Since I'm basically closing up shop where I used to post my half-baked musings, I thought I would "import" some of my entries that I liked over here. So, here are some writings I've done, in no particular order, with no particular purpose. Some are a bit dated, but I think you'll find they're still "prescient."
7/13/04
Since I'm only 23 and I've had about a billion jobs already, I think I've earned the right to reflect on the one I found to be the crappiest, which was temping in Manhattan. I actually just want to tell this story because it's funny.
So while I was the receptionist for two weeks at this small company, my job was basically to take everyone's lunch orders and call them in to whatever weird-ass place we would be eating at that day (because the boss liked to buy everyone's lunches so that they would WORK DURING THEIR LUNCH HOURS). So basically my job was to be a waitress in an uncomfortable outfit and shoes, which I wouldn't normally mind, but if I wanted to be a waitress (and make better money), I would've just worked at my dad's restaurant. Isn't this an effing office job?
Anyway, this task began at 10 AM, when I was supposed to a)email everyone in the office to tell them I would be taking their orders soon, b) photcopy for EVERY SINGLE PERSON the menu for that day, which would be whatever takeout menu was decided upon by the person closest to me as I rummaged through the giant folder containing them, and c) distributed the menus to everyone. A half-an hour later, I would go around the office collecting peoples orders (which were never ready) and then write them all down and phone them in. Total effing B.S. No matter how hard I tried, everyon'e orders always got screwed up, or the delivery guy forgot something, or somebody ate someone else's lunch or some shit, so it was really annoying. But I didn't mind that much because everone was really nice and always seemed appreciative EXCEPT FOR THIS ONE BITCH. She would take forever to make up her mind as I stood there waiting (because if lunch was late everyone freaked out) and then she would ask me questions about the menu as if I was the spokesperson for the restaurant or something. She would ask me to call up to find out the soups of the day and write them down for her. Once, she asked me if she could get something called "Half-soup, half-burger," as she stared at the two separate items on the menu. What the fuck? How should I know? Is that even possible? WHO ORDERS HALF A BURGER? She would invariably give me like eight alternate choices, too. Um, fuck you. I don't piss away half these $8 per hour on a hefty commuting cost to tell you the soup of the day, hooknose.
What really salts the wound in this story is the fact that the same unrepentant bitch would go on afternoon Dunkin' Donuts runs for the whole staff and would get things for everyone but would never ask me if I wanted anything or even tell me to help myself to the communal munchkins. No, she would take everyone else's order and then breeze by my desk and out the door to donut heaven as I sat lamely looking up apartments on Craigslist and crying between fedexes and filing jobs. That bitch used the bathroom seriously 20 times a day (I know because the key was kept at my desk, and whenever it wasn't there, she would ask me where it was. UH, SOMEONE'S USING IT). The moral here: work sucks.
7/17/04
Today my dad was changing an overhead lightbulb and it slipped and broke on his head. He came away completely unscathed. That's my dad; the hardest working 71 year-old restauranteur in Westchester County. His response: "That's what happens when you're hungry."
7/20/04
If anyone out there is ever going to take a Biology class (or any other class, for that matter, except Linguistics), I urge you not to take it at Lehman College, arguably the worst institution in the CUNY system (that's City University of New York for those of you outside NYC). If this school has a motto, it should be changed to "Lehman College: Awfully nice campus, awfully bad teachers" or "A great place to spend thirteenth grade." Apparently, in Bio Lehman-style, there is no syllabus. There are no readings, and if our lab experiments work...well, we're thankful. On the first day of class, our professor, a nice, white-haired, moustached man such as one might see behind the counter of his or her local curio shop, introduced himself and began teaching what I can only describe as a meandering series of lessons spanning many different fields of study including, but not limited to: Chemistry, Old Jokes, Stuff that Happened One Time, Current Events, The Hard-of-Hearing Experience, and lastly, Biology. Yes, there is certainly cutting edge research going on here at Lehman considering the links that apparently exist between these diverse areas. This professor, who is possibly the nicest person I've ever met, "lectures" and writes notes on the blackboard using a set of scribbled-upon looseleaf notes he's always shuffling around in his hands, and he says things like "I think...," "I'm not sure, but," and "I don't remember" often enough to disturb most of the class. Seriously, I don't think this guy even has a PhD. I think they pay him in moonshine. "Who should we get to teach the summer session?" "I don't know; I'm going to Cabo." "How about Carl? He's always fooling around with shit in his basement. Have you seen those animals he makes?" And so the difficult position of summer biology teacher was filled. In addition to the colorful goings-on in our lectures, we perform disgusting lab experiements that include collecting our own saliva and then playing with it. Sure, we were testing for starch or whatever. All I know is, it's not natural to heat up one's own saliva, and when some asshole inevitably burned the shit out of hers, I almost lost my lunch. Seriously, that's one of the worst smells I ever smelled. I think I'm now sterile. Time to go over my "notes." Please, take my advice: Lehman is just no good for anybody.
