Breaking News: Big Pile of Snow Super Fucking Big

NYC--People have been paralyzed by the recent blizzard in NYC; they can't go to work, they can't buy shit at hard to reach locations like TriBeca--they can barely leave their apartments.

Dominating the streets are intolerably larger than average piles of snow, some have even mentioned piles of snow which are "super fucking big." The following have been sited: steps with snow, streets with snow, cars covered in snow, trees in the snow, tops of trees covered by snow, awnings with snow, doorways with large snow piles outside, windowsills with snow, benches in snow....the list could go on, and no one is pleased.

"I went outside my apartment," said Donna Wright, "and there was just snow. And it was everywhere." Initially unprepared for the shocking conclusion to the previous night's blizzard, Ms. Wright found comfort on the local news: "I turned on my TV and the weather man was like, "Here is the snow. You can also find it here." I was particularly relieved when he showed me different piles of snow, which he pointed out by saying, 'Look, snow,' and I thought, 'You're right.'"

Further reports indicate that these piles of snow are "fucking everywhere."

Dear Bruno Mars,

Dear Bruno,


I think we all need to relax here. Maybe take a breath and reassess the situation because, to be honest, I think you're getting a little carried away.

In the beginning of the song when you say, "Your eyes were open. Why were they open?" Maybe people like kissing with their eyes open, why do you get to decide? Stop being so critical.

To continue, I see the following situations as problematic and also fucking weird:

1. I'd catch a grenade for ya
2. Throw my hand on a blade for ya
3. Jump in front of a train for ya
4. I would die for you but you won't do the same.

This girl probably just wanted to go out to dinner and you were like, "I will fucking cut myself for you," she accurately read the situation, and left. Do actually envision someone propositioning, "Look, I'd love to be with you but first I want you to catch this explosive, cut yourself up--pretty badly--and then jump in front of a train, preferably the downtown 6."

Ok, so we have that problem and then this: "I would die for you but you won't do the same." Um, hi, Bruno, this is NOT a cult. I feel like your new message is "You're perfect just the way you are but unless your ready to die, this is not for me," and I'm not really feeling great about that.

There has got to be a way

Jonathon Franzen and I are likely soul mates. Once, when I was at The Paris Review, he called and said, "Hello, this is Jonathon Franzen" and I said, "Hi, one moment please." It was awesome. Anyway, in his recent interview with The Paris Review he describes discovering Don DeLillo (who is the best), "I'd finally found somebody who was putting on the page the apocalyptic, postindustrial urban aesthetic that I'd been looking for in film and photographs and had found expressed in music, particularly by the Talking Heads."

This has been my favorite song of ALL time, since middle school:

Love, The Clarks

I'm guessing your first reaction was, "Wow, how fucking pensive are these kids?" I guess that's what we were going for. This is a picture from an old family Christmas card we sent out.  I think it says, "Hi, Merry Christmas, I'm looking into you SOUL." I've always been deep--especially when in black and white. Last year,  we sent out a sarcastic card that said "Oh, Happy New Year." I'm not sure it translated well. The 30 rock Christmas special perfectly captured the card aspect with this conversation: Jack: What Christmas card did we send? Avery: "Happy Holidays" is what terrorists say. Merry Christmas, Avery and Jack. 

Whenever people send out cards they always have "sincerely" printed before their names and then the cross it out and write "love." Why don't you just start out with "Love, The Clarks." I'm never convinced by the re-write and I will not be manipulated especially on Christmas. 

The great thing about cards is that they give you an opportunity for unequivocal judgment. Obviously the situation truly presents itself when people include self-congratulatory epics. Sometimes, if you are super observant, you can pick apart the whole card, which is really just a mosaic of euphemisms.  Other times, they are not fucking around: "Oh yes, Charles just graduated from this really prestigious school your kid didn't get into. We are still super fucking rich. Like really, really rich. Little Sue just graduated from medical school. She hasn't cured AIDS yet (HAHAHA) but she has been working with orphans in Africa. Follow her journey at helping-poor-kids-is-what-i-love-doing-what-are-you-doing?.blogspot.com" 

Happy Holidays

I'm sorry I didn't post on Saturday. I'm a liar, what do you want from me? ITS A BLOG, SORRY. I've started going to "work" during the day. It's been a revolutionary experience but I haven't quite figured out the blogging aspect yet. Anyway.

It's that time of the year: I think you know what I'm talking about. It's the holiday season and don't you dare say "Christmas," because you don't know what jews are going to say, "Um excuse me. I don't celebrate Christmas. Don't you force your Christian ideologies on me with this "Merry" "Happy" bullshit." You have to be super careful, even when you're part jewish which I am.

A good example of this is Secret Santas. We used to have secret santa when I was in middle school and then my super white preppy school decided that believing in Santa wasn't quite delusional enough so we switched over to believing in our non-existant diversity scheme with "Kwaharamas Mammas". Yup: Kwanaza-Hannukah-Ramadan-Christmas. We even sang, "We wish you a happy Christmas" switching in Kwanza, Ramadan, and Hannukah. Maybe I'm incredibly ignorant, but don't people fast on Ramadan. Hey! Have fun being starving! Yah! Happy Hunger! You'll love it! It's great! Jesus did it too, but he was in the desert and THE DEVIL was there. It was a worst case scenario, hopefully that doesn't happen to you. We'll just celebrate his birthday, and that semi-shared element, with this song here.

I will be back on Saturday

I promise.

Holy Ghost!

I can't take credit for this song--not that I ever "discover" bands. It comes from elsewhere.  Anyway! Here you go, it's great.

Good luck!

My friend is studying for the GREs right now, and it reminded me of my highly successful GRE experience. The problem with taking any test that has vocab is that you have to make flashcards. Because, once you've made one million flashcards, it's kind of like, "Okay, I'm done." Sometimes this happens with printing stuff out too. I was creating part of a website and someone sent me a bunch of material, so I printed that shit out--I even did 2 per page--and then I looked at it for a bit.

