Unfettered Debloggery

I Always Have The Best Neighbors!

2011-04-07T06:59:00.001-07:00

Dear Mystery Neighbor That Lives Above Me,

Recently you’ve been making some extra efforts to show how much you care about me. I’ve never seen so much love come from a neighbor that lives above me instead of next to me. I guess it’s also surprising because I’ve never met you. I wanted to take a moment to let you know that your ceaseless demonstrations of how much you care mean a lot to me. I appreciate it, and I appreciate you.

New York City is a loud and busy place, and everyone needs a good reminder that they need to take a step back and get some rest. When you left a note taped to our door about how we were up too late on a Saturday night, we knew it was because you were looking out for us. We also know that when you say “the noise [we] produce is really becoming a problem for you” it means you’re worried. You’re probably upstairs, awake, thinking “What if they stay up too late and miss their brunch plans tomorrow?” or maybe even something worse, like ‘What if they have big bags under their eyes?!”

Thank you for worrying. If nothing else, it’s important to know that there’s someone who cares.

It’s the little things that make big statements, you know? Last night, around 11:30, you must have heard me reading something out loud to my boyfriend sitting next to me, and you swiftly struck your foot on the floor several times as if to say “Hey, It’s bedtime. People are going to bed.” Thank you. Sometimes you need someone above you looking out for your best interests, and since you’re literally above me, I guess I really lucked out. Today I’m well rested and you are in my thoughts. As I write this letter, each strike of the keyboard keys reminds me of the kind, unforgettable, loud (but not too loud, the perfect kind of loud=) sound of the impact of your foot on the hard wood floors that probably resemble that of my own apartment. I mean, if you’re not going to encourage me to get more sleep, who is?

I’ve never seen you in person, and I’m really jealous my boyfriend has answered the doors to your visits. Sometimes you’ve come to let us know that you can hear our music, (I’m glad you think we have good taste?!) and other times you’ve stopped by just to tell us that it’s midnight on a Friday and that you’ve had a rough week. I’m so glad you feel that you can open up to us even though we really have no idea who you are. You’re also always ready to tell us the time. Thank you for keeping us on schedule! You’re just the person living above us, but really, you’re so much more.

You’ve been caring a lot more lately, and please don’t think I haven’t noticed. Two nights ago you stomped on the floor. It wasn’t just any stomp. This stomp had some extra love and care to it. I imagined that it was the sound of a mother, lovingly banging pots and pans together 14 feet away from me in a vertical direction. I awoke, and was blessed to hear the voice of this mystery man, this goodly spirit, this fairy-man-mother of East Village apartments when you yelled down the airshaft “SHUT UP, IT’S 2 IN THE MORNING!” I really appreciated that you would stay up so late to let me know that I should be getting more rest. I didn’t respond because I wanted to show you I was listening. I pretended to still be asleep, and really tried hard to go back to sleep. I think you noticed because then you shouted like a coach to their rag-tag team of rapscallions, “AND STAY QUIET.”

I think we give you purpose [not that someone as mindful as you wouldn’t have purpose without us]. But I think, and I hope, that you really get satisfaction out of reminding us that you’re less than suited to live in a neighborhood like the East Village in New York City. Maybe you’re looking to become another local legend? The next reason to have a musical based in the area? Or maybe you’re just looking for someone to suggest somewhere else for someone your age to live. Maybe you’re looking for us to be looking out for you. Trust me when I tell you, we’re working on it.

If nothing else, you’ve made an impact on my life, and I’ve told myself that as soon as we move out of our apartment beneath you, I’ll give you this letter as a way of saying “Thank You.” I hope you achieve your dreams.

Love,
Your Neighbors Jackie and Adam

PS – IT’S 2 AM! Haha, get it? Now I’m telling you the time! LOL

Why The First 32 Days of 2011 Have Been Great

2011-02-02T10:58:00.000-08:00

The entrance of 2011 was particularly tumultuous. After losing the keys to our apartment on new years eve and being locked out of our apartment for a few hours, we made it back into our house and to rebel bingo and had a glorious and debaucherous evening of tacos and four loco. This is why 2011 has started off super swell.

1.The discovery of 10-cent wing night!
2.Rebel Bingo!
3. Taco Addiction!
4. Seeing The Colbert Report!
5. Bell, Book and Candle!
6. Seeing The Daily Show!
7. Long Weekend in New Orleans!
8. Seeing Spiderman on Broadway!
9. The lack of time I needed to stay afterschool!
10. My ability to keep my new years resolution and shop way less!
11. Long Weekend in Torino, Italy!
12. Starbucks gift cards for completing my Quest PD first!
13. Registering for my NYS teaching certification exams!
14. Finishing my grad school application!
15. Joyous times with friends (mostly with or around 10 cent wings)!
16. Finishing two more songs with Soce!
17. Emailing my favorite nerdcore rapper Schaffer the Darklord for advice!
18. Not having to make the program for Carnegie Hall!
19. Newest high scores in fruit ninja (843?!)
20. Lording newest high scores in fruit ninja over my 9th graders heads!
21. Acknowledgement that the 8th grade play was awesome!
22. Losing my astrological sign and then getting it back!
23. Pre-Production on the music video for spicify my love!
24. Posting on my blog after a whole year of not doing that!
25. Run-ins with old friends on the street!
26. Jersey Shore Season 3.
27. You’re Cut Off enters my life.
28. Good evaluation from one of my boss’s!
29. FIRST SNOW DAY OF THE SCHOOL YEAR!
30. Being told it looks like I lost weight!
31. Having 6th graders clap and cheer for me when I enter the room!
32. Newfound motivation to be the awesomest at everything! Where did it come from?!?!
33. Jeremiah got into college!

It’s funny that I’m posting this on a day that has been arguably the worst this year. It’s the type of day when there’s a massive ice storm and your metro card expires and you think you’re going to miss the train because you have to literally run everywhere on sheets of ice and the students have to do the same so they’re all in bad moods. I hope today gets better though! Maybe I’ll go cash that paycheck I haven’t yet put in my bank account to make me feel like I’ve achieved something.

Hello 2011. I'm going to own you.

2011-01-01T13:35:00.000-08:00

New Years 2011: Bring it

The close of 2010 was faced with both badness and awesomeness. On the final day of the year, the cosmos were so in balance with themselves, every time I was struck with something that left me feeling terrible, it would soon be eradicated and replaced with a feeling of greatness. I hope the pendulum swinging from good to bad on the final day of the year is not indicative of how 2011 will go. In fact, I hope that 2011 remains mostly on the good side of the pendulum, with a heavy weight in the way to keep it from going anywhere else. I don’t even want it to slowly fell back to the middle, which is “the okay zone”.

To recap how December 31st fell upon me like a ton of bricks:

2011: Be awesome.

After a moment mourning the end of a friendship, I went to brunch and bought a book about zombies. Both were awesome. Brunch was delicious. The time is now, and only now for things to be good.

2011: Things you set in place in the past will start to be fruitful now.

Reservations at NYC’s most exclusive prohibition bar? Set.
Certificates of Completion for all of my UCB Training? Set.
A love for bingo and raves? Set.

2011: Still getting student specials at the taco place across the street.

3 dollars for 2 tacos and a soda?! You can’t beat that. Especially if you’re not really a student.

2011: The best things in life are free.

Love. Happiness. Free purses on the street from a vintage store going out of business?! Yeah, this was a good moment in the day.

2011: Roll with the punches.

My boyfriend lost the keys to our apartment, and we were locked out for a while. For 2 hours, we wandered the streets of NYC looking for the keys to our own apartment. We were homeless, and looked the part as we scanned the ground again and again for something shiny. Finally, a friend called and said they found them.

Life felt so good. Home is where I want to be. This must be the place.

2011: Resolutions.

1. Shop Less. Save for the future.
2. I need to make myself happy. Until I do that, I can’t possibly start to make others happy.
3. Create more: Jokes. Songs. I should always be in the habit of creating.
4. Cleaning out what I don’t need. This is serious quarter-life crisis mode.
5. Appreciating my family more. They’re pretty awesome, and there are always ways to show it.
6. Write my damn book.
7. Get famous.

2010 was really great. 2011 will be even better.

All the best, and Happy New Year to the five people that read my blog.

Jackie

2010 Resolutions

2010-01-02T12:47:00.000-08:00

2009 has surely been a cray cray year. I assisted with the production of, quite possibly, the worst musical ever. I started doing Bikram Yoga. I traveled to foreign lands, like Brooklyn and 125th street. It’s been a big year for me, but I need to make some changes to make 2010 even bigger.

Also, let's talk about decades. I mean, I've already lived through two! Sweet Jesus.

In 2010, I resolve to…
1. Write more.
2. Exercise?
3. Not subsist on a diet entirely of candy.
4. Not subsist on a diet entirely of popcorn.
5. Not subsist on a diet entirely of cheerios.
6. Eat better?
7. Treat myself!
8. Give more gifts.
9. Treat myself!
10. Win things.
11. Treat myself!
12. Read more.
13. Learn how to relax.
14. Write lists.
15. Be funny.
16. Spend less on haircuts.
17. Finish my pop song.
18. Make music video for pop song.
19. Become internet super sensation.
20. Use internet sensationalism to gain world power.
21. Solve the economic crisis.
22. Have face added to Mount Rushmore.
23. Rename our capital “Jackietown”.
24. Try skiing.
25. Win more things.
26. Treat myself!
27. Lose a million pounds. I mean, really. A million.
28. Read all those books I have to read.
29. Be more thankful for all the awesome family and friends I have.
30. Live alone.
31. Love living alone.
32. Become a hermit.
33. Become a Kermit.
34. Kiss a princess.
35. Become a prince.
36. Solve the economic crisis.
37. Have face added to mount rushmore.
38. Rename the our capital “Jackietown”.
39. Treat myself!
40. Be an all around better Jackie.

2010 is bound to be the best. All the best to all you blog-readers that don’t exist!

Christmas Borscht

2009-11-23T05:34:00.000-08:00

This is the story of Christmas Borscht and how gross it is.

At the ripe age of 24, I have the same diet as an 80-year-old Ukrainian woman.

Lunch = Lentil soup.
Dinner = Borscht.
Snacks = Children.

For those of you that don’t know, Borscht is a beet-based soup that makes your poop magenta. I frequent a place called Veselka in the east village and order a cup of Vegetarian Borscht several times a week– it’s brothy, has a lot of vegetables, and, in my opinion, is super delicious.

