Back to Home Listen on MySpace Hire Jen Press Store Letters Vaudeville Spelling Comedy Writing Photos About Blog




Tuesday, November 30, 2004

motherhood as a policymaking credential

Mothers Against Drunk Driving sent me a highly manipulative solicitation today. It said "Check enclosed!" and sure enough, there was a check for $2.50 made out to me.

There was also a letter that said, essentially: This is a real check, made out to you! But we hope you'll be a good person and not cash it -- and instead, send US money! We just thought this would get your attention (and guilt trip you into donating).

I tore up the check, of course, but, really, this marketing campaign is freakishly passive-aggressive. Not cool.

Voltron, incidentally, was a good show.

I find it cute when people have little nicknames for the internet; Megan calls it the "intertron."

But now coming up on a decade of home internet usage, we are well past the era in which the internet itself is cool; it is now merely a medium for accessing all things, both cool and mundane. So it seems strange that we'd need pet names. But, intertron it is.

paddle and paddleball

Whoa. Check out this comic, about the feelings of a paddleball broken free of its paddle.

brazenly veracious

A woman who wrote into Salon in response to an article about little girls' attraction to girly, pink, fairy-princess products, said that she felt the fairy-princess mystique was damaging, because she never really got past her unrealistic expectations and Prince Charming fantasies. She wrote:
I believe a large part of what now allows me to be happy in reality is that I wound up, solely by chance rather than merit, securing a number of those fairy-tale elements in my actual life. I happen to be skinny and reasonably cute; I happen to have married an attractive guy I love who makes a lot of money. If I had instead grown up to be an ugly duckling who had no man, I would probably feel like crap, even if I were a rocket scientist.
On a semi-related note, on a recent trip to Barnes and Noble, I paged through the how-to book based on the reality show "The Swan." Hard to object to the book itself -- it's basically a workbook for improving your relationships and pursuing your goals -- except that it contains full-page before and after photos of the contestants on The Swan, virtually all of whom had massive plastic surgery, which is never really mentioned in the book, except for an example about how one contestant wasn't fully dedicated to pursuing her goals because she refused to wear her chin strap after surgery, and "fell asleep at the gym."

Curry in a Hurry

Back when I had the flu (or, rather, shortly thereafer), I stopped into Curry in a Hurry at Lex and 23rd to get some mulligatawny. (In retrospect, this is not a suitable substitute for traditional chicken soup).

In any case, posted near the counter was a flyer that said something like:
Taxi Drivers!

I lost a tote bag that was very important to me in the back of a cab. I had a very memorable appearance -- I am a large man, and I was wearing a wedding dress. I was with two friends who were dressed as bridesmaids. If you have my tote bag, please call....
This was funny both in that Mr. Large Man used Curry in a Hurry as his distribution point for reaching the cab-driving population of New York, and also funny because, while I saw the sign in early November, the man didn't actually mention anything about having lost the tote bag on Halloween, which sounds like a likely explanation.

Saturday, November 27, 2004

"Virgilio" is 1119th and "Eusebio" is 1064th

I am looking for an unusual male first name for a character in a short story, so I looked up a list of the most common male names as compiled by the US Census, and then scrolled to the bottom.

"Patricia" is the one thousand one hundred and ninety-second most common name for a man in the United States, just above "Luigi."

girls DO always want to eat the entire pie

Today I scanned a bunch of my newspaper articles, wrote a short story, and finished off my Thanksgiving food.

This holiday, I made a Single Person's Thanksgiving Casserole, which worked fantastically and was also aesthetically pleasing. I much enjoyed being invited to Thanksgiving at my best friend's house, but I also felt I needed leftovers to fully relish the occasion. I don't really believe in recipes, but here's the deal:

- Poke holes in a sweet potato, put it in a cute-looking square baking pan, and cook at 350 for about two hours.
- Add string beans and pre-cooked turkey meatballs (it's like turkey and stuffing at the same time!) Drizzle olive oil over string beans, add garlic.
- Cook for another half an hour.

Put this stuff on a plate and dump out a big-ass can of cranberry sauce. Finish off with half an Entenman's pumpkin pie (I trust any brand of pie distributed in Duane Reade!) Save leftovers. Repeat.

Friday, November 26, 2004

I painted my kitchen wall "Tropical Mango"

I just sent this blurry home digital photo to a photographer to see if we can use this dress for a (real) photoshoot. It's supposed to look vintage, but I don't actually own any real vintage clothing, because I wear a size 2, and there just isn't much of that in vintage stores. Also, call me crazy, but I like things that are new and shiny.

