken in order to make this culinary masterpiece.

No one else was in the diner so I couldn't figure out what was taking so long and was about to ask what was up when they brought a decidedly unpleasant looking dish with yellow rice and weird pieces of chicken that looked like they had been sitting out for way too long and some burned onions and green pepper. I took one bite and realized that something was terribly wrong. I actually spit the chicken into a napkin and called a waiter over. I told them that the chicken tasted bad. And when I say bad, I mean horrible. Horrendous. Like it had been marinated in gasoline.

They were profusely apologetic and asked if I wanted to order something else, but I said no and just asked for the check for the iced coffee. When I received it, it was a whopping $5.75. Since I had partaken of the salad I apparently had to pay for it. Douchebags.

I asked if they really expected me to pay for a salad that was ostensibly part of a meal that was inedible. They said yes. I pointed out that I hoped they thought the $4 they were gouging me for was worth me never entering their establishment again. They didn't seem to care, so, dejected, I paid $7 for a half hour of wasted time and soggy romaine lettuce.

I went to Better Burger and spent another $6 on a tasteless "healthy" burger.

Amount spent: $13
Food consumed: half of a small salad and a flavorless burger
Food enjoyed: none

I promise my next post will not be about food.

Monday, July 11, 2005

The Art of the Sandwich

I have been pretty remiss about posting here, and in an effort to catch everyone up on my dazzlingly glamorous life, I will give you a quick rundown of the last month: work, work, class, work, show, class, work, show, class, work, work, class, show, work.

Now I can get on to the real point of this post. Food Shopping!!! Do you know about this? It's awesome. If you haven't done it recently, then check it: I went food shopping. This may sound trivial, but I have not gone food shopping in about five months. At some point I just gave up on it, resulting in one of three scenarios: order out, eat out, don't eat. I got tired of these unhealthy/expensive options and decided I would not only buy food but then eat it! Again, trivial, I know, but one of the main reasons I stopped buying food was that I would still go out to eat at the local cafe and then all the food I had back at home would go bad and I would throw it away.

I love to cook, but decided to ease into my use-of-kitchen by only buying salad and sandwich items. Over the last week I have made such culinary delights as ham, jack cheese, avocado, jalapeno, roasted pepper, and alfalfa sprouts on whole wheat with mayo and mustard, and turkey, swiss, tomato, olive tapanade, mustard, and lettuce on seven grain, as well as a salad featuring romiane, endive, feta, tomato, olive, and artichoke hearts. I enjoy figuring out how many items I can put on a sandwich and still keep the sweet-savory ratio intact. Very challenging.

The whole experience has been empowering. I forgot all about this form of self-sufficiency: one that does not involve a cell phone or a take out menu or a waiter. Now maybe I will clean my fucking apartment.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Get 'er Done

My apartment is a fucking mess. And when I say that, I mean it is a FUCKING MESS. Coming home is like being hit in the face with a dead cat (unpleasant). I attribute this to the fact that I have been super busy, even by my standards, and to the fact that my life has been a morass of overwhelming and emotional moments strung together by a thread of alcohol abuse and sleep deprivation. There has been a plethora of highs and lows over the last six weeks including: deaths, pregnancies, engagements, pet illnesses, and general emotional freefall resulting from agita with friends near and dear. (To squelch the rumour mill that I am sure swirls among the four people that actually read this journal: I am not dead, pregnant, engaged, my cats are fine, and I am not mad at you.)

The state of my apartment really hit home the other day when I got a call from my landlady while I was in a rehearsal insisting she heard water running, and wanted to know if she could go into my apartment to make sure everything was alright (prompted I am sure by the paranoia incurred by the flood that occurred a few months ago in our building). My main thought was that her entering my apartment would result in my prompt eviction from the premises should she enter the unsightly black hole that is currently my living quarters. I managed to convince her that there was absolutely no way the running water was coming from my place, all the while questioning if, in my hungover state, I actually had left the water running and would once again flood my downstairs neighbor who already despises me. I got home that night to find everything okay--no flood, no eviction notice--however the incident did serve as a wake up call.

Over the past few weeks I have had my Deer Hunter moments of depression and have been angry enough to strangle a puppy. But that is no excuse for living in squalor. So I am issuing a (sort of) public challenge to myself to have my place somewhat presentable by the end of the month.

For those four aformentioned readers of this journal, please feel free to check in with me on this. I need all the encouragement I can get.

Monday, June 06, 2005

Downpour!

There is nothing like the sweet sensation of getting caught in one of those split second thunderstorms that roll in this time of year. Especially after you have been trapped in a blazingly hot apartment engaged only in the thrilling task of editing html for a reference book for the better part of the day. And even more especially if you have the good fortune of being caught in the maelstrom when you are just running out for a sandwich and a newspaper and can thus go home and towel off feeling refreshed. Which is what I just did. I now sit here thoroughly soaked, but infinitely happier than I was ten minutes ago.

