If you've ever, at any time, traversed any pedestrian stretch of Times Square, you've no doubt encountered these "Hey, do you like stand-up comedy?" guys. They're a particularly smug and obnoxious brand of street hawker. The most common response to the plethora of people passing out flyers in this city, if one is even given at all, is usually just a simple "No." Try this approach with the stand-up comedy guys, however, and they get all, "No? You mean you don't like comedy? Don't you like to have fun??" HAHAHA AMIRITE?!? Gee, buddy, you sure got me there. Way to be. My sister once got lost when she first started working here and managed to parlay the following exchange into an Overheard In New York quote that got published in the Metro:
Stand-up jackass: "Hey, do you like stand-up comedy?"
Sister: "Do you know where the nearest Duane Reade is?"
Stand-up jackass: "I asked you first!"
He seriously would not answer her.
So today, on the way to meet my sister at her office, I discovered my new favorite method of dealing with these douches: When one inevitably confronts you with "Hey, do you like stand-up comedy?" respond "I do stand-up comedy!" and hand them a flyer you took from the guy down the block. The best part is, you won't even be lying — their reaction is pretty damn comical.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Yet Another Reason Why I Love My Mom, But Not In A Creepy Oedipal Way
This weekend I helped my brother and sister-in-law move into their new house. I have honestly never had so much fun helping somebody move (except for that time me and my brother were playing Superman with the wheelie-carts down the aisles of the Public Storage warehouse, but that was on a whole other level).
Their old apartment is only three blocks away from their new place, so we took turns transporting their belongings back and forth, rotating between my sister's Jeep, my brother's truck, and his father-in-law's pick-up. On one of these trips my sister spots a cute wooden chair a neighbor had left out on the curb. "Oh man, I should take that!" she says. "I could fix it up for my room. I have to remember it for later." At the apartment, my mom spots my brother's bicycle out on the patio. "I wonder if he wants this?" she asks. None of us know for sure, so my sister says she'll ask him when she drops off the latest haul. My mom stays behind to pack up some more kitchenware.
As we're unloading the Jeep, my brother pulls into the driveway laughing and asks, "Why did I just pass Mom riding a bicycle down the street? And where did she get that chair?"
A few minutes later, my sister-in-law and her sister come into the house laughing and ask, "Why was your mom sitting on a wooden chair on the front lawn and waving at us when we drove by?"
Several trips later, my mom, my sister and I are back at the apartment for the last remaining items and the Jeep is packed to capacity. "Is that it?" I ask. "Looks like it," my sister says. "The only thing left is the dog." "Oh, I don't want to leave him alone," says my mom. "You girls go to the house and I'll stay here with him until someone comes back for us."
So we get back to the house, unload our cargo, and are about to return to the apartment for the last time when my sister looks in the rearview mirror and bursts out laughing. "What?" I ask her, looking behind me. "What's so funny?"
And there, just turning the corner, is my mom, laughing maniacally, and being dragged down the block by the giant, galloping dog on his leash. "I couldn't stand it!" she calls out to us. "He looked so sad!"
I'm laughing so hard I can hardly stand up. Good thing that wooden chair was still there on the front lawn. :)
Their old apartment is only three blocks away from their new place, so we took turns transporting their belongings back and forth, rotating between my sister's Jeep, my brother's truck, and his father-in-law's pick-up. On one of these trips my sister spots a cute wooden chair a neighbor had left out on the curb. "Oh man, I should take that!" she says. "I could fix it up for my room. I have to remember it for later." At the apartment, my mom spots my brother's bicycle out on the patio. "I wonder if he wants this?" she asks. None of us know for sure, so my sister says she'll ask him when she drops off the latest haul. My mom stays behind to pack up some more kitchenware.
As we're unloading the Jeep, my brother pulls into the driveway laughing and asks, "Why did I just pass Mom riding a bicycle down the street? And where did she get that chair?"
A few minutes later, my sister-in-law and her sister come into the house laughing and ask, "Why was your mom sitting on a wooden chair on the front lawn and waving at us when we drove by?"
Several trips later, my mom, my sister and I are back at the apartment for the last remaining items and the Jeep is packed to capacity. "Is that it?" I ask. "Looks like it," my sister says. "The only thing left is the dog." "Oh, I don't want to leave him alone," says my mom. "You girls go to the house and I'll stay here with him until someone comes back for us."
So we get back to the house, unload our cargo, and are about to return to the apartment for the last time when my sister looks in the rearview mirror and bursts out laughing. "What?" I ask her, looking behind me. "What's so funny?"
And there, just turning the corner, is my mom, laughing maniacally, and being dragged down the block by the giant, galloping dog on his leash. "I couldn't stand it!" she calls out to us. "He looked so sad!"