Today when I stopped by Veselka and asked for the usual, they said “We don’t have Vegetarian Borscht, we only have “Christmas Borscht”, which is also vegetarian.” How far could a vegetarian borscht be from Vegetarian Borscht? Very far. Very. Very. Far.

Being Jewish, I should have been wary of eating “Christmas” anything. Christmas Carols. Christmas Trees. Christmas Cheer. All have the ability to disgust or crush me.

“Christmas Borscht” takes normal borscht to new levels. It is hilarious to say out loud. It implies reindeer and presents are involved. It is disappointing on all accounts.

From the moment I opened the container, I knew it was all wrong. There was the sent of an added spice that was a total curveball to my borscht experience. A gross curveball. Like, a curveball that smelled like ass. It was only downhill from there.

When I put my spoon in to brave the Christmas Borscht, there were no vegetables. There were only what could be described as “dumplings”, but instead of dumplings, they were really more like oversized tortellini that were stained pink on the outside, and totally black and mushy in the middle. I assumed I was eating mushrooms, but a part of me knows that’s wishful thinking.

I couldn’t finish it. I mean, you should have seen it. Smelled it. It’s been an hour since I tried to down it. Three pieces of gum later, and I still taste it. A part of me wants nothing to do with beets ever again.

I realize that eating, liking, and craving beet-soup is pretty weird, but Christmas Borscht isn’t helping. Christmas Borscht is giving normal borscht a bad name, and I think we should ban together and protest. Think of the other holidays and the tainted borscht experiences they’ll provide…and how each one will be a mystery meal.

Jackie Writes a Hilarious Bug Story! (For Kids!)

2009-10-21T20:48:00.000-07:00

Here's something that happened to me in real life that I've now made into a child-friendly fable. This is the story of Jackie and the Beetle. What's the moral? You decide!

This is a story of triumph.

I got home late last night to find a large beetle on the side of my fan. It didn’t look like a cockroach. It was a size that was somewhere between a nickel and a dime. Large Antenna. Lots of legs. Grey. Gross.

So I did what I always do: I sprayed it with Windex. It didn’t move at all.

Then I sprayed it with hairspray. It still didn’t move at all.

THEN I tried a different hairspray that I thought would be more toxic. Again, the bug didn’t move, but how Voluminous!

Then I went to put everything back where I got it, because otherwise I would never be able to find them the NEXT time there was a bug in my room! As soon as I turned my back, the bug started to crawl down the fan.

Now, I’m really bad at killing bugs. So terrible, in fact, that my next move to kill the bug was again, something that did not kill the bug. The next thing I did was throw my fan across the room.

My fan is small and round, no larger than a cantaloupe. I love cantaloupe, though I would not love it if there were bugs on it. I threw my cantaloupe fan the full 18 feet across my room and was relieved, when I retrieved it, that there was no bug on its side.

But where had the bug gone? Surely, it was still in the room. After some careful sleuthing, I uncovered the creature and did what I should have done in the first place: hit it with something heavy.

Keep in mind, that this last move to kill the bug took ALL the grownup strength I could muster. I hate bugs. They are disgusting to look at and have cooties. I don’t like looking at them, I don’t like going in arms reach of them, but I understand that at 24 years old I should be able to kill bugs that are of moderate size.

I took my Cinema Studies textbook on Surrealism and started hitting the bug with the force of 1000 Zeuses. That’s right, I summoned the power of Zeus, the greek god of thunder, and then multiplied that power times 1000 to kill this bug that was not a cockroach. After three blunderous blows with said textbook, I looked down to see the beast, only to watch it start to crawl away again.

So then I did what anyone would do, which is just start wailing on the thing. After losing myself in the heat of the bug killing, I looked down, and it was dead.

I was proud of myself, because I’d never killed a large beetle before. Then I did the most grown thing I could to clean it up: I vacuumed it.

THE END

ALL BUGS AND NO SLEEP MAKE ME A CRAZY PERSON

2009-08-22T19:18:00.000-07:00

Throughout history, people have hated ugly things. The ancient Greek Gorgon Medusa had the power to kill even the strongest of men by turning them to stone with a glance. My face breaks camera lenses. Things haven’t changed.

Cockroaches are my modern day Medusa. The difference, of course, is that when I look at them I don’t turn to stone. Instead, I shudder and run away, and then I come back to try and kill them but chicken out and subsequently talk to myself and cry. It’s a good thing this wasn’t Medusa’s effect on Perseus, as an essence of heroism and adventure would certainly be lost from that ancient tale of heroism and adventure.

One month after the last cockroach incident, I’m reliving the same story: I am still not good at getting rid of bugs from my apartment. I wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t so giant and disgusting looking, it’s just that these sorts of gross bugs cause the tag of my t-shirt to make my skin crawl.

I went to bed around 1:30am, and around two, I opened my eyes to SEE A GIANT BUG FLY IN MY WINDOW AND CLING TO MY WALL. I’m TEN FLOORS UP! I mean, really?!

It’s 3:30am, and my room has been completely rearranged. I’m too afraid to take off my moccasins in case I have to run around my room some more. My vision has been severely affected by these eye drops my doctor gave me for my cold (they make everything blurry). Even writing this is a struggle, but it’s a struggle in the heat of a moment when I am totally grossed out and in desperate need of distraction.

Throwing a textbook at the bug is not an option this time, as the bug has now planted itself near the window.

I’ve been out of bed for too long, trusty and poisonous Windex at the ready.

I should know by now that Windex is not a sufficient bug killer. My only other option is to do something like step on it. That’s so gross though!

This is the second bug in the apartment I’ve seen, but this one is different….THIS ONE HAS THE ABILITY TO FLY. It’s been sprayed with a lot of Windex though, so maybe we’re both on the same page in terms of blindness.

I’m too afraid to fall asleep. I’m too afraid to turn the lights off. If all you do is sit down to write a blog entry every time you see a bug in your room, you know you’re a big sissy…or in the very least, completely insane.

What do Japanese people think Canadian people look like?

2009-07-19T17:08:00.000-07:00

Futuristic Dental Care of the Future's Future

2009-07-08T11:36:00.000-07:00

A Product Review of the Toothbrush that Sings

My new iPhone can do everything except brush my teeth. Which is why, ladies and gentlemen, I’ve invested in a new toothbrush.

This is NO ORDINARY TOOTHBRUSH. This brush, called “Tooth Tunes” plays 2 minutes of music in your mouth while you’re brushing. THIS IS JUST WHAT I’VE ALWAYS BEEN LOOKING FOR IN A TOOTHBRUSH!

It doesn’t promise to clean your teeth extra well. It doesn’t spin, or have any other electronic function other than playing music when you press a button. The big idea behind this fancy toothbrush is that the longer the music is playing, the more you’ll want to brush your teeth to listen to it. PUTTING A RADIO IN YOUR BATHROOM AND PLAYING IT WHILE YOU BRUSH YOUR TEETH IS THE DUMBEST IDEA EVER. If you want to hear the same song over and over again while you brush your teeth, this toothbrush is really the best way to go.

The brush comes in a variety of styles: Hannah Montana, High School Musical, Queen, Kiss, Cartoon theme songs, etc. My toothbrush accidentally came with a Spanish song on it called “Ser 0 Parecer” performed by a group called RBD. I can’t wait to learn this song – I watched the music video and have no idea what’s going on, but anything that involves cassette tapes with tentacles and a group of Spice Girls dressed entirely like Shakira gets my thumbs-up for approval.

I haven’t tried it yet, but I have a gut feeling about this brush, and that gut feeling is that I’m glad I got it for free.

I Went to Japan and Had Fun: Part 2

2009-07-07T12:45:00.000-07:00

Hello Again Loving Family!

Kyoto is so full of ancient wonders, but, contrary to popular belief, they are not fun. I would more appropriately describe them as “far away from each other” and “hard to get to”.

Each shrine has given us a different glimpse of life in ancient Japan. We saw a Zen Rock Garden! Did you know that a rock garden consists of rocks? (I prefer rock menageries myself). The brochure for the rock garden told us it WOULD provoke philosophical thinking. I was sorely disappointed.

After the rock garden, we found the shopping mall! There, we had bubble tea and McDonalds. It was JUST like being at home!

Then my friend and I went on this forced march around Kyoto, stopping at the Imperial Palace, a shrine made entirely of gold, and some other places of less significance but equal mystique. Embracing our jet-lag, we woke up at 6:30 in the morning and got ready to adventure around the ancient city and see the old-timey ways of life people emailed us about and loved so much. Unfortunately, the city was much more spread out than we had planned for and it was 90 degrees all day. We walked 8 miles in 7 hours, and had the most disgusting lunch I have ever EVER had ever.

To clarify some of the circumstances, we were told, in an email from one of my friend’s friends, that we should "walk everywhere." Considering that everything is only a couple of inches away from each other on a map (and labeled in Japanese), how were we to assume that one shrine would be an hours worth of walking from the next? We couldn't. Everything was far away. And, apparently, on a steep, mountainous incline. It was a sweaty day.

Lunch was supposed to be vegetarian, so I was expecting some salad and soup. Instead, I got a series of inedible seaweeds and pickles, a traditional "Zen" experience that made me long for ANYTHING I COULD EAT THAT WAS NOT THAT LUNCH.

The other Kyoto experience that made us miserable was the extra-special trip my friend and I had been told to make for ice cream. We schlepped for Mochi ice cream, allegedly served from this "special" ice cream place that has been handcrafting mochi for centuries. We were told that this was the ice cream of the ancients. We were told it would be delicious. They had only one flavor: Grass.

We knew it was grass-flavored because we were told what it was many times, and then, to make sure we knew we were ordering Grass Flavored Ice Cream, the man working brought out a special translator and typed in the word "Grass". We then, despite ANY COMMOM SENSE WE COULD HAVE USED, proceeded to order two GRASS FLAVORED ICE CREAMS and tried them outside. Guess what: THE ICE CREAM WAS MADE OF GRASS.

We got back to Tokyo yesterday and then ventured to Costume Karaoke. Tokyo has been awesomely fun, and, needless to say, Kyoto was a bit of a bust. Despite all the walking we did, we didn't make it to all the shrines we had set out to see.

Also, I hate to disappoint, but don't expect any magnets when I get back. Refrigerators aren't magnetized here, so magnets are seen as useless and thus, not anywhere. I'll still keep an eye out for those magnets-from-places-that-aren’t-home you love so much, so fingers crossed.