On an unrelated note, I've been hit with a number of double entendres (or just single entendres) recently. While art modeling, I was amused to note that the artist was using a pencil called a "Hard Shwarz." If you've seen Spaceballs ("I see your schwartz is as big as mine!"), then, well, that's funny. And actually, the pencil said "Hard Shwarz/Black," in case that adds anything.

In my SAT class last weekend, the students were doing a timed exercise and came across an analogy that began "LUBRICATE : SMOOTHLY". Whoever thought that this would be a good problem to give to high school students was very high on the crack train. So one student starts twittering, and then they're all atwitter, and I'm saying "Think of cars! Think of cars!" and one student replies "But I'm NOT thinking of cars!"

And then, later that same afternoon, I'm on the train to go see the artist with the Hard Shwarz, and I see a sign for "Hand Wash & Lube," and I think, wow, I'm glad I'm not on a train with a class full of sixteen year olds.

In my former life as a dotcom entrepreneur, I used to make speeches about targeted internet marketing

The Google ads on my blog are targeted based on content ("content" being whatever I happen to be blogging about lately). As of this posting, the ads on this page are currently all about pumpkin pie and other pie recipes.

However, if you click on any individual post (such as to make a comment), the page for the post has its OWN targeted ads.

The post below about the parking tickets of foreign diplomats is carrying an ad for "BEAT NYC PARKING TICKETS!"

This page is the most bizarre -- I mention Plato in the post, and the ads say things like "$200/Hour in Plato" and "Plato jobs". I think Plato must be a city as well as a philosopher.

Best of all, on the page for the post just below this one, which mentions my best friend Molly Crabapple, there is an ad for "Flowering Crabapple Trees."

Thursday, November 25, 2004

ah, the pleasures of matriarchy

I had Thanksgiving dinner with the luscious Molly Crabapple and her wonderful mother, who I think should henceforth be referred to as Madame Crabapple. I'm not sure she'd approve, but I think it's apropos.

Maybe my mother could be "Mom is Famous". I just looked up momisfamous.com to make sure it's not a porn site, and I'm pleased to report that it is not.

My dad sent me this joke over a year ago, but I was just talking to him, which reminded me of it

Why did the zombie baby cross the road?


To wreak an unholy vengeance upon the driver of the car who's standing there, scratching his head, trying to figure out how a zombie baby's head can be beneath his car tires but the rest of the body is nowhere to be seen-- unless he were to turn around and notice the zombie baby body bearing down on him, coming ever closer, ready with grasping, pudgy zombie baby fingers to tear and rend at the flesh of this self-same driver who ran his head over, on the dark and rain-swept road that snakes down from the castle of the madman who's creating an army of zombie babies to do his dark, libidinal bidding.

p.s. - This photo of my (gigantic) little brother on Halloween seemed appropriate.

Mao disapproves of the Monkey Greets Cat Under the Cherry Blossom Tree position

I've been seeing a great many Falun Gong demonstrators in New York. Seeing six to eight elderly Chinese people sitting yoga-style in their socks on a street corner in Soho does generate enough notice that I will tend to take whatever literature they're handing out, and consequently, I feel relatively persuaded that Falun Gong is a harmless, tai-chi like practice with innocuous spiritual beliefs like "moderation in all things," and that the Chinese government shouldn't capture and torture its practitioners.

That being said, what, exactly, do the Falun Gong demonstrators want Manhattanites to do about this? I don't go standing on the streets in Shanghai telling people about the P*TRIOT Act.

Also, the other day in Grand Central I saw a woman who appeared to be a (Chinese) hunchbacked dwarf handing out Falun Gong literature. While one could admire the dedication of anyone who volunteers their time for a cause, I think this was just sending mixed marketing messages.

Oh, the slings and arrows of outrageous double parking!

Mirth and amusement! Congress has voted to count the unpaid parking tickets of foreign diplomats against their nations' foreign aid.

The unpaid parking tickets of such a small group of privileged individuals might sound like an miniscule problem, but apparently, New York would stand to recoup $195 million! I can't imagine what parking must look like around the UN if these are the kind of fines that "deadbeat diplomats" are racking up.

Also, imagine being the ambassador from, say, Sudan. You just love exercising diplomatic immunity by blocking fire hydrants. And now you discover that for every $100 parking ticket, that's, you know, ten sacks of rice your countrymen won't be receiving.

