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:

Today’s my birthday, but I just wanna talk about dictators.

I think about Kim Jong-Il fairly often, and I’m not sure why.  He strikes me as a really tragic man: his angry little frame, his angry little outfit, his beady, dark eyes.  There’s something so bizarre about him.  Well, about all dictators.  And the way the West talks about them–with this air of superiority (as in Parade Magazine’s annual feature “The World’s Worst Dictators“).  We denounce their human rights violations and we pity their oppressed people.  We shake our heads, sigh, and vaguely acknowledge our good fortune to live in not that country.  We realize we don’t even really know what that disease is that people are dying of in Zimbabwe, but we think our great-great grandmother might’ve also died from it. 

On one extreme we do nothing.   Or, on the other, we capture the dictator, imprison him, send him to his death, and “liberate” his people.  (“We,” “them,” and “him” used loosely.) 

…I was reading a Sherman Alexie poem earlier today in which he writes, “Poetry = Anger x Imagination.”  It seems an apt equation.  Ways to channel anger, sort through anger are pretty vital to mental health.  Otherwise you end up sending ballistic missiles into the Pacific Ocean (so to speak).

Oh!  I just remembered why I began writing this post.  To recommend Poets.org’s Poem-A-Day emails in honor of April, National Poetry Month.  I especially like when they send ones that don’t suck.

The recreational activities of female genitalia.

Oh. My. God. Something beautiful has happened. In the past few days, HUNDREDS more people than usual have viewed my blog.  And it’s all thanks to a little search term called…vagina.

Plain ol’ “vagina” is bringing in the most people, but runners up include “big vagina,” “dirty vagina,” “vagina is purple,” “piece of vagina” (ah!), “light up vagina” (OOH!), and “how to make a finger vagina.” That last one sounds like it came from a terribly confused soul who inquired about a noun when a verb was intended.

In case you only recall there ever being talk of Barbara Walters lap dances or Tom Brokaw sex dreams on this blog, click here to see a giant bicycle vagina. That also sounds like it was meant to be a verb (giant vagina bicycling), but it really is a noun. It’s a giant bicycle vagina. And it’s amazing.

Well.  I got completely distracted by vaginas in this post.  Here are some less interesting things I may have done had vaginas not stolen the show:

• Complained tirelessly about banks and their exorbitant overdraft charges.
• Cooked you a steak like Cher in Moonstruck.  (You’d have eaten it rare while wearing a wooden hand.)
• Wished you a Happy St. Patrick’s Day.
• Referred you to this Craiglist ad.
• Compared Kim Jong-Il to a summer’s day. 
• Presented a hypothetical question asking: “If you were a predator, would you be less likely to pursue as prey someone who walked down the sidewalk wielding a fork?”
• Reminisced about the Halloween I dressed up as a fork.
• Mentioned the fork that is literally in my road, in the tar of my road.
• Displayed an obvious affection for bullet points.
• Retracted Kim Jong-Il comparison.

If a tree falls in the forest, do you hear it? Do you care?

Tonight I walked up Park Avenue a little after 2 a.m.   I do this fairly often.  I don’t find it scary, but I’d never tell my mom I do it.   It’s pretty uneventful.  Occasionally a cab will slow down in hopes you’ll flag it.  Sometimes a hotel doorman will make eye contact with you.  Very rarely will you ever pass another human being.   

But tonight was different.  An opportunity presented itself.  The stars aligned and suddenly I was face to face with my destiny: a ringing pay phone.

So I stopped.  Looked at it.  Wished I had actually seen Phone Booth.  Thought about all the communicable diseases they say lurk on pay phones.  Remembered how Conan mentioned that “in a phone booth” is the number one place people fantasize about having sex.  Became really tempted to answer.  But in the end, all I did was laugh, say, “No, don’t do that,” and kept walking.

Even as I turned and took that first step, though, I was surprised and disappointed.  Had you asked me only hours ago if I was the kind of person who would answer a random ringing pay phone, I feel like I would have adamantly declared, “Yes.  Yes I am that kind of person.”  Only tonight proved differently.  Destiny called and I kept walking.  It’s kind of like that Hillary Clinton ad–the “who do you want answering the White House phone at 3am?” ad.  That’s how she must have felt when she wasn’t chosen as the Democratic nominee…oh.  I guess I’m not the kind of person they want answering the phone.  Except she at least TRIED to answer it.

Still, it’s probably for the best.  Because who calls a pay phone on Park Avenue at two in the morning? 

This guy?

These girls?

Here's Johnny?

Grossly Misusing WordPress, as usual.

The evolution of the Facebook status astounds me.  It seems that many people grossly misuse this feature.  Personally, I only use it when I’m especially excited about something or when I’m especially intoxicated (occasionally the two go hand in hand).  I remember the early days, with your run-of-the-mill updates:

John Hancock is at home.

Madame Curie is in the lab.

Tom Selleck is grooming the ol’ ‘stache.

But NOW. 

Dakota Fanning is LOL where did this hickey come from?

Kim Jong-Il is 5 DAYS UNTIL JONAS BROTHERS NEW ALBUM DROPS! CAMPING OUT IN FRONT OF WALMART AND TRAMPLING A BITCH! teeheeeee

It’s one thing to procrastinate your day away on Facebook.  It’s another thing to further procrastinate your day by blogging about Facebook…  My most recent status update was last night letting everyone know that I spotted this dapper man on Park Avenue:

He didn’t flash me his undies, but he did give me an up and down, elevator style.  I guess because I was staring at him.  But it was oddly satisfying to receive the brief attention of Carson Kressley.  I feel like he has an innate ability to size anyone up in less time than the average judgmental human eye.   I think his conclusion about me would have to be something along the lines of “TJ Maxx Clearance Rack Pack Rat” or “Salvation Army Whore.”  I’d prefer the latter.  Dammit.  THAT’S what I should have named this blog.

I’ve Been So Happy Since Tuesday Night

THIS is why I love the ridiculous genius that is The Onion. Right after I devote a post to the time-space continuum, they go and devote an article to not only the time-space continuum, but to how “skyrocketing consumer prices coupled with stagnant wages have forced many Americans to work a fourth shift in another dimension in order to make ends meet.” It’s so silly and satirical and subversive and it makes me so happy.

I read it on my commute home from work yesterday/earlythismorning and probably disturbed quite a few 3am Flushing-bound subway sleepers. I never officially announced not being unemployed anymore, but that’s just because I still kind of feel poor and unsure of everything. I’ve been thinking about taking the GREs, but that requires something like $140 and…I don’t even know what I want to go back to school for or when or even if. I’ve entertained ideas of getting my master’s in a different country. Canada, Australia, or North Korea. Still deciding. Australia has Hugh Jackman, but North Korea has this guy–

Too gorgeous for his own good.