Bonus 1- Look!

Because I'm tired and this is the twelfth post, please to excuse me if I just put up some photos. These are a few archived beauties from the day I went zombie costume shopping with Alli and Carina.

"I'll kill you with chainsaw Carina because I'm very mad!"

"Just kidding, I was playing one of my jokes!"

I'm so crazy, look at me just put that burger right on my head.

I bought this hat for my French Zombie costume but then decided it would look sharp every day. In this picture, I am thinking about how it would look sharp every day.

Standard fare- me with a rabbit head, sipping out of a penis water bottle.

Bonus 2- Small Consolation

I'm not sure what just happened. I got an email from a consumer group, inviting me to a focus group on new beers. Um, two hours of drinking beer, with food provided, and an $85 check at the end of the night. Free food, free beer, and I get paid?! Is it just me, or does this sound like every guy's magical dream? I started drifting into Homer Simpson fantasy visions of swimming in a beer river and picking dollar bills off trees.

Reality check- they didn't need any more 29-year-olds for their study. D'oh. Before I knew it, the recruiting agent started signing me up for another study, about 100 times less magical. Now I'm enrolled in a stupid focus group on stupid Internet-based phone service, or stupid VoIP. What kind of crappy consolation prize is that? Sitting around talking about phones for two hours, in a stark room with a two-way mirror (this is true, I checked.) Not to mention the $85 check will be offset by the time I have to take off work to do the damn study. Bamboozled, I tellz ya.

1) Who likes fun?

If your answer is a resounding, "I do!" then this website is likely for you. TBS has compiled all the funniest commercials of the year and put them up for you to vote on. I marathoned through about 100 of them the other night and it put me in a super-good mood.

My favorites:

Runner-up!

First prize!

One thing- Promise me you won't buy any of these products after you watch the ads. That would make me upset, which is the opposite of laughing.

Don't forget, two bonus posts before nine.

2) Trop

On Monday, I realized I had spent Thanksgiving break with Rebecca but had barely shown her any of Boston (outside bars and restaurants of course.) So we took a trip down Newbury Street in the unseasonably warm weather. For those outside the metro Boston area, this street is chi-chi central, with all the city's most upscale boutiques and art galleries and the like.

Anyway, it was a very nice warm day out and we were having quite the time together. Okay, I have to admit something here. We were being a bit gross. All the PDA Rebecca and I spared our friends from, we were exhibiting in front of rich strangers. Hell, they can take it, right?

So we stopped at some point to smooch in front of a little cafe. Here's where the alarming thing happened- the Cole Porter classic Let's Do It was playing in the cafe. As we kissed, this exact line drifted outside: I hear even Boston beans do it, Let's do it, let's fall in love. I think the song and the global warming and the good feelings were all too much for us. It was like we all of a sudden were in a scripted movie moment outside of our control. Too weird.

I can't remember what happened next but if I had to guess, I'd say Rebecca shoved me down and ran away.

3) The truth is out there

Anyone else sick of hearing about Michael Richards? Ever since his racist outburst, every pundit, entertainer and soapbox orator has weighed in with their two cents. "I just think that guy is sending the wrong message. I mean, comedy is supposed to be about laughing, not horribly offensive racial epithets." And I must admit that I too have taken part in the Kramer coffee klatsch, dishing my opinions as if they amount to more than the bored musings of a dilettante.

Well I thought I had heard about as much as I could handle, until I read a new group weigh in today- the Crazies! Read this article to see how MR is not just a comedian who snapped after one too many hecklers. In fact, he is part of a vast national conspiracy to make racism palatable to the average American. I don't know about you, but if Richards was the mouthpiece of a movement, those Freemasons need to take a long, hard look at their PR. Michael Richards is not exactly America's sweetheart right now, in case you haven't noticed.

Footnote: Part of the article includes a harsh indictment of the Shriners, of which Richards is a member. This is their hilarious description of those fezzy little men:
Exoterically, merry old men putting on a circus once in a while to help out burn victims; esoterically, a band of thugs and thieves from all the Lodges, who indulge in feasts of vulgarity, racism and debauchery.

