Hi, how are you?

Are the news channels now talking about something other than the hurricane? If you experienced the hurricane, I hope you’re doing well. If you’re dealing with other issues in life, I also hope you’re doing well. If you’re dealing with issues and dealing with the hurricane, yes. Basically I hope everyone is doing well.

I have six minutes of battery left on the laptop. I got out of bed to write an e-mail to someone I think I did wrong. I don’t like feeling that I did wrong to anyone.

Anyway, with the remaining power, I thought I’d share a video from my new TV series. It’s not really a TV series. It’s only a TV series in my mind.

Come see me and Kevin Bacon!

I’ve got this new project.  It’s about Kevin Bacon, and me, and my life.  It’s about finding the purpose of my life in 90 days.  It’s about how Kevin Bacon doesn’t relate to that at all, except that he’s a celebrity and therefore has all the answers to life’s big questions.  It’s a satire.  But it’s also my life.  So it’s serious.

That’s where I’ll mostly be until July 4th.  Come see me there!  HelpMeBacon.com

Fun and games

“You killed me! That’s not fair! I was about to shoot you in the head.”

These words from my five year old cousin Ryan as we played a video game with the objective of repeatedly gunning each other’s avatars down in post-apocalyptic settings. He’d been playing the game alone in the basement for hours before coming upstairs looking for opponents. My father was his first choice, but he refused to get up from the recliner and the Fox News pundits, so I would have to do.

Ryan led me downstairs to the finished basement apartment he shares with my aunt. He rattled off what the square button, the triangle button, the circle, the R1 trigger, the R2 trigger, and both tiny joysticks do. It took me a moment to realize that his little boy voice was telling me information I’d need to know. Next it was on to selecting the optimal location for our looming bloodshed. “The abandoned amusement park is my favorite, but it’s locked.” He explained that he’d have to kill many before its fun and games would be available to him.

As we began the battle I realized I had made a mistake. I hate video games. I hate them because I’m bad at them. It’s one thing to be bad at Mario Brothers, with its flying squirrels and princesses trapped in castles. It’s quite another to be bad at a game with impressively realistic graphics and noises, down to the crisp sights and sounds of shells flying and blood splattering.

In addition to my cousin’s experience and my utter lack thereof, I also had the added challenge of my aunt excitedly showing me clothes and accessories she’d just unboxed from an eBay purchase. “Isn’t this handbag great?” “Do you think these flares fit?” On one side of me pink and silver saccharine things, on the other, war and guts and masculine gore. And there I was in the middle: “That’s so pretty! Wait, which gun should I use?”

After one round I accepted that I was less navigating the muddled waters than drowning in them and politely took my leave. My cousin was disappointed. “You’re not fair!” he whined before he turned back away to reload a solo game.

Here comes Santa Claus…

Sometimes people will send a note to my email address (notreallyalibrarian@gmail.com), asking: Dear Madame Librarian, Why are you so great?  Or sometimes: Dear ML, That last post really affected me. 

Or most commonly: Dear Madame, What are you wearing?

Tonight, the answer:

About sixty seconds ago, I was standing in my bedroom thinking, “I want to sit down and write on my laptop, but I’m a little cold.  Only, I don’t really want to put on a sweatshirt.  It will feel constricting.  A blanket would be nice, only my arms will be exposed and–”

It was at that exact moment that I remembered that my grandmother had given me a Snuggie as an early Christmas gift and it was not two feet away.  So I sit here, telling you this, wearing my brand new vibrant pink Snuggie.   It still smells like the cardboard box and the plastic bag.

Sadly I have no dashing, matching male companion tonight, but otherwise I look very much like the woman above.