I'm laughing so hard I can hardly stand up. Good thing that wooden chair was still there on the front lawn. :)
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Seeking
I've decided instead of being all whiny and emo about my romantic situation to do something a little more proactive about it. So...
Edgy but goofy single white female; 35, 5'9", 38B; short reddish hair, big blue eyes, hipster glasses, painted toenails. Outspoken and opinionated; witty, sarcastic, and hilarious. Editor by day; sexy villainess by night; karaoke champ on the weekends. Reader, writer, roller skater. Love fast food, foreign films and fancy dresses.
In search of someone tall and talented, well-read and well-spoken; a sweet and sexy scrawny rebel librarian type. Cool hair, pretty eyes, nice smile; fun and smart with a warped sense of humor (absolute MUST). Sexually adventurous; socially and politically conscious. Be nice to the waiter. Hold my hand on the subway. Wave at little kids. Know I have a weakness for younger men.
Brooklyn/NYC area, please. No chest hair necessary. Tattoos preferred but not required. Excellent kissers only.
Spread the word, ladies. And surprise me, gentlemen. ;)
Edgy but goofy single white female; 35, 5'9", 38B; short reddish hair, big blue eyes, hipster glasses, painted toenails. Outspoken and opinionated; witty, sarcastic, and hilarious. Editor by day; sexy villainess by night; karaoke champ on the weekends. Reader, writer, roller skater. Love fast food, foreign films and fancy dresses.
In search of someone tall and talented, well-read and well-spoken; a sweet and sexy scrawny rebel librarian type. Cool hair, pretty eyes, nice smile; fun and smart with a warped sense of humor (absolute MUST). Sexually adventurous; socially and politically conscious. Be nice to the waiter. Hold my hand on the subway. Wave at little kids. Know I have a weakness for younger men.
Brooklyn/NYC area, please. No chest hair necessary. Tattoos preferred but not required. Excellent kissers only.
Spread the word, ladies. And surprise me, gentlemen. ;)
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Give A Little Bit
They say a good way to cheer yourself up is to do something good for others, so in light of my recent rental debacle and in honor of Earth Day, may I suggest you join me in chipping in to another one of my favorite charities, DonorsChoose, to help fund an environmental science project for a classroom in need. And don't forget...
...be nice to Mom.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
"We Will Not Be Moving Forward With Your Application"
Dear W_____ Realty:
CURSE YOU AND YOUR WEASELLY FINANCIALLY-MANDATED GHETTO IMPRISONMENT!!! I SHALL OVERCOME THIS OBSTACLE!!! BE FOREWARNED, PARK SLOPE — MY WRATH WILL BE TERRIBLE AND UNRELENTING!!!
Hell hath no fury like a prospective tenant scorned.
Eat shit,
BeccaGo
CURSE YOU AND YOUR WEASELLY FINANCIALLY-MANDATED GHETTO IMPRISONMENT!!! I SHALL OVERCOME THIS OBSTACLE!!! BE FOREWARNED, PARK SLOPE — MY WRATH WILL BE TERRIBLE AND UNRELENTING!!!
Hell hath no fury like a prospective tenant scorned.
Eat shit,
BeccaGo
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Transformation, Ink
So...my tattoo.
Due to its location, it's usually hidden from view, but it's rather extensive. I hadn't planned it to be. It's grown over the years, for various reasons.
It started out as a simple crescent moon on the back of my left shoulder. My first word was "moon," and the Moon is a symbol of the Divine Feminine, so it's special to me. There were only two problems:
I picked the design off the wall.
And I got it done with a boyfriend.
Anyone with any tattoo experience whatsoever will tell you that these are both very bad ideas. The first issue came to light almost immediately — the coloring came out differently than I had expected. This is undeniably a rookie mistake. Because, as you know, the background on the wall is white, and skin is, you know, not. Even the whitest white girls like me don't have pure white skin, and the bright yellow I had been drawn to on the wall now looked more of an orangey-pink. Color me an unsatisfied customer.
Issue #2: The boyfriend. Aren't they always an issue? Even I knew enough to never EVER tattoo someone's name on your body, but I hadn't counted on the negative associations my artwork still conjured up after the boyfriend and I miserably and viciously broke up. One night, in a particularly volcanic fury, I decided to cover over the tormenting reminder with another tattoo. Unfortunately, what I decided to cover it up with was a rather hideous tribal sun ('cause it was BLACK! That'll show him the depths of my hatred! [Not that he ever even saw it...]). The pieces of the original that still showed through were inked over in peacock blue; however, my inept artist fucked this up royally, and I now looked like a pen had exploded on my back. Fantastic.
Lesson #3: Never get a tattoo on the spur of the moment. Especially in a judgement-impaired fit of retribution.