4) Grotesquerie

I'm sure you all know the type. Woman in her late forties, years of hard living on her face, wearing far too much makeup and clothes appropriate for a girl 30 years her junior (nose piercing, too-tight jeans, etc.) This is the type of woman that makes me feel melancholy to see trawling for men at closing time. Well today I passed one of these sad specimens of youth gone by on my way into the subway station. She was staring at the subway map and I gave her no more than a quick glance. I was startled to have my look returned with a glare of raw, naked hate. I quickly looked away and shot down the escalator.

As I was sitting reading a few minutes later, I looked up and saw Baby Jane descending the same escalator. Again, her stare was fixed directly on me, and the look was pure venom. Shockingly, she started making strange erratic pantomime motions as she descended. One motion looked like she was karate chopping her own neck, another looked like she was trying to lift her head off her shoulders. And all the while, she was maintaining direct eye contact. I glanced around and notice a few other people are watching this little scene play out. Besides a little private pity in my head, what had I done wrong?

Finale: At the bottom of the escalator, she comes within five feet of me and yells, "Get yourself a girl; I'm a woman!"

~announcement~

Hello everybody-
Because I've managed my time poorly and I'm going to coffee lunch with alli, I don't think I'll have four posts written by this afternoon. However! My compromise is this- six posts written by the time I get off work tonight at nine. Deal?

5) Personality test

Which of these do you find more disturbing?

Letter A
or
Letter B

DO NOT OPEN AT WORK!

6) Open question

Okay, so if a cat's "hands" are called paws and their "fingernails" are called claws, what are their "fingers" called? This problem started bothering me last week, after Jon was kind enough to trim Mr. Lady's gargantuan Howard Hughes nails. So I started asking around and got a few answers. For instance, Rebecca said talons and Julio said digits. Feh.

I wanted to let it rest, I really tried. When Julio said digits, I got all excited and acted like the problem was solved. But still, I don't feel quite satisfied. Maybe the word I'm looking for doesn't exist, but it should. Can you guys help me make something up? Cheers.

7) Scabie Baby

My Aunt Sandra and her husband Jon spent Thanksgiving dinner out on the porch in the rain, watching my family eat and converse through the glass doors. Every so often, Sandra would get on her walkie-talkie and make a meek request to the indoor dwellers: "Could I bother someone to bring me three peas and half a biscuit?"

See, Sandra and Jon contracted scabies and they didn't want to infect the rest of us. But apparently this is some kind of incurable scabie; they spent last Thanksgiving on the porch with the same affliction.

Apparently the "doctors" have no idea what they're doing, and they say Jon and Sandra don't actually "have scabies." These two are unphased by "facts" though, so they continue to self-quarantine at social events and rub their entire bodies with anise oil. They were wearing rubber gloves, for Chrissakes!

Is this normal? As I stood in the pouring rain, standing five feet from Jon and Sandra at all times, pretending everything was normal and making small talk about work and Rebecca, I got the sense that not every family may be like this.

Would you like to hear more stories about these wacky relatives? I've got a bushel load.

8) Deck the Halls

Have you guys heard of this Julio character? New friend of all, not to mention manfriend of one BETH MULLIN, this guy can seem to do no wrong. His latest coup came this weekend, when he presented me with a wreath he made by hand at his parents' flower shop. Julio told me that he gave it special macho decorations. I let my subscription to Man Magazine run out so I'm taking his word for it.

Grayskull ate the wreath for a little while before we remembered that we didn't want her to die. Then we hung it on our front door so everyone would remember that we are better than our neighbors.

p.s. The wreath originally had a gold pineapple on it but I gave it to Rebecca as a special fruity treat.

9) Avogodo

A co-worker just told me she bought too many avocados and some of them are starting to spoil. I asked her the natural question- "Why are you so keen on spitting in God's eye?"

