1 I gave myself a new short, flippy haircut this weekend. I was going for Charlize Theron but it came out a little Elizabeth Warren. It'll grow out in a few months to look like what my friend Jenny calls my "real estate portrait." Maybe the next time I go short, I'll buzz one side. I always think I'll do that, but then I think about the in-between time, what's it like growing THAT out? Don't you look deranged for quite a long time? What do you do? I suppose you have to start by buzzing the whole head. That would be a major disaster. I will look like an extra in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, the all-female reboot. Oh it's coming. You know that's coming. Tilda Swinton. I'm calling it now.
2 Do Zombies poop?
3 I make a really great fried chicken tender. It's one of Joe's favorite things I cook. The trick is to pound the chicken flat, then go flour, egg, and then breadcrumbs and do season every layer, then do not eat it because fried chicken is not in my diet. No, I eat it. I eat it. If the question is ever "did she eat it" the answer will always be Yes. That works on a number of levels.
4 I cleaned the kitchen, TV room and piano room over the weekend. It feels good to have done that. It took two days to do the TV room, not because it was particularly dusty, just because I needed to take a nap part way through the job. I ended up sleeping for three hours. But the next day I finished it, even the floor. I will definitely talk about this accomplishment in therapy this week. Man, dust really collects. If today is Monday, then the last time I dusted was...February,
5 I have a question about The Matrix. It's when Neo has been aboard the Nebuchadnezzar for awhile and Tank first introduces him to the neural uploads. He's in the chair and he's got the jack inserted into his head socket. Tank skips the orientation "boring shit" programs and goes straight to downloading martial arts. Neo says, "Jujitsu? I'm going to learn Jujitsu?" Right after Neo uploads the Jujitsu superpower, he exclaims "Holy shit!" and Tank says "Hey Mikey, I think he likes it." My question is, how does Tank, an original child of Zion, know about the 1970s television commercial for Life cereal that gave pop culture the line "Mikey, I think he likes it"? Did Tank learn about it in passing, like from one of the free'd mind people, maybe another Nebuchadnezzar crew member? Maybe there's a program for in-world-Matrix cereal brands, because at breakfast Mouse says he thinks the single-celled organism cereal tastes like Tastee Wheat, which would mean Mouse is from South Africa. Tastee Wheat is a South African breakfast cereal. Maybe all this is part of the Cereal disc upload. I would like to know how Tank knows about "Hey Mikey, I think he likes it." Does he know about Pop Rocks and Coke too? Also, Life and Tastee Wheat, two cereal references seem like a lot for one movie. ∎
1 At the age of 50, I have discovered that my husband of 17 years is good at jigsaw puzzles. Like really good at jigsaw puzzles. I feel a little weird about it. I thought I was good at jigsaw puzzles. I am not, as it turns out, good at jigsaw puzzles. We may have tapped some hidden talent here. What if this is our ship finally coming in, because I can never do anything the normal way. Is there such a job as Competitive Jigsaw Puzzler Manager Wife?
2 Our new favorite thing: getting a box of Russell Stover chocolates and having one each night. Tonight I had two. The diet doctor is not going to be happy with me. I need to stop. Not being able to stop will be why I die, unless it's Covid-19. It will probably be first the one, then the other. "But what were her underlying symptoms?" Russell Stover Syndrome. She couldn't stop. So she died.
3 I have a question about the movie Trading Places. For example, when Louis-as-Santa comes drunkenly stumbling into Olivia's living room where she's decorating the Christmas tree, he heads for the bathroom, and she calls out, "Louie! When you come out I have a big surprise for you!" What was it? I have several other questions about Trading Places...
4 I am giving some consideration to trying beets again. I have friends who love beets now, who at one point hated beets. I have always hated beets. One of my earliest memories is being forced to eat beets and then immediately throwing up purple vomit. But that was decades ago. Maybe I like beets now. No, I probably still hate motherfucking beats. (Gagging at the thought of the talk.)