Wednesday, November 24, 2004

There's nothing like pie and coffee. If only it were served by a diner waitress named after a month, like May or June.

I just spent $11 on Thanksgiving food, and that includes an entire pumpkin pie to eat by myself -- some tonight, some for breakfast tomorrow, the rest after dinner.

My roommate heard about this plan and commented "That's a girl thing. Girls always want to get a whole pie and eat it." He likes to explain everything I do as "a girl thing." I could say "I'm getting a flu shot on Tuesday" and he would say "Girls always want to get flu shots on Tuesday."

In any case, I thought about going out, but really, the leftovers and all-day feasting are the thrust of the matter, so I went to the grocery store in Harlem and bought pie and sliced turkey and string beans and cranberry sauce and a single sweet potato, which I'm going to bake tomorrow

Incidentally, a single sweet potato will run you about twenty-nine cents. I don't know why poor people in this country are so fat. Just feed your kids yams.

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

and the bartenders wear kilts

This evening, I had haggis for the first time!

Apparently, in America, it's against health regulations to actually serve or prepare the stuff in a sheep stomach, so instead they just sautee it in a pan and put it between layers of mashed potatoes, so it's sort of like a shepherd's pie with a slightly unusual taste.

I like desserts made out of vegetables. Also, I enjoy Herculean challenges. Or self-torture.

My plans for this Thanksgiving involve:

- Buying a pumpkin pie and eating the entire thing myself.

- Possibly buying another pumpkin pie...

- Writing a novel. In five days!

Incidentally, it happens to be National Novel Writing Month. I originally signed up, then decided not to participate because I really have to work, and then realized that not much is going on over Thanksgiving and the subsequent weekend, and that I should write a novel in five days' time. Today, I received this email from NaNoWriMo minion Chris Baty:
"For those of your contending with Thanksgiving travel and longwinded relatives this week, remember: Your novel needs you more than your family does. Hide a laptop in the bathroom, and cut down on food preparation time by letting younger family members forage for food in the backyard or nearby public parks. Uncovering treasure troves of edible acorns and cattail tubers will make the children feel like a valued part of the family, and will offer everyone assembled a welcome respite from tired Thanksgiving staples like turkey and stuffing."

Sunday, November 21, 2004

caffeine improves all things, as is evidenced by the espresso martini

This evening I had dinner with a friend at a soul food place on the west side of Harlem. After a plate of short ribs and mac and cheese, I found myself wondering if Spoonbread Too is going to be open for Thanksgiving.

We finished off the meal with banana pudding, which, when ordering, I had imagined as a sort of smooth, easily digestible substance that would be easy to fit into my stomach after the huge meal I had just eaten; however, this banana pudding looked like a ginormous piece of banana cream pie, complete with crust and crumb topping, which had been smashed by some weighty bludgeoning object. Yes. Yes yes yes.

I had the pudding packed up for breakfast. The only thing better than a messy mess of banana pudding is banana pudding plus morning coffee.

iTunes carries David Sedaris audio files

"Boys who spent their weekends making banana-nut muffins did not, as a rule, excel in the art of hand-to-hand combat."

If I were terminally ill and there were a Make a Wish Foundation for adults, I would wish for the Sedaris family, David and Amy whoever else we can cajole into participating, to adopt me until I weakly, happily succumbed to my horrible disease, a moribund, honorary Sedaris.

Saturday, November 20, 2004

These two messages came right in a row. Please, someone get my mom her own blog.

Dear Jen,
Yes, you should get a plane ticket to come here for Christmas. In fact, if you don't, you will need notes from your cat, doctor, psychiatrist and lawyer to save your backside.
Love Mom

Dear Jen,
I'M SO HAPPY. SPELL CHECKER CONFIRMED THAT I SPELLED PSYCHIATRIST CORRECTLY.........YEAH! Unfortunately, it can't confirm that I don't need one.
Love Mom

Jennifer vos Savant (or, just take my class and see that it's all a ruse)

This evening I visited some website, and an extra window popped up -- a "Classic IQ Test" from Tickle.com. Although this was essentially an ad, I found it rather compelling, and started taking the test.

After plodding through some analogies, filling the missing word into proverbs and maxims, and graphing the paths of cars traveling in different directions and discovering two 6-8-10 triangles that told me how far apart the cars had traveled, I came to the unsurprising realization that: this test is extremely similar to the SAT.