Nothing makes me feel more successful or organized than buying stuff. Like before middle school started, I would go to Staples and go wild. "Did you get a three ring binder?" "Fuck yeah, I got those sweet folders too. I can only imagine that I'm incredibly prepared to learn."

Academically speaking, there is one thing that tops supplies in terms of reflecting absolutely nothing. Have you ever been in the library studying, or writing a paper, and someone else finishes before you and they go, "Good luck." "Good luck with your paper!" What does this even mean? You know what. I don't need luck. I don't need luck because I'm so very smart and do you see this folder system I have going, as well as this multi-color highlighter pack and post-its? I'm thinking my chances for an A are pretty good.

Go, go, go, go

Sometimes when I'm driving in the car with my Dad and we're stuck in traffic, he'll say, "Go, go,go, go" kind of sort of quietly. Like, you know what these cars need? They need encouragement. I do this too--talking to non-responsive entities--but I usually ask questions. Maybe it's my fact-checking background, who knows, but a car will cut me off or the light will change, and I'll say, "Are you kidding me?" as if God is going to pop down and say, " HaHaHa! YES! I've just been fucking with you YOUR WHOLE LIFE."

People love provoking inanimate objects. Like if you're waiting for the subway and it refuses to come, people start looking down the tracks, as if the train is a fucking dragon and only responds to temptation. So this will happen, and then everyone immediately starts to justify their actions, "Where is the train?" "It should really be here by now." When what they really mean is, "Did you see me just now? I was acting with a purpose. When I looked down the tracks, that was motivated. It was motivated by both a curiosity and an annoyance. That's why I did it. "

I just wanna dance

You know when you hear a song for the first time and you go insane, and you listen to it on repeat, and you play it for everyone, and you ALMOST kill it, but like you can't kill it because it's just so good. That's how I feel about Rihanna's new song. ( FYI The sound quality isn't that amazing anywhere on youtube, sorry about that). IT'S THE WEEKEND!

Sorry to bother you again

An old New Yorker cartoon titled "Low Self-Esteem," by Mike Twombly, shows a man writing in a notebook, "Dear Diary, sorry to bother you again." I remember thinking this was one of the funniest comics I had ever seen. Sure, I might feel bad about myself sometimes but I could still write in my diary about how my greatness was suffering at the hands of others and, on the plus side, no one could condemn my solipsism. Then I started blogging.

When blogs first started I was steadfastly opposed: Why does anyone want to read about your personal life? Twombly's comic now becomes, "Dear Readers, sorry to bother you again." And now, of course, I have to ask you to: Please read while I continue to write about myself, don't stop, and then write about myself writing about myself. One comic said blogging was like video tapping yourself masturbating in front of a mirror and then masturbating to the tape. He was probably right, or he just loves masturbating. We'll never know.

In this week's Time, Joel Stein discusses "How my self-obsessed writing changed journalism." He argues that while initially his first person narrative style was rejected, now, "all bloggers write in first person, spending hours each day chronicling their anger at their kids for taking away their free time. Every Facebook update and tweet is sophomoric, solipsistic, snarky and other words I've learned by Googling myself." WE DO NOT. We do.

Every time I blog, I write about myself, I mention how fucking annoying everyone else is, I use curse words, I inundate the internet with sarcasm. I've been told that I write exactly as I speak. This is true--except that I write how I speak to my friends; not my grandparents, not all of the people that can't stop hiring me for a well paid job. You jump right to casual conversation. I'll speak with someone I don't know very well and I'll mention my mother, or my dogs, or something else incredibly interesting, and they'll go, "Oh, I feel like I know exactly who you're talking about." Or I'll tell a story and realize I've already blogged about, and I start to worry whether or not I have anything to contribute outside of "Living with my parents is cool."

I think blogging is both self-indulgent and self-effacing. Yes, you're writing "Me, me, me" but, at the same time, you aren't necessarily watching yourself do it. I started writing my blog the morning after my mother and I got in a fight. I was upset about not getting a job (again) and frustrated that I was living at home as all my other friends moved out and had real "grown up lives." As I sat there feeling sorry for myself, she said, "Why don't you just write about it." So my blog started out of a desperation and out of a desire for structure and commitment. When you write a blog, and when you convince yourself people just might be reading, you are creating unacknowledged accountability.

In some ways, you give all of yourself out to people you may not know. You break down every wall and "get intimate" pretty quickly. I might not blog about my riveting and multifarious love life (probably bc I don't have one...), but I do share a lot about my family, my devastating job search, and other things I might not use to pick up guys. I like knowing that I need to blog on Mondays or find a music video on Fridays. I feel dedicated to something, since I can't be dedicated to getting to work early. Another blog once denigrated my blog (BLOG WARS: the wars with the least consequence in the world), saying I was just trying to get a TV show or a book deal, and that this was a sorry attempt to function in the real world. Actually, for me (me!me!me!), I blog because I love writing and, since there hasn't been an occupational opportunity, this is what I do.

I think blogging provides structure for writers who might otherwise stop. A lot of times, it's a self-indulgent, self-promotional activity. I'll be the first to admit that I try to be funny in my posts, they're not an attempt at in depth political or social analysis. They're just me. Blogging makes you vulnerable, critical, and moronic all at once.

Anyway, I just wanted to provide my take (or defense?) of blogs. If you've made it all the way down to this last line I'm impressed. I probably would have stopped reading once I realized this was going to be pretty long. So, dear readers, I am SO UNBELIEVABLY SORRY to bother you again. Get ready to groove on Friday.

DECEIT

I was in a bar the other night with my friend and her boyfriend (tricycling is my new favorite activity) and we saw some people outside trying to get in. I could only guess that they were exactly 21 and from Delaware. I knew this because not only am I intuitive but I used to do the same thing. When I was in seventh or eighth grade (thank you, NYC childhood) we would try to get into places with our awesome IDs. It usually didn't work. We could have taken an index card and written "I so totally promise I'm 21," and it would have been better.