We're about to head out to some bar that gives everyone up-do's when they enter. I have pictures of everything - in fact, this is probably my most-well documented trip in terms of both emails and images, so I’ll make sure they’re on facebook later. Brace yourselves.

See you tomorrow afternoon!
Love,
Jackie

I Went to Japan and Had Fun: Part 1

2009-07-07T12:43:00.000-07:00

This blog and the next will consist of two emails I sent to my family from Japan. For those of you that only stalked my facebook photos, here’s your chance to stalk me in a new and exciting way.

Dear Loving Family,

I sure am tired! Upon our arrival, I was so relieved to find that bathrooms here aren’t just holes in the ground. Instead, toilets are extra luxurious with a seat-warmer function. Upon flushing, they play Beethoven’s 5th.

On Monday, we picked a random page in our guidebook and went to see some shrines. We saw some old cool stuff. We learned we can't read maps, but we're really good at navigating the labyrinthine subway system. We got home and watched The Hangover (which was awesome and in English) and collapsed.

Yesterday we woke up at 5:30am to go to the Tsujiki Fish Market, the largest fish market in the world. It's only open for auction from 5am to 10am, and though it was certainly "an experience", it was only an experience we could stand for about a half hour before we hopped on a train towards Tokyo Disney. My poor friend wore sandals to the fish market and left for home with a not-so-fresh feeling between her toes (you know, like herpes).

Overall, Tokyo Disney is similar to the Disneys we have in the US, with the exception of all the safety instructions being in Japanese. My friend made me go on a ride called "Big Beaver Canoe Ride", and I was forced to kayak on a banana boat with 15 other people around a small moat. It was less of a ride than it was exercise. At one point we passed a Native American display, and then the guide said something like "and we have two Native Americans on board with us right now!" We don't really know if he said that, (after all, he was speaking in Japanese) but the hoards of people looking at us and laughing clued us in to some sort of mean joke, even if that joke was merely referring to us as Native Americans.

I’m having a great time. So far, my favorite parts of the trip have been:
1. Watching The Hangover
2. Going to Disney
Both of which happen to be things I could have done back home. Oh well.

Tomorrow my friend and I venture to Kyoto, which is supposed to be full of ancient wonders and lots of fun!

Love,
Me

My 4th Apartment's 1st Cockroach

2009-07-02T23:41:00.000-07:00

It’s late. I’m exhausted. BUT I CAN’T SLEEP BECAUSE I CAME HOME AND THERE WAS A COCKROACH IN THE MIDDLE OF MY CARPET.

Granted, it’s a nice carpet.

I’ve never torn my room apart/cleaned my room so quickly. After picking up every article of clothing from my floor with a bent hanger, I then quickly (with trusty vacuum and Windex at the ready) moved my bed away from the wall, and then moved it back against the wall when I was relieved/annoyed that the bug had officially gone missing.

When the cockroach came back out of it’s hiding spot, I winced, squealed, and THREW the vacuum at the bug, hoping it would just be sucked up. It wasn’t, and then it ran into my closet, which I now refer to as “Home Base”.

I phoned my mother who I knew would tell me to “just kill it”. I phoned my friend who also told me to kill it, but more specifically suggested that I throw a textbook. Instead, I threw the only hardcover in my reach entitled, most appropriately, Cringe. When that failed, I threw a book about the South Beach Diet. DOUBLE FAIL…and why do I own that?

After living in New York City for 6 years, one would think I’d be a lot better about the whole cockroach thing. I’m not. This bug, roughly the size of some sort of commemorative coin, brings out the crazy in me. I start talking to it, asking for it to politely leave and not nest in my living space. I get paranoid and my skin crawls for hours. There is no question that I will go to sleep in the wee hours of the morning with the lights still on.

Most shameful of all is that this cockroach has a severe handicap. I’m not talking about the layout of my room, or how condensed my clutter is so that it can’t slip through and hide. I’m seriously talking about how this particular cockroach is handicapped. It moves really slow and stops to look around a lot. It does not like Windex or hairspray being sprayed at it, or vacuums being thrown in its direction. It should be dead. Instead, it’s taking a nap in Home Base while I blog about it.

My last crazy roommate never believed me when I saw a cockroach. I would say “I think there’s a cockroach under the fridge” and she would say “there isn’t” and go back into her room. The second time I saw one, she accused me of making them up. But I wasn’t! These cockroaches were NON-FICTION.

At least, my current crazy roommate believed me. He said, “I don’t know what you want me to do”, when really, I wanted him to man up and kill the cockroach. I almost went down and got the doorman, but instead, I decided to just stay put and hope it dies on its own. It’s been sprayed with enough Windex and hairspray to both clean and style a coif fit for an 18th century president, or in the very least, Lady Gaga.

When I finally pass out tonight, I’ll dream of a virile and giant warrior with no fear of disgusting bugs. He will wait amongst my pumps and purses in Home Base for the critter to stumble upon his greatness. This warrior will not throw vacuums or spray hair products to try and kill the bug from a distance. No, he will use a textbook as per a prior suggestion from a non-dream world where logic and reason apply. And once the beast is booked, I'll sleep soundly, dreaming of rainbows and theme parks in my own home base called bed.

Post-Traumatic Ex Syndrome

2009-06-06T16:32:00.000-07:00

My friend is fabulous, awesome, and moving out of her apartment. As with any shift in space, she offered me some books she wouldn’t need in her new abode in addition to the 20th Century Edition of Trivial Pursuit. The box of books she handed over (or, really, her dreamy Polish doorman handed over) is about 25% readable and 75% “Barnes-and- Nobles-Recommended Reading After Getting Dumped” or “Barnes-and-Nobles-Employee Picks for Being a Mistress” or “Barnes-and-Nobles-Customer Favorites For Waking up One Morning Fully-Clothed, Locked Out of Your Own Bathroom With a Strange Yellow Stain in the Middle of the Carpet.” Some of these books are awesome, (and who knows if I’ll need/use the Trivial Pursuit), but the majority of the books boxed-over to me are clearly indicative of some sort ex-boy nervous breakdown…

6 Reasons Why I Think This:

1. Hell Hath No Fury: Women’s Letters from the End of the Affair
2. The Between Boyfriends Book
3. I just got Dumped and I’m Angry
4. Good Girls Gone Bad
5. Good In Bed
And
6. Memoirs of a Geisha

Some other favorites include Backaches: What Exercises to Do, and Self Made Man among a slew of books about being fabulous in NYC (The Devil Wears Prada, Simply Divine, NYC Zagat Survey 2004).

I know what you’re thinking: Maybe, instead of these books indicating her nervous breakdown, she handed these specific literary works to me because she thinks I’m a boy- crazy nutjob? I mean, she has subtly gifted about an eighth of any respectable Self-Help section, (though, of course, the Self-Help section is typically the least respectable section in a book store, even more so than Sci-Fi and that section of art-book-photos of naked people that could pass for soft-core). But this argument (the argument that I could possibly need man-advice) is obliterated with the gift of books entitled What Would Jackie Do? and Oxford Spanish Dictionary PLUS.

Also, before I need to worry about dealing with a breakup, I need to deal more with convincing someone to date me in the first place.

Check out Heartbrokedaily.com

2009-06-03T20:08:00.000-07:00

I wrote some tales of heartbreak for heartbrokedaily.com.

Check out the latest:
http://heartbrokedaily.com/2009/06/03/krissy-the-yogi/

I hope you enjoy!

When Sick, Go Crazy

2009-03-08T08:44:00.000-07:00

I have a tendency to get sick and then flip out about it. I’ll shake my fist at the heavens as my other hand brings an aloe-laden tissue to my nose. I’ll shower three times a day to “steam my face” and make it easier to breathe. I’ll also try to come up with ANY home remedy to make myself feel better (I’ve even contemplated snorting Vicks).

When I had a little cold three weeks ago, I was annoyed. I ran to Walgreens and bought Vicks, liquid Nyquil, a buttload of fancy tissues, cough drops, airborn, and Vitamin C. I got better pretty quickly and lived off of hot Chicken Noodle Soup from the Stage Diner (a few blocks away, but a real schlep if you feel like you’re dying).

And now, only three weeks later, I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M SICK AGAIN! And because I got food poisoning last week (which I originally misspelled as “foot poisoning”), there is NO WAY that I will be able to take another sick day before my spring break.

SO here’s what I’m trying to get rid of this thing:

1. Airborne - It’s not the real kind, it’s the Trader Joe’s brand “Air Armor”, which I like because it reminds me of medieval warriors. Now imagine thousands of tiny medieval warriors fighting off viruses, creating an EPIC BATTLE SCENE that will certainly be better and more realistic than the late King Arthur movie starring Kiara Knightly.

2. Anti-Viral Tissues - New, From Kleenex! The box itself claims to kill 99.9% of cold and flu viruses, but it warns me not to use these tissues as “anything other than tissues”, because that will be considered breaking the law. They’re not one-ply, or two-ply, but THREE-PLY TISSUES. Can we say: luxury in a box?

Echinacea and Goldenseal Root - Trader Joes makes my vitamin C tablets, so I figured I’d try out there other jarred-pilled-goods?

Vitamin C Tablet - 500 mg once a day. BUT NOW IM SICK!?

Vicks Vapo-Rub - Still contemplating snorting it. I just figure it will be easier than smelling like it all day.

Hand Sanitizer - Maybe if I had used more of this regularly, I wouldn’t have gotten sick in the first place.

“The KILLER” - A beverage from the Liquiteria including apple, lemon, ginger, Echinacea, asha, suma, indigo and goldenseal roots, zinc, and vitamin C. I expect massive Diarrhea.

“The ROYAL FLUSH” - Another beverage from the Liquiteria that has pineapple, pear, aloe, ginger, and liver-kidney detox which includes burdock, yellow dock, and Oregon grape roots, dendelion, red clover blossom, nettles, red root, and ginger. I expect even more Diarrhea from this. Looking at it, I’m actually afraid to try it.

In this process of getting healthy again, I’m learning that not only is getting sick expensive, it also creates a lot of garbage. Just think of all the dirty tissues that accumulate! I’m not even sure why we can fly to the moon, we can carve the faces of presidents in mountains and have things like iphones, but we can’t eradicate “the common cold” from the face of the earth.

And as for the anticipated bathroom runs, at least I’ll have one more excuse to watch Ratatouille over and over and over again.