The devil is in the details, my friends....

In Memoriam Redux

I have attended very few funerals in my lifetime. My family has a history of long lives and quick deaths. Even when my uncle died from a very protracted bout with lung cancer (two packs a day) we had him cremated and then about a year later went to a cemetery, buried the box of ashes in about five minutes, and then all went to the bar for a drink. A pragmatic, if not touching, ceremony. But with my Irish-Ukrainian mix, that's the way it goes.

The only other family funeral I attended was that of my great aunt Helen who died at 103. She was a strict Catholic so had the full ceremony in a church, which in my family is pretty much unheard of. Keeping my dad in check during the service was a lesson in my powers of persuasion and manipulation (my dad has some strong feelings about the church better left to another entry, or better yet, never to be mentioned again). I guess the funeral was sort of sad, but, hey, she was 103, and lived a long full life which included traveling the world, drinking an exorbitant number of Brandy Alexanders, raising foster kids, and living on her own until she was 100 years old. Not exactly a tragic death.

So when I attended the memorial for my best friend's dad last week I was really not prepared for the emotional wallop that this little service would carry. David Vesey was a real rock n roll hip fellow, and the service reflected as such. There were more leather pants and tattoos then somber black suits, the Ramones and Talking Heads played, campy science fiction films were projected, we ate sundaes, drank cosmos, and, of course, there was bowling.

I guess I have never reflected too much on death, what with the "Oh well, too bad he's gone...... let's go to the movies" attitude epitomized by my family. I grew up with David Vesey--the guy who gave me my first Iggy Pop album and introduced me to the Rocky Horror Show and Clockwork Orange and countless other pop culture milestones of my youth. And to reflect on the impact that someone you knew has made on your life is horrrifyingly sad and bizarrely gratifying simultaneously. I found the whole thing to be strangely inspiring: inspecting a life well-lived has its rewards, I guess.

When I told my dad about it, he sighed and said "Yeah, well, I guess some people like to do that kind of stuff. " Classic.

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

Beautiful Minds

I have been making an arduous attempt at reading "The Elegant Universe," and feel I am only slightly closer to understanding string theory or, for that matter, physics in general. The theories are fascinating, and have certainly given me great insight into why so many scientists love the often stigmatized genre of sci-fi, but my brain just doesn't understand science. It is a curse I have been burdened with ever since attending the Bronx High School of Science where I was forced to attend no less than six science classes, in which I did poor to middling, while surrounded by the future Einsteins and Cricks who saw everything my bewildered brain could not. The humbling experience of taking chemistry THREE times and finally being given a D (clearly out of pity), is something from which I have never quite recovered.

So I have moved on. I am currently reading "On Intelligence" by Jeff Hawkins. He is the creator of the palm pilot and, along with his groundbreaking work in the technological field, he has simultaneously studied neurology in the hopes of creating Aritificial Intelligence. Specifically, he is trying to figure out how intelligence works within the brain. Up until now, AI research has concentrated almost completely on behavior, the end result, as opposed to how the brain actually thinks and processes information. It turns out that the entire brain works by recognizing and repeating patterns (like the Game of Life, see below). Does this explain why we find humor in patterns? Hmmm.

The only problem with this book is that, as I read about how my brain is working and processing information, I realize that my brain is working and processing information. It is a proverbial hall of mirrors and more than once it has made me dizzy enough to put the book down and take a nap. That said this is, hands down, the most fascinating book I have ever read in my life.

This was a heady entry. My next entry will be about shoes or Bedazzlers or soft drinks or something equally non-taxing.

Monday, May 23, 2005

Time Warp

My alarm clock has been broken for a week and it has made no impact on my life whatsoever. I can't tell if this makes my lifestyle unbelievably cool or unbelievably depressing.

Saturday, May 21, 2005

Grauman's Chinese or Bust

I know plenty of people who take Star Wars pretty seriously, but these people take the location of the theater in which they see Star Wars really really really seriously.

Sunday, May 15, 2005

Uh, No...

Rosie O'Donnell's blog is nothing short of amazing. An effortless blend of bad high school poetry, gay politics, and cloying Hallmark sentimentality. And the comments section is the ultimate proof of America's love of the mediocre and mundane.

She recently moved said journal to a new site. Sadly, she no longer has the "About Me" section that is typically posted in the upper right corner of most blogs. The old version read:

About Me:

came and stayed out
still love babs
cutting carbs
praying for peace

Now there is a woman with her priorities in order.

