Why my family is weirder than your family Part II

What I learned having dinner with a side of the family I haven't seen in some time (and now remember why I haven't.....)

A Rubric of How to Gage a Presidential Candidate's Potential:

1. how ugly the candidate's spouse is (the uglier the spouse, the worse the candidate)

2. what kind of terminal illness the candidate has/ had

3. whether said candidate likes Jesus ("because people who like Jesus are so nice!)

4. how attractive the candidate  is. (Note, this is of less importance than the attractiveness quotient of the spouse, but still important)
a. Does their face look strange or stupid?
b. Do they look at all like the opposite gender?

c. Do they just seem inexplicably weird to you?

5. Do they talk to dead babies?
This one necessitates a little further clarification.
Apparently, John Edwards, in arguing a malpractice case, spoke about how the hurt 9 month old baby must have felt when it was delivered poorly by a doctor and ended up sick.
Apparently, this is bad, and makes him a nut-case.
However, it is ok to believe that eggs are people, sperm have feelings, and week old fetuses should have freedom of expression, while grown-up women should not.

Hopefully, this will make picking your candidate much easier.

Too much? Maybe. But dinner was 5 hours long and the wine stopped coming by hour 2.

Deep thoughts for the end of the week at the end of the month...

There's suddenly a lot less to blog about, once you have a real job. Not that I would know, seeing as I don't have one of those. Still, that's what people say. I just got lazy. But alot has happened in the last couple of months.

1. I moved into the building where Stanley Tucci once lived.
2. I inherited a dying cat.
3. I now use the same bathroom as Haley Joel Osment.
That's not true-I use the girls' and he uses the boys'. But still, they're right next to each other.
I pee in the room beside the room where Haley Joel Osment pees. On Thursdays. The room where he pees on Thursdays.

There are also those who say that people without real jobs, have nothing interesting to blog about. Well, clearly I've just proved them wrong.

Things I learned on my first day of graduate school…

1. Always use a condom.
2. Don’t leave your friends drunk and alone at the bar.
3. Anyone can make a movie.
4. Ideas come from everywhere.
5. Go to Montauk.

I kid you not.

Kinda makes me wonder if MFA actually stands for Masters of Funny Apples?

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I.... SUPRISE!!! I was just kidding about hating you! I love you say YES!!!

The other day, on a commercial break, I flipped to A Wedding Story. The groom was talking about his engagment and how the month before, he told his girlfriend that he didn't believe in marriage and didn't want to marry her, so that she would have "no idea" that he was about to propose and be "completely surprised". And then I flipped back to Friends. (The fact that I spend the my evenings watching re-runs of Friends and reality wedding shows is completely beside the point. But I do acknowledge that I have a problem.) On Friends, Chandler spends a whole episode convincing Monica he doesn't want to get married, so that he can carry-out his own surprise engagement.

Intrigued, yesterday I watched two more seemingly well-intentioned men sneak around, deceive their girlfriends and plan elaborately bizarre clandestine encounters..... Oh and did I mention this was an engagement-reality tv show? And so I ask: isn't it a little mind-boggling that our idea of romance correlates to how much we keep the woman in the dark? And I'm not talking about doing it with the lights off...

What's the idea? To catch her completely off guard so she can't say no? Have her so shaken and shocked and confused that despite her gripes and reservations, she's so amazed by the fact that you bought 1000 lime-colored helium balloons and lied about your whereabouts all week, that she'll decide "Yes!" on the spot? And for the "I'm not a marrying kind of guy... no wait: I am!" approach: is it that you want to first depress her, so that, in comparison, your proposal will make her happy, thus making her think she's actually ecstatic about spending her life with you, and not just at the prospect of no longer being rejected?

I know, I know. Lots of people love each other and want to get married and a well-planned engagement shows you care or something. Still, when you think about it, isn't it a little strange that our ultimate choice of life partners is based on the extent to which they execute deception? Or rather, the extent to which a given eligible bachelor can take control over a situation, leaving the lady rather agency-less, and smiling because of it? Is it 1957? I think maybe. Only with better hair.

Actually I take that last part back too. The reality show bride always wears waaaay to much hairspray. And the future-fiance never knows she's going to be transported straight from her morning work-out to a romantic restaurant and a couple million viewers at home and, as such, does not take the time to blow-dry.