Hormonal Play Review: Spring Awakening

2009-02-22T21:16:00.001-08:00

What happens when adolescents review plays with nudity in them?

This: (And yes, I actually had to grade this)

The plot of Spring Awakening was about a couple who isn't suppose to have sex. However, the main character loses her virginity because she doesn't know what the definition of sex is. I do though.

One of the themes in the play was love. This was shown through a girl having her boobies kissed.

The tone of the play was both serious and romantic. The tone was serious because the lights were often dimmed, and also, the main female character dies trying to have an abortion. Romance is another tone because sexual action and touching can be seen.

When the girl's ghost is present, little lighting is present to indicate a depressed and sad mood. When the couple is having erotic sex, the lights are shining on them, to really make them stand out. This also shows that sex is the main focus for the scene.

My favorite scene was the sex scene because I was able to see a girl experience an orgasm. I also saw her topless.

The only "character transformation" I remember happening is the main character finally experiencing sex.

Spring Awakening was definitely worth attending (because I got to see a topless girl).

"It's Like a Fairytale From Baboonland"

2009-02-22T21:08:00.000-08:00

One of my students wrote this when I was absent:

Door!

That dirty brown door appears intimidating like a troll. There are spiders everywhere. Mice crawl creepily near the door. Those demons enter their tunnels and don't come back.

(insert image of a door with the word Evil written across it).

When I bravely and courageously enter the door, I notice baboons with five arms. These animals appear busy, carrying various vegetables around. One of them really sticks out. He is shouting orders to the other baboons and is the only one speaking. I close my eyes and wake up as though everything was a dream.

Dear Old Lady Hipster in Front of me at the Food Emporium, You Are SO Old

2009-02-09T20:51:00.000-08:00

I mean, you must be at LEAST 29. You probably think you knock a few years off your appearance dressing yourself entirely in the clearance section of Urban Outfitters. Your oversized pork pie hat, gigantic cloud-blue unflattering winter coat, and leggings only conceal the true emptiness of your soul.

Stop turning around and judging me for my purchase of Reduced-Fat Oreos and Low-Fat Milk, okay?! I know what you’re thinking: “so bourgeois and pedestrian. How gauche! I could make those Oreo cookies with my vegan Nabisco recipe book in my East Williamsburg apartment’s kitchen, (advertised, appropriately, to me as a ‘chef’s dream’).” Well, just because you look like The Strokes Cover Band, Reptilia's, wet dream, doesn't mean your cool, okay? "East Williamsburg" is really "Bushwick," and no one likes vegan food except vegans, and EVERYONE KNOWS THAT CHEFS HAVE NO DREAMS. Unless they dream to be on Top Chef, but I would say that qualifies as more of an “aspiration”.

So get over it Nosy Nellie (if that is your real name). Besides, what are YOU buying? An onion? ONLY ONE ONION?! I don’t understand! Are you planning on eating that onion by itself? Where were you and what was happening when you realized you need only one medium-sized onion? Were you in the middle of cooking something vegan when you realized you needed an onion? Don’t they have onions in Bushwick? Maybe not: one more reason I don’t live in “Suckwick” (that was my creative take on “Bushwick”, I thought it was better than “Suck Williamsburg”, with the “Suck” replacing the word “East”). I bet they don’t have Food Emporiums out in East Williamsuck, because supermarkets with creative jingles won’t be found in neighborhoods lacking one thing the jingle indicates: Class.

So go home to BushSuck (ANOTHER creative take on your very much-hypothesized place of living. I know what you’re thinking: ZING!). I’ll be cozying up in my apartment on University Place, a place where I don’t feel like I fit in, mostly because I don’t attend the university anymore, but WHATEVER. Stop following me home by walking in front of me the whole time! I hope your onionbreath fights off the demons keeping you trapped in the garb of a 19-year-old, trapped in the university dorm on University Place, right next door.

Indecent Haiku

2008-12-25T09:27:00.000-08:00

My friend started a website with Haiku that is Indecent. He calls it, Indecent Haiku.

Check out my latest post: http://indecenthaiku.com/2008/12/aging/

It's perfect for the holidays.

Merry Christmas!

Jackie

See Me on MTV

2008-12-22T20:24:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gents,

This week if you're watching MTV, keep an eye out for me during the commercials and you may catch a glimpse of me talking about how I would make the world a better place . In addition to what I say on TV, I also hope to rid the world of ANY pants with pleats and those terrible terrible CROCS (the gardening shoes, not the animal).

Yes, yes, I've already rewarded myself for these 9 seconds of fame with some sushi from the Space Market...and boy do those spicy crab rolls taste like success!

In addition to taking a minute out of your day to watch a video featuring me, you may also want to take an extra 15 seconds out of your day to watch ANOTHER VIDEO featuring me. Or just click that link a few times for fun! This holiday season, I wanted to make sure I gave you all a gift that keeps on giving.

In any case, thank you all for being supportive of me in another small stride as an amateur performer. If these two videos don't quell you're need to see me be ridiculous, come check out my performance at the UCB on January 15th next month. There will be Russian accents, Reagan t-shirts, and a new breakout ad campaign about how Haagan Daaz now has Paninis (FINALLY!).

Thank you all again, and have some great holidays!!

Jackie

Watch Me Smell My Armpit

2008-12-21T20:39:00.001-08:00

It's Gold Baby. Solid Gold.

You Have a lot of Abstinence

2008-11-14T14:29:00.000-08:00

I’d been stopped by the Airport security. Shoeless, jacketless, pocketless, and metaless, they escorted me over to a very attractive and very French guard who proceeded to go through my materials. He said he didn’t intend to dispose any of my liquid-bearing makeup, he just hoped to organize it for me.

It was like the hotel maintenance forgot to pack my bags for me when I left. By my standards, I didn’t think my purse/backpack/duffel bag were that disorganized, though I could tell this French guy, though polite, was very disappointed with how much crap he had to sift through. Canadian crap. You know, the kind you buy in Canada.

We engaged in polite conversation about what there was to eat in the airport. He said “Burger King.” I said “Blech.” He seemed actually disappointed that I didn’t like Burger King, and asked me about it just to reaffirm my distaste. As he poked and prodded and drug tested through floral undergarments and five-finger-discounted hotel soaps, he asked me what I did for a living. “Drama teacher” I said. “I am impressed”, he retorted in broken English.

We smiled and chit-chatted as he prodded through my deodorants and creams when he said “You have a lot of, how you say, abstinence?” Do I have a lot of abstinence? I thought I usually come off a little more nubile than that, though maybe the cotton Hanes and hotel soap fetish implied otherwise. Any fantasies of me with this hunky french airport security guard went straight out the window before I even think them into existence.

I must have looked confused. I didn’t know if I should be flattered or insulted. Do I look like a prude? Does that mean he doesn’t want to date me? Should I be more provocatively dressed the next time I leave the Montreal airport? Would that make him want to date me? Would the fact that we live in two very different places also affect the outcome of any dating situation? Would I be able to tell my mother I’m dating an airport security guard? Would I be able to tell my father I’m dating a French Canadian? Also, how can one have “a lot” of Abstinence?

Noticing my bewildered facial expression, he corrected himself. “You have a lot of, how you say, nonsense?” he blushed. “And now all your liquids (all my makeup) are in one place (they were before).”

Another passenger lined up to be checked out and I was actually sad our conversation had come to an end. I wanted to say, ‘Why don’t you come visit me in New York and misuse awkward English words some more” but I knew he wouldn’t understand me. Instead, I hung around a few moments longer, and put my moccasins back on in the most provocative way I know how…on my feet. Yowza.

On the Train to Saratoga

2008-10-19T12:14:00.000-07:00

Dear Girl with the Disgusting Cough,

I know you can’t help it, but every time you cough it really grosses me out. The fact that I can hear the mucous trying to leave your lungs makes me wince. I, sitting a few seats ahead and across the isle should not be able to diagnose and/or treat whatever is ailing you, and yet, I find your cough such a dominant sound on the train, I want to recommend plenty of bed rest (not on this train) and something my grandparents take all the time called Mucinex. Maybe some people are better able to handle the sounds of lung bubbles, popping, but I wish both you and your disgusting cough were farther away from me, as I was hoping not to get “the plague” on my way upstate.

Thank you,
The Girl Two Seats Ahead

Dear Girl Who Wanted to Sit Next to Me, but took the hint that I was less than enthused and sat with another stranger that was also less than enthused to sit with you, a stranger,

How can I sit here and make commentary about my experiences on this train when I have you to worry about? How would I be able to document that I think your purple leggings are AWFUL, especially when paired with your bright, cherry red wool coat, paired with a navy blue hoodie, paired with your face? I wouldn’t, so thanks for taking the hint and going elsewhere.

Thank you,
The Girl Who’s Blogging About You

OMG like famous?

2008-10-15T11:30:00.000-07:00

I've been made into a character by someone else!

Girl Gone Blind

2008-10-14T21:18:00.000-07:00

Today was god’s way of noticing that I had gone almost an entire year of life without visiting an emergency room. What better way to remedy that situation than some good ‘ol trauma to the face?

I can’t see. I just got back from the hospital. I’m writing this with my eyes closed. Come on home row, don’t fail me now!

Walking back from lunch (Italian hero, not the usual), I tried to hurry past some oogling construction workers when a gust of wind carried some debris into my eyes. I couldn’t see, there was a stinging pain, and you know how those sorts of problems usually fix themselves? This one, not so much. With my eye getting worse, I hobbled back to school in terribly high heels.

At this point, I could only use one eye, and my right hand covered the half of my face in pain. I must have looked like a real wreck, because the security guard said “Jackie, what the hell are you doing?” when I walked into the school building. “What am I doing? Just playing a fun game called ‘affect your depth perception.’ I want to see how long I can go before I hit something.” The nurse then told me my eye had been cut, and I needed to get to the hospital.

As much as I tried to hide my face trauma, everyone at school saw it happen. I mean, like, everyone. It was almost like having the worst pimple of life smack on the top of your nose, only instead, this problem affected my eyes, and wasn’t caused by post-adolescence.

Onward to the hospital, where I sat in a waiting room, holding a paper towel over my eye like some sort of sad, ill-prepared pirate.

Thanks to Nurse Paul and his fast-acting pleasantries, I immediately calmed down, especially when he numbed my eye. I figured I was in good hands. Too bad Jewish mothers never push the idea of finding a nice “Jewish Nurse” to marry – if only he’d been a doctor! He even gave me a sweetass hospital bracelet, that even with one eye, I could tell was sweetass.