I am an SAT teacher, and, by damn, the test can be taught. So, naturally, I aced this fucking thing. I don't think this means I'm smarter than other people; I think it means I know how to solve analogies and deal with Sally traveling to work and back at 20 mph both ways while Joe travels to and from the same workplace at 30 mph and back at 10 mph (Sally gets home first).

Anyway, I was in the middle of one of those problems where you're given a series of three little graphs and asked to find which of several choices would complete the series. Unsurprisingly, my verbal skills are better than my spatial skills, and I was a bit stumped when a couple of friends showed up to my East Harlem abode to drag me out for drinks. I went, and came back a couple hours and a couple of drinks later, at which point, strangely, the answer to the question was very apparent to me: oh, that dot moves up one space and that dot moves diagonal one space and the other two stay the same! So, um, thanks for getting me drunk and making me smarter.

I think my favorite question was this one -- so simple, yet so elusive:
Ten people can paint 60 houses in 120 days, so five people can paint 30 houses in:
     15 days
     30 days
     60 days
     120 days
In the end, tickle.com told me my alleged IQ, and that I could buy a detailed score report for $12.95. They also said:
Your Intellectual Type is Visionary Philosopher. This means you are highly intelligent and have a powerful mix of skills and insight that can be applied in a variety of different ways. Like Plato, your exceptional math and verbal skills make you very adept at explaining things to others — and at anticipating and predicting patterns.
Is that really the most insightful thing they can think to say about Plato? I mean, those were some good dialogues. But The Republic -- a little tongue-in-cheek at times. His "exceptional math and verbal skills" made him adept at explaining things to others? I mean, I suppose he did explain the death of Socrates to me, but, by Jove, he didn't write it out in analogies and solid-object geometry multiple choice problems.

Friday, November 19, 2004

to find love, we must dress our families in corduroy and denim

I have received maybe ten matches since joining eHarmony (you don't get to browse profiles; the site simply sends you notice of people they've pegged as your matches via the hour-long personality tests everyone has to take).

Although I selected that I wanted to meet people "in my own city" (the default selection was "in North America"), the overwhelming majority of these matches have been from people in places like Hoboken or Edison, NJ.

I can see it, though. In Manhattan, you ride the subway; you feel like an individual among individuals. In the suburbs, maybe you live in a house. A big, lonely house. Perhaps with both a "living room" and "den." Or a "foyer." That would seem lonely. Oh, and you would drive a car. And you would look over, on occasion, and notice that your passenger seat was sadly empty. And then you would pay eHarmony to help you fill it.

Woe to those solitary drivers, sitting alongside mere air, empty seats like ever-present ghosts traveling alongside you. Who will read the map? Who will hold your latte while you change the station? Oh, woe.

by the way

Starbucks eggnog latte DOES have real eggnog (and hence real eggs) in it.

I think sometimes I eat as many as two dozen eggs a week.

our product is greater than or equal to yours -- plus, it makes a special right triangle!

Today on the highway I saw two different billboards in the same stretch of road that employed a greater-than or less-than sign.

I'm not sure how much of the adult population really remembers the < and > symbols, so I find this somewhat questionable advertising in a society that writes its newspapers on a fourth-grade reading level.

The first billboard had a picture of a new model of car, and then a greater-than sign, and then the word "expectations." It was kind of lame; I don't remember the car at all.

The other billboard was one of those Citibank ads with the cute sayings. It said "spend < earn". That's not bad.

Spalding, oh Spalding

I was reading reviews of the late Spalding Gray's works on Amazon, and came across "It's a Slippery Slope," which I saw performed live at Dartmouth and thought was just terrible, terrible, terrible. It was just this guy sitting at a desk talking about skiing, and then about breaking up with his girlfriend after treating her really badly for years.

Apparently, no one has even thought to review this book on Amazon since Mr. Gray's suicide this past year, so I was initially rather shocked to see that the top review of the book has the headline "Maybe Natural Selection is not such a bad thing after all!"

Then I see the review was written in 2001, and the reviewer is merely hoping Spalding skis himself into a tree.

epistemology and the Panopticon

Last night I proctored an SAT that contained the word "epistemology." I couldn't help but remark to my students afterwards that I had majored in epistemology (more or less), and someone remembered that I had said I'd been a philosophy major. So now I've augmented aggregate world knowledge about the study of knowledge itself, which is one meta-level off from doing something actually useful.