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As I mentioned, my family had an early Christmas gift-exchanging celebration today.  My pink Snuggie, as an added bonus, came with a free book light, which made it even more ideal.  I used it on the three-hour drive home from Grandma’s to read Prozac Nation, “…one girl’s journey through the purgatory of depression and back.”  Even still, I’m feeling almost giddy tonight.  It’s not just that I’m clad in Pepto Bismol goodness–it’s also that I feel the holiday spirit quite profoundly this season.  To be honest, I think it has to do with the fact that I’ve been unemployed.  It’s given me so much time to do seasonal things!

It started on November 30th when I happened to be reminded that the Tree had been lit in Rockefeller Center that evening.  Instead of going home, as planned, I battled a throng of people on 49th Street and saw that marvel, choosing to focus on the prettiness of the lights instead of the electricity they were using and the soon-to-be brown and dead branches they were strung upon.

I also had time to bake a gingerbread house!  Unfortunately, before I had time to construct and decorate the house I had to leave town due to a family emergency…but the baked pieces are on the counter waiting for me should I make it home any time soon.

What else.  Oh!  I had a chance to battle a different throng of people (or perhaps some of the same throng) and see Santa Claus at Macy’s.  Of the five other Decembers I’ve been in New York, this is the first one I’ve had the pleasure.  Sure, he was one of maybe eight other Santa Clauses serving Macy’s that day, and sure he didn’t actually look like Santa Claus, but I received a free pin that reads “Santaland at Macy’s 2010” that I will never wear AND I did not spend the $18.99 to receive a photo of myself and a spritely, trim man in a suit.

I list all of these things to explain that I truly am “in the spirit” this year.  Sometimes the holidays come and go so quickly that you wonder if they’re related to that man you slept with a few times in college.  (I never actually experienced such a thing in college, I just wanted to make a reference to sex.)  Anyway, the thing is, of all the beautiful and wondrous things I’ve seen and done this year, there is one thing I’ve encountered that has really pissed. me. off.  It also relates to Macy’s.  And it’s this:

Ew.  That’s disgusting.  It’s horrific and it makes my stomach churn and that’s not because I ate too much crap at Grandma’s, it’s because this advertisement is TERRIBLE!  Macy’s has spun one of the most beloved, wholesome, iconic figures (next to Jesus Christ) into an adultering, Cialis-popping, cradle-robbing doo doo head.  (There’s no other way to put it.)  Santa Claus in this ad might as well be Bill Clinton saying, Ssshh, don’t tell Hillary.  Santa is supposed to consider what little girls want for Christmas, not want little girls for Christmas!

Okay, okay, you might say, but Madame Librarian, Santa is just receiving a peck on the cheek from that newly pubescent young woman.  Nothing sinister is about to happen when he locks the door in the office adjacent to his workroom as the sound of elves using little hammers drowns out whatever noises he and that spritely, trim thing might make.

But I’m not buying it.  And guess what, Macy’s?  I’m also not buying from you.  I’ve got my free pin.  Take the rest and shove it.

I do need a job…

This Craigslist post has left me completely confounded.  They’re looking for people to work full-time December 1st-23rd to create one-of-a-kind toys for children in need.  If selected for the job, they will pay for you to fly to Alaska where you will stay in Santa’s Village in Northpole, Alaska, be paid $25/hr, and “be back with your families just in time for Christmas!”

Sounds like the premise of a low-budget slasher film.  But they do promise I’ll be back with my family in time for Christmas…  (I guess Santa’s workshop isn’t looking for anyone who celebrates any of the other holidays, such as Hanukkah Dec. 1st-9th.)

Also confusing is that this opportunity is listed as a “Sarah Palin Economic Initiative.”  It’s so ridiculous that I’m afraid it might be for real.  Does anyone know anything about this?  Is Sarah Palin funding a bizarre toy workshop in Northpole, Alaska?