Why my family is weirder than your family PART I

Breakfast....

My story recounting the night before at the bar yields such questions as "What is an arborist?" "What is a douchebag" and "Why are you laughing" (this one directly followed the prior question) . My sister bemoans the replacement of Smallville at 2am with some random anime movie. (We like to watch and point out the homoerotic moments between Clark and Lex) I offer up Frasier instead. Remiss, she just wants to go to bed depressed and disheartened.

Dinner...

My mom has begun to lovingly refer to me as "douchebag". She thinks it's funny.

My sister has cut out an article about wrestling, that really looks like softcore gay porn. The picture is of one wrestler, taking another one from behind, if you will. The title is A fight to the finish, with fists or fingernails. Yah. We spend the next 20 minutes highlighting the ambiguously sexual sentences. And giggling. Alot.

Tea for 3 at 2 (in the am)...

Mom: Sweet dreams douchebag!
Me: GAY SEX!

Mom: What?

Sister: Smallville is on!

Mom: Goodnight douchebag!

Me: (giggle)

Sister: Don't make fun of me in your blog!

End of PART 1 ....

Craigslist: the place to Live out your teen-movie/softcore porn dreams...

So, clearly (and perhaps inevitably?) this blog has quickly become the forum for me to a) whine about facebook and b) laugh at craigslist ads. Nonetheless, we're just going to embrace it for now and hope that I start interacting more with the outside world and find some more interesting material soon. Until then, I love this ad:

NEED HIP HOP CHOREOGRAPHER
Reply to: gigs-357612**7@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-06-22, 2:48AM EDT
So I'm a 20 yr old girl just needing a (male) choreographer who can teach me hip hop a couple times a week preferably dances to Usher or JT videos. I do not have money to offer but I will return the favour in other ways. I don't have a place to do this so you will need to host this as well.

Facebook is Forever.... No, wait: a diamond is forever, Facebook is for f!@#$ annoying me....

I really do love facebook. I do. Sadly, I am quite addicted. I like poking people. I like making fun of friends' fashion faux-pas in drunken pictures. I like it when a long lost kindergarten compadre adds me as a friends and I see my magic number go from 349 to 350 friends (the fact that I communicate with 12 of them is besides the point).

BUT if I have to find out, via facebook, that one more early-20-something friend (read: high school or college aquaintance) is getting married, I will scream. Again.

There's the change of "relationship status" to engaged, the change of away message to "Betsy is: SO happy and loves Bob so much and is so excited and check out her ring in my album titled "THE RING!!! :) !!!!!" where we have pics from EVERY ANGLE!" Oh-and then there is my favourite. I saw on a mutual friend's wall - "Hey M! - msg me as to whether you can make it to my reception on Sept 20! Hope to see you there!!"

There is a reason we send wedding invitations in the mail. A reason we didn't replace them by the phone, or fax or e-mail--or now facebook. Not just because it's classier, but because weddings are kind of a big deal. As in: it's not the same as having a party at your sorority house. As in: you're making a much bigger commitment that just deciding on a dress to wear for one day. As in: you're going to have pictures courtesy of real-live photographer, and not a camera phone. Now, if you feel that the ripe old age of 22 and your high school boyfriend are the stuff plans-for-entire-rest-of-lives are made of, godspeed. But for godsakes, get off of facebook and go register for a blender or something.

Craigslist: my never-ending source of amusement (Or: We're not in Idaho anymore)

Females needed for Vagina Catalogue!
Reply to: gigs-346324194@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-06-06, 3:38PM EDT

Females of all types required for our new concept, "The Vagina Catalogue!. Shots were taken in the past but, things didn't turn out as planned. We now need to do it again. If seriously interested, please email asap and mention your preferred time. We pay $20.00 per half hour shoot! Easy money, fun fun fun!!!

The joke's on....who?

A friend's last night in town. A porch. A couple of beers. A cool summer breeze. Nothing to do for at least another 10 hours, before it was time for the Monday morning commute. It was one of those nights.