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how much pain are you in?” he asked. The question threw me off, as I immediately had to come up with what “1” and “10” would be equal to on the pain scale. If “1” is the equivalent of being poked too hard, and 10 is something like “loss of limb”, my eye must have been a 6.5. But, overall, I think the eye gets it’s own scale of pain, where 1 is “ow, I’ve looked into the sun” and 10 is “ow, I’ve lost my eye”. Nurse Paul “stained my eye” which involved putting some kind of green dye in it that made everything appear green. It was kinda’ like having a really lame superhero power for a few minutes. Paul-dizzle tried to make a few jokes to lighten the mood, but I had to explain very politely that things just aren’t as funny when everything looks green.

After the numbing, staining, ointmenting, and shot, it was finally time to go. There was no eyepatch necessary for my recovery, something I could have only imagined to spark a schoolwide epidemic of pirate jokes, and besides, I gave up my habit of dressing in ‘pirate casual’ freshman year of college. Regardless, with “talk like a pirate day” having recently past, not even a bedazzled eyepatch would have been okay, so I’m glad it was avoided.

Once home, I had a bit of an appetite. I finally opened my sandwich, (the reason this whole thing started in the first place) only to discover that there was TURKEY on my ITALIAN HERO. COULD THIS DAY HAVE BEEN ANY WORSE?! Overcoming disappointment, I was surprised to see there really is nothing like eating an entire bag of sun chips with your eyes closed (with the best part being, of course, that they have 33% less fat than the standard potato chip!).

And now that I’m home and typing with one eye, I’m totally breaking the rule on my discharge sheet, clearly stating that I can’t watch TV or read, usually the only two things people do when they get sick and can’t do anything else. The Tetanus Shot makes me feel like I’ve been punched…EVERYWHERE. I’ll heal in the next 24-48 hours, and all will be well. I mean, I shouldn’t complain; 50 cent got shot NINE times and he be RAPPIN’ bout it (coincidentally, getting shot is number 9 on the generic pain scale, getting shot in the eye, however, is a 10).

Dear Boy I Had Dinner With Last Week,

2008-09-25T18:43:00.000-07:00

It was great seeing you after 2 years, though this evening made me ask myself some probing questions I’m not sure anyone will ever answer.

When will boys realize that when I invite them over to play video games, I would actually like to play video games and not make-out? If I wanted to make out, I would probably say something really saucy over the course of our romantic dinner. But instead, after the romantic dinner, you said you had to kill time before your train back to New Jersey, and I said I had a Playstation.

Contrary to popular belief, “Playstation” is not code for “Vagina.” Guitar Hero is not laden with symbolism for my aching need to be naked with you, especially when we’re playing songs like “Trogdor the Burninator” and “John the Fisherman”. When you went in for a move, I went straight to “Misirilou”.

In fact, once I thought you had started to assume that things I was doing on the video game system were, in fact, secret messages to you, I immediately switched gears and put in Resident Evil 4. How’s that for a secret message? Zombie Lust? I don’t think so.

There were times when I could sort-of understand the mixed signals. You ordered a bottle of wine for the table, but then drank all of it yourself. You talked about working at Macy’s and having girls slap you in the face. And though, sure, by the end of it all my hands were shaking with anticipation, it was only to see if I would make it into Queens in Grand Theft Auto, which is weird, because I’m never excited about going to Queens.

During what must have been a frustrating and alcoholic experience for you, you asked “Why am I here?” I’m not qualified to answer questions of such existential weight, but I am up to playing songs on “Hard” on Guitar Hero, and boy does that orange note make a real mess of things! Also, that question probably should have been a part of your inner monologue. (I’m a drama teacher, so I know about things like that.) If things weren’t already awkward, you sure threw in your own orange note for a twist!

You never came straight out and said anything else, you just said what a nice time you had and hoped we could do it again sometime. I would have loved to go out with you again sometime, had our first time seeing each other after two years not been so weird and awkward.

The next morning you sent me a text message saying “You have a nice room, maybe when we have time you can show me more of what you wanted to.” I get it. You just couldn’t get enough of my zombie-killing, prostitute-mugging, guitar-playing-self. You want it? Yeah baby, you got it.

If nothing else, I’ve learned that having a video game system is an excellent lure for men in their 20’s back to your apartment, even if you’re not interested.

Duped, yo

2008-08-30T18:08:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, making my way home down 13th street, I was approached by a tall, relatively attractive woman around my age, wearing glasses, clothes from the clearance section of Urban Outfitters, and a look of distress. She had red hair and a ton of freckles, spoke confidently and looked me straight in the eye when she said “My purse and backpack were stolen while I was trying clothes on in Bloomingdales, they had my wallet, passport and plane tickets in them and now I can’t get home, or anything to eat in the meantime. Do you have any change?” I did. In fact, I had more than change, I had singles. I gave her two and wished her good luck, and she snatched the bills from my hand in no more an attractive agency than Gollum for his precious ring.

That was back in May, and the creepy way she nabbed my two clams, should have prompted more than an afterthought that there may have been something fishy about my encounter. Visiting Portland, I learned it’s all too common for rich kids to play poor punks, just so they can get some cash they don’t have to “work” for. From what I observed, debasing yourself regularly is a lot of work, unless, I guess, you think it’s all a joke or a game. Once their change is in hand, these kids with self-applied cheek-dirt drive off in mom or dad’s Benz. Some friends on the west coast have grown accustomed to saying “get a job” to beggars on the street. These kids looked like they could kick my ass, so I was never so bold to accuse them of slacking, nor ever will be.

So today, with the NYU semester almost back in session, I saw the same girl; red hair tied back, turquoise hipster-clearance-rack-shirt, glasses, walking painfully slowly around my neighborhood begging for change again. I wanted to say something. Or stop her in the middle of her lies as she approached everyone around me and scream “HALT!” or something equally medieval. Could I have called the police? In the end, I decided there was really nothing I could do, so I blogged about it.

Well, This Happened

2008-08-09T18:35:00.000-07:00

My roommate and I have had some rough patches in the past. Like the time she came back from Peru and the light was out in the kitchen – she nearly had a heart attack. Or the time she flipped out because one of my guests accidentally used her toothpaste. I mean, she like, really flipped out. Given that such small things have sparked some near-earth shattering dialogues, I’m really surprised she did the creepiest thing ever.

I stumbled into my very very small apartment at 5am, having noshed at Yaffa Café and drank enough Jameson and diet cokes to leave me too inebriated for bar scrabble. The lights were on in the kitchen, and my roommate’s door was completely open, with, again, the lights on, but sheets and blankets thrown all over the place. The door to the bathroom was closed, so my logic suggested that she too had been drinking, and was rather sick at a rather late hour of the morning. I went to open my room to find my door locked.

“Silly me,” I thought. “In a rush to meet my sisters for dinner, I closed the door to my room not realizing it had been locked, and now I’m locked out of my room and drunk, and may have to sleep in the bathtub when my roommate is done vomiting in there.” Fortunately, or unfortunately, this was not the case.

Suddenly, my door swung open, to reveal my roommate in nothing but her underwear, holding my makeup compacts. Without an apology, she just kept saying she didn’t know how she wound up there, and then retreated to her own room, lamenting over drunk text messages she sent to her not-boyfriend.

Walking into my room, lights still off, I noticed my bed covered with clutter left there from before I went to dinner. She must have slept on uncomfortable plastic objects, and without a blanket. I still have no idea what she was doing there, or why she was holding my makeup, or why she had locked herself in.

She apologized this morning, giving some sort of half-assed hypothesis as to why or how she could justify my finding her naked in my room, including theories of "too much booze" and “nightmares.” Having just returned from two very long vacations, it makes me ask myself if she does that often, or maybe, out of spite, if she’s ever done anything else with my toothpaste.

My Friend Robyn is a Better Blogger Than Me

2008-07-13T19:13:00.001-07:00

So check out what she had to say about our costumey day on Governor's Island:

http://queuedpaper.wordpress.com/2008/06/09/acting-my-jazz-age/

Here We Go Gajabbling

2008-05-20T16:56:00.001-07:00

When a 7th grader interrupts a lesson to tell you that a word you’ve just used doesn’t exist, your instinct is to disagree.

“No, fantastical is a word. Punk.”

The bigger problem? Well, I make up words all the time. For example: Shaarkvark-noun-a cross between a shark, and an aardvark. Used in a sentence? "Hear about the shaarkvark that attacked a surfer and then hid itself among a group of traveling gypsies? It used its proboscis like a thief in the night." No one ever argues about the existence of the Shaarkvark, so why argue about "fantastical"?

A way for any teacher to discover dozens of new words is to read spelling mistakes out loud when grading papers! These words will sound, to the human ear, like other words that actually exist, but because these words don’t exist there’s an innate hilarity to the ridiculousness of their pronunciation. In one instance, a student of mine attempted the word "gaugeable" but came up with "gajabble," which I quickly took to be some sort of expletive. "Gajabble! I forgot my lunch money at home!" or simply just "Gajabble!" Go ahead and say it out loud. This whole process is a lot more entertaining than it sounds, and, whatever, you just don't know what you're missing.

But back to fantastical. So, at first I was confident in my decision that, yes, fantastical is a word, but then I thought “Gajabble! What if I’m wrong and he’s right and I’m just the stupid drama teacher that makes up stupid words that sound like they should only be used when referring to unicorns or Sasquatch.” The class must have seen this cross my mind. Maybe I looked confused or afraid of being wrong, or I simply hesitated when I gave my answer, because then they collectively used the Jugulator (Jugulator-noun-a form of attack specifically aimed at the jugular of any individual, though most often used towards drama teachers).

Student: “No, Ms. Silvestri, there is no way in hell that fantastical is a word. You just made that up.”
Teacher: “No, I didn’t, and for being so sassy about this whole thing your homework is to look it up.”

Needless to say, he “forgot” about his homework.
I didn’t.

I walked into my next class with three dictionaries and a printout from dictionary.com.
He walked into class, read all of the definitions to the class out loud, and then, again, for being so rude about this whole thing, I told this fantastically-challenged student to write a paragraph for homework using the word fantastical in every sentence.