8/2/05
While trying to kill time working at my Dad's restaurant, I found myself staring at the new gigundo fish tank supplied by our hotheaded chef. It stands in the fireplace, the architectural centerpiece of our largest dining room. I could have finished Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, but I don't think anyone would have appreciated me reading on the job. The fish tank is pretty big, and there are two palm-sized fish and a couple of mini sharks that are about as scary as a hangnail. More significantly, there are three small structures adorning their underwater world that give me great pleasure to contemplate as they are completely ludicrous. In the middle of the rectangular tank, there's a very stately looking plastic castle painted to look like it's spires are made of stone. To the right of the castle is a separate bridge that curves upward in an earthy, forest brook kind of way; I was surprised it didn't come with a gnarly troll under it. Finally, to the left, there's a cluster of fake metal barrels oozing hard plastic orange goo with a faux-hastily scrawled "Toxic Waste" sign attached. These items are funny for a few reasons, one of which being that they are all made to completely different scales and look like the crazy, LSD environments I used to create for my Barbies when I was a kid combining toys made for different dolls. My Barbies were always too tall for their kitchen sets and had mismatched furniture and shoes alternately cartoonishly huge and extremely small; the houses I made for them looked like the furniture section at Salvation Army. These are also ridiculous in the same way that those smoking chimps and dogs dressed like humans are (like that stupid Paris Hilton's sweater-wearing chihuahua and those cute yet disturbing weimeraners dressed like golfers and housewives); I tried to figure out the rationale behind these accents in the tank, whether fish toys are generally made to duplicate our world underwater for the fish or provide an ironic wink to the viewer ("That's true, we totally dump toxic waste in the ocean! Don't worry fishie, it's fake! It can't kill your whole family, which it would definitely do normally!"). I kept waiting for one of the fish to swim over the bridge, but it never happened, and I was ashamed of myself for wanting it so badly.
8/2/04
Sleeping in Public: A Primer
Today I had occasion to take a nice nap whilst away from home and in doing so, I realized what a difficult task this is. I thought I'd offer some tips to help other sleep deprived persons through a long day away from their sweat-soaked, jersey cotton sheets.
1) Give in to the urge. Many times I've assumed that the work/school day is not the time or place for a catnap. This is an utter falsehood! Don't fall into the coffee/soda trap thinking you must stay awake. Many times, I've sucked down a diet coke in anticipation of class and found myself too jacked up to sleep when the opportunity inevitably (and creatively) presented itself. Or, I assumed sleeping during the day was an indulgence reserved only for winos and ferry captains. Boy, was I wrong! A little sleep does everyone good, and don't think for a second those zombies moving back and forth around you aren't just going through the motions in a semi-conscious state. At least you're honest.
2) As in relationships, never pass up a sure thing. Don't waste precious snore time looking for a comfy couch to crash on when you know you'll rest undiscovered like an underwear-wrapped turd in the office supply room or the third floor of the Bio building. Beggars can't be choosers, friend.
3) Contrary to what you may think, resting in the prone position will spare you more embarassment than catching a barely-upright z. Whether you're at your desk at work or in class, or riding the train home, you'll save face by physically acknowledging your exhaustion to others rather than attempting, clearly unsuccessfully, to go about your routine asleep. For one, if you are able to sleep lying on your back, you avoid (mostly) gravity's pull on your lower jaw and mouth (who hasn't woken up sitting on the train and gaping open-mouthed Beetlejuice-style to snickering fellow passengers and a drool-soaked chest and lap?) A friend wo shall remain nameless also frequently bangs her head on the train window. No good. I'm sure the person next to you wouldn't mind your face in his or her lap in the name of Mr. Rip Van Winkle. It's not nice to fuck with Mother Nature, you know.
4) Have no regrets. You recognize, as a superior human being, the value of catching rest when you can get it. Don't abandon your higher consciousness in the face of scorn and ridicule; Ghandi didn't. If called on your activities, own up to it. After a few droopy-lidded indiscretions during one class, a professor made a backhanded comment to my entire class about "one of us being a little tired." My response? I raised my hand, waived, and said "That was me. Sorry about that." Imagine a defiant tone. There's no other way. Anyone who thinks you're a loser is a square or a hater. For all they know, you're Narcoleptic. And don't regret what sapped your energy and productivity; Adult Swim is decades ahead of its time and will soon be saturday morning required viewing. Then, all you'll have to worry about is sleeping too late. Won't that be the fucking life!