5 I'm exhausted as soon as I wake up. How are you?
When I watch the Celebrity Cruises commercial with the Jefferson Airplane song White Rabbit, I think: What is going on on Celebrity Cruises? That song is about an insane, balls-out acid trip. In the commercial, the woman on the Celebrity Cruise is drifting in and out of consciousness, passing out on a bed, seeing cruise employees appear from out of a cloud. She sniffs a plant at some point and the bartender YANKS it away from her...then puts it in her drink. This shit's bananas. Either I think this is the best commercial for a cruise ever, or I feel that this is all very suspish' and I'd steer clear of Celebrity Cruises. Can't make up my mind. Whoever's taking cruises in this economy. Don't go on that one. Remember what the Dormouse said. Feed your head. Feed your head.∎
In my experience, older ladies (retired, grannies) are the ones who lose their minds when you use the word "cunt." Men and younger women (practical, busy surviving) don't even blink. So this one is for the ladies. My message is simply this: cunt happens. It just does, I'm sorry if you're offended, but what should offend you, ipso facto, is cunts—not the word used to talk about cunts. If I am talking about a cunt and I use the word cunt, then trust me, I'm a writer. I know what word to use. I'm like a surgeon with the things. The word exists because cunts exist. Cunts are...well, cunts are dicks but worse. Cunts are such dicks that we have this super-specialized word to describe, encapsulate and convey their extra-special flex of dickishness. It's a good word. Supercharged. The word so good that here you are clutching your pearls when presented with the word itself. Cunt happens. Don't be a Karen about it. 🙋
BOSTON. You know that fine line between funny and sad? I know that guy. Tonight I went to "The Gas" at Great Scott. That is the weekly comedy hosted by Rob Crean. Rob is possibly the saddest funny guy that I know. I'm not saying all of his material arises from a place of depression or anxiety, but I can tell you that Rob's act helped lead me from the darkness over Robin Williams' death, even if Rob doesn't know he did that for me. Maybe for others, too. Intelligence + writing + seeing the absurdity that we're all navigating makes for some top-shelf comedy. My take is that Fridays at Great Scott, enough of a good time for people who still have their mental health, also make a decent substitute for group therapy for those of us who need a fucking lifeline. It's usually just $5, unless special occasion, and 2x or 3x worth it.
↑ Restroom tampon box photo. If you think that I turned off my phone's
snapshot sound first, you'd be wrong. What the other
chicks in the bathroom thought was going on in my stall.∎
"I'm one of those people who doesn't believe in global warming, but I'm pretty sure Noah's Ark was a true story. You know, where the guy was warning everyone about the insane change in the weather and everyone was like, shut the fuck up, Noah." - Rory Scovel
Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip was a solid show. It was on during a dark period in my life when every TV show that I loved was getting canceled. I made a list at the time, it's probably in the old blog archives. Studio 60 was Aaron Sorkin's first project post-West Wing, so it had a lot of the Aaron Sorkin players, and the overall look of the show (cameras, lights, titles) was very West Wing. Studio 60 was funny and smart. So of course it got canceled because what's wrong with people.
#StillNotOverIt #I💓AaronSorkin #AskForTheButter
Harriet:
I got a laugh at the table read when I asked for the butter in the
dinner sketch. I didn't get it at the dress. What did I do wrong? Matt: You asked for the laugh.
💝 Get in line early for the iRony collection for Capitalism Month before they sell out. Browse the Just Sayin' cards for the new year, perfect to send people you told to fuck off at Thanksgiving. [The un-Valentine collection has been discontinued because everything is ruined.] 👉👈
"Small black coffee, please." "We don't have small, we only have medium." "...that's impossible." (blank stare) I tried again, "What's the smallest size? "We just have the one size."
"What is happening right now?" For a good three seconds I thought I was on a reality show. Like Hal Sparks was going to come out from the back and give one of his comedy lectures. Hal wrote this material years ago. Here's the thing. Gen X has had just about enough of this shit. #AllOuttaBubblegum.
Trust Me, I'm A Writer
I'll detail what you did wrong. I'll do it for free. Usually people pay me. But I feel I can help you improve your Customer Experience (CX). What should have happened is this:
"Small black coffee, please." (Holds up the only cup to show me) "This is the only size we have, but I could just fill it up part way if you'd like?"
But let me tell you why.
Because Customer Experience Matters
You guys, no matter what your job, it's egregious to start any transaction on a negative. In this simple "a writer's morning coffee" example, it's not just for me but for the greater good of society. You see, if the first thing out of your mouth is a negative ("we don't...), you're souring the customer's entire feeling about your store. Straight off, there's a problem. Guys, we freelancers got enough problems. Bitches be broke.