Here is what he wrote:
“Drama 7 – Ms. Sylvestri – 4/10/08
I am a fantastical person. Yes, fantastical is a word. I found that out from my drama teacher the hard way. I was not in a fantastical mood the day when I said fantastical wasn’t a word. But, I was wrong...fantastical is a word.”

I like that “finding out the hard way” implies simply “using a dictionary.” Also, it always goes without saying that the teacher is always right. Also, kid spelled my name wrong. Gajabble!

If nothing else comes from this venture into language, this drama class will never forget the word fantastical. And they’ll also learn to never challenge anything I say in class again. Ever.

Sorry I'm Late; I Got Distracted by Your Fridge

2008-04-14T18:17:00.000-07:00

It’s not unusual to read out loud when you’re tutoring. A student may find they take notes better from listening. It’s faster for them. They remember it better. Whatever the reason, reading out loud is not an issue.

On Friday morning, however, at maybe 8:30 am, my tutoree approached me with a packet of information for which she couldn’t wait to take notes. She was rushing, worrying about a quiz only 35 minutes away. She also needed to learn different parts of the body in Spanish.
“No Problem,” I said. “There’s plenty of time for both.”

But then I looked at the packet. As my student set up all of her materials to take the most thorough notes ever, I froze at the sight of what I would be expected to read out loud.
Was it childish?
Yes.
Immature?
I sure am.
But can you blame me?
An entire office, full of colleagues and students, was about to listen to me read out loud a very long packet on “The Male Reproductive System” or “The Meat-Whistle.”

At 8:30 am, the office was completely silent. The faint clicks of a keyboard, the almost silent but all-too-vocal adolescent complaints about the strong smell of egg-sandwich; these were all that could distract from the pre-pubescent giggle-inducing words I expected to read out loud, and surely, neither would be as distracting as the words “scrotum” or “testes” at such an obscene hour.

So I started to read, and my student saw me blush. “Keep writing,” I said “if you know what’s good for you’RETHRA.” We had a good laugh. We learned all about the penis. She diligently took notes on balls: what temperature they’re most comfortable in, why they shrink up when they’re cold, and why they hang low when they’re hot. We discussed how semen and urine come from the same place, and how disgusting that is. In the end, it was kind of fun. “Vas Deferens” is even kind of fun to say!

But the best part of everything was on page 4, when the packet encouraged you to check your balls once a month. “As a reminder” the packet suggested, “write a message on an index card to yourself, and keep it in a place where you’ll see it often. The front of your refrigerator works very well. Laminate the card to keep it from wearing out.”

To translate, someone was suggesting to carry around an index card that said, “check your balls.” Laminated, no less, to keep it from wearing out? WEARING OUT? What would you be doing that your index card would NEED to be laminated to keep yourself from ever making a new one? Up until now, the wear and tear of a thorough ball-check-reminder never crossed my mind. I mean, why would it? I don't have balls to check. But now it's ALL I can think about. I'm nonplussed.

Let's face it, if the well-being of your index-card-ball-checking-reminder is your biggest concern, then you have other big concerns you just don’t know about. If you own a machine that laminates things, however, you have an extreme business-advantage in the ball-check industry. Good Work, and good luck.

If you don't own a laminating machine, you have a very awkward experience at the Office Max awaiting you. Good luck, and don't wear a trench coat.

Also, don’t forget kids, HANG IT ON YOUR FRIDGE. It’s not just a reminder for you: it’s a reminder for everyone who ever wants a chilled snack.

I guess what makes it even better is that the packet then suggested that you make one for your dad, too. Imagine this “look what I learned in school today” moment: “Here dad, I made you this card that will remind you to check your balls once a month. You can leave yours on the fridge, with mine!”

Of course, the packet preached abstinence. I don’t know why it bothered. That’s like saying, “look at this new toy that aches to have fun, but don’t use it.” Instead of saying don’t have fun, it would have been smarter for my student read about how to have safe fun. I think the importance of condoms outweighs the necessity of a laminated-ball-reminder, but maybe, just Maybe, that’s the next section I get to read out loud.

There's No Hope With Dope

2008-03-26T20:03:00.001-07:00

All my successes in life are owed to the cast of Saved By the Bell and the president of NBC.

Learn a Lesson Right Now

No One Reads This

2008-03-18T00:15:00.001-07:00

Is it for the best?

This Shirt is Dry Clean Only

2008-03-10T19:12:00.001-07:00

That means it's dirty.

Brains are Like Potato Chips

2008-02-23T09:55:00.000-08:00

You Can't Eat Just One.

I Just Got Business Cards for all That Business I Don't Have

2008-01-20T10:42:00.000-08:00

Alternate Title: I Just Got Business Cards and I Feel Pretty Awesome About Them

Despite my new found love for small pieces of paper with my name on them, I think, as with anything, there's always room for improvement in the Business Card Industry. Especially when those business cards are MINE.

I wish my business cards were edible, or, in the very least, lickable. I mean, people are way more likely to use something they keep in their mouths. Example: I use my tongue all the time. Also, I'm pretty sure I use my teeth on a daily basis (also found in the mouth).

Case and point: not enough things are open to the confines of my mouth-hole, something I would like to see more of in the Business Card Industry.

Upon further reflection, "edible" may not be so good. People would get my card, but then lose all pertinent information if they found themselves hungry in the tummy. Then again, it's like an offering of more than my just contact info. It's almost like I'm saying "let me take you out to lunch", but a lot cheaper, and not involving taking anyone out for anything.

Business Cards: Put a piece of edible paper with your name on it somewhere in someone's digestive tract.

Also, if people are going to lose my business card anyway, they may as well eat it. "Oh yeah, that business card I ate. That belonged to Jackie Silvestri." We're talking lasting impressions.

Then, of course, there's the fear of someone choking on my card. But that's a risk I'm willing to take. That's a risk for progress.

All in all, I think the edible/lickable card thing is the wave of the future, leaving people with a zesty aftertaste of me.

It's "Wintery Mixing" Outside: A Poem

2007-12-13T14:48:00.000-08:00

I came home from work
And I needed a nap.
So I napped.

I woke up from my nap
and needed to eat.
So I ate.

I finished eating
And decided I’d like some wine.
But I didn’t have any.

I finished eating
And in addition to some wine I also needed a bubble bath.
But I didn’t have any bubbles.
And I felt really gross after napping,
which is so typical.

I could have, of course,
Always taken a bath without bubbles…
But not before I retrieved some wine,
Because it was snowing,
And going into the cold with a wet head is
Not Smart.

But I could, of course
Have Gotten some Wine AND Bubbles
And then be set
To enjoy them both
At the same time?!

I went for some bubbles
And bubbly wine
And got mugged on the way.

That Sucked.

Halloween Attracts more Fratboy Douchbags to the East Village

2007-11-02T09:06:00.000-07:00

Last night, Halloween 2007, featured downtown New York’s 34th annual Halloween parade, filling the village with drunks, frat boys, and drunk fratboys.

In my old age I’ve failed to get into the Halloween spirit. I haven’t had much of a costume since I was the Mad Hatter my senior year of High School, and even that just involved wearing a hat. The next few Halloweens are all a blur, culminating last year when I threw on a fur coat and called myself a squirrel. When it comes to Halloween, I like to get out of the Village and head to Lazytown: Population, Me.

This year I was lazy enough not to even TRY to have a costume, so I should have been more impressed by all the girls who put so much effort into wearing so little. But I wasn’t. So my investment banker friends and I traipsed through the village trying to find the best place to go, pointing at people, staring, and doing all those things you’re told not to do when you’re young.

If there’s anything New Yorkers don’t need an excuse to do, it’s drink. For some reason, Halloween has become this kind of surrogate St. Patrick’s day, and St. Patrick’s day is just a more extravagant East Village Saturday, only everyone wears green. Halloween, however, demands everyone be in costume. It’s also a little like the only other holiday that I know involves costumes, Purim.

I was surprised to see that even at 1:00am on a WEDNESDAY night there were still tons of people out drinking. I can’t believe all of those people called in sick to work the next day. I was even witness to a crime, involving one man chasing another man through the streets screaming “Police! Stop that guy! He’s got my shit!” The crowds were horrible, the traffic worse, and the foot-traffic easily reminiscent of Times Square. Despite all this, I think I’d end up traveling to village on Halloween if I didn’t already live there, so I should just stop complaining.

Cheerios From a Shot Glass

2007-10-22T18:19:00.000-07:00

I need to do the dishes.

One of My Students is a Genius

2007-10-17T20:27:00.000-07:00

Pinocchio is a lonely piece of wood.

He has been on many adventures. Here's one of them.

Once, Pinocchio was walking down the street and some guy tried to kidnap Pinocchio. Pinocchio said "I like your pants", which was a lie, and his nose grew and went through the guy's stomach. The guy died.

The next day Pinocchio met Girl-Pinocchio and they became friends and eventually they got married and had little Pinnochiettes. They were happy.

One day when they were coming back from the mall some guy jumped them. Then they were poor so Pinocchio had to work extra time as a towel rack to keep up with the rent.

Eventually they were both turned into lamp poles and chairs.

The End

Today I Bought a Poem for Five Bucks

2007-10-14T14:55:00.000-07:00

I walked past a young man on the street
with a hat
and I thought
"I'm wearing a hat too!"
Though this man on the street
Also
with a desk and a typewriter and a sign that said
POEMS
was bruised in his face, and mustached, and cold.

I didn't get a poem at first, because I needed to go find some hot dogs.
But then I got stuck at a traffic light and didn't want to wait to cross the street,
So back to the man with a hat and typewriter
I asked him to write me a poem.

It's About Hot Dogs:

flesh stick searching.
could they be in the
park, by the small wiener dogs?
could they be in the motor
shop with all the hot rods.
perhaps by the noodle stand
standing so tall.
in the buns or alone
some say they are clones.
really they could be
food for a king.
mighty and tasty to grill

or just cold.
The mighty wiener
shape of the future
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\the hot dog town.
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\good luck.

By Street Poet William Chrome (wC)

A PLAGUE ON ALL YOUR PUPILS

2007-10-05T10:58:00.000-07:00

Today and yesterday have proven themselves to be official “sick days.” I didn’t take off from work, and I myself am not feeling ill in any capacity. What has happened, it seems, is that many of the students have gotten sick by their own accord…or each others.