5) Follow my advice. Hey, I don't always practice what I preach, as evidenced by my mixed results today. I ignored rule #2, opting to search the Lehman Library for a final resting place instead of going with the old standby, the orange leather and chrome "couch" on the second floor of the Speech Building. That bit me in the ass proper when I awoke in the previously deserted "Children's Reading Room" to find myslef being laughed and stared at by numerous teachers and children amused by the splayed rag doll figure I cut on the stained and scratchy sofa. Live and learn! I hope this has been helpful. Sleep tight, brothers.
8/23/04
I just had a John Waters moment. Or maybe it was more David Lynch.
As my dad, my sister, and I were driving home just now, I was commenting on our lamentable financial situation and I had just finished saying that at least we were funny because a lot of families aren't funny at all and never laugh ever.
Then a retarded bum walking next to our car threw up in the middle of the sidewalk.
"He vomited," said my dad.
8/26/04
Me. A 60 year-old bike. No brakes. Just ride.
The rest of the people on the bike path didn't seem to appreciate it.
I didn't know the bike had no brakes. Really. I just thought it was a cool-lookin' bike for toolin' around when I bought it used at Ray's Useful Things in upstate New York whilst enjoying a visit to me mum's. I guess bikes from the forties didn't have brakes. Ray certainly didn't warn me. Let's remember we're talking about the portly, ancient proprietor of a junk shop that opens and closes when he happens to awaken from that day's diabetic coma.
But damned if I'm not hooked on bikes now, and not in the bmx, "shredding" kind of way, or however the kids are playing it these days.
9/3/04
If only my 24th year could be like the show "24." Not that I ever watch that show, but if I what I've seen/heard is correct, it's a real humdinger. I would like to change my living format over to "real time" action in this, the 24th, year of my existence, and maybe throw in a kidnapping and a biological weapons scare, too. Each episode of said year of the life of yours truly will now be just a single hour in the life of 24 year-old me, and the season finale will be commercial-free. In addition, my 24th year will be sponsored by Solgar Vitamins and Burger King. I will not be involved with Kiefer Sutherland in any way as my Young Guns/Young Guns 2/Three Musketeers crush on him has faded into my pubescent past. I don't date taneorexics, anyway.
9/5/04
The only thing more pleasurable than seeing a movie would be killing the people that always ruin them for me. You know, it used to be that one could go to the movies without worrying about how exactly to phrase the inevitable noise complaint to the ineffectual (and almost always teenage) manager. My idea of a good time used to be taking in a fi-lum at the local "plex" with a few of my closests cineasts. Now, apparently, that has changed to seething in a passive-aggressive furor while trying to block out the constant, jerry springer-esque crowd participation.
Perhaps it's my own puishment for seeing "The Exorcist: The Beginning" in the first place, but it seems like I haven't seen a movie on the big screen since forever ago without experiencing the worst humanity has to offer. Either I'm getting more sensitive, or people really are becoming ruder and ruder everyday. God forbid I should try to enjoy the quiet subtlety of The Blair Witch Project without being disturbed by the kind of hootin' and hollerin' normally associated with a Texas high-school football game. Is it like this everywhere? A sampling:
1) At that same Blair Witch viewing, a number of things quite annoyed me. It was a midnight showing and, as everyone knows, it's definitely a horror movie, yet the theater was packed with parents and their kids. Midnight on a saturday, and you're bringing your kid to a shit-your-pants-screamathon? Alright, I know there are many different viewpoints about the movie in question; reguardless, if it's considered to be part of the horror genre, it's no place for fucking tots, mom and dad. No joke: I was sitting right next to an infant. "Hmm...why don't we skip the nap and take little Junior to see Freddy Vs. Jason!" There are so many things wrong with this that I'll just move on.
2) A friend and I walked out of Meet Joe Black with our hair full of popcorn after some high school sluts decided it didn't look brushed.
3) What possibly could have ruined the delicious sex scenes in The Notebook, the ridiculously shmaltzy yet undeniably hot romantic drama I now model my life after? How about a crazy, overall-clad, mouth-breathing old man sitting alone right behind my sister and I who felt it his task to narrate the entire movie, punctuating his commentary with odd groans and sighs?