10) To the races

Remember September 2005? Maybe a lot of stuff happened in your lives that month, you finally got that DVD Tivo Ipod Bluetooth SUV, you found a slug in your oatmeal, you finished your Li'l Homies collection, Israel blew up, whatever. But of all the glorious events that fine month offered to posterity, I'm sure nothing matched my one-day, ten-post marathon on September 19th.

I'm doing it again! Before tomorrow at this time (3:45 pm EST,) I will have written ten short posts. Stay tuned for a whizbang hodgepodge of flotsam and/or jetsam. From my head!

back to basum

So I just had a little holiday break, extended one day to coincide with Rebecca's flight out last night. Incredible visit, now she's gone. I was riding the high for awhile but several hours at work have managed to jolt me back to earth. I was going to write, now I'm feeling a bit too blue. I'll be back tomorrow.
Signed,
Blogger Apologist #1

Bye now

Rebecca is coming to visit for the next four days. I'm not expecting to feel the urge to blog. Have a good holiday!

Our new roommate!

The next morning, I sent an email to Daniel, telling him about Joanna's MySpace ace card. I said the Beth Mullin connection didn't guarantee anything but that it was definitely a mark in Joanna's favor. I suggested a mudwrestling competition to settle who gets the room. Or perhaps let them both move in, then pose a series of intricate challenges to determine who gets voted off the island.

Daniel had other ideas. He decided to play it like a warrior. Within a couple hours, Daniel did some Friendster research and determined that he was a childhood friend of my first serious girlfriend, Lani. In fact, his twin brother's first kiss was Lani's older sister.

A couple things came to mind. First, do I live in a city or a village? How is it that everyone in Boston seems separated by two degrees, max? I work with two guys from the UMass journalism program, another co-worker went to high school with Bethany, I ran into a kid from high school in the work cafe. And that's just work! In real life, things get even more incestuous.

My second thought was to contact Lani and find out if this guy was a nurse murderer or a leper. Lani remains a close friend so her opinion gets more creds than your typical ker-azy ex. I was kind of hoping she'd hate this guy to make our decision easier. But no. She said, "I love him. You guys should live together, it'd be great."

Alright, so it was time for auditions. I'm no Simon Cowell but you have to be a bit cutthroat with situations like these. I mean, what's more important than who you live with? (If you say that who you sleep with is more important, that means you are shallow and sex-crazed. Sorry.)

Daniel came over on Friday evening, right after work. He showed up on his bike, with a six-pack of delicious micro-brewed beer under his arm. I wanted to remain alert and judgemental so I declined a beer, but he helped himself. I liked his immediate comfort level with the situation.

So we sat around shooting the shit about careers, cuisine and reggae music (Daniel likes to get lifted.) After about an hour, he had passed the first round with flying colors. Winning finale- after he walked out, I realized he had left his six-pack. I went running out on the porch and yelled, "Hey dude, your beer!" Daniel turned around, winked and gave me the finger-gun motion (what's that called?) Then he hopped on his bike and took off.

Joanna came over the following Tuesday, driving down from her hometown of Portland, Maine. She was late for a rendez-vous with a friend, so we only got a cursory meet n greet. "Look at the hardwood floors, this cat is crazy, trash day is Monday, goodbye." Because our meeting was brief, we didn't have many opportunities to make jokes. For all I knew, she might hate fun. But much like her e-mail, I based my feeling on, ah, vibes (I hate using that word because it's loaded with hippie stank, but sometimes it is the only thing that fits.)

So I called Daniel to say, "I don't know, you both seemed pretty cool, I'm confused. My heart is too big..." Thing is, at the last minute, Daniel decided he hated us! Or maybe he said something about the kitchen being too small and wanting his own place. The details have gotten a bit fuzzy with time and excessive drinking.

Thing is, Daniel sent a long apologetic email, explaining his situation, but tentatively saying we should still hang out. Friendship foreplay is delicate territory when it comes to a couple of dudes, because I think no one wants to seem like a big queeah. I'm not exactly the picture of machismo though, so I told him, "Yes, let's trade Garbage Pail Kids and tease girls together. Friends!"