Yesterday in Acting class, I couldn’t help but notice one of my students with Pink Eye. I mean, there, watching me, learning from me, on the face of this pupil was an enlarged and rather pink Pink Eye. Other students in the class found it hard to improvise any scenes with him, out of fear that he was contagious and would too soon turn their eyes pink as well. I’d say he wasn’t rubbing his eye and then pretending to rub his hands all over other students, but he was.

Later in the day one of the seniors that came to audition for the musical said he had Mono. His eyes and face were already swollen, but he convinced himself to sing American Pie anyway.

And then today it was like an entire plague had been thrust upon this quaint and thriftless domain of private education. In another Drama class of 6th graders, a student was absent, having broken BOTH of his wrists horsing around in gym class. During first period the student I usually tutor one-on-one was completely bleached of color, her face a little blue (she still, however, managed to be quite argumentative when going over her Spanish homework. YES, “uno” is spelled “U-N-O” not “O-O-K-N-O-W”).

The student that followed found her nose just as stuffy, her throat just as sore, and I took it upon myself to Windex the desk we were using...three times in 40 minutes. Now I’m paranoid I’m doomed to get sick, if only from working in the same environment as all these sick people. One of my coworkers told me the NYU fencing team has been stricken with Mono (almost all of them have it) and that fencing practice has been reduced to sitting around complaining and using rapiers as toothpicks…which is probably how they all got Mono in the first place.

Only time will tell if I’ll soon succumb to this pestilence stinging my place of work. As for now, I’ll be consuming bihourly glasses of Airborny-Water and drinking hot glasses of Whiskyey-Tea in the hopes to avoid having any sick days of my own.

That Ridiculous Scavenger Hunt I Went on That I Forgot to Write About

2007-09-30T23:25:00.000-07:00

At 9:00am in early September, classes hadn’t officially started for the students of the school at which I’m working. However, on this day in early September, the entire sophomore class was dragged to school to compete with each other in a half-day scavenger hunt, free to run free in NYC with only me and one other English Teacher to "not lose them."

Unbeknownst to us as teachers, the students cared less about this daily activity than we did. They were far more interested in the fact that we were suddenly surrounded by Starbucks on every corner, and that they were out of dress code, and I think they pitied the dorks in red hats and khaki shorts that enthusiastically handed us our assignments.

The scavenger hunt proved to be more ridiculous than we had anticipated. The “main idea” or the “real motivation” for our students to schlep their tired selves around New York was this:
JOHN WILKES BOOTH WANTS TO TRAVEL BACK IN TIME TO KILL ABRAHAM LINCOLN BEFORE HE BECOMES PRESIDENT. YOU, AS EXPERT SCAVENGERS, MUST FIND ALL THE CLUES TO STOP HIM.

Finding out that our mission was to stop some time-traveling dead guy made my unenthused tenth-graders even less enthused. We didn’t exactly race to stop him, as much as we sulked, complained, and in the true vein of Wilkes Booth himself, even cheated when we ran into another group that didn’t care either. I think Abraham Lincoln was turning in his grave from our apathy.

Eventually, after cheating (or “forming an alliance against Mr. Booth”) we finished “finding” all of the clues, all of which involved numbers in some way and ultimately gave us a phone number we had to call. When we called the number a message said:
THIS IS JOHN WILKES BOOTH, AND YOU’VE STOPPED ME FROM TRAVELING THROUGH TIME! Now go meet up with your friends near the NYU library.

But why would we listen to an assassin? I mean, we did and everything, but why would we?

So next to the NYU library we went. I was uncomfortable knowing that Mr. Booth was Mr. Aware of my Alma Mater. I mean, what if he looked me up in the NYU directory? Or even worse, on Facebook?

In the end, my team and another team got the top two highest scores, and there needed to be a tie-breaker question. The students were asked, “When is Abraham Lincoln’s birthday?” These poor private school kids don’t get a week off to celebrate this great leader’s day of birth, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when they guessed “4/20.”

In fact, the only reason we ended up winning was because the other team guessed “5/20” and we, though obscenely wrong, were the closer ones.

As far as I'm concerned, no one won. Not even John Wilkes Booth, (and HE has Time Traveling capabilities.)

Nothing Beats Mallomars: Part I

2007-09-24T21:04:00.000-07:00

(Character A enters holding a box of "Mallomars" cookies, with the "mars" part clearly crossed off and the word "jews" written/taped over it. The box should say "Mallowjews.")

A: Tis the season for everyone's favorite kosher cookie!
(Character B reaches for a cookie, Character C hesitates)
C: Wait, what's Kosher mean again?
B: It means that these cookies don't have meat and cheese in them.
(Character C looks confused, grabs a cookie and studies it)
C: So they're not like those bacon cookies we had last week?
A: No, those were kosher because they didn't have any cheese in them. They only had bacon.
B: And I don't know if those were "bacon cookies" or if it was just "bacon" you were eating.
C: Well, looks like I'm going to be really rich for inventing the Bacon Cookie.
A: What will you call them?
C: Probably something like "Bacon Cookies."
B: Yeah, anythings better than my cookie name, "Mallowjews."
C: At least they're both kosher.

New Baseball Bat Law!

2007-09-20T09:24:00.000-07:00

As of September 2007, the New York City Council has enacted a law banning the use of non-wood bats.*

The Council declared that the use of non-wood bats poses an unacceptable risk of injury to children, particularly those who play competitive high school baseball.

Specifics of the Law:
• Who: Public or Private High School students ages 13-18 who play competitive baseball for their school team.
• What: A competitive baseball game means an organized game at which a certified umpire officiates in NYC.

* "Wood bat" means any baseball bat constructed exclusively of wood or any wood laminated or wood composite which is approved by major league baseball.

LESSON LEARNED: Wood bats hurt less when you hit people with them.

2007-08-21T22:44:00.000-07:00

My dad keeps recommending the "JSD Band" from the 70's.

I keep recommending ponies.

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

How I Hope to Meet Zach Braff and Why He and Rachel Would Be Best Best Friends

2007-07-30T22:02:00.000-07:00

I was watching Scrubs when I envisioned this Scenario. I apologize in advance for the language.

The Scene:
We are sitting in Central Park, waiting for NYC's Summerstaged Romeo and Juliet to begin. JACKIE took too long at the gym and ran late to the performance, sweaty, smelly, hungry, and irate. RACHEL is really excited to be there, and annoyed for my incompetence. ZACH BRAFF, totally incognito, sits on the other side of me probably with a friend or something on the other side of him.

RACHEL: Glad you made it.

JACKIE: (looking strait ahead) Me too.

RACHEL: Are you okay?

JACKIE: (still looking straight ahead) Yeah.

RACHEL: You seem kind of pissed.

JACKIE: What do you want, Rachel? I'm hot and I'm hungry and I probably smell like sweat and vomit from the gym, and Zach Braff is sitting next to me.

(ZACH BRAFF turns and looks in confused acknowledgment)

JACKIE: (to ZACH BRAFF) Garden State sucked.

ZACH BRAFF: Nuh-uh.

JACKIE: Did it even have a point?

ZACH BRAFF: Yeah, it -

JACKIE: Shut the fuck up.

ZACH BRAFF stops and is angry. There is a silence and everyone looks straight ahead.

ZACH BRAFF - You from Long Island or something?

JACKIE: Will you watch the fucking Shakespeare?

RACHEL: Yeah, Juliet just drank some poison and Romeo thinks she's dead and I want to know what happens.

JACKIE: Yeah.

ZACH BRAFF: Sorry.

JACKIE: Sorry won't put those two hours of valuable independent film watching time back in my hand, okay?

RACHEL: Dude, you're totally yelling at Zach Braff.

JACKIE: You're right. (To ZB) Sorry.

RACHEL: You think the gift of time would go in your hand?

JACKIE: Where else would it go?

(RACHEL Shrugs. ZB Shakes his head in disbelief with his friend sitting next to him. JACKIE screams at the stage.)

Jackie: No Juliet, put the dagger down! (She winces)

ZACH BRAFF: I understand why you smell like sweat...but why also vomit?

JACKIE: Shut it, Jersey Boy.

RACHEL: He's also a Northwestern Alum.

ZACH BRAFF:(to rachel) Oh, you go to Northwestern?

RACHEL: (excited/interested) Yeah, I hear you're also Jewish...

(conversation between RACHEL and ZACH BRAFF ensues briefly as all three are escorted from the theatre for being to loud.)

Fun With Letters!

2007-07-29T22:39:00.000-07:00

What's up with silent K? Who thought that would be a good idea? Knew? Try Ka-new. Which sounds like that boat, Canoe. That's write K, C wins this time. I mean, if we're going to add K's to everything, we mustn't discriminate. Along the lines of "knew," let's try "think." Ka-think? That's ka-right k-adder. K's everywhere! Keverywhere? Ka-genius!

I Would Have Done More Reading in College if My Textbooks had Bigger Print and More Pictures

2007-06-30T00:52:00.001-07:00

I'm just kidding, I learned a lot in school.
Though nothing distracts from learning better than big and little Rhinos!
Eep!

Spice Girls Miss Being Famous: Reuniting for World Tour

2007-06-29T09:57:00.000-07:00

In 7th grade, it seemed that the day hell froze would be the day the Spice Girls (All of them, including "Ginger") would get back together. Ladies and Gentlemen, that day has come.

Don't believe me? Click Here for Proof

Now that I'm not in middle school, I won't feel so embarrassed to "spice up my life" and "say I'll be there" when they perform in NYC this December.

No, wait. I'm still embarrassed.

As long as we're talking about adolescent memories, click here to see an old classic with a new twist.

MOVIE REVIEW FUN: Superbad

2007-06-27T05:12:00.000-07:00

The past few decades have been graced with high school coming-of-age movies like American Pie, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and The Breakfast Club. This summer welcome Superbad to the American Adolescent Debauchery Canon from the guys that brought you Knocked Up. The film features a cast of run-of-the-mill dweebs finding themselves in spectacular situations. It's the Dude Where's My Car of the new millennium, only a lot better, and less bad.

Not-so-cool-dudes Evan(Michael Cera), Seth(Jonah Hill), and Fogell(Christopher Mintze-Plasse) are totally stoked when they're invited to a party by an out-of-their-league-girl, but her expectations for them to bring the booze proove too high with their friend's new, shoddy, fake ID saying he's a 25 year-old Hawaiian with a one-name moniker, "McLovin". Things go awry in during the most honest of illegal-alcohol-purchase-performances, and we're introduced to two quirky/lazy police officers (played by Seth Rogan and SNL's Bill Hader). Charmed by McLovin's ability to hold his own, these two representatives of suburban law enforcement convince Fogell/McLovin to spend a large chunk of his evening running red lights, shooting guns, and drinking beer.