So, after living with this monstrosity for a few years, I finally came into some cash and decided to fix it somehow. My original plan was to have it removed and start over, putting something else in it's place. See, I still wanted a tattoo in that spot, just not an awful amateur piece of crap that still brought up bad memories of the ex-boyfriend. This plan was quickly nixed when the new artist I spoke to explained that because of the size and the dark color, laser surgery wasn't guaranteed to remove it completely. He elaborated that it would take at least more than one session to even attempt it, which would be a major expense and most likely leave a substantial scar. Dang. What he suggested instead was to just incorporate it into a bigger piece so it would be less noticeable.
This appealed to me.
Shortly thereafter, I was doodling during my accounting class when I happened upon a really cool idea for a design. I brought the actual page ripped from my notebook, with my homework assignment written on the back, to the artist with whom I had previously spoken, and asked him what he thought.
After a few seconds of thoughtful studying, he nodded and said, "I can do something with this."
And so it began.
I've added different shades of blue and green to the tribal, to make it Earth-colored. I've replicated that design on the back of my right shoulder, in shades of red and yellow, for the Sun. Between them at the base of my neck is a blue and silver moon. Beneath all three is a row of red and orange flames. Below that there is mirror image scrollwork in purple, yellow and green, resembling wings. And at the base of my spine are two emerald green eyes.
My moon. The Pagan trinity. The duality of fire and flame of creativity. The Gemini element of Air; the ability of flight. The gift of vision; the Emerald birthstone of May; the Gemini sign of the Twins. A powerful Phoenix rising from the ashes of my mistakes. Plus the tiger lily and ankh on my right arm, for the Chinese zodiac Year of the Tiger and the Egyptian heiroglyph for eternal life. My version of spirituality written on my body.
And it looks really pretty. :)
Due to its location, it's usually hidden from view, but it's rather extensive. I hadn't planned it to be. It's grown over the years, for various reasons.
It started out as a simple crescent moon on the back of my left shoulder. My first word was "moon," and the Moon is a symbol of the Divine Feminine, so it's special to me. There were only two problems:
I picked the design off the wall.
And I got it done with a boyfriend.
Anyone with any tattoo experience whatsoever will tell you that these are both very bad ideas. The first issue came to light almost immediately — the coloring came out differently than I had expected. This is undeniably a rookie mistake. Because, as you know, the background on the wall is white, and skin is, you know, not. Even the whitest white girls like me don't have pure white skin, and the bright yellow I had been drawn to on the wall now looked more of an orangey-pink. Color me an unsatisfied customer.
Issue #2: The boyfriend. Aren't they always an issue? Even I knew enough to never EVER tattoo someone's name on your body, but I hadn't counted on the negative associations my artwork still conjured up after the boyfriend and I miserably and viciously broke up. One night, in a particularly volcanic fury, I decided to cover over the tormenting reminder with another tattoo. Unfortunately, what I decided to cover it up with was a rather hideous tribal sun ('cause it was BLACK! That'll show him the depths of my hatred! [Not that he ever even saw it...]). The pieces of the original that still showed through were inked over in peacock blue; however, my inept artist fucked this up royally, and I now looked like a pen had exploded on my back. Fantastic.
Lesson #3: Never get a tattoo on the spur of the moment. Especially in a judgement-impaired fit of retribution.
So, after living with this monstrosity for a few years, I finally came into some cash and decided to fix it somehow. My original plan was to have it removed and start over, putting something else in it's place. See, I still wanted a tattoo in that spot, just not an awful amateur piece of crap that still brought up bad memories of the ex-boyfriend. This plan was quickly nixed when the new artist I spoke to explained that because of the size and the dark color, laser surgery wasn't guaranteed to remove it completely. He elaborated that it would take at least more than one session to even attempt it, which would be a major expense and most likely leave a substantial scar. Dang. What he suggested instead was to just incorporate it into a bigger piece so it would be less noticeable.
This appealed to me.
Shortly thereafter, I was doodling during my accounting class when I happened upon a really cool idea for a design. I brought the actual page ripped from my notebook, with my homework assignment written on the back, to the artist with whom I had previously spoken, and asked him what he thought.
After a few seconds of thoughtful studying, he nodded and said, "I can do something with this."
And so it began.
I've added different shades of blue and green to the tribal, to make it Earth-colored. I've replicated that design on the back of my right shoulder, in shades of red and yellow, for the Sun. Between them at the base of my neck is a blue and silver moon. Beneath all three is a row of red and orange flames. Below that there is mirror image scrollwork in purple, yellow and green, resembling wings. And at the base of my spine are two emerald green eyes.