In a most apropos fashion, I was reading the Village Voice while proctoring, and came across an article on Derrida, who is recently deceased. Apparently, despite his many public appearances, he was loath to have his picture taken, and relented only when a newspaper ran a picture of Michel Foucault with the caption "Jaques Derrida."

Incidentally, my senior seminar was on Foucault, and that particular copy of the Voice also had an article on rethinking prison spending, and I'm thinking "build panopticons! save money!" Oh, Foucault. A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

good golly miss molly

Last night I saw a burlesque performance featuring my best friend Molly Crabapple, in which she did a corset-peeling striptease, and ended up in pasties. The show was also graced by the comic reverse striptease (she started off nearly-naked, eating cream puffs, and hilariously laced herself into corsets and girdles) of interntional burlesque star Dirty Martini.

Williamsburg Spelling Bee champion Megan was in attendance, and we spent some time pondering the sexual preference of the cute bartender, who turned out to express strong women-oriented proclivities, but in Williamsburg, you just can't freaking tell. Megan has an even better vocabulary when she's drunk. Do you ever sometimes get a new, exciting word caught in your head and you just want to say it continuously? I think mine recently has been "panacea." Hers is "analogous."

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Seeking fellow addict for jittery romance

Today I filled out the hour-long questionnaire for the dating site eHarmony.

In the end, instead of showing you pictures of attractive people you might want to have sex with, you get a personality profile. Whee.

Mine says lots and lots of things like:
  • You may have tension or struggle with others who do not have the same sense of urgency that drives you, and you may question why others don't see things your way.
  • Your communication style is rapid (some people might say abrupt), because you like to maintain a high activity level with a variety of things going on simultaneously.
  • When communicating with you, others must be stimulating and exciting in their presentation of ideas.
They make it sound like I'm on crack, or meth, or Adderall. Maybe too much espresso. Personally, I think caffeine and urgency are the stuff of romance.

Sunday, November 14, 2004

Harlem magic

Today I discovered that the Starbucks in Harlem at 125th and Lennox is owned by Magic Johnson. This is peculiar, as Starbucks is not a franchise; Starbucks locations are just owned by Starbucks. But this one has artsy photos of Magic Johnson sipping coffee, and a bulletin board explaining how Magic Johnson's development corporation is supposed to improve the quality of life in inner cities.

While in Harlem, I had an eggnog latte at the aforementioned Starbucks, and then an eggplant fritter at the health food place on that block. That's two foods with the word "egg" in them that contain no actual egg.

And finally, at 127th and 2nd, there is a park featuring some graffiti art that says "Crack is Wack." This, itself, doesn't seem particularly strange to me. What does seem strange is that on the fence to the park is an official city sign proclaiming that the actual, official name of the park is the "Crack is Wack Playground."

Apparently someone just got sick of naming things after MLK, Marcus Garvey, and Booker T. Washington.

Saturday, November 13, 2004

I shall never grow weary of venturing out in my pink fedora

The Machinist is the creepiest-ass movie I have ever seen. And while I adore the delectable Molly Crabapple, she and I are mutually agreed that neither of us is the large, bravado-providing hunk of meat with whom it would've been more prudent to see this film.

On an incidental note, the lead character in The Machinist is prominently seen reading "The Idiot," which launched Molly and I into a post-cinema conversation about Dostoevsky, during which she said: "I first read Crime and Punishment in the mountains in Kurdistan when I thought I was going to die."

All this from a lass of twenty-one.

Thursday, November 11, 2004

post-election cartography

This map juxtaposes this year's election results with a map of slave states and free states prior to the Civil War. Guess which states voted for Bush? Red state = slave state.

Also, here's a map of the red and blue states adjusted for population:


Wednesday, November 10, 2004

feeling better, patronizing the fast food nation

My family always ate at Wendy's when I was a kid, so that seemed like the thing to feed myself in in celebration of my renewed wellness.

I was about to place my burger-and-fries order when I realized I had totally forgotten about the existence of the Frosty.

Those things are pretty good. (I don't really like ice cream because it's too hard and hurts my teeth, and soft serve usually seems too full of air. I think the proper place for ice cream is as a condiment, atop pie).

On an unrelated note, does anyone know of a training regimen to improve at the game of Boggle?

Monday, November 8, 2004

this worked for Marilyn right up to when she killed herself

Post-flu, I'm operating at about 45% capacity, but I managed to make it to ten hours' worth of jobs today.