As sunset faded into sunrise, my friends and I began to pull out some good ol' jokes. I had one. a someone else had another, and someone else shared another. Each was funnier than the last. Not, perhaps, because of the actual jokes content. Not even because of the numerous six packs.... It was just so damn funny. Or fun, perhaps, is more apt. And so, having shared the handful of quips the composed our communal repertoire, we decided we needed more.

Enter: the internet. Or rather, the wireless laptop. Shiny, fast, pretty and oozing with webpages made by people with less taste and more time than us. A google search of "jokes" will yield gazillions of pages. You can also narrow down the exact type of joke you're looking for: "Your momma jokes", "German jokes, "Dirty jokes", "dead baby jokes" (which I still, for some mysterious reason, just don't get), "Hellen Keller jokes" (which I still, for some mysterious reason, just love) ...... You name it, and you can find a joke about it! (I realize as I write this, that my hatred of dead baby jokes and love of Hellen Keller jokes may reflect the fact that my sense of humour has an age range of about 9-12 years old.)

Well, this gave us another hour's worth of material. And a whole new game, with different rules. In this one, one person read the jokes straight off the computer. It was sort of like adding a third party to the joke equation: the computer told the joke, the reader relayed it, the audience laughed.

But something about all felt very.... un-fulfilling. Like, kissing someone you sorta, kinda, maybe like: It's all good and fun, until you come up for air.

I realized (cue sappy music) that the beauty of the joke-telling-experience is not the joke itself, not even the delivery, but the teller him or herself. Nothing beats watching your incredibly squeamish friend finally purge the word "pussy", or seeing your friend laugh his way through a joke about rabbits that doesn't even make sense, because in his bizarrely twisted mind is brilliant.

And so, in keeping with my grandmother-like nostalgia (see: my internet-less love live in Facebook is for Lovers, or my desire for prudishness is entertainment in Am I doing it Wrong? Or is sex the new kitchen sink?) I will once again put the mild contempt back into contemporary culture.....

I would rather hear one, genuinely recounted joke, passed on from multitudes of drunken bartenders, or sugar-high six year olds, than a thousand hilarious jokes, categorized alphabetically with a rating out of 10 for "dirtiness".

So, today, go tell someone you love a bad joke. And tell it horribly. They'll thank you. Or throw a drink in your face. Either way, I guarantee you'll be met with laughter.

When the end is nigh, and Bruce Willis isn’t there to save you

Disclaimer: I'd just like to emphasize, that I am a creative writer. I am in no way qualified to assess things like risk and national security. And I have nothing against this company. I think it's a great business idea and it is with satiric lightheartedness that I write this.

Yesterday, in my internet travels I came across a Canadian business venture called "The Marshall Project" that quite amused me. It is run by what seems to be a somewhat legit finance company (they, after all, advertise on the all-powerful facebook). The pitch: it's a private walled in community/fortress, at a secret location that you can pay to live in in the event of national/ global disaster or "unrest" as they call it. The Marshall Base features, an 8 foot tall wall, guards, reserves of food and water, military resources and entertainment facilities, just in case you get bored. Or maybe to blow out the brains of attacking-aliens with music. A nominal monthly fee with guarantee your spot there, as well as transportation to said location in the event of massive emergency.

Ok, so for a second let's forget all the big hypotheticals, like: If there is a massive disaster, is a gated community really going to withstand the impact? If there is a "regional conflict" as they say, how can the prevent people from potentially conflicted regions from signing up? (Maybe that answer, is that these people are rich and stupid. So, there won't be anyone too controversially poor signing up? A symptom of the inequity from which this regional unrest that we're hiding from maybe come from? Maybe?)

Forgoing all that, we’re still left with a few holes that I'm wondering about. The website promises that their cars (armored, which are definitely good at driving through mobs of people and nuclear fires, nonetheless, I shall go on....) will drive you to the secretly-located safe haven, if you will. Now, all we know is that this secretly-located safe haven is located somewhere in Canada whose land area encompasses approximately 1o million killometres. (9,922,385 sq. km to be exact).