The least that you could do as a small business in America is train your staff to make sure every transaction, especially coffee, should go smooth like Snoop Dog. Why give me this gatekeeper puzzle. I'm going to buy a coffee here today. Your goal is to make me want to buy a coffee here tomorrow, too, and then pick this place when it's my turn to lead writer's group next week. You should want me feeling warm fuzzies about the day's first accomplishment: coffee. What you're doing is sending me out the door perturbed, and then the first rando Masshole that tells me to smile is in real danger of getting that one-size coffee in his fuckin' face. So you see, your Customer Experience (CX) Fail is going to get a jerk some black coffee burns, and get me arrested for FuckThisShit. Do better. It's for America.
Say we disagree on what "Medium" means, in a place that sells "Medium" and "Large." Fine, please refer to Hal Sparks. But...THIS coffee place only sells the one size.
Why say "We don't have small" and start right off confusing me? Me no coffee. Right now I'm like a baby when you shine a light in
its eyes. And you're holding hostage my coffee while you make me play you
in a game of 20 Questions that I don't understand.
Retail Marketing 101: Turning a Problem Into a Promotion
Just in case you are hearing "stock more size cups," let me be clear: don't. It's fine. What I am saying is, do not make your store logistics into a problem for the customer. Sell the "one size" coffee but why not use the "we only have one size" thing as a marketing tool. It will cost you nothing to stick the cup on a funky little display with a pleasant-looking sign (write it ON THE CUP) saying "One Size!" and make a joke about it. Something like "One size fits most! But you tell us when to say when!" People love stupid old-skool shit like that.
Are you guys saying that modern day "Medium" is re-defined as being anywhere between ten
ounces and fourteen ounces? Well I don't love it. But. If we're refining the language, then somebody put it in Urban Dictionary or something. We re-purpose words all the time, but don't just assume that the wordsmiths among us (hi!) won't pick a fight over the
technicality that you cannot have a Medium unless you also have one size
smaller, and one size larger, to bracket that shit. Fer fuck's sake. ∎
*I will never actually tweet that.
By the way, Medium has a real purpose in the beverage industry. We NEED Medium so we can feel like we are treating ourselves by
ordering the not-smallest size. Everything else is so lean, money is so
tight that we never get to do anything indulgent. So we should be
ordering the small but we can go big today and get Medium. We can also
feel righteous about not being a tubby little piggy and getting the
LARGE when we haven't earned it.
Hey Demitri, Birbigs, that guy, and that other guy. You know who you are. So, I've given it literally dozens of chances, but I'm afraid it's a no from me, dawg. I love you, but when you reach for that guitar, my brain goes, "Noooooooo!" You're bringing us along on your narrative, we're digging your stories, you're nailing it. Cadence, timing, you got us! Why bring a guitar into it. Everything grinds to a halt, it's all just smoking skidmarks. You're just telling micro-stories in a distractingly stilted manner, strumming that same little run, over and over again, and then sometimes, for no discernible artistic reason, you just carol out a random word. It makes me want to punch all the arpeggiated chords in the world. I feel sure it's not just me. I really really do.
Look, it was never going to work. Smucker's Goober Grape is an idea like something two co-dependent stoners would come up with, and if you've never had Smucker's Goober Grape, what I know about you is that you don't do enough 3am bodega runs. Smucker's Goober Grape is not a food. It's a food group created in a lab as a solution to a very specific problem: you are hungry, broke, and out of options. Smucker's Goober Grape has the mouth feel of staring into the abyss. It's a bland, pasty concoction that serves well neither the peanut butter nor the jelly. It doesn't even "spread." It clumps between two pieces of off-brand bread for a gag-inducingly loathsome bite. If you've never had it, imagine something in your mouth that tastes like diaper contents, and it's both slimy and gritty. It's so awful it's like personally offensive.
3. High Heels
I tried for decades. I wanted it so hard. I recently gave away a super cute pair of red Fluevogs that I still think about. I will never not think about those shoes and wonder how they're doing, like they took my virginity or something. Perfect red, perfect heel. You know I'm a simple gal, but I look at Fluevies the way your dog looks at bacon. I should've passed them along when I realized I was never going to Cinderella Stepsister my way into those gorgeous shoes. Every few months I'd take them out of the box, put them on, grimace my way through one teetering mince around the apartment. Once time I had a glass of wine and wore them for ten whole minutes, laying on the couch and weeping. So I set them free. It was time. Go with God, my darlings. They have a good home now. As they walked off down Mass Ave on the dainty feet of a stunning Bulgarian marimba player, so departed any delusions I may still hold deep down in my jaded Sicilian heart. In the end, I'm just a Doc Martens gal making her way in a Fluevog world.
