Category Archives: Rant

Thursday Free Write

I’m eating a terribly bruised banana.  It’s way too easy to abuse bananas.  I swear.  You leave them alone for five minutes and they’re barely edible.  Just like children.

It’s a beautiful, mild day in New York City, but I’ve spend the majority of it in this dang’ed cubicle.  And wouldn’t you know it, during my 15 minute break, I go outside to catch the last of the day’s sunlight, and a guy soliciting my nonexistent money for a perfectly deserving organization sits down beside me.  Don’t you know, “Matthias” from “Greenpeace”, that I just gave a dollar to that drug addict on the subway the other night?  And he said, “Wow, a real American dollar bill!  I haven’t seen one of these in ages!”  And you expect me to also help do something to protect the environment and promote peace? … I guess that’s reasonable enough.

I went grocery shopping for the first time in weeks the other day and I saw this baffling thing on the shelf:

Who at Pepperidge Farm decided the word “pumpernickel” needed to be shortened to “pump”? And who backed that idea up enough for it to end up on that poor loaf of bread? It’s nothing short of tragic, especially in light of the word’s fascinating and bizarre origins I just found on Dictionary.com: Pumpernickel orig., an opprobrious name for anyone considered disagreeable, equiv. to pumper(n) to break wind + Nickel hypocoristic from of Nikolaus Nicholas (cf. nickel); presumably applied to the bread from its effect on the digestive system .

There’s something pornographic about that phrase, “Dark Pump,” right? I know it’s not just me.

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I <3 Barbara Bush and Artificial Flavoring

Today I woke up and I baked cupcakes. The motivation came from wanting to give one to someone I love. But before I did that I was reading status updates on Facebook off of my phone, and someone paid tribute to this forever beautiful and gracious lady:

Barb Bush!!

“At the end of your life, you will never regret not having passed one more test, not winning one more verdict or not closing one more deal. You will regret time not spent with a husband, a friend, a child, or a parent.”

What a broad.

So back to the cupcakes. I prepared a box mix of marble fudge. And it instructs you to pour the fudge mix on afterwards, so it ended up creating some cool designs (because I didn’t try too hard to achieve a marble effect). They’re like the Rorschach Ink Blot Test! What do you see:

P.S. Speaking of box mixes with which to make not nutritious cupcakes, I HIGHLY recommend checking out the first two episodes of “Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution.”  He’s completely British and brilliant.

You exist!

Not one of your pertinent ancestors was squashed, devoured, drowned, starved, stranded, stuck fast, untimely wounded, or otherwise deflected from its life’s quest of delivering a tiny charge of genetic material to the right partner at the right moment in order to perpetuate the only possible sequence of hereditary combinations that could result–eventually, astoundingly, and all too briefly–in you. —Bill Bryson, A Short History of Nearly Everything

That same, shockingly, goes for all of these people:

Nuns: What the fuck?

I was patiently waiting (in the cold New England temperatures) and this nun flew past me.  And I was shocked!  What kind of person, nevermind nun, has chutzpah to pull that kind of stunt? 

The bus had just pulled up to its gate and she walked almost all the way to the front, and asked, “Is this bus going to New York?”  And upon hearing an affirmative, she just stayed there. 

Every human being inherently knows that you ask the last person waiting in the line any question related to that line if you intend to begin waiting in it should it be the line you need.  Ya know? 

Anyway.  It wasn’t, in the end, a huge deal.  No jihad was fought.  No back of the liners were turned away.  But what if?  What if.

Madame Librarian does it better.

Last weekend I was sitting in a hair salon (which is one of the places on Earth I feel most awkward), and I overheard an interaction between an employee and a customer that rubbed me the wrong way.  So much so that I told my diary.  And now I’m telling you.

The customer, a woman, was telling the employee, also a woman, what she was thinking for her hair.  She explained that she’d been blonde for a long time, and had just recently gotten married and had gone back to being brunette because she wanted her natural look in light of the occasion.  She said she wouldn’t mind going back to blonde now. 

And that was all fine.  I thought that was kind of a nice thing to do for your wedding.  But then the employee laughed and said, “Oh, your husband’s going to be so happy with you as a blonde.”  And all the women around them in the salon laughed as if to agree that ha ha men are such predictable creatures who just want to bang a chick with big tits and platinum hair! 

Can we stop with these generalizations that fail to serve anyone?   I recently caught an episode of “Sheer Genius” on Bravo.  It’s a terrible show about hair stylists competing for money and the chance the style hair in an issue of “Allure Magazine”.  Anyway, one of the challenges on this episode involved all the stylists working with a group of blondes who’d done terrible damage to their hair–to the point that some of these women would be bald soon if they kept doing whatever they were doing.  So the whole challenge was to tone down the bleachiness to make the women look, well, less damaged.

Only thing was, the show is filmed in LA.  And more than likely, these women had been sent to the “Sheer Genius” set by their modeling or acting agencies because it would give them a day of work.  Not because they were interested in changing their hair.  And that’s exactly how it was–once the women got into the chairs they ALL said, “I’d like to stay blonde.” 

I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being a blonde.  I’m not writing all this just because I have brown hair.  It’s just annoying that being “a blonde” is such a thing.  They have more fun, they have more sex, they have less brain cells. 

These damn t-shirt companies are making money by pinning people against each other!  I don’t think it’s as silly or harmless as it can easily be brushed aside as being.  Like, I get being proud of your heritage, but are these really necessary on multiple days of the year, never mind as regular components of your wardrobe?:

That vampire shirt is pretty funny, though…  That one can stay.

Not much to report, except–

In the photo below, a convenience store clerk was using a claw to try to retrieve a package of Trojans for what felt like five minutes:

In the video below, Kenny Loggins has one of the best venues ever:

In my Chinese astrology horoscope below, I have a pretty good outlook:

Strutting your stuff at a party, you could be the cock of the walk, attracting attention from all corners of the room and just generally being a star.

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?”


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.


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.