My moon. The Pagan trinity. The duality of fire and flame of creativity. The Gemini element of Air; the ability of flight. The gift of vision; the Emerald birthstone of May; the Gemini sign of the Twins. A powerful Phoenix rising from the ashes of my mistakes. Plus the tiger lily and ankh on my right arm, for the Chinese zodiac Year of the Tiger and the Egyptian heiroglyph for eternal life. My version of spirituality written on my body.
And it looks really pretty. :)
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Dear Universe: Please, Please, Please...
...let me get the apartment I looked at today. Seriously: directly across the street from a Bikram yoga studio and a Thai food restaurant, windows that look out on a garden with daffodils, a sklylight AND A FIREPLACE. No kidding. Plus, graffiti in the subway station: "HIPSTERS ARE GAY." It couldn't be more perfect; I must have it. By whatever means necessary. Thank you.
Sincerely,
BeccaGo
Sincerely,
BeccaGo
Friday, April 16, 2010
The City Of Brotherly Shove
Downtown Q train, woman struggling with 2 bags and a 4- or 5-year-old daughter gets on at Atlantic and Pacific. A couple near her offer her their seats. As they get up, a woman on the other side of them PUSHES ME OUT OF THE WAY to get there first and sits her fat ass down, as all other parties involved look on in disbelief.
I would have sat the kid in her lap anyway.
You stay classy, Brooklyn!
I would have sat the kid in her lap anyway.
You stay classy, Brooklyn!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The Land Of Make-Believe
I have nothing to write about today.
So I got this cheesy survey off the Interwebz instead — enjoy!
How old do you think is too old to dress up for Halloween?
NEVER!
How old are you?
35 going on 12
Are you into scary or sexy costumes?
The "sexy" costume craze has gotten out of control. Last year I saw a "sexy" Canadian Mountie and a "sexy" Sherlock Holmes. Seriously, ladies?
Will you/Did you dress up this Halloween?
Yes, and yes.
How many times do you plan to wear your costume this year?
Uh, once...? Have they extended Halloween without telling me?
What is your costume name?
"AWESOME"
Describe your costume?
My last costume was Adam Lambert. He is indescribable.
Where will you be celebrating Halloween?
Where WON'T I be celebrating Halloween?!?
When was the last time you went trick-or-treating?
High school. I was taking my little sister around the neighborhood, but that was really just an excuse.
Have you ever entered a costume contest?
Psssht. My department won 4 company-wide contests in a row while I was at my last job. The year that I left, they didn't even enter.
How soon did you know what you wanted to dress up as this year?
I literally decided this Halloween what I was going to be next Halloween.
When did you get your costume?
Last year I started late — end of August.
Do you deck out with lots of accessories, or just what it came with?
Dude, the accessories make the costume! And my costumes don't "come with" anything — that's cheating.
How much did you spend total on your costume this year?
Oh man, the boots alone cost $50...
Have you ever made a home-made costume?
Ever? Are you kidding me? ALL my costumes are home-made, bitch!
If so, what was it?
In chronologically descending order:
* Adam Lambert
* Lara Croft: Womb Raider
* Tia Dalma from Pirates Of The Caribbean
* a Vegas showgirl
* pregnant Britney Spears
* Medusa
* a Geisha
* a Hindu Goddess
* dead Princess Di
* Kitana from Mortal Kombat
* Shelly from The Crow (this was part of a couples costume)
* a Manson girl (this was part of a group costume)
What is your favorite couples costume idea?
The year that The Crow came out, I was in college and every frat party had at least 16 guys dressed as the Crow. One of them was arguing with my boyfriend at the time that he had the more authentic costume because his had the necklace with Shelly's ring. My boyfriend goes, "Well, I have Shelly," as I turn the corner in my white nightgown and dead girl makeup, with a white rose and wearing my own ring. The guy's jaw drops and he goes, "Damn. You win." Then he got me a beer.
What is your favorite group costume idea?
A few years ago, my sister and her friends dressed up as the characters from Clue — really brilliant, detailed costumes — and they each had their own weapon — the rope, the candlestick, the lead pipe. I was so jealous.
Name one of your childhood costumes?
Oh God, they were always those cheap plastic ones with the masks you couldn't breathe through. I think once I was Holly Hobby.
Do your parents still dress up for Halloween?
I don't remember my parents ever dressing up for Halloween. Except that one time I lent my mom my Ranger jersey so she could wear sweatpants to work as a "hockey player."
Do you already know what you want to dress up as next year?
Duh.
So I got this cheesy survey off the Interwebz instead — enjoy!
How old do you think is too old to dress up for Halloween?
NEVER!
How old are you?
35 going on 12
Are you into scary or sexy costumes?
The "sexy" costume craze has gotten out of control. Last year I saw a "sexy" Canadian Mountie and a "sexy" Sherlock Holmes. Seriously, ladies?