Whenever we went on these ventures we would tell our parents we were going to the movies. I don't know if we suggested we were catching a double header, but the movies times were completely incongruous with the time we spent out, making it the worst case scenario for lying. Not to mention the fact that we always got caught. I would come home, tell the worst lie ever, and my mom would be like, "No," then I would cave and she would say, "I hate DECEIT," which moves her vocal disappointment from a scene in the OC to Harry Potter and the Prisoners of Azkaban.

It turns out that I'm best at lying when I've been overserved. After some reckless bartender has really forced the issue, my levels of passion are exponentiated. I don't mean that I feel more physically compelled, I mean I use the word "love" like A LOT more. Why? How weird is that? I'll have no problem being like, "I'm in love with you." I need a shirt that says, "Don't get in my path or I'll open my heart."

It's a family affair

I hope everyone had an excellent Thanksgiving. You know how some people will get a piece of pie or a ton of turkey and they go "OMG I will like never be able to finish it" and, let'' be honest, the piece isn't that big and--here's the real shocker--they actually don't finish it. Maybe they're displaying "self-control" or don't feel the same sense of dedication to their plate I do, but either way they don't finish it. It's beyond me.


I had two Thanksgivings this year and full meals at lunch and dinner. I felt particularly bad for my sister who is in Scotland and got the phone pass out of control. Anyway, it was truly a "family affair," and if you don't like Sly and the Family Stone I hope you change your mind (bc they are SO good).

PIAMBF: Symphonies

I am abiding by the code

Pick a public space, probably any public space, but one where people are generally quiet. Like I once worked in an office where all the desks were in one big loft. This meant that, for the most part, people talked quietly--especially when I say "worked" and I mean "interned" so I was not going to break the silence.

Have you ever been in one of these places and then someone else breaks the literally unspoken rule to shut the fuck up and not talk across the space? Like when I was working in the quiet room someone spoke to me in a normal and loud voice, and I kind of whispered back, thinking "Umm hello, why are you talking in that normal voice?!" and then she responded (outloud) "WHY are you whispering?" Because I am abiding by the code, which you refuse to respect.

This usually happens in a subway car. You'll be sitting diagonally from someone you got on the train with since there weren't enough seats, and then they'll talk across the space and laugh or joke or do something else dumb. You don't want to respond because since you're so considerate but you have to.

This happened to be recently on the subway, when I ran into someone I made out with in like seventh grade but haven't seen since. It was go-to-work time in the morning--something I can't generally relate to--and he said, "Hi, are you on your way to work?" and I was like, "No, I'm just watching everyone else go."

PS: Last post I decided to see what it was like not cursing. I feel like it was an ineffectual and disappointing experiment.

Their right side is in mint condition

I was talking with someone this weekend and he said "that's a double-edged sword." I can't remember what I said that prompted that response, but I'm relatively good at putting myself in those situations. Anyway it brought up a much more important thought: Aren't most swords double-edged?

I don't see attacking your opponent from the left side only to be an effective method. I've never watched a crazy Law & Order where the person is like, "They were killed by a single-edged sword, typical. You can tell because while their left side looks terrible, their right side is in mint condition."

Like if you were going into a battle and someone said, "Here, take a sword. Do you want this one with two sharp sides or this other sword that can only cut one way?" Who would say, "You know what, I don't want to deceive my enemy. I want them to know that when swing from this side I will cut them up, but when it's the other direction it will just be more of a tap, or thwack."

Young Love

Of course the song isn't nearly as honest as Cat Stevens  but it's excellent nevertheless.

You know what, I'll take the melody

Do you remember the prom scene in She's All That? Everyone is hanging around dancing and then all of the sudden this one song comes on and BAM they are doing this boys vs. girls choreographed dance? It comes out of nowhere; it's totally unexpected. Everyone was like, "OMG how weird was that?" That's how I feel about musicals all the time.

I have a serious problem with suspension of reality commitments. Like in musicals, everyone is walking around and then all of the sudden in the fucking town square or school gym everyone is singing. Or--even worse--two people will be talking and someone will break into song. Why is everyone okay with this? If I were trapped in a musical I would be like, "Hold on, what THE FUCK is going on?" How come this never happens? Everyone is way too complacent; they just go along with it like, "okay, you know what, if you're going to sing, I'm going to sing too. You know what, I'll take the melody."

I've watched Glee a couple times but I can't get past the singing part. Obviously this causes some issues. Once I was on the subway and someone just started singing a hymn. I don't mean a homeless person (or that blind man that miraculously navigates the entire train system as if he just saw Jesus and is set to go) I mean a completely random person. It was a worst case scenario. I just wanted to be like, "Excuse me sir, can you stop. Amen"

I just want to be honest here

I was driving into NYC with my friend the other day and we got pulled over by a cop. Here's what I don't understand: When you get pulled over, the first thing they ask is "Do you know why we pulled you over" Do I know? Do you know? Who's job is this here?  Umm I'm sorry isn't this your job? If I call people for work I do not go "Hello, do you know why I'm calling? It may seem like I'm taking the initiative but I'm going to go ahead and put the ball in your court." What are you supposed to say? "Yes, officer I was speeding. I saw speed limit and said " Absolutely not. You cannot control me." Also, since you asked I have some weed in the car, was that it? I just want to be honest here and give you all the facts. 


So they ask you why you were pulled over and then they proceed to ask you how fast you were going too as if their only job is literally to drive around. Oh you're a traffic cop what do you do? You know, I get this sweet outfit and then I pull just pull people over and see what they think. It's more of a thought process but I've gotten good at asking really pointed questions. 


Once, when I was driving with a friend, we were going through a residential area at, I don't know, 7mph and this cop literally waves us down with his hands. We think maybe he's just say hey, whats up FALSE. We got a speeding ticket. I'm just going to go ahead here and make a leap here: If you can slow down the car with your hands, they are not speeding. 

Dancing with the DJ

I am OBSESSED with this band. I've posted about them before. I just think they're fucking awesome.



This is because I missed PIAMBF.