4) Today's incident involved a talkative mother and son team who didn't enjoy being silenced. When my sister became fed up with their normal-tone-of voice question and answer, her "shhh" was answered with a "shh yourself!" from the obviously psychotic woman. Again, why is your preteen son even watching this movie? I saw the first Exorcist movie, and so correctly anticipated the possessed potty mouthing in this "prequel." A note to my future offspring: I will definitely not be taking you to any movies with dialogue ranging from "I know you want to stick it in my juicy ass" to "Fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!" unless it is school related until you are at least 15.
I feel that the climate of today's movie theaters, much like Woodstock 99, are a telling indicator of our nation's lack of respect, understanding, and politeness. To the world I say: shut the fuck up, seriously, or I'll totally glare at you repeatedly and sigh loudly.
10/27/04
Professor, did you go to school at the University of Dawson's Creek?
I just wanted to share (a bit belatedly) an exchange that occurred between myself and a "Professor" at my "college:"
Me: "The mother said she found that time she spent with her daughter invaluable-"
Professor: "Wait. Invaluable? You mean valuable."
Me: "Well, they mean the same thing. Like 'flammable and infl-'"
Professor: "Whatever."
Hey, can I get a PhD in fucking stupidity, too? Or would that be inpossible?
3/21/05
The most fucking incredible thing that ever happened to me:
So I went to the grocery store today and cashed in all my change, which was just enough to pay for everything I needed. I was then seen to purchase a 12 can fridge pack of Diet Pepsi because I have an unhealthy relationship with diet soda.
I went home and fixed myself a delicious lunch complete with one of the aforementioned delicious sodas. I opened the can and took a sip.
It was regular Pepsi. In a Diet Pepsi can. In a Diet Pepsi box.
Please know that this was not one of those times when one has a vague feeling that their soda is diet/not diet/not what it is supposed to be. This was UNQUESTIONABLY regular Pepsi. However, I then had my sister, also an expert, taste it. She confirmed that it was in fact regular Pepsi, even though all packaging said otherwise. My father also concurred after tasting it. I opened another can and tasted it. Same regular Pepsi.
It was at that point that I placed a call to PepsiCo and spoke with another woman named Kathy. She kept saying things like "...since you say it tastes like regualr Pepsi," which prompted me to respond, "No offense, but it doesn't 'taste like' regular Pepsi; it IS regular Pepsi." She told me that they would be sending me a DHL box in which I was to place the remaining cans of Pepsi and that this box would be picked up so that the soda could be tested. I, in the meantime, would also be receiving coupons for Pepsi products and a full refund.
I had been all set to write about the weird dream I had last night when this happened. Incidentally, in my dream I was at the Big Flux comedy show (with Kevin Allison from The State), which I had seen in real life over the weekend, except it was in a stadium and I was sitting next to this girl I went to high school with. We were in the front row and I saw Rue Mclanahan walk in and I said "Hey, look, it's Rue McLanahan." Rue mcLanahan came over and gave me ahug and said she was happy to see me because we had mutual friends. Then she left and I was looking for my purse and I fell out of my seat and hit my head on the floor and couldn't get up. Then one of my professors came and shined a light in my eyes and asked me to count as high as I could. Then I woke up.
This was the fucking weirdest day ever.
(Please note: it turned out that according to "lab tests," this actually was Diet Pepsi, as Kathy later informed me when she called me back about 3 months later. Whatever. I'm not *saying* she's lying, but I had independent confirmation via extremely scientifically accurate taste-testing that this was totally regular Pepsi. Something's afoot. However, guess who scored 2 free 12-packs! Holla back, PepsiCo! )
5/27/05
I HAVE A MOSQUITO BITE ON MY EYE and other things
Ok, it's really the corner of my eyelid, but it itches/hurts just the same. I kept waking up to a buzzing noise last night and frantically flailing my arms to get it away while in a half-asleep stupor. Maybe it's because of my jerry-rigged air-conditioner that's hanging unsecured out my window because I prematurely "installed" it (alone, no less, which no one should EVER do) even though it's somehow like 8 below outside? The fucking accordion sides don't stretch all the way so my window is basically gaping and thus my face was made a meal to vagrant bugs. I have a bite on my cheek, too. Thanks a lot, nature. It's totally awesome that we're killing you (jk).
In other news, I'm very bored. I have not yet recieved word from potential employers and thus I sit jobless. My physics class doesn't start for two weeks and I'm spending money in a wholly irresponsible fashion. At least the guy in the dairy section of Key Food is helping me out in that respect by alerting me to "good deals," then hovering over my shoulder to see if I follow his advice and then commenting on my subsequent choices ("Back to the fat-free, huh? I get it.") Thanks, dude.