Will you/Did you dress up this Halloween?
Yes, and yes.
How many times do you plan to wear your costume this year?
Uh, once...? Have they extended Halloween without telling me?
What is your costume name?
"AWESOME"
Describe your costume?
My last costume was Adam Lambert. He is indescribable.
Where will you be celebrating Halloween?
Where WON'T I be celebrating Halloween?!?
When was the last time you went trick-or-treating?
High school. I was taking my little sister around the neighborhood, but that was really just an excuse.
Have you ever entered a costume contest?
Psssht. My department won 4 company-wide contests in a row while I was at my last job. The year that I left, they didn't even enter.
How soon did you know what you wanted to dress up as this year?
I literally decided this Halloween what I was going to be next Halloween.
When did you get your costume?
Last year I started late — end of August.
Do you deck out with lots of accessories, or just what it came with?
Dude, the accessories make the costume! And my costumes don't "come with" anything — that's cheating.
How much did you spend total on your costume this year?
Oh man, the boots alone cost $50...
Have you ever made a home-made costume?
Ever? Are you kidding me? ALL my costumes are home-made, bitch!
If so, what was it?
In chronologically descending order:
* Adam Lambert
* Lara Croft: Womb Raider
* Tia Dalma from Pirates Of The Caribbean
* a Vegas showgirl
* pregnant Britney Spears
* Medusa
* a Geisha
* a Hindu Goddess
* dead Princess Di
* Kitana from Mortal Kombat
* Shelly from The Crow (this was part of a couples costume)
* a Manson girl (this was part of a group costume)
What is your favorite couples costume idea?
The year that The Crow came out, I was in college and every frat party had at least 16 guys dressed as the Crow. One of them was arguing with my boyfriend at the time that he had the more authentic costume because his had the necklace with Shelly's ring. My boyfriend goes, "Well, I have Shelly," as I turn the corner in my white nightgown and dead girl makeup, with a white rose and wearing my own ring. The guy's jaw drops and he goes, "Damn. You win." Then he got me a beer.
What is your favorite group costume idea?
A few years ago, my sister and her friends dressed up as the characters from Clue — really brilliant, detailed costumes — and they each had their own weapon — the rope, the candlestick, the lead pipe. I was so jealous.
Name one of your childhood costumes?
Oh God, they were always those cheap plastic ones with the masks you couldn't breathe through. I think once I was Holly Hobby.
Do your parents still dress up for Halloween?
I don't remember my parents ever dressing up for Halloween. Except that one time I lent my mom my Ranger jersey so she could wear sweatpants to work as a "hockey player."
Do you already know what you want to dress up as next year?
Duh.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Lowest Common Denominator
Given:
T & B = brother and sister
S & L = sisters
S & J = dating
S & B = teammates
S & J invite T & B to a party, where T & B meet L.
S & J break up.
AS THIS IS HAPPENING:
S, L & T are hanging out at another party.
B & J are in her car ON THE WAY TO THE SAME PARTY.
T & L start dating.
B & J start "dating."
B & J split up.
T & L get married.
::
(SJ + T + B + L) + S/J = (S + L + T) + (B + J) = (TL + BJ) + B/J = TL
I like to call this "mathe-mismatch-ics."
T & B = brother and sister
S & L = sisters
S & J = dating
S & B = teammates
S & J invite T & B to a party, where T & B meet L.
S & J break up.
AS THIS IS HAPPENING:
S, L & T are hanging out at another party.
B & J are in her car ON THE WAY TO THE SAME PARTY.
T & L start dating.
B & J start "dating."
B & J split up.
T & L get married.
::
(SJ + T + B + L) + S/J = (S + L + T) + (B + J) = (TL + BJ) + B/J = TL
I like to call this "mathe-mismatch-ics."
Monday, April 12, 2010
The Downtown 6
"Astor, Bleecker, Spring, Canal" is the new "Amityville, Copiague, Lindenhurst, and Babylon."
Slammin'
What Teachers Make, or
Objection Overruled, or
If things don't work out, you can always go to law school
By Taylor Mali
taylormali.com
He says the problem with teachers is, "What's a kid going to learn
from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"
He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about
teachers:
Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.
I decide to bite my tongue instead of his
and resist the temptation to remind the other dinner guests
that it's also true what they say about lawyers.
Because we're eating, after all, and this is polite company.
"I mean, you¹re a teacher, Taylor," he says.
"Be honest. What do you make?"
And I wish he hadn't done that
(asked me to be honest)
because, you see, I have a policy
about honesty and ass-kicking:
if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.
You want to know what I make?
I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.
I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional medal of honor
and an A- feel like a slap in the face.
How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.
I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall
in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups.