My new trick for girls: when you have the flu (or your cat has lupus, or Bush has just been re-elected), throw on some bright-ass red lipstick. No one seems to notice the rest.

Sunday, November 7, 2004

I have the flu

I have been in bed from Friday 8pm until Sunday 6am. While beds are, in general, designed to be comfortable, nothing is comfortable for thirty-four solid hours. I don't know why infants and old people don't just kill themselves. Oh wait -- it's because they're physically incapable of ending it. How fucking pathetic is that? I want a failsafe button at all times.

Since Friday, I have eaten exactly six Saltines, and one bite of a raspberry popsicle which I then thought better of. I just took my Dayquil and now I'm going to try to go to work. It would be nice if America had some kind of social insurance system that allowed me to not go to work when deathly ill and still, you know, not die in penury. However, America is hardly ahead of the game as regards social welfare. (As Schaffer the Dark Lord said at the Dark Show post-election, "Think of it this way -- if it had been a contest to be the most embarrassed group of people in the world, we would've won!")

I have thousands of emails that it will take me awhile to get to. And I'm sorry for missing the Getcast launch party, my recording session with John P., Girls on Poles, work on Saturday, and everything else on my calendar. I was busy being alternately hot and cold every five seconds for a day and a fucking half.

On a positive note, my new roommate was responsible for bringing me the Saltines and Dayquil. In an entire day and a half of unmitigated suffering, the positive notes were my new roommate being lovely, and a text message from Schaffer the Dark Lord, which woke me up because I was sleeping with my cell phone, you know, hoping mommy would call.

Friday, November 5, 2004

The Quran is my Vogue

Today I saw a woman on the train who had worked out this really cool hat-and-scarf system to keep her ears and neck warm. She had a white scarf wrapped all the way around her head, and then a lime-green hat overtop, and it looked awesome.

It took me fully several stops of looking at this to realize that she was, you know, Islamic.


This reminds me of something I saw at an art exhibit the other day -- some guy took fashion photos out of magazines and drew burquas on the women with magic marker. It was by far the most interesting thing in the gallery, but I couldn't help thinking that maybe art should have higher standards of technical ability and talent.

In any case, all the Muslim women who looked really hot and uncomfortable in July now look imminently prepared for winter. That dress-over-pants thing -- brilliant.

It's Pinky and the Brain, Pinky and the Brain, one is a genius, the other's insane

Today I went to UPS to ship my brother Brian's birthday gift. I wrote out the ticket, the woman (very slowly) typed the info into the computer, and then she (very slowly) came back with a printed confirmation that said "BRAIN DZIUAR" and asked that I confirm that everything was correct.

"Looks great," I said. I sure as fuck wasn't waiting around for her to become not dyslexic.

Happy birthday, Brain!

"More people voted for Kerry than voted for Reagan"

I'm not a Michael Moore fan, but his Seventeen Reasons Not to Slit Your Wrists is kind of funny.

Thursday, November 4, 2004

"and then I spanked you with my lacrosse trophy from 1997..."

Last night I performed at Schaffer the Dark Lord's variety show, "The Dark Show", at Apocalypse Lounge.

It's hard to see out into the audience when you're under the bright lights dominating a tiny stage in your six-inch heeled platform boots holding the mic with both hands, orating about sadomasochism. But Schaffer tells me the crowd dug my act, to the point of alternately laughing and gasping.

The guy before me sang a song called "NYU Girls Wouldn't Talk to Me if I Were on Fire and Had a Bag of Money". Eric Walton, practitioner of the magical arts, was far too debonair for his surroundings and can be my Dread Pirate Roberts anyday.

We were also treated to a performance by Dr. Powernozzle and Eugene the Human Doormat. They have the worst website ever. During their act, Dr. Powernozzle vacuums, steps on, and verbally abuses Eugene, the human doormat, and this is indeed funny, except that Eugene is a creepy middle-aged man who repeatedly informed me that I, too, could vacuum and step on him should I choose.

Incidentally, I attract a great deal of attention from male submissives, and there's absolutely no way I'm stepping on someone's face without getting paid a whole freaking lot of money.

I will return to The Dark Show on Wednesday, Dec. 1 -- save the date!

election quotes from my inbox

"Tens of millions of us are disappointed today because we put so much of ourselves into this election. We donated money, we talked to friends, we knocked on doors. We invested ourselves in the political process. That process does not end today. These are not short-term investments. We will only create lasting change if that sense of obligation and responsibility becomes a permanent part of our lives."
- Howard Dean

"They say you get the government you deserve, but I don't remember knife-raping any retarded nuns."
-The Onion

All of New York is very depressed.

