Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Questions for the Mystery Woman

Who is this woman and why does she pop up on my computer at least once a week?

Does she get royalties for every time this photo is displayed? Does she still have these glasses and wear them at night while reading in bed? When she posed for this photo was she inspired by Mona Lisa? Does she regret the bowl haircut?

Does she think this photo makes her look young and youthful, like a novice librarian?

Or is she embarrassed about it?


And most importantly… is she a model now?

7 Minute Insanity

I take the ferry to work. It’s a 7 minute ride. Everyday. Never 6 minutes, never 10. It’s a seven minute ride.

I emphasize the length because everyday, people get there early and line up. They impatiently charge the boat and frantically scout out a seat. They run to it. Then like a blowfish, they puff out so they look bigger and no one will sit next to them.

The erratic behavior and the length of the trip makes it extra bizarre when about 3 minutes into the 7 minute trip, these same people jump up and charge the front of the boat to ensure their seat on the bus. The irony here is giving up one seat to make sure they have another.

Maybe this isn’t amusing at all. Maybe it’s sad. But how I make it funny is I go and sit next to a puffed out person who has their bag on the seat next to them. I calmly and patiently try to sit down putting one butt cheek on the seat. A few seconds go by and they feel guilty. They move the bag. I scoot over. With both butt cheeks securely on the seat I now have them trapped in.

Three minutes later when everyone gets up and starts walking to the front, I patiently sit. Sometimes I read. Other times I just peacefully lookout at the NYC skyline, like I’m unaware of the shuffling bags and the bottlenecked door.

At first the blowfish begins to fidget. Then they look over at me. Then they look at the sea of butts that will get off the bus first. Then they look back at me. Then they start to whimper like a dog that wants out of a kennel. Then they put their bag on their shoulder and look at me again.

But they never ask to get up. They never say, “Excuse me, can I get by?” They never say a word. Because deep down, far below their pristine winter coats, below their navy suits, below their pasty white skin, in their hearts, they know that it’s completely insane.

And when the boat pulls to the dock and I know they can’t bear to sit a second more, I slowly get up and look out over the water at the rising sun like I’ve just returned from a long peaceful voyage. Then I smile at them and say, “Have a nice day.”

And on days I’m feeling extra warped, I then turn and run like hell for a seat on the bus.

Pilgrims vs. Gladcheers

In a world of political correctness, where the names of races and types of people change every decade to maintain their dignity, how have we made it all these years continuing to use the word Pilgrim? I’m no longer called a honkey, cracker, or a white-ass whitie, so why should they be relegated to being a Pilgrim for eternity?

It’s derogatory. Pill-Grim. Not only do we describe them as being a pill, but we add further insult with the use of the word grim. We might as well call them Pestbleaks or Boregrumps or the Sourgloomies.

We owe the Pilgrims the respect they deserve. They have done a lot for our country. After all, Pilgrim men are the ones whose tight stockings, funny hats and big collars inspired Peter Pan. Can you imagine America being the country it is today had it not been for Peter Pan?

So that’s why I propose they now be called The Gladcheers. Everyone who agrees can respond with a hip-hip-hooray!

Happy Thanksgiving!

**In researching this crucial topic, I discovered a line of jewelry called Pilgrim. They advertise a men’s collection “for the daring man.” Okay, if wearing man-jewels is your idea of living on the edge, you’re not allowed to classify yourself as daring. I’m sorry, you just can’t.

Thursday, November 09, 2006


I've only seen it a couple of times, but the show 24 bothers me. There's something about knowing how much time is left that makes it easier to predict the ending.

I figure before I criticize the show too much, I should try it to see how hard it is to write. So I'm breaking down 15 minutes of fast-action that happened last night.

Left the UCB theatre.

Had to pee, darted in a NYSC to use the bathroom. Walked in bathroom while naked 'woman' was changing. She had no pubes, no balls, but strangely enough, had a penis.

Peed while trying to erase the mental picture of the chick-dick. Went to flush and realized that my pee was pink.

Rushed out of NYSC strategizing how to get to the nearest hospital or doctor's office.

While frantically walking, remembered that I drank beet juice earlier in the day.

Calmed down. Walked slower. Remembered the time I saw a "girl" with no dick but two balls. Wished I had a way to introduce the two "ladies."

Heard commotion next to me on the sidewalk. Turned to see homeless guy. He was gesturing and arguing with imaginary opponent with one hand, while peeing with the other.

Wondered if imaginary fight broke out when his other half told him not to pee on the sidewalk.

Realized I was jealous of a angry homeless man and his golden yellow urine.

The End

I think I would title this episode Chic-Dick Beet-Pee