No, you may not ask a question.
Why won't I let you get a drink of water?
Because you're not thirsty, you're bored, that's why.
I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:
I hope I haven't called at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy said today.
Billy said, "Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don't you?"
And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.
I make parents see their children for who they are
and what they can be.
You want to know what I make?
I make kids wonder,
I make them question.
I make them criticize.
I make them apologize and mean it.
I make them write, write, write.
And then I make them read.
I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely
beautiful
over and over and over again until they will never misspell
either one of those words again.
I make them show all their work in math.
And hide it on their final drafts in English.
I make them understand that if you got this [brains]
then you follow this [heart] and if someone ever tries to judge you
by what you make, you give them this [the finger].
Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
I make a goddamn difference! What about you?
Objection Overruled, or
If things don't work out, you can always go to law school
By Taylor Mali
taylormali.com
He says the problem with teachers is, "What's a kid going to learn
from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"
He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about
teachers:
Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.
I decide to bite my tongue instead of his
and resist the temptation to remind the other dinner guests
that it's also true what they say about lawyers.
Because we're eating, after all, and this is polite company.
"I mean, you¹re a teacher, Taylor," he says.
"Be honest. What do you make?"
And I wish he hadn't done that
(asked me to be honest)
because, you see, I have a policy
about honesty and ass-kicking:
if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.
You want to know what I make?
I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.
I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional medal of honor
and an A- feel like a slap in the face.
How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.
I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall
in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups.
No, you may not ask a question.
Why won't I let you get a drink of water?
Because you're not thirsty, you're bored, that's why.
I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:
I hope I haven't called at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy said today.
Billy said, "Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don't you?"
And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.
I make parents see their children for who they are
and what they can be.
You want to know what I make?
I make kids wonder,
I make them question.
I make them criticize.
I make them apologize and mean it.
I make them write, write, write.
And then I make them read.
I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely
beautiful
over and over and over again until they will never misspell
either one of those words again.
I make them show all their work in math.
And hide it on their final drafts in English.
I make them understand that if you got this [brains]
then you follow this [heart] and if someone ever tries to judge you
by what you make, you give them this [the finger].
Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
I make a goddamn difference! What about you?
World-Famous New York City Landmarks I See Every Day Just By Going To Work
* Brooklyn Bridge
* Statue Of Liberty
* Broadway
* Empire State Building
* Herald Square Macy's
* Times Square
* Grand Central Station
I'm so blasé.
* Statue Of Liberty
* Broadway
* Empire State Building
* Herald Square Macy's
* Times Square
* Grand Central Station
I'm so blasé.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better
"Why am I in love with a gay man?!"
"At least you're not in love with someone you've never even met."
"At least you have a shot!"
"But he doesn't even know who I am!"
"GAY!"
"Ok, fine, you win."
"At least you're not in love with someone you've never even met."
"At least you have a shot!"
"But he doesn't even know who I am!"
"GAY!"
"Ok, fine, you win."
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Yet Another Reason Why I Love My Sister, But Not In A Creepy "Flowers In The Attic" Kind Of Way
Seeking reassurance after a recent crisis of confidence, via e-mail...
Li'l Sis: "You should have all the confidence in the world! You look wonderful, you're hysterical and you're freaking smart!"
...then two lines down...
Li'l Sis: "This is why I am going to start eating men alive."
...she always knows just how I feel. :)
Li'l Sis: "You should have all the confidence in the world! You look wonderful, you're hysterical and you're freaking smart!"
...then two lines down...
Li'l Sis: "This is why I am going to start eating men alive."
...she always knows just how I feel. :)
Why, God, WHY?
Lollapalooza 2010:
GaGa.
Green Day.
Soundgarden.
...and only playing in Chicago.
CURSE YOU, PERRY FARRELL!
GaGa.
Green Day.
Soundgarden.
...and only playing in Chicago.
CURSE YOU, PERRY FARRELL!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
"The Cigarette Incident"
[With all due apologies to author Bernard Dolan for any errors or inaccuracies in the quotation and transposition of this excerpt.]
"Because a cigarette?
IS LIKE A GOLD FUCKING COIN IN PRISON!
If you want someone robbed, beaten, gang-raped — you can PAY in CIGARETTES!
If you want conjugal visits, pornos, more time in the yard — Phillip Morris is an accepted form of currency!
And I'm thinking, 'FINALLY! A group of people who have their FUCKING priorities straight!'"
"Because a cigarette?
IS LIKE A GOLD FUCKING COIN IN PRISON!
If you want someone robbed, beaten, gang-raped — you can PAY in CIGARETTES!
If you want conjugal visits, pornos, more time in the yard — Phillip Morris is an accepted form of currency!
And I'm thinking, 'FINALLY! A group of people who have their FUCKING priorities straight!'"