4. Candy
It was hot in those masks.
Of all the holidays in the kid year, Halloween was Top of Candy Mountain. Everyone had their own personal system when you get back home with the pillow case full of loot. I made three piles. "Thanks for coming" was waaaay over here with the worst shit ‒ Lifesavers, Smarties, Good N Plenty. The dreaded Necco Wafters which no one has ever convinced me aren't made from crushed Tums. Then I had my "Any Sugar In A Storm" pile over there with Laffy Taffy, Starburst Fruit Chews, jelly beans left over from Easter. Right in front of me: Chocolate. Hershey, Reese's, Chunky, Reggie Bars. It all felt so serious. They say our tastes evolve, and boy how that happened! I'll have a few Hershey's Kisses at Christmas and marvel over how much of that stuff we consumed before age 30.
Joe just finished explaining his place in his dorky history video game. Apparently the
King of Siam is threatening his borders. I said, "Maybe he's just
(breaking into song) getting to knooooow you, getting to know alllll
about youuuuu..."
...pause...
"Get it?"
"No, none of that made sense to me. Is it a joke?"
"Well in the musical 'The King and I' he's the King of Siam, and that's the pinnacle song."
In his wildly popular sci fi account chronicling the end of the world, Douglas Adams imagines a guidebook to the universe that is so massive it only exists in electronic form, you swipe a screen to access anything you want to know about the entire galaxy. This was 1978, you guys. We had vinyl and 8-track tapes, and the OS of my favorite toy was a light bulb. No, not the EasyBake Oven. Lite Bright — you can paint with light, motherf***er.
Lesser men than Adams have been called "Prophet." Respect.
You Can Panic Now
On the cover, in "large friendly letters," the guide said, "DON'T PANIC." In literary circles, it is understood that expression along these lines has the opposite effect. Essentially, Douglas Adams was saying, "Panic." It's like when you tell someone hysterical to "calm down."
In the guide, along with proving that God does not exist, are other helpful tips for navigating the galaxy, such as how to hitch a ride on a passing star ship and where to get laid while planet hopping on a budget. Also, Douglas Adams has something to say on the topic of dolphins.
“Curiously enough, the dolphins had long known of the impending destruction of the planet Earth and had made many attempts to alert mankind to the danger; but most of their communications were misinterpreted as amusing to punch footballs or whistle for titbits, so they eventually gave up and left the Earth by their own means shortly before the Vogons arrived. The last ever dolphin message was misinterpreted as a surprisingly sophisticated attempt to do a double-backwards-somersault through a hoop whilst whistling the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’, but in fact the message was this: So Long, and thanks for all the fish.” ― Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Douglas Adams was writing about the Rapture. Consider "dolphin" as symbolic of intelligent, clever and generally well-liked creatures. Almost magical. Like David Bowie, for example. This isn't something you'll find in Cliffs Notes, but you can trust the stalwart Interpreters of Literature on this one — while you were outside sportsing, we were reading everything and talking about it over our inhalers and various collections of comic books, cards and action figures. If Douglas Adams was a modern day prophet, it follows, then, that Donald Trump is the symptom of a growing sickness that's been festering since the 1980s. Fareed Zakaria delivered the message that, without an emergency Trumpectomy, the cancer would ultimately destroy democracy. Is it a coincidence that David Bowie died from cancer after an eighteen-month battle?
Eighteen months from Trump announcing his toxic candidacy, the dolphins began to depart the planet.
💥
Starman Hitches a Ride
ZIGGY GOES HOME!
Soooo, mankind might have to come to terms with something right about now: The Rapture happened and we didn't make the cut. 2016 was the end of days. As existentialist philosopher Jean Paul Sarte famously opined, hell is other people. We are the "other people."
Welcome to Hell
Sorry, dude. We tried. Wanna hang? Netflix 'n chill until the apocalypse? There's nothing you can do. I might as well try those hot Cheetos now.