The official website (WorkForSanta.com) also looks suspect.  The free apartments in the “dream village” offer these amenities:

• Fireplace

• Queen sized bed

• Flat screen television

• Full kitchen

• Full bathroom

• Meals included and provided daily

Also, “Aside from the luxurious sleeping quarters, we have put together a modern holiday lodge that truly exemplifies the spirit of Christmas. The main lodge contains a heated indoor swimming pool and whirlpool, as well as a sauna. There is a large gathering room where we encourage all of our employees to relax and mingle on nights and weekends. The gathering room contains a large beautifully decorated Christmas tree and a lovely fireplace. We also have a full concierge and a coffee bar with complimentary beverages for all of our guests.”

Yayyyyy!

Note: I was going to put a photo of Sarah Palin at the top of this post, but when I got to Google Images, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.  Also, this quote from the site does sound an awful lot like Palin rhetoric: “We need to have hope because we can, and will, rise up once again and reclaim our status as a financially stable, independent and respected country.”

Oh, screw it.  Let’s look at her!

Santa's helper?

Sit on THIS!

So, I got my passport a solid 18 months ago, and I’ve yet to put a stamp in it. I don’t have a full-time job, which is great because it affords me lots of time…but not lots of money. Therefore, I would totally ride these more affordable saddle seats should airlines ever install them:

Look how cramped that is! Apparently they would only offer these seats for 1-3 hour flights, but imagine all the bonding with strangers you’d be able to do in that amount of time! “Argh! My legs hurt!” “Argh! Your hair is in my face!”

I love this quote from the director general of the company that designed the seat: “The seat … is like a saddle. Cowboys ride eight hours on their horses during the day and still feel comfortable in the saddle.”

Hope I’m not coming across sarcastic in this post, because I really am excited about this seat. I’m also excited about this hilarious video about BP that I couldn’t figure out how to embed: http://FunnyOrDie.com/m/4l8r

It’s hard to exist.

I’m struggling with existence again. As usual. It’s so lame. And it’s also the least lame thing ever.

An old friend texted me a few minutes ago saying, “I hear you’re some kind of comedian now.” And I texted back, “I’m not sure what I am. What are you these days?”

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I was riding the subway on Monday, and I was eating a turkey sandwich. The turkey sandwich part isn’t so important, except that the train was crowded and I was dropping lettuce on myself and I felt sort of bad, but not that bad because the woman sitting next to me was eating an apple.

In an attempt to avoid eye contact with any Q Train passengers who might be watching me eat, I started studying advertisements. One in particular caught my eye. For a few reasons:

1. It was for a book and I like those.

2. The concept for the book turns the author into a whore.

3. I’ve long thought about writing a book just like this. Well, sort of like this:

“Publisher’s Weekly” ascribes this book to the “stunt-blog memoir genre”. There is a gimmicky feel to this genre, but it can be done really well! I don’t care if Oprah plugged it, I really enjoyed Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman’s Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia. Shit was inspiring. I also enjoyed Danny Wallace’s book Yes Man that inspired the Jim Carrey movie I didn’t see.

But as far as stunt-blog memoirs go, this has gotta be one of the most stunt-bloggy of them all. Maybe I’m just upset I didn’t think of doing it myself. I mean, how can you really go wrong when the backbone of your stunt-blog memoir has these kinds of stats:

IF OPRAH WERE… A NATION her 51.4 million weekly viewers and magazine readers would equal more than the population of Canada (33 million), Spain (40.3 million) or Argentina (39.9 million).

IF OPRAH WERE… A PILE OF GOLD she’d be equal to 24,000 14-karat gold bars.

cnnmoney.com reported in January that Oprah ranked second only to Google as the biggest brand newsmaker of 2006. Behind Ms. Winfrey were Amazon, eBay and iPod.

IF OPRAH WERE… A NATIONAL ECONOMY what she’d pump into the U.S. economy would be slightly more than the GDP of the Bahamas. See more here.

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The only thing left to do now, now that I’ve accepted I’ll probably never figure out the big existential questions, is figure out what to spend 365 days of my life doing that I can convince a publishing house will make a memoir and make them money.

Actually, my old friend texted back to tell me what she is these days, and it sounds like the perfect title for a stunt-blog memoir: Nomadic Barista.