You are fooling no one

I hope everyone had a good Halloween. I'm sorry I haven't posted all week. The truth is that I was spending so much time planning and creating my costume that it was nearly impossible to be creative in any other venue. I forgot that parents like dressing up on Halloween too. Why are they doing this? Your costume tricks no one. I know, from my past experiences, that you are not the "grim reaper" nor are you a "ballerina." Even though your child was a ghost, and this might be confusing, I was able to step back and say, "No, I don't believe you. You're just wearing costume."   


Also, people seem to have no problem being different ethnicities for Halloween. Like, people will be Chinese for Halloween. They just put on the most racist or stereotypical outfit they can find and "like, a lot of eyeliner." Or, and I've seen this a bunch at my white parties with all my white friends, people are "ghetto"  for halloween. They put on hoop earrings and BAM they're gangster/ ghetto. Like they are literally black for halloween. 


On the cover of Time recently (or maybe Newsweek? ) There was  white woman surrounded by Indian children and she was wearing sari. Why? Just because you've been to India, and undoubtedly read Eat, Pray, Love--or at least seen the movie and been like totally inspired--does not mean you are from India. You are fooling no one. 

I'm nurturing my mind and thinking long term

Whenever I don't have anything to do I usually go to Barnes and Noble. I'll think oh know where's the day going? Then I'll hit up B&N, as I call it, and feel like I got some serious shit done. Buying book feels exponentially more productive because it says, "I am nurturing my mind and thinking long term,"  and when you carry it around (cover out--either in your hand or in the pocket of your leather messenger back and/or cardigan) people will fucking notice. 

Let me point out that if the cover references the book's movie remake, this does not count. Like if Kiera Knightley's underbite is dominating  you shouldn't buy it. Or, and be careful because they are getting way too tricky about this, if the book is published as a "Barnes and Noble Classic."  I cannot stand this. I want a cover that says, "Hey, you're special and you get the cover because you're reading the book. It's very subtle but you're in!" I don't want it branded like a fucking cow.

I decided to go to B&N this weekend with S because I really wanted the new book True Prep; a remake of The Official Preppy Handbook, which came out in the '80s. So we went downstairs to ask where it was at the information desk. Let me just add that wwe were on the Upper East Side it's not exactly "shocking" that our pearls were in. So anyway, we go up to the desk and the two people working there were probably never copied on Gossip Girl, they've probably never even seen it**, if you know what I mean. *** Here's our conversation:

Me: Do you have the new preppy handbook? 

Bitch: The WHAT?

Me: The preppy handbook.

Bitch 2: I think all the preppy books are upstairs. 

Bitch: Ya try the dog section. 

THIS IS TRUE. It's ridiculous. I mean come ON we have dog walkers. 

*(Atonement, Never Let Me Go, Pride and Prejudice,  HOLY SHIT SHE IS FUCKING EVERYWHERE ) **Ugh!! ***EEW!

Don't stop

Ok, to be honest, I have no idea what the fuck is going on in this video. It's completely ridiculous (what is she wearing? who are these people? There is no logic). But if you can just listen to the song (I would maybe even consider turning away) it's pretty hot. 

and I'M SORRY I've been on hiatus. I will return on Monday. 

CAN YOU HEAR ME?

You know some of my thoughts  about the elevator,  but I think its time for new reflections. Have you ever been in the elevator--obviously its very crowded--and someone's phone starts ringing. Of course, they have no idea where they put it in their sweet cargo pants so they start patting themselves down like a tan white person going through security at the airport. 

Then when they find it they pick it up and  instead of turning the sound off, they stare at the screen for an unknown reason, and then they do do this: they say, "Hey! I'm in the elevator! CAN YOU HEAR ME?" 

Hey, I can hear you. Oh, yes, its me in the elevator with you. When you considered not answering, or even just turning the sound off, but didn't want me to miss out, you guessed accurately: I'm very invested in your personal life. Not only is it more interesting than mine but also , told extra loud, it sounds a lot more fun too. I will take note. 

I didn't have Sprint so I couldn't reach you

Here's a moderately embarrassing confession: I love reading "missed connections" on craigslist. The thing is that some of the missed connections posts are out of control. For example, "You had cum all over you." That's the subject line. Can you imagine someone seeing that and being like, "Oh yes! That was me! You found me! Thank goodness!" Another one had "To the girl drawing me on the 6 train" and then the actual post started with "I did notice that you were drawing me."

Being a romantic, I'm fairly convinced the Sprint "any second could be the second" ad, where the guy sees the girl on the other train and changes his ticket, is probably going to happen to me.

That's why it's important for me to checked missed connections because there's probably someone who was like "Hey, I saw you yesterday. I looked at you sitting in the train and I saw my future flash before me but in this really cool backwards sequence but I didn't have Sprint so I couldn't reach you." And I'm like, Don't worry, I'm looking for love online so that's perfect.

Pretend-I'm-A-Music-Blog-Friday Returns!

In case you were starting to doubt Pretend-I'm-a-Music-Blog-Fridays:
*Give it a little time to start. There is a fake news broadcast in the beginning. Woowee



Not only is the video sweet, but the song is too. I was going to put the title here; but, if I do, more people looking for porn will come to the blog. AND IT IS NOT MY FAULT. My blog came up when someone from Sudan searched "fucking beach,"clearly they've had enough of the sand. OR, since the rainforest isn't going to happen, are ready to put it to good use.

Can I have some?

Mmm, french toast. Can I have some?

"I run down the center stairway toward the sweet smell of Canadian maple syrup. The crisp bacon sizzling, the hash browns roasting. There’s French toast sprinkled with sugar and globby eggs being squished and squashed to be scrambled. All these wonderful sounds and smells make my mouth water and my nose twitch."


This quotation was taken from today's NY Post article, "Is your school out to lunch?" I am absolutely devastated that I can't find the accompanying picture online and I'm really sorry to put down the 5th grader who wrote it, but it has to happen. You know that scene in A Christmas Story when the mom goes "Who's my little piggy? Who's my little piggy?" Yup, like that. The picture is up close of this rather corpulent young girl drizzling syrup over a jenga game of french toast. We can only assume this is her second serving. 