Now, it would take about a week, to drive across Canada, driving about 12 hours a day. And this is not factoring various routes being closed due to asteroids or alien armies. And assuming the bombs and asteroids don’t get you on your hours of driving in open road across country, that’s a lot of gas to find. Maybe these cars are solar-powered? Still, if the sun has ceased to burn, ain’t non’a’that either. Still, I get that these are paltry logistical details. Moving on, there's a national disaster, chaos ensues, and these business dudes call up their drivers, who leave their families to come get you? From wherever they are located? Well, maybe their families are also being taken there-by other drivers? Wait a minute....

And the guarantee, I'm guessing is a contract. After all, this is a business investment. Which is awesome. Because when the world is ending, if they don't send out their drivers to transport you to the secret location, you can always sue. Let's just hope that all the courts of law don't get destroyed. But maybe we'll be onto an online-justice system by then... Speaking of which, I hope this place has wireless...

Oh, and did I mention that the parent company bills itself as "Canada’s premier New Venture research & implementation company" but that all their contact information is in Hong Kong? Now, I realize I just may be tempting the fates. And one day these guys may be laughing at me in their safe, walled in community as they begin to re-populate the earth. Still, for now, I'll choose to spend the $400 yearly fee on late-night cabs, a fire extinguisher and locks for my doors to protect me. And use the $1000 initiation fee to start my own shady business plan.

Call me old fashioned, by I'm not ready to give up on the world quite yet. And feel free to quote and mock me come Armageddon. Check it out, have a laugh, hell-sign up if you want to, at: http://www.themarshallproject.com/

We're not in the playhouse anymore....

So, apparently washed out 80s stars are making comebacks beyond the world of sex, syringes and sonograms at Seattle Grace.

The Once and Future Pee-wee from the NYTimes

To be honest, I was never a fan of Mr. Herman myself. But, he was funny in 30 Rock. And so I shall proclaim this, May 24 to be Pee Wee Herman Memorial Day.

I was going to leave a clip from an appearance on Letterman, but by the time I got through the first of 10 minutes, I remembered why I never liked Pee Wee. He was damn annoying. Nonetheless, this is a 60 second clip of him and underpants. It's a fun little meta romp, given his eventual arrest for indecent exposure. They are some underpants that are just too big to fill.

And so, these five minutes being five minutes longer than I ever thought I'd devote to the man, the maniac, the myth, I sign out with the Vulcan Peace Props Haiku. Or whatever they called it. Because I used to think he kinda looked like one.

Live Long and Prosper
Or be a tv star, Just
Don't show you pee-wee

Kids these days just don't appreciate their history!

Attending an 80s night a bar I regularly cavort, I've begun to feel more and more ill at ease as my peers dance wildly and sing along to the song from St. Elmo's Fire like it's another song in the Grease Medley. Pourquoi? I know that butchered t-shirts and ass-shaping leggings are cool with the kids these days. Even big earrings. And I know, back in the day when all of this was cool the first time around, I wasn't old enough to wear blue eyeshadow, let alone go to a store by myself. Still, I was a child of the 80s and sometimes I feel like no one understands me.

I won't even preface this with anecdotes about oblivious friends, who pride themselves on their alleged knowledge of popular culture.... Suffice to say, all those kids watching Grey's Anatomy are oblivious its historical underpinnings.

They're forgiven for not knowing that Dr. Meredith Gray's fake-mommy (dad's new wife, recently killed off) was played by Mare Winningham. Mare was an original Brat Pack member and loser-of-V-Card-to-Rob-Lowe in one of THE definining films of that era. But Patrick Dempsey? People have no idea that before McDreamy was making love to Meredith, Ronald Miller was trying to buy some love from Cindi Mancini. And that is just plain wrong.

And so, I humbly offer these links as a mere starting point, a by no means comprehensive sampling of some of my favourite windows into the decade. But, if you're going to crimp your hair and pretend to know who the Bangles are, please take a second to inform yourself.

Crash Course on the Brat Pack
Fame
Belinda Carlisle
Live Aid
Say Anything
The Wonder Years (watch online!)

I will keep adding to this compendium. Feel free to contribute...

No YOU da ho!

So a good friend of mine recently announced that he was leaving New York. Along with the list of reasons you’d expect to find: the pace, the daily grind, the competition, the corporate culture -  there was also a rather unique reason. Apparently there is so much crazy (and very creative) sex made available via Craiglist, it can turn the most timid experimenter into an over-booked, over-sexed , sleep-deprived former-psychology major.