Friday, May 13, 2005

The Game of Life

Life can apparently be boiled down to a series of inifinite patterns, as asserted in the The Game of Life. This cellular automota was created by John Conway in 1970 at Harvard. In the game cells multiply, survive, or die of loneliness. Life, indeed.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

The Joy of Urban Landscaping

I live in an area of Brooklyn known as the Gowanus, so named for the infamous and very toxic canal that runs through it. It's a tiny sliver of a neighborhood that sits in between Park Slope and Carroll Gardens. There is not a lot to it unless you are in the market for unisex hair salons and tire shops.

Some time ago, a Lowe's Home Improvement center opened up a half block from my house, bordering the canal. Apparently any business that opens in this area is required to do something to improve its appearance, so within the Lowe's parking lot they have created a promenade along the canal with benches and trees and plots of grass. If you sit on the benches you can look down at the purple and green water, watch the traffic on the BQE, stare at two huge oil drums and get a fetching view of a demolished building being torn apart by cranes.

In the mornings I take a walk over to F-line Bagels (amazing hazelnut iced coffee) and grab breakfast and head to the Lowe's parking lot to sit on the benches and take in the view. Strangely, no one else seems too excited about viewing this spectacular vantage point, so it is the one place I can be guaranteed to have some time to myself. It is the ultimate urban park. I highly recommend it.

Sidenote: The MTA is suing F Line Bagels because of their name and the fact that the store is decorated like a subway (minus the rats and piss puddles of course). The MTA is like the Monty Burns of NYC -- exercising major control over our daily lives and exuding pure evil at every opportunity. Seriously, stop being such a douchebag, MTA!

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Hats Off, Mr. Vesey

My best friend's dad died yesterday. David Vesey was everyone's favorite cool dad. I have many fond memories of the Vesey household which was filled with awesome 50s furniture and amazing stereo equipment, and even had a phone in what is, to this day, the most enormous bathroom I have ever seen. I recall leaving their household with all sorts of cool records in tow (David Bowie, Rolling Stones) that David would decide to give me at the spur of the moment. He made me feel smart at a time when I probably wasn't and made me feel cool when I most definitely wasn't, and for that I will feel forever grateful. Thanks Mr. Vesey. RIP.

Monday, May 09, 2005

No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn

I just got back from a whirlwind vacation in San Francisco. Some highlights and observations:

● All airport stores and kiosks are marvels of modern inefficiency. I spent 10 dollars on a soggy croissant-egg-concoction this morning and nearly missed my plane. However I did have a delicious bratwurst in Chicago. Sometimes layovers payoff.

● I had next to no sleep the night before both of my flights so had awesome naps on the plane. Plane sleep is amazing.

● It seems lame to spend your vacation watching TV, but since I never watch TV at home, I tend to do just that. While in San Francisco I watched The Office, Curb Your Enthusiasm, and Midnight Cowboy. I had never seen any of them before and my time was not wasted.

● San Francisco is full of very interesting people. On this trip I met the guy who made the film "24 Hours on Craigslist," a girl who writes all the press releases for NASA, and a tugboat captain. Last time I was there I met a rockstar and an ex-Olympic athlete.....Ah, San Francisco.

● I went to one of the most beautiful houses I have ever seen in my life. It had a view of the whole city, a hot tub, a landscaped backyard and several terraces. Every place in San Francisco seems to have a view, because of the uneven street setup (aka lots of hills). It sure beats the view of the elevated F line across the street from my apartment.

● Cigarettes in San Francisco cost $3.75. I bought a carton. This elates and depresses me simultaneously.

● My friend Kevin works for Macromedia. He is very very smart and has probably designed everything you have ever used on your computer. The day before I arrived he took 500 people from his company to the movies. This really makes me want to work for a computer company.

● Somewhat related to the previous item: San Francisco is to the computer/technology industry what LA is to the entertainment industry. You cannot swing a dead cat without hitting a computer programmer in the face.

This is the first vacation I have ever had where I missed NYC. I guess that's a good thing.

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

List in Space!

Craig's List has lost its fucking mind.

Q: Do you really think there is a chance that Extraterrestrials will receive and understand this transmission?
A: DSCN has assured us that there is a nonzero chance of this happening. Pretty exciting!

See here

Huh?

Saturday, April 30, 2005

Behind the Times

I am jumping on the blog bandwagon, or the blogwagon, way way way after everyone else. This is often the way I go about things. I still don't own an iPod or even a working DVD player.

I reallly hate the word "blog." Are we really so lazy in our society, that even now in the 21st century where even the most ill-equipped owns a sidekick and types a minimum of 75 wpm, we can't afford to type two extra letters?

Also, "blog" is "blah" with a "g" at the end.

How uninspiring.