The first person account goes on to add, "I’m worried too many New Yorkers will read this and steal our food! What will happen to us then?" WHO WILL FEED ME? And even worse dilemma arrives when you get breakfast for lunch: "Now, I want to ask myself: If breakfast is lunch and lunch is dinner and dinner is breakfast, where does dessert belong?" AAAH OH NO! HOW WILL WE GET DESSERT?! HOW THE FUCK WILL WE GET DESSERT?!! WE NEED IT! What will I do without dessert? If french toast counts then I'm fucking pissed. No, really, I am, because it shouldn't. 


Isn't there anything we can do to help this poor child?!! 


"low fat chocolate milk and ice cream!" Does low fat count? Could we put the ice-cream in between a bagel? If so, would it melt? How about ice-cream cake? Fuck it, ice-cream cake pizza. 

There's this really cute new place in the village!

Recently I wanted to see a friend I hadn't seen in awhile; I wasn't arriving in Boston until fourish so I asked if he wanted to "get a coffee." Then when I saw him he was like "What the fuck was up with the 'coffee' stuff?" He was drinking a beer.

He was right. The only really legit time to "grab a coffee" is in the morning because if I have a coffee at four I will be fucking wired for the rest of the night and will probably not sleep. The thing is "Wanna grab a vodka tonic at four" sounds pretty aggressive. Note: the "grab" verb is really important. Whatever the time of the day I wouldn't dispense with it. I've never heard someone say "Would you like to sit down and drink a coffee with me today?" It has to be transient, and also very quick.

I feel like coffee falls under this excellent new term my friends and I developed: "sobering." It's not like when something really horrific happens and it has a "sobering effect," it's like when you would absolutely hook up with someone after a couple of beers and then they ask you if you want to go out to dinner the next night. You would say, "He sobered me." (Unfortunately, he did not "have sex" with me).

Apparently, the only time dudes go to brunch is if there's either a)a quasi-sobering effect or b) a courtesy, because they aren't going to "get brunch" on their own. Guys are never like, "OMG , hey man, what are you up to? Last night was the best! Do you wanna get brunch? There's this really cute new place in the village! We should try it!"

Conviction by numbers

Over the weekend I ran a half-marathon in Boston. There is nothing which makes you feel more "just like an number" than actually being a fucking number and starting a race surrounded by thousands of people, who will then proceed to fart, spit, and dump their water on you. And, since I don't listen to music when I run, I heard everything. The guy running and farting who thought no one could hear him? Yup, I did. I knew it was him. And I looked at him so he knew I knew, but I don't think he was even aware it was happening. Runners are the worst.

The most important part of the race is OBVIOUSLY the gear. So first there's like what you are actually going to wear to the race. I don't even mean what's comfortable, I mean how are you going to signal to other runners that you know what's up with the race: you shop at Super Runners and not Nike because you aren't fucking around. Athletic apparel with a number(s) on it, which do not actually reference your specific number from a previous athletic event but is going for more of a trendy feel, won't cut it. For example, Old Navy shorts with "27 American Football" does not count.

And then there's the actual event gear. Beyond important. This is key because it will signal to people/ future competitors that you race. You don't run "for fun," you run because winning is fun. (The fact that you are not from Kenya will inevitably work against this and should prompt you to buy gear from races you don't run ---just for conviction by numbers).

Oh my god, look how she does the macarena

Ha! Weren't expecting that were you! Do you remember the Macarena from middle school dances? The song would come on and everyone went crazy. There was the standard way to do it but also the slutty way. Like we would stand and look at someone and go, "Oh my god look how she does the macarena."

I can't add anything

I can't beat this article about Mallomars by Ralph Gardner in today's WSJ.It's amazing. Here's just one pull quote: "instead of being happy for him and his fiancee, I was secretly envious that he had access to fresher cookies than I did, probably straight from the factory."

See question 9

Last night I went to an excellent dance performance where they handed everyone an audience questionnaire. Luckily on the top it assured that "No information will be linked to you personally" in case we were worried BAM was code for Dharma Initiative.

I had no choice but to look and I'm glad I did. The very best question was # 9 : What type of experience do you typically look for when you attend a live performance (Please check all that apply). I'm just going to give you the best ones

-Affordable: Are you poor? We won't like that. If so, please stop filling out the survey now, as your answers are of no use to us and, in general, we do not care.

-Countercultural: I only see things that look weird and different. If a group of my friends are going somewhere and they ask me to come, I say "No." I do this because I'm different. Did you see my outfit? It should be clear.

-Exclusive: Have you seen Gossip Girl? Like that.

-Star-Studded: Yes, I would like my live performances like a constellation or like the Upper West Side on Hanukkah.

The next questions asked if we went to the Public Theater, my friend wrote "??! see question 9 re exclusivity."

There was no "leisurely pace"

As soon as Brooklyn got sweet, so did biking. I don't mean like biking around the park, I mean biking to work, or around NYC, in your cool outfit.

When I was at Oxford people biked everywhere, so naturally I got a bike because I wanted to fit in. I wanted to bike on the wrong side of the road and feel cool about it. You know what? Not fun. It sounds like a good idea but it is not. First off, I can't not bike as fast as possible--there was no "leisurely pace". When I got on that bike I was not fucking around. Whether or not I had to be somewhere soon was completely irrelevant. I was going to fucking race to my destination: anyone who was next to me was not a friend, they were my enemy, and they were going to lose. 

The problem with riding a bike is that it's impossible to dress properly. I would start out feeling fucking awesome about my outfit and then by the time I reached my tutorial--in record time--I was sweating and completely disheveled. What are you supposed to wear? There is really only a five minute period where you are actually hot, but it is really hot.

Speaking of hot: I was in Nantucket for the 4th of July this summer and my friend suggested a group of us bike to the beach. It sounds fucking awesome. It sounds like we're about to take a scene from Now and Then and be best friends forever. We are not. 