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Freudian Slips And Camisoles
Last night I had a dream about clothes hangers. Not even in any weird context. Just empty clothes hangers, hanging in a closet.
Thank you, subconscious, for being so complex and fascinating.
Thank you, subconscious, for being so complex and fascinating.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Seeking Booty
There's a little candy store in the lobby of the building I work in. I go down there a lot, instead of to the vending machine on our floor, because I almost never have change or anything smaller than a $20 bill on me. Plus, there's a better selection and less junk. I'll usually get yogurt and apple juice for breakfast, or Cheerios for an afternoon snack. (I'm trying to ween myself off potato chips, but I still crave crunchy stuff. I just realized that my diet sounds like an infant's.)
The owner is an older Indian man. I don't know his name, but he recognizes me every time I come in and always says, "Hello, my dear." I feel bad for him sometimes, because he doesn't seem to have too many other customers. Occasionally, I bring my co-worker Mikey down with me, just to drum up some business. Once when I was out sick, Mike went down there to get a drink by himself and was asked with concern, "Oh, where is your friend?"
One day I discovered Pirate's Booty over in the chip section. I love Pirate's Booty; I can't even tell you how much. So I must have seemed pretty excited while paying for my purchase, and this must have made an impression on my new friend. After that, every time I came down and didn't get Pirate's Booty, he would smile and ask, "No Pirate Booty today?" Just picture that said in an Indian accent. It was so adorable I wanted to hug him.
A few days ago, I went down there, walked over to my usual rack, and realized there was no Pirate's Booty left. Before I even had a chance to scan the shelf for a replacement snack, he was apologizing and promising that he had ordered more "for me." I had to reassure him about 3 or 4 times that it was ok, I didn't need it, I could just get something else.
The next day I was starting to doze off at my desk, so I went down to get some M&Ms, figuring chocolate would help keep me awake. The chocolate stuff is nowhere near the chips, so I wasn't even walking in that direction, when he again apologized for the lack of Pirate's Booty. "No, it's ok," I laughed, "I just need some chocolate today." He assured me again that a delivery would be coming in soon.
So this morning, I got in a few minutes early and went down to the store to get a banana. And, lo and behold: Pirate's Booty, back in stock. "See, I told you there would be more," he said as soon as I walked in the door. He sounded kind of proud of himself, and also kind of relieved. Again, I just wanted to hug him. Poor guy.
"Thank you so much!" I smiled, and grabbed a bag, even though I hadn't really been planning to.
I just couldn't spoil his day like that.
The owner is an older Indian man. I don't know his name, but he recognizes me every time I come in and always says, "Hello, my dear." I feel bad for him sometimes, because he doesn't seem to have too many other customers. Occasionally, I bring my co-worker Mikey down with me, just to drum up some business. Once when I was out sick, Mike went down there to get a drink by himself and was asked with concern, "Oh, where is your friend?"
One day I discovered Pirate's Booty over in the chip section. I love Pirate's Booty; I can't even tell you how much. So I must have seemed pretty excited while paying for my purchase, and this must have made an impression on my new friend. After that, every time I came down and didn't get Pirate's Booty, he would smile and ask, "No Pirate Booty today?" Just picture that said in an Indian accent. It was so adorable I wanted to hug him.
A few days ago, I went down there, walked over to my usual rack, and realized there was no Pirate's Booty left. Before I even had a chance to scan the shelf for a replacement snack, he was apologizing and promising that he had ordered more "for me." I had to reassure him about 3 or 4 times that it was ok, I didn't need it, I could just get something else.
The next day I was starting to doze off at my desk, so I went down to get some M&Ms, figuring chocolate would help keep me awake. The chocolate stuff is nowhere near the chips, so I wasn't even walking in that direction, when he again apologized for the lack of Pirate's Booty. "No, it's ok," I laughed, "I just need some chocolate today." He assured me again that a delivery would be coming in soon.
So this morning, I got in a few minutes early and went down to the store to get a banana. And, lo and behold: Pirate's Booty, back in stock. "See, I told you there would be more," he said as soon as I walked in the door. He sounded kind of proud of himself, and also kind of relieved. Again, I just wanted to hug him. Poor guy.
"Thank you so much!" I smiled, and grabbed a bag, even though I hadn't really been planning to.
I just couldn't spoil his day like that.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
How It All Ended
I once had a boyfriend who owned a Jeep. He was pretty proud of it, especially of the fact that the top and the doors could come off. During the summer, we'd drive everywhere that way. It was exhilarating, slicing through the open air like that at 60 mph, but also a little terrifying. And somewhat uncomfortable: even on a hot day, the wind would make you wish you'd brought a jacket and would whip your hair into one giant tangled knot no matter how you tried to hold it back. The exhilaration and the terror, the fluctuation in temperature, the helplessness and the mess were also a pretty good metaphor for our relationship as a whole.