Also, I have some things to say about the recent hullabaloo over the season finale of That 70's Show and all the weird drama about it (since it's like totally on everyone's minds). I love That 70's Show and true, it is kind of weird that Topher Grace and Ashton Kutcher are leaving the show when there's still one season left, but who gives. If I were picked to be in Spideman 3, I'd totally quit Ashton Kutcher's restauranteur/pussy posse and be like "Whattup Peter Parker. I'm your new villain." In conclusion, Topher Grace rules, and not just cuz I know two separate people who have met him and said he was "nice." It's like, did anyone see him in Traffic? Amazing, mang.
Yeah, and what's with Fox 5 news? I was watching it on wednesday and the top story on at every hour was who was going to win Amercian Idol. Yeah. Oh, then there was some story about whether people can determine the sex of their babies, and the newscaster ACTUALLY said: "Deeper penetration is said to give advantage to male sperm." This was at approx 5:30 pm on a major news network. That reminds me that I will be presenting a story on the merits of fistfucking during Dora the Explorer tomorrow, so tune in, dudes.
5/28/05
Mosquito part II
So I was all set to go to bed an hour ago when I was again harrassed by the buzzing noise of a mosquito in my ear (actually, it almost flew into my fucking nose). I sat bolt fucking upright and turned on the lights, determined not to be bitten again. After waiting very patiently for my chance, i finally discovered the shiteater on one my walls and killed it with a folder. This is the worst part: that folder was covered in so much of what can only be my own goddamned blood that I serisouly almost lost my proverbial lunch. I mean a total mosquito-blood and Kathy-blood bloodbath. But at least I could go back to bed.
Apparently not, as a second mosquito LANDED RIGHT ON MY COMPUTER SCREEN as I opened it to type this horrible story. I tried to kill this one, too, but it flew away, and now I have to go to work again because if I don't, I'll wake up tomorrow with 50 bites on my face and one will inevitably be on my eyelid as has happened 3 times before in my life and my eye will puff up like sloth from Goonies and everyone will stare at me and think I'm cognitively impaired like the time I had to go to Bed Bath and Beyond and everyone kept looking at my weird puffy half-shut sloping Rocky eye.
Seriously, I might not make it through the night. Tomorrow I'm totally getting one of those mosquito nets for my bed so I can protect myself. What angers me is that I'm probably the only person who will ever be purchasing such an item for it's intended use and not just to sexify my beaudoir like all those weird girls with fairy tattoos do.
I guess I better go kill that shit.
5/31/05
What do you mean my craigslist ad is totally weird?
I found the following ad on craigslist and have immortalized it here for reasons that shall soon become obvious to you:
i want to live with someone who is pretty much a loser like me. i cant cope with living with a guy or girl who has other guys or girls over for sex and good times while i am in my room on the computer, knowwhatimsayin? itll just depress me. if i come home and there is a strange tattooed guy on the couch smoking cloves and wearing a joy division tshirt and he says hey to me and im like who are you? and he laughs and says his name like im supposed to know it or something then you come out like hey this is ryan cooljeans i met him on the train about five minutes ago and told him he can sleep on our couch for a few months. i wouldnt really know how to deal with it. i would just say, "yeah, i know his name is ryan cooljeans because he just told me. so he is gonna be staying for a while then? not paying a dime of rent? i guess that is okay." but inside i would be fuming and would immediately want to get out of the situation. see, i wanna come home from work and toss my keys on the table and maybe see your bedroom door closed with you on the other end of it or on your computer or on the couch watching tv quietly, perhaps stroking your cat. i wanna say hey and you say hey and maybe reach a mutual agreement to go halves on a pizza. once our extra large sausage and pepperoni pizza arrives i would retreat to my room and go straight to the computer or join you in the living room to watch a recently rented film or something. it all sounds peaceful, doesnt it? thats the kinda life i like to lead. im not joking here either. it may sound like i am but i am not. i know what youre thinking, if you dont wanna live around these quote unquote cool people then why live in wicker park? because its north of the loop, east of western ave, near the blue line and looks like a pretty safe area to come back to at night. do you have a room for me? if so, then i have money to give you for it on a monthly basis. id like to keep my share of the rent plus utilities under four hundred but i know this is wicker park we are talking about so i am willing to go to five or six hundred. i can even go higher but if i do we wont be able to go halves on pizza too often because i will be paying so much money in rent. ha ha. well, hope to hear from you soon.
Back to the present time...I guess I should have arranged these in a newest-to-oldest format, but it was so much easier to not do that. Are you dead from my orgy of content yet?