Not one to be abandoned by a friend to the Bermuda triangle that is the Midwest, I decided to take this as a challenge and see what I could find in a less cosmopolitan, decidedly less sex-and-the-city city then well, THE city. I gave myself 15 minutes on Craigslist, to see how readily available and kinky the sex could be somewhere else. We went with Idaho. Seemed average enough - even tame. What follows are my scientifically sound findings.

The more relationship-oriented sections (M4M, W4M, etc.) that are a mix of nice and naughty on NYCL, turned out to be pretty homogeneously "nice" in Idaho. But I knew where to look for the salacious stuff…

First I tried Missed Connections. Disappointingly, it wasn’t quite the --“we banged in the 6th floor bathroom, and then 5th. Call me and we’ll do it again of the 3rd” of NYCL. Nowhere near, in fact. Par example:

man w donuts n milk at walmart on [date] late night - w4m - 19 you had milk and donuts, facial hair. i joked i would kick ur shit outta the way if you went to go get jelly filled donuts, you were REALLY REALLY sexy hit me up if you read this if you can tell me the last thing you said to me ill know it was you !! or not just wanted to let you know i thought you were sexy !!

Nonplussed, I moved on to Miscellaneous Romance. There I found a number of adds, much like this one:

Cute Couple Seeks Woman of Interest - mw4w - 32 Cute Boise couple in their early 30's seek a woman 20 to 35 for Summer fun. From camping and boating to simply hanging out for a backyard BBQ and hottubing, this could be one of the best summers ever! Seeking an intellegent, attractive non-smoker comfortable around two well behaved kids. Drop us a line with a few pictures if you have any interest.

Ok, so in Idaho, miscellaneous romance isn’t the place where you divulge really bizarre sexual fantasies and ask for helpers. Apparently that’s just New York. In Idaho, you have a polite threesome and then have a BBQ with the kids. 

Before I was ready to give up and admit defeat to child-friendly summer fun and winking at the Walmart, there was still Casual Encounters. From my research, in the NY version, this section is the least colourful--pretty much quick, to the point requests for one-night stands. Still, I had a few minutes left on the clock….

And lo and behold, I was not disappointed! I won’t give any direct quotes, for fear of my grandmother finding out I even know how to spell certain words. But, there were adds for gang-bangs with lactating women, orgies (read: m4m4m4m4m4m4m4m), amateur porn, and some much more exciting and truly bizarre stuff, that I even feel dirty typing. (But you can see for yourself at www.craigslist.com)

In conclusion, it would seem that there are sketchy (or sexually open, whatever your opinion…) people everywhere. Even in Idaho. There, they just have more tact and are a little better at compartmentalizing. Casual Encounters is the place for it all, should you ever find yourself alone and frisky in the Gem State (abundant in natural resources as it is!).

And so, dear friend, I beg you not to leave New York because you can have kinky sex everywhere. And if you stay here,  I volunteer to help you keep to a moderate activity schedule, so you'll have time for all of your sexcapades, your job and racquetball too!

Facebook is for Lovers

Facebook relationships are fleeting. Or so a wise friend once told me.

And yet, I am constantly forced to gaze upon my friends' endlessly changing "relationship status" updates (read: we're on again! We're off again! It's complicated! We're off again! We're engaged! Just kidding-but we're on again! And it's complicated!); friends-of-signif-others' wall postings ("You guys are so cute!" "Hope to meet you at another random party next time you're in town!" "How's the GF who is actually my original friend, but it's more fun to write on your wall HI SARAH!") or groups dedicated to road trip to some uncle's cottage in "the country" which is actually just a suburb of Queens (should such a thing exist, though never having travelled to the outer-limits of Queens, I guess I can't really say for sure. But it's like astrophysics, I think. We haven't been all the way out there, but we can see what's being sent back down to earth where we are, and from this infer.).

Having been a proud participant of a dysfunctionally healthy relationship for some time now, I can happily say that we are nowhere on facebook. Or friendster. Or myspace. Why? Well, as fun as expressing one's monogamy in front of a mirror may be, it's not so fun for everyone else, who's not engaged in said act. Well, unless you're actually watching the sex, in which case, that's porn. But all the internet friend-network testaments to more-than-friendship that I've been subject to, are decidedly PG.