People love Pizza. They don't love math.

I was innocently watching TV over the weekend, when this ad came on. It's true, this is a real ad and it glorifies other ads that really concerned me.  Let me just re-quote, even though you just watched it, Pizza Hut now promises no more "confusing deals, or math problems." I'm sorry: am I missing something? At what point were deals on food complicated math? I can only assume they're referring to a mind boggling two-for- one deal or, even worse, buy-this  get-that bullshit. Or "super sizing," which might lead the inquistive  mind/fat fuck to question just how super is super? Is it super enough? Thank you Pizza Hut I was worried that, when I wanted to stuff my face, I might be led astray. Fuck math, feed me. 

I'm going rococo

I feel like my recent music posts have had no sluts. And considering the number of music posts it seem disproportionate. In order to apologize here is a hot music video and an excellent song.

The Printed Blog

I'm now part of The Printed Blog network. The Printed Blog is a weekly print subscription magazine composed of blog posts and online content. It's pretty sweet.

If you like my post(s) click the vote link that's now up. The more votes a blog gets the more quickly an editor will review it.

If you don't like my posts then fuck off and vote anyway. There's no need to be judgemental--it's a blog. Relax.

Is that the one where she kills herself in the end?

My family has a Netflix subscription and my mother picks out the movies. This means we watch a lot of English stuff--anglophilia pervades. Recently, Netflix redid their website so you can no longer see what your friends are watching (this has been moved to facebook). My mother was not pleased and she called customer service. It was one of the best conversations I've ever heard. She proceeded to tell the woman on the other line that she was "not her friend" and "couldn't tell her what to watch."

We usually watch the movies at different times, so frequently my father has seen something before I have but he'll watch it again when I do. He is big into narrative warnings. Like when something really bad or scary is about to happen he'll say, "Here we go." Thanks dad. It's like when I started reading a book for my senior project in high school and he said, "Oh is that the one where she kills herself in the end?" Yes, thank you.

My problem with movies, in general, is that I'm really bad at dealing with the characters stupid decisions. Like in the original Narnia movies I was so fucking annoyed when they went back into the wardrobe. All I could think was "DO NOT GO." You fucking know what is going to happen; you're about to enter a super cracked out christian allegory, this will not be a surprise, and then you are going to spend the rest of the movie trying to leave. Don't do it.

That said, I've never been one to yell at the TV. You know why? Because I fucking know they can't hear me. It's true. I'll watch something and I'll want to reach out, but I have great people skills and natural intuition. I see whats going to happen but I keep quiet.

Sorry, I just washed my hands

In a day and age where everyone is trying to save the planet, I found it really refreshing to find some folders by people who were like "Nope, we're not" because I'm not either. They're just normal file folders but they have "Dead Trees" printed on the front. I'm not saying I go around yelling "Fuck trees. I hate trees," but I also don't feel like I'm in Ferngully. I have no qualms drinking bottled water and when I bought cookie ingredients yesterday I double bagged them because it was easier FOR ME.

Like when I go to a public restroom and I wash my hands, you know what? I am going to use as many paper towels as I need to make my hands completely, absolutely dry because I hate damp hands. I'll go and try to be conservative but then pick up my book and there's this fucking slightly handprint on my page, and I don't like that. Or when you meet someone and you shake their hand and it's fucking wet and they say, "Sorry, I just washed my hands."

Did you dunk your hands in a bucket of water and come directly to me? I don't care that I'm playing waterfalls here, I need to shake hands immediately. I was going to dry them but someone collected all of the paper towels and burned them. There was nothing I could do. I feel like I'm missing something. Because when you shake my hand and your hand is wet, I think it's pee. I don't care if its immature: that's what the deal is. The worst is if there is a hand sensor paper dispenser because it only releases one sheet at a time and this is never enough to dry your hands properly; so you end up waving at this machine like you have palsy. Or, and maybe this is worse, the hand dryer which doesn't actually do anything unless you commit a good five minutes.

Usually these problems only occur in public restrooms, but here's something else I don't get: pretty hand towels. Do you know what I'm talking about? The really thin linen pretty ones. What is the point? Like if you go to someone's house for dinner and you use the bathroom before leaving, you have to use these hand towels to not dry your hands afterwards. You'll shake their hand good bye and they give you this look like, "Gross" and I'm like "This was your decision."

On the count of three we'll both hang up

The last time I was really on a conference call was in 7th grade when it was like, "Ok, don't talk and we'll call up Sue and ask her what she thinks about you." and we'd ask her and she'd say something like, "She's fine" but then when it came to hanging out together at lunch I wasn't having any of it: Sue was "soo double-sided."


Obviously you can imagine my initial excitement when my boss was like, "We're doing a conference call with the website company." I was like fuck yeah we are--who's talking: you or me? Anyway so it turns out these big group meeting conference calls are the strangest thing ever. It's like have a phone interview and the person's talking and you're nodding, or you're talking and gesturing but no one can see what the fuck is going on so you want to be like, "I'm nodding. You'll never know for sure so you'll have to trust me on this one. I hear you and I agree, so I'm moving my head up and down."

It's impossible to talk properly on these calls because you have no way to read any sort of social cues. Everything is prefaced with a "I'm just going to jump in here" like the whole call is a fucking swimming pool. The best part is the good-bye. Do you say good-bye? Do you say thank you? It's like a game of "No I love you more" which progresses into a "You hang up first!" Can you imagine?

-Bye Web Publishing!"
-Bye I love you!"
-No I love YOU
-I love you more!
-No I love you more!
-You hang up first
-No you!
-Ok, on the count of three we'll both hang up
-Ok
-I love you!

Hanging out in Edinburgh, being cool, being euro

Hurray Friday! These songs are from my sister who is super hip and "hanging out with her friends in edinburgh right now" being cool, being euro,  hanging with the scandos before classes start. She is much cooler than I am, which probably isn't hard

There's a lot of instrumental in the beginning of this one, but it's still pretty fucking good and you should give it a chance. 

NOT !