I, however, am less depressed, because I always knew Bush would win. I voted for Kerry, of course, and encouraged others to do the same, but I happen to believe that America is in the midst of a third Great Awakening which will last probably 50-100 years, and that that's why we have an island, Manhattan, and that's why I'm on it. I hear San Francisco and Massachussetts are also nice.

I will admit to approximately six hours of hope on the day before the election, when the polls looked good and Salon ran an optimistic cover story. But six hours of hope, well, it's like "breaking up" after your first date. No temptestuous emotions. This, for me, has the beneficial effect that I'm pretty much raring to get started doing something for '08. Details are pending.

On a peripherally related note, I am very attracted to James Carville. I saw him on CNN, giving commentary while the electoral tally racked up badly. There's something about liberals with Southern accents that's very sexy; it's that Southern liberals had to work at being liberals: they're self-made. They're existentialists, responsible for defining themselves. Like people in New York who aren't from New York; we come here to meet each other, the ones who had to work for it.

James, thanks for the Clinton years. I appreciate it.

Wednesday, November 3, 2004

nattering nabobs of negativism

In observation of the start of a brand new very bad day in America, Salon removed all the non-election news from their front page. There's no time to see a movie; shit's going down.

According to one Salon article, Bush has been having himself introduced at rallies as standing for "the right God." Also from Salon:
Brought along with Bush is a gallery of grotesques in the Senate -- more than one of the new senators advocating capital punishment for abortion, another urging that all gay teachers be fired, yet another revealed as suffering from obvious symptoms of Alzheimer's.

Tuesday, November 2, 2004

As the Onion said, "Vote, or P. Diddy will kill you"

I'm off to vote today, after calling the polling place hotline (1-866-VOTE-NYC) to figure out where, exactly, I'm supposed to do that.

Once you've voted, come on down to Pete's Candy Store at 709 Lorimer St. in Williamsburg tonight for the "Eclection Night '04" party, which will feature a live television on stage, sexy burlesque dancers, music, comedy, and the opportunity to make brief political speeches to other bar-goers. (Hey, I do that already! Hmmn....)

Stella makes you a betta spella

Last night I emceed the Williamsburg Spelling Bee once again. Former second- and third-place winner Megan Rudesill took the gold (or, rather, the $25 bar tab that constituted first prize) with her masterful spelling of a variety of words, none of which I can remember at the moment.

She credits her victory to her request of the bartender that he get her the "best luck spelling drink." Best luck spelling drink! Best luck spelling drink! That's barely even English, but the bartender apparently concluded that Stella is the best luck spelling drink, and it seems to have worked. I commented that the best luck spelling drink would likely be something hard to spell (Cuervo? Kahlua?), but I suppose "Artois" is kind of hard to spell.

The next spelling bee is Monday, November 15 at Pete's Candy Store. Bobby Blue and I will be there as usual to banter, read the words, and hit on the contestants.

After the bee, I stopped by photographer Eric Martin's place and picked up a CD of photos from our last shoot, one of which is this red-toned one. I'll put up new galleries on the site once, um ... people buy me more espressos. Could that be best luck spelling coffee?

hopes falsely raised and dashed upon the rocks

Yesterday, my graduate school sent me an email that said "Congratulations! You've been accepted! If you haven't received your packet in the mail already, you will soon!" Et cetera, et cetera. I deleted it, because I had received the print version the day before.

About five seconds later, I received an email that said "We're sorry, the acceptance email you just received was sent in error. Please disregard it."

Naturally, I replied to this message. Within half an hour, the Dean of Admissions had left me a voicemail message saying that the school had accidentally sent out an acceptance to their entire database of 2,900 applicants, 2,800 of whom had been rejected, so they figured it was best to nullify the email across the board. She assured me that I had, in fact, been accepted.

What an auspicious beginning from the CUNY system.
Keep Reading! Topics: Advertising Audio Cat Celebrities Class in America Consumer Affairs Dudes Economics Egg Donation
Fashion Feminism Fitness Grammar Humor Mideast Tour Mom New York Party Photos Touring Video


2007 Archives: December November October September August July June May April March February January
2006: December November October September August July June May April March February January
2005: December November October September August July June May April March February January