And don't get me wrong--I am all for love and lust and broadcasting it all over the internet, if that's your thing. It's that I have to go through 30 picturess of the happy two-some ("me and significant other at restaurant #1", "me and significant other at restaurant: #17,". "me, significant other and significant other's baby cousin who is ugly but I'll say cute and put up pictures because I am in a facebook relationship weeee!!!") before I can find the picture of us  hanging out at a bar when you still had balls and didn't add pink-heart-borders to all your pictures!

And I get it: you didn't have a girlfriend/boyfriend in highschool and now you want us all to know. But let us know once. Your profile picture of you two kissing in a park and updated relationship status will do the trick, I promise. One picture may tell 1,000 words, but 1,000 pictures doesn't notify 1,000,000 people that you're in a relationship. I promise. That's not how it works.

Point being: I have to see the profile of one more intelligent, mentally-sound friend fall victim to heart-shaped cookie gifts, groups with joking "future baby pics" and postings of 'xox' as far as the I can see, I am threatening de-frienship! And if we have learned anything today, it is the importance of facebook titles to any relationship.

Facebook romances may not be fleeting, and I can accept that. But if this nauseating trend doesn't fade fast, I'm fleeing facebook.

Am I doing it wrong? Or is sex the new kitchen sink?

In Jack Goes Boating, which I recently saw at the Public Theatre off-Broaday, featuring Philip Seymour Hoffman, a couple discuss nothing particularly interesting while the title character (played by Hoffman himself, if that makes it better) fingers his girlfriend. For like 10 minutes. Straight. You almost feel less stimulated than the actress who has to fake that painfully pitiful orgasm 8 shows a week.

Later, I turned on my TV to find a married couple talking about their family, finances and future plans. A rather lackluster scene, made no more lustrous by the fact that the couple was fornicating the whole time. (I use the term fornicating, because it was as clinical and unsexy as it gets - at least I hope it doesn't get less sexy that.) This was on the most recent episode of The Riches, the new “hit drama" (I use that term loosely, perhaps referring to hit-you-over-the-head and it's-a-tragedy-that-this-in-on-tv, respectively) featuring Minnie Driver (why Minnie, why?) and comedian Eddie Izzard. (I know, Eddie Izzard, in reversed drag, as a completely average straight man. It’s like camp backwards, and I have no idea what a gender-theorist would say about that.)

Back to the task at hand which is: sex. Or more aptly: sex and conversation therein. Everywhere I seem to look these days (and pay-either for in the form of a ticket or cable) no one shuts up during sex. And I don’t mean dirty talk or tender yet awkward affection a la every teen coming (entendre intended) of age film out there. It’s not sexy. It’s not sensational. It’s not even substantive. It’s just boring, It’s mundane discussion, that could be seen at a kitchen table, a coffee shop, or even post- coitus if that's your thing.

So my question is as many-fold as the number of barely noticeable orgasms I’ve been forced to witness lately. Is this a failing of theatrical convention? Post-post modern popular culture is just plain boring? The new kitchen sink, is perhaps the bed? Is it that art is more and more mundane and small and un-theatrical by the second?

Or is it our view of sex itself? In the last season of the incomparable (another term I use loosely) Sex and The City, Charlotte and Harry discuss his conversion to Judaism matter-of-factly during sex. (She’s on top and leading the conversation, so maybe we can write that off as metaphoric staging?) Are we just seeing the outcome of the 'sex and the city generation'? Is it the old adage that sex has been so desensitized and mass produced for so long - so now it's the new kitchen sink? OR, is it perhaps a meta-theatrical comment about how sex is just as mundane as the discussion of coffee filters and mortgages?

Maybe writers and directors are just getting lazy. Or maybe, they’re getting tired of being told by producers and the public alike, that sex sells. Is that it? Am I being cynical and missing how this is all indicative of some big progressive cultural shift? A subversive statement on the part of those who have started to say: Ok, you want sex? Well we’re going to make it as boring and inconsequential and monotonous as possible. Take that pervy public and producers alike! To which I must say, here here you rogue boat-rockers! Too bad what we get out of the deal is some very boring entertainment. Could somebody rebel against that, please?