After all, this was the same boyfriend who was "straight-edge" when we met and, on principle, would refuse to kiss me if I had had so much as a single beer at a party — the same boyfriend who later became a bartender. The same boyfriend who saw no problem with inviting his ex-girlfriend out to the movies with us, yet steadfastly refused to participate in any event involving my family. The same boyfriend who would high-five his drunken friends, in my presence, when they'd crudely congratulate each other on "scoring," but who also managed to imply, every time we were together, that I was lousy in bed.
Looking back, it’s hard to recall what motivated me to stay.
Our final showdown occurred at a Friendly's, of all places, in the parking lot, in the Jeep. It was winter now, so the roof and doors were firmly in place, and the enclosure only intensified every insult and accusation hurled. Finally — FINALLY — I reached my breaking point. Midsentence, I grabbed my purse, unbuckled my seat belt, and reached for the door.
"If you leave this car right now I will never speak to you again!" he shouted.
"Good!" I yelled back.
As I swung the door open and climbed down he called out, mockingly, "Well, it was nice knowing you!"
Icy now, I turned back to face him and replied, "No, it wasn't."
Slammed the door.
And left.
I had to walk home alone, about a mile, in the dark and the cold, but every biting breath of frozen air that filled my lungs felt like my first, and I thought, finally — FINALLY — this is freedom.
And that's when it all began.
After all, this was the same boyfriend who was "straight-edge" when we met and, on principle, would refuse to kiss me if I had had so much as a single beer at a party — the same boyfriend who later became a bartender. The same boyfriend who saw no problem with inviting his ex-girlfriend out to the movies with us, yet steadfastly refused to participate in any event involving my family. The same boyfriend who would high-five his drunken friends, in my presence, when they'd crudely congratulate each other on "scoring," but who also managed to imply, every time we were together, that I was lousy in bed.
Looking back, it’s hard to recall what motivated me to stay.
Our final showdown occurred at a Friendly's, of all places, in the parking lot, in the Jeep. It was winter now, so the roof and doors were firmly in place, and the enclosure only intensified every insult and accusation hurled. Finally — FINALLY — I reached my breaking point. Midsentence, I grabbed my purse, unbuckled my seat belt, and reached for the door.
"If you leave this car right now I will never speak to you again!" he shouted.
"Good!" I yelled back.
As I swung the door open and climbed down he called out, mockingly, "Well, it was nice knowing you!"
Icy now, I turned back to face him and replied, "No, it wasn't."
Slammed the door.
And left.
I had to walk home alone, about a mile, in the dark and the cold, but every biting breath of frozen air that filled my lungs felt like my first, and I thought, finally — FINALLY — this is freedom.
And that's when it all began.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Release The Kraken!
Very disappointed that the mechanical owl had only a brief cameo in the new Clash Of The Titans.
UPDATE: And I find the portrayal of Medusa offensive. Get your feminine mytholgy straight, people. It's like making a movie about Christianity where Jesus is a flesh-eating zombie.
UPDATE: And I find the portrayal of Medusa offensive. Get your feminine mytholgy straight, people. It's like making a movie about Christianity where Jesus is a flesh-eating zombie.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
The 3
So, several years ago, I was at Tattoo Lou's, skimming through some portfolios, waiting for the manager to come back out and finalize the plans for my [still unfinished] masterpiece. While I'm waiting, 3 different girls come in, all separately, but when the guy behind the counter asks each of them if he can help them with anything, all 3 of them answer the same thing:
Butterflies.
One wants them on her ankle, another just had one done on her back, the other one was thinking about getting one but isn't sure yet. After the last one leaves — and before another one gets a chance to come in and make the same request — I go over to one of the artists, trying to keep a straight face, and ask about how many girls come in here asking for butterflies? What's the percentage, roughly? He shakes his head and says "Honestly, about one out of every three."
I must have caught them on a good night.
*On a completely unrelated note, on the way home, 3 different radio stations were playing 3 different Fallout Boy songs all at the same time. Conspiracy? You be the judge!
Butterflies.
One wants them on her ankle, another just had one done on her back, the other one was thinking about getting one but isn't sure yet. After the last one leaves — and before another one gets a chance to come in and make the same request — I go over to one of the artists, trying to keep a straight face, and ask about how many girls come in here asking for butterflies? What's the percentage, roughly? He shakes his head and says "Honestly, about one out of every three."
I must have caught them on a good night.
*On a completely unrelated note, on the way home, 3 different radio stations were playing 3 different Fallout Boy songs all at the same time. Conspiracy? You be the judge!
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