Do you remember the "Not!" joke? You'd be like, "You are so cool....NOT!" And it was the funniest most hysterical thing you'd ever heard: "Want to come to my birthday party?....NOT" It was pretty harsh.

It's recently occurred to me that the "Not" bit is really just a sarcasm-identify when you're too young to have a sense of sarcasm. The last time I ever babysat (a couple of months ago) the kid was not being fun or cool and refused to do her homework. So I told her, as a joke OBVIOUSLY, that if she didn't sit down and start, I would "lock her in the bathroom." Apparently this is not funny without the "Not!" Whatever.

I actually started saying "Not!" again, with my one-joke friend. You know those people that you had a class with, or worked with, or met at a party once, and you come up with this one inside joke. Then, every time you see them afterwards, its like, "Hey!! NOT!!" The one joke is never ever funny, and like you guys probably aren't really friends but you will literally pretend to be friends forever.

The "not" is really just for people who are absolutely retarded and have no sense of humor. Like if you read the title of my blog and thought, "Well that's nice" but if it was named "Living with my parents is cool....NOT!" you'd get it.

I heard the tone of their voice and I knew they were hurt

In today's WSJ there is an article titled, "How to Keep Your Cool in Angry Times." The article is based on research (from 2007, very up-to-date) which details the interaction between customers and customer services representatives. You know when you call and they say this call is "being monitored for quality-assurance" and then someone who doesn't speak English jumps on from across the world? Apparently people were listening.

Anyway, so they have a cool graph displaying "What customers wanted and got in response to their complaints." Here's my favourite part: 15% of people that called wanted revenge. Here's my other favourite part: 1% of people got it.

I'm sorry, what? Let's say a hundred people called, ok this means that 15 people--like a whole liberal arts english classroom, or like 15 people who won't be employed in the future--called to "get back" at the company. What exactly did they do? Fuck this company. I was so fucking angry I called them. I said "I hate you and your voice is dumb" and they were like, "Have a nice day" but I heard the tone of their voice and I knew they were hurt.

So then, after this phone call, did they go immediately go to a poll like, "yeah, I did it! I showed them!" And who decides if they actually got revenge or not? Does the customer services person have to say, "Excuse me that really hurt my feelings?" To which they get, "Good. I did it on purpose. I was seeking revenge. You know in Kill Bill when Uma's out to get even? Like that, but this is for my cheetos which were neither crunchy nor orange."

You are NOT supposed to keep talking

The "how are you?" is a pretty standard part of the meet-and-greet-and-pass. Like if you pass someone on the street who you know but both of you don't care it's: "Hi! How are you?" And you keep moving. You are NOT supposed to keep talking. Sometimes you get totally fucked by being accidentally caring and compassionate (like I clearly am all the time).

Like when people actually answer the question with something really depressing and situationally inappropriate. When I was at my high school reunion I ran into someone who WAS NOT my friend and was obviously like "Hi! How are you?" and she said "Not great. I broke up with my boyfriend and I'm really depressed." *

This also happens in more challenging situations like when you get your haircut and you have to figure out: Do I talk? What are we going to talk about? How long does the conversation go on? Should I stop when you use the hair dryer? Maybe? No. No, I should keep talking even though it's very loud and I'm not saying anything interesting. Why do people always feel the need to start up a conversation? Then I usually spend the rest of the haircut feeling like I need to say something interesting or ask questions. The worst is that my haircutter is fucking hot and looks really awesome so like I feel I have to say something awesome. I was doing a pretty good job holding my own until he noticed the book I brought and was like, "Oh, what are you reading?" and I said, "Ooooh, it's about American colonials in London" and he said, "Cool."

Like even when I'm at the dentist, my dentist is like, "How's life going? Have you started work yet?" I'm sorry I can't focus because I'm looking up into your nostrils and you're breathing on me, not to mention the fact that--oh yes--your fucking fingers are in my mouth so the chance of me responding to your questions are, I don't know, zero.

*I don't care. At all.

It's not like a loud laugh, it's like a knowing chuckle

Have you ever been sitting in a public place--like a coffee shop, somewhere where it's fairly quiet--and someone laughs out loud? I don't mean with their group of friends, I mean just alone while they're reading. I have no problem laughing by myself but I can't stand when people self-consciously laugh out loud like, "Oh look I'm having fun AND I have a sense of humor HAHAHA).

A particularly obnoxious example of this is if you're on the subway and someone's reading a book---NO: The New Yorker--and they give this little laugh so that you know they are fucking smart and they "get" the joke. The thing is that most things don't necessarily even warrant this vocal outreach. Or they'll be reading something that obviously isn't universally hysterical, like, I don't know, The Economist, but they give a little "Ha" because they are fucking on the "in" and they know a funny markets joke when they see one.

Sometimes I'll be sitting with a group of friends and we're all doing our own thing (pretending to work) and then someone will check their email and laugh out loud. It's not like a loud laugh, it's like a knowing chuckle.

Cool friend : Haha
Me the loser: What's so funny?
(pause)
MtL: Cool friend, WHAT'S SO FUNNY
(CF leans into computer screen a bit, leans back in chair still looking SUPER engaged, looks over)
CF: Sorry what?
MtL: What's so funny
CF: Oh, it's nothing. Ha

Sometimes they'll even add in a "Oh, it's nothing. This really hot guy (insert name) is just so ridiculous." Ooooh, okay, well then I obviously wouldn't get it.

Enough of this charade.

An angry rabbit.

Recently I was talking with someone about running and they shared this interesting tidbit with me: Apparently, there is a tribe of Native Americans who, instead of hunting down animals with weapons, run after them until the weakest animal, exhausted, collapses.

OK. Let me just repeat this: They run after four-legged animals until one animal is like, "fuck it, this is ridiculous" and just dies because they have literally had enough of this running bullshit.

Is this effective? Like if you had to set up two tribes against one another and bet who would win, would you pick the one with arrows or the ones that were like: we have great stamina.