“If you touch me you’ll understand what happiness is…”*

*That’s a mighty claim, Andrew Lloyd Webber…

Yesterday I went to the Salvation Army. My plan was to buy a coffee table. The thing that’s so great about thrift stores like the Army, though, is that you never know what you’re going to find. For instance, in the electronics department I found these:

TWO televisions simultaneously playing “Cats”, paired with one television playing J. Lo and Matthew McConaughey’s “The Wedding Planner”. These three screens distracted my attention for at least five minutes. (Five of the best minutes of my life.)

In the end, I didn’t go home with a coffee table.  Nor did I go home with a TV or a VHS copy of “The Wedding Planner”.  (I already own it on DVD.)  Instead, I went home with a pair of rollerblades and a plaid shirt that was in the men’s department even though it’s clearly a woman’s shirt.

Updates on future failed attempts to purchase a coffee table to follow.  I wrote a poem about a coffee table when I was in college.  It was just a list of stuff that had been left on the one in my dorm room after a particularly drunken weekend.

Poets are so pretentious.

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Please experience 3:00:

New Year, Same Auld Blog.

It’s 2010.  You know what that means…

Jake.

A new season of The Bachelor with a man named Jake.  I plan to watch last night’s episode online as soon as I hit the “publish” button on this post.  At which time I will laugh, cringe, cry, and masturbate.

I’ve been incredibly productive this year.  One highlight: I cleaned my room.  I found $20.  So far that money has bought me an egg and cheese sandwich and a coke.  Updates on the remaining $14 to come.

I also found my mini microphone.  I plan to hook it up to my laptop and record myself singing in the laundry room basement of my building.  I may even share some of these recordings on this here page.  The acoustics are pretty clean down there (pun intended).

AND LASTLY, I found the memory stick to my digital camera.  I went on my first photographic romp of the new year.  Here are the results:

It's 2010. You know what that also means.

Hate when buildings force me to consider things.

Dog in pink bonnet. You're not fooling anyone. You may be wearing a hat intended for a human, but you're still not allowed.

Still Life with Surgical Mask

(The Inevitably Vagina-Related) Search Phrase Free Write!

I don't know who this is. It doesn't matter who this is. He is pretty cute, though.

People don’t get tired of searching the net for vagina stuff, and I have not yet gotten, nor anticipate getting, tired of writing about vagina stuff.  Today’s search phrase free write, courtesy of two aspiring ornithologists, is: “bird vagina”.

The closest I’ve come to seeing two birds having sex is the male pigeon’s courtship dance.  Beyond that, it’s easy to forget that birds are sexual.  It’s kind of like when you see your mom and dad flirting.  Or Santa and Mrs. Claus giving each other eskimo kisses.  “Oh yeah,” you think to yourself. “They have urges, sexual and otherwise, just like the rest of us. Weird.”

Hey, remember how last year my dad bought my mom Predator on DVD?  He accidentally did that again this year. 

Other noteworthy Christmas gifts: our cat (my dad) bought the entire family a copy of Terminator: Salvation.  My dad let me open it.  When he handed the present to me I asked him why the tag (To: Family, From: Critter) was taped onto the back of the gift instead of the front.  And my dad said, “It’s from the cat.  He’s stupid.” 

So, bird vagina.  One of my favorite things about home is that outside of our big kitchen window, right in front of the sink, my mom hangs a bird feeder and suet from the tree.  So it makes this perfect bird-watching spot!  In the comforts of the kitchen!  It’s really great.  Sometimes I can see their vaginas.

Some people are probably sexually attracted to birds.  I started to write more on this idea, but decided it wasn’t worthy of anyone’s time.  One of the sentences may have posited: “Women like a nice beak.”

Anyway.  I’m thankful for a lot this holiday season.  I’m pretty ecstatic about where I am, who I am, and the people who are surrounding me.  And I’m especially ecstatic about bird vagina.