But while Fogell is playing games with cops, Seth and Evan are whisked to a party where they're forced to dance, forced to sing, and when our two favorite cops break up the place, they're forced to run to the fiesta of their initial intent: the one with the drunk girls that will
(hopefully) put any pocketed condoms and spermicidal lube to use. We've all been there, right?

It's the honesty of the cast that brings to life the quirky and
ultimately familiar humor in the script. In response to a girl's drunk exclamation that "she's so wet" a chagrined and intoxicated Evan replies "I learned that would happen in Health Class." Evan's straight-faced rambling character is certainly reminiscent of Michael Cera's former role on Arrested Development as "George Michael", and Fogell is brought to life in a breakout performance by Christopher Mintze-Plasse. Whereas films like Napoleon Dynamite and American Pie have launched gaggles of no-name-actors' careers, Superbad will do the
same.

We're taken by these characters because, in so many ways, a lot of us in our high-school-days were these characters. No one wanted to sit alone at the lunch table, bake a cake without a partner in homeconomics, or be constantly reminded of a most-embarrassing-elementary -school-moment. I'm sure we all questioned the necessity of our required elective courses, and/or the point of going to class when struck with a bad case of senioritis. Most
importantly, we all feared the big life-change of college transition, the new distances between close friends, and the thought of living with strangers. High School coming-of age-movies speak a language embedded with wafts of chalk and long-lost memories, or slice-of-life problems that today's teenagers want to see worked out. More reason as to why this movie is awesome.

Superbad is a high school movie without cheerleaders, band-campers, jocks, punks, mean girls, talent shows and drama geeks. In other movies, these social stereotypes are made out to be cliques of monsters, making high school a scary and worrisome place for a new student to try and fit in, or for a group of kids in detention pretending to get along. Though Superbad certainly tips its hat to other films in the American Adolescent Debauchery Canon, it's a lot of fun, a lot of good, and a lot things we'd never expect from a high school comedy. There's still the sex, raunch, vulgar language, and underage boozing, but nothing too bold or offensive. Superbad is "supergood" in its embrace of the "average" high schooler and, in a sense, it's audience.

Happy Summer!

2007-06-24T23:06:00.000-07:00

Summers in NYC mean…

1. My neighbors leave their windows open and blast New Age music. And sing along.
2. I close my windows and sit comfortably in air conditioning.
3. Children are out of school.
4. Children are playing outside my apartment.(I know this because SCREAMING LOUDLY = HAVING FUN!)
5. Fewer Naps.

This is like a logic proof. IF there are children screaming loudly in close proximity THEN they are having fun. I sleep less during the day. THEREFORE (the dotted triangle) I sleep less during the day WHEN children are having fun by the Law Of Disjunctive Inference or "LODI."

6. HUMIDITY HUMIDITY HUMIDITY.
7. Wearing sandals!
8. Regretting wearing sandals.
9. Skimpy clothes.
10. Feeling fat.
11. Flavored ice.
12. Roof parties.
13. Roof “accidents.”
14. Jump in sales for roof-fence-makers.
15. Blockbuster sequels.
16. National Increase in pirate jokes and Johnny Depp magazine covers.
17. Fruit Flies.
18. Traveling.
19. Subways Smell Worse.
20. Splurging cabs more often.
21. A new gym membership.

If you have anything else you’d like me to add to this list, let me know!

Absinthe is Now Legal in NYC

2007-06-19T18:33:00.001-07:00

If you don't believe me, read about it here and here.

Think About Public Transportation All the Time, Even When You Don’t Need to go Anywhere and/or have your own car/bus/van/plane/Giant Carrier Pigeon

2007-06-15T14:56:00.001-07:00

Not Obsessed with NYC Transit? Here’s Your Chance!

That’s right. Coming soon to your Ipod: Podcasts about subways and buses! This podcast, called “Transit Trax,” will feature the latest in NYC Subway news, including, but not limited to, service changes, weekly construction hot-spots, Metrocard specials, and who jumped. Intrigued? You bet.

No longer will Willams-bergers be able to say, “The L train is broken again. If only I had a Podcast that told me to expect these things!” Fear not hipsters and hipstresses, NYC is trying to make it as easy as possible to get this info in advance, (even though the L train is ALWAYS broken, and you should know that.)

But where can you learn about these magical tips and tools? The new TVs installed on the latest RI60 trains. For those of you that don’t know what the RI60 trains are, they look like every other train, only these have TVs in them. They were nothing too spectacular, just beautiful shiny screens with the usual subway jargon: “If you see something, say something” or “Don’t Run Down the Stairs” and, of course, “Look at how cool this N train is!”

Maybe this is old news and I’ve just been taking the wrong trains for the past few months. These videos of the new trains found on Youtube seem to think so.

I suppose it’s only a matter of time before more of these TVs show up, maybe even with sound and more advertisements. Maybe these new silent screens will revitalize the magic of silent movies, resurrecting a lost medium and leaving many New Yorkers cursing the inherent distraction of a moving image in a moving subway (a pick-pockets paradise). Surveys will record a record-breaking jump in the number of missed stops by passengers. Or maybe they’ll just continue to silently say, “If you see something, say something” and no one will really care all that much.

So now you can listen to podcasted news about NYC transit while you’re riding NYC Transit watching news about New York City Transit, in the hopes to eradicate poor travel decisions you'll be wishing you never made.

So let’s let public transportation consume our lives.

Next Stop? Wifi.

A Letter to Coca-Cola

2007-06-10T22:17:00.000-07:00

Dear Sir/Madam,

I am writing to compliment you on your product “Coca-Cola.” I also enjoy your product “Diet Coke.” If I could only drink “Coca-Cola” products, I would. I also drink a lot of tap water.

I love your soft drinks more than anything else on the market. Here are a few examples of this:

1. Everytime I ask for “Diet Coke” at a restaurant and a waiter says, “Is ‘Diet Pepsi’ okay?” I say “No.” Then I drink tap water.
2. I only have “Diet Coke” in my fridge.

This past year I was really upset when NYU banned your soft drinks from campus. I was like “Why am I paying you 30 grand a year to NOT drink what I like?” I know that the deliciousness of your product would not be the same without the cheap labor they were talking so much about. I just graduated though, so screw them, right?

Also, your commercials are the least annoying of all the soft drink ads they play in the movie theater. I do have to admit that those Fanta commercials are pretty catchy, though. And disorienting.

Anyway, I commend you on the consistent quality of your product “Coca-Cola.” (Your drink, “Diet Coke,” is also really good). I hope that you continue to make “Coca-Cola” so this way, I can continue to drink it.

Thanks, and keep up the good work!

Spirit Animal, Remove My Hangover

2007-06-09T16:28:00.000-07:00

I have a Shaman acquaintance. Today, I also have a hangover. I guess my acquaintance is really a Shaman-in-training-acquaintance that I get to see maybe once every two years. His friend, (also a Shaman) is the one that got my acquaintance friend into it, and I think his existence merits a TV show.

Here’s the Pitch:
“Isaac the Red-Haired Shaman” would fit in perfect on NBC’s Wednesday evenings. It can be placed right in between two shows that are better, forcing people to watch it. Isaac, is in fact, a red-haired Shaman. He wears tree branches wrapped around his clothes (he really did this in person), he holds crystals to his forehead to remove headaches and other ailments (this was really done too) and he is a self-proclaimed Shaman. And his hair is dyed red (Way to be “one with nature” Isaac).

Script Exerpt:
FRIEND:
Hey Isaac, what are you doing today?

(Isaac is sitting and reading, he is wrapped in tree branches.)

ISAAC:
Shamanism.

NARRATOR:
Next week on “Isaac the Red-Haired Shaman”….

(ISAAC and FRIEND are in a subway car. They are holding crystals to their foreheads.)

FRIEND:
Spirit Animal, remove my hangover. (He waits a few seconds) It’s not working!

ISAAC:
Let me try. (takes Crystal from FRIEND). Spirit Animal, remove my
hangover! (Waits a few seconds and stops to look at the Crystal). Hmm, must be
broken.

Home-Ec Project of the Future

2007-06-08T19:53:00.001-07:00

Robot Babies Soon to Outsource Cradled Eggs
For a Good Time, Click Above

Despite the Lack of Fruit In My Apartment There Are Fruit Flies

2007-06-08T07:21:00.000-07:00

New York City wildlife always irks me a little. Though minimal, it more often than not takes the form of vermin – ants, rats, roaches, fruit flies, roommates, etc. I’ve been fortunate to have few run-ins with these pests thanks to bi-weekly floor bleaches and compulsive dishwashing. I don’t know what these fruit flies are after, but I’d imagine they would have realized by now there is no fruit in my apartment. Or, there is, but it’s in the fridge and, well , out of their reach.

Insured for the next four months, I was supposed to go take advantage of some sort of free gym membership Oxford offers. Instead I’m sitting by my sunny window (not too sunny) with a cool glass of water (not too cool) with my super charged computer (only about halfway).

There are so many things I enjoy doing that I could be doing right now. In fact, an adventure to Coney Island crossed my mind, considering that I’ve never been and it’s rumored to close soon. Instead I’ll be booking dentist appointments, tickets to Tokyo, and finishing a stuttery monologue for some sort of showcase. A-typical afternoon?

Launch - Blog 2007

2007-06-06T20:02:00.000-07:00

I am bored.

I could have gone to the stand up comedy show around the corner from my place, but no. It’s much more fun to get drunk by yourself and write about it.

“Starting a blog” sounds like a great title to a song in a musical. It’s also what I’m doing. This kind of reminds me of when, in high school, people used to post their feelings on Xanga.

Now everyone I know posts their feelings on facebook. But really, the only way to appear cool on facebook is to not use your account at all and just let other people post pictures of you, write on your wall, and essentially write about your feelings for you. “Hey, we had a great time last night” or “You sure look like you’re having fun in this picture” or “Hope you feel better about that dead thing.” Everyone knows what you’re feeling and you didn’t even have to say anything about it. Slick. Real Slick.

But I am not cool, because I use my Facebook account everyday.

So now I have a blog. It’s in response to various emails about why I didn’t have one and felt it necessary to email people long-winded thoughts I had about things they may not have otherwise cared about. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is my first solo step into cyberspace. Sort of.