This running just seems like the MOST ineffective way to hunt in the entire wold. In the little bit of research I did before posting this, everyone was super impressed by their running skills. I'm sorry to be such a downer, but um, they don't actually need to run this much. WHAT ABOUT THEIR HUNTING SKILLS? I am not impressed. It's not it's even more humane. Not only do they kill the rabbit but they're super mean and insulting first. If I were a rabbit I just wouldn't run. I would be like, "No, you run. Enough of this charade."

Get Up!

Aaah had to do another one.



Have a good weekend.

I knew it was cool like soo early on

Yay Friday! I've given you two songs here, as you might conclude from your ability to "see." 

Bc I'm so alt I've included this too. I was obsessed with the Foals when I was abroad and now they've come out with another excellent album. (I pointed out the abroad bit so you know I knew it was cool like sooo early on). It's super fucking good, give it a minute or so to begin properly:

 

It's absolutely getting a word-friend

Whenever people call a restaurant to order out they usually end up saying a word for any confusing letter You say like, "Apt 15 C-for cat", so no one fucks that up.

Yesterday I had to make a lot of phone calls to foreign embassies and, since I'm an ignorant American and only speak one language, I had to ask them to spell everything out. People choose the fucking craziest shit, and, also, once they get in the habit of giving a word for every letter it doesn't stop. Like even if the letter is really obvious; it's absolutely getting a word-friend. This is what one end of the conversation would sound like:

"Here's our email:

A--like "actor" (We all know what A sounds like, but "actor" is okay so we'll let it go)

D--like "dead" (Yup, I actually heard this one and there are a lot of other options for "d" like, um, "dog," for example.)

O--(pause: do I keep going with the spelling thing? I've already started but what the fuck starts with O?): ox

B--like "boisterous" (People always do this: they choose words that are fucking longer than the actual word. WHY?)

You get the idea. This one woman I called had all of her words down. She gave me the longest email ever but had clearly memorized everything. Her email had a whole posse of pals. She knew what was coming and she was fucking ready.

I fucking love sweatpants

Piperlime's new and inexplicably nasty ad.

Dear Piperlime,

I saw your ad the other day. My friends and I were in a taxi and then it zoomed by on top of another taxi, yeah, the one that says, "Say NO to sweatpants." Hey, hi, sorry, Piperlime, but WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? Oh, and what does your name even mean? Because, you know what, I have no idea. And if you thought you could trick me by appearing on Project Runway, guess what: you can't. Nope, no fucking way; when Tim Gunn was like, "Choose carefully from the Piperlime wall," I thought, "What the fuck is Piperlime?" and so did everyone else.

And, by the way, since we're on the subject, I fucking love sweatpants. Ya, I do. Sometimes I just sit in my sweatpants all day long because I'm a blogger, and it's a step up from my nightgown. When I'm feeling really good, I wear my nice sweatpants, the ones with the drawstring and flair. I have to differentiate between these two types because it's important to dress for the right occasion.

Speaking of finding the right clothes, Piperlime, I actually went online to see what the deal was--turns out you're part of Gap and Old Navy SO DON'T YOU TELL ME WHAT TO WEAR.

Wearing my sweats right now,

Antonia

What if we like ordered a bunch of stuff and shared it?

How was your long weekend? Was it "good" "relaxing" "nice to have a break" ? You might be wondering how I know, and it's because mine was also "good" and "relaxing." It's the same as the summer conversation.

Now that we got that out of the way: How do you feel about sharing food at a restaurant? I'll tell you how I feel: not great. You'll go to a restaurant with a big group of friends that is already way too fucking big because like Jenny had to bring her boyfriend and her boyfriend had to bring his friends so he wasn't alone and they all suck but they're there so oh well, AND THEN someone goes, "What if we like ordered a bunch of stuff and all shared it?"

No. I don't want to share. It's not because I have sharing issues it's because chances are that everyone is going to like this one dish that I probably wanted to order anyway because I have excellent taste. Also, everyone gets super kind and compassionate about what to eat: "Do you want the last one? No you take it! Totally! I already tried part of it so I'm fine! Ya GO FOR IT!" Here's what happens: there is always one tiny piece of dessert left. It's always dessert and it's probably like the most fucking delicious cake you've ever had, but if you finish it off then you're an asshole.

The thing is once this whole scenario starts up you are trapped because no one is going to be like, "No, I don't want to share. I want my very own. I know what I want and I don't want your communist theories fucking with that. I'd like to eat from my own plate and not some sort of segregated trough."

Freedom

Jonathon Franzen's new book Freedom is so unbelievably good you must read it immediately. It's just as good, if not better, than The Corrections, and has all the humor, insight, and depth of his essays.

If you don't believe me because I'm just a fucking blog, it was excerpted in The New Yorker three months ago and you can read that here:

Good Neighbors: The New Yorker

And if you have trust issues:

Click here

Groove Armada

Sorry I've just got one for you. Have an excellent weekend and be mindful of Earl: the worst hurricane name ever. I was listening to the radio this morning and they were talking about the "big impending storm" because they were clearly too embarrassed to say Earl, which was probably a good call.

Whenever I pass him I use my "hey" move.

My building has enough young people in it that sometimes I pretend I'm living in my own apartment with cool roommates: like when you play house in preschool but this is my real life. I'll be in the elevator with some people around my age and I'll take out my keys and go to my apartment like it's no big deal and I'm certainly paying rent; sometimes I'll even say "Hey" because whatever.

A couple months ago a fucking hot guy moved in next to me. I know because my mom told me. Whenever I pass him I use my "hey"move. Oh, I'm just unlocking my apartment:"hey." I see you're standing by the elevator on Saturday night. You may have noticed I'm standing here too. It's because I'm going out and will probably have a lot of fun. I'm like that: "hey."

So I was getting ready to go over to my friend's house last night and my mom told me the shirt I had been wearing all day was ugly and I should change. This really hurt my feelings so I told her as I left. After I had opened the door into the hallway and saw my hot neighbour hanging out by the elevator, and this is not a fucking joke, she screams: "ANTONIA, YOU ARE A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY!"