Daniel epilogue: We have actually socialized a couple times since then, we're still in touch, in fact he's probably reading this post right now! I'll tell you a secret, some of my female friends think he's quite the catch. Row!

The rest of the story is gravy. Jon met Joanna for lunch at South Station, they got along, we agreed for her to move in mid-month. Jon and I had to swallow half a month's rent for that Texan flake.

And amazingly, we've gotten along swimmingly. Jon and I, who work together, live together, and he dates my sister, have maintained enough space that we're still fast friends. Joanna, the wild card, is a rock and roll superstar. She loves jokes, cooking deliciously and drinking like a sailor (hey Joanna, you never sent this link to your mom, right?)

Besides her angry French cat Didier, who is the spawn of Jacques Chirac and the devil, we couldn't be happier.

Whew, it's over. Thanks for your patience everybody. Unless you were impatient, in which case you can feel free to suck an egg.

~fin~

Joanna

I almost forgot to mention, Grayskull stopped peeing on the world, so we kept her! Who could split up hot make-out sessions like this one?

Triscuit finale! (1)

Let me start off by saying this story has nothing to do with Triscuits, it never did. Have you ever heard of the how-you-say red herring? After Joanna moved in (ooh, foreshadowing!), we were on the porch coming up with creative Craigslist postings. Our favorite was 'Triscuit-friendly, no snipers.' But because Cupcake got so obsessed with the mention of Triscuits, I've let it ride. Now let's get down to the business at hand.

When I left off, we had just been royally screwed by the flakiest punkrock synchronized swimmer I've ever met. (If you're thinking right now, "How many punkrock synchronized swimmers have you met, Jesse?", that means you're boring. Sorry.)

I felt despondent, unwilling to put up another Craigslist ad, only to have our innocent hopes dashed on the salty shores of Somerville. Finally, with a little liquid encouragement, I summoned up the will to post a lackluster ad late on a Tuesday night.

Within an hour, I had two responses. One of them, from a chappie named Daniel, was supah wicked good. He put his qualities in list form, including:
-good cook (used to work in restaurants)
-never been on punk rock synchronized swim team
-not allergic to cats
-have a subscription to the new yorker (which i guess
could be a con if you don't like that magazine)
tell good stories (some made up)
-know the real rules to charades
-won't get up really early on the weekends and clomp
around
-have an identical twin brother (not sure why this is a
pro, but who knows.)
Editor's note: parenthetical comments are his, not mine

So I was sold on this guy, for all the above reasons. Not to mention that I have a surplus of female friends in Boston and could use a bit more testosterone in my life. You know, late night Greco-Roman wrestling matches, snapping each other with towels, all the things real men do. I immediately sent Daniel an upbeat and witty reply. I mentioned hobby horses.

Then I got an e-mail from a young lady named Joanna. Hers was more boring but still had decent vibes. Excerpt:
I suppose I should say that I am 25, I just moved back from France after teaching English to children there for far too long, and am moving to Boston. I have a cat from France who is in culture shock, but is terribly charming otherwise.

By the next morning, the ante was upped. I had received an email from Joanna, who had done a little MySpace research. Turns out she was a buddy of one Beth Mullin, who puts a piece of herself in every little corner of the Internet.

Shit Daniel, how you gonna top that? To find out, tune in tomorrow...

(If you're mad I didn't just finish the story now, please address your angry emails to jerks@blogger.com)

Movie Rec!

Week 3- Junebug, a new favorite!

Ach!

Why is this post so ill-fated? It got eaten again, though this time I saved it after 4 paragraphs. But there were about 20 paragraphs written!

On a nerdular note, can anyone tell me if this posting problem would be fixed with the new beta blogger thing? Does Internet Explorer work better than Firefox for blog publishing? And is there any reason why photo posts would work better than written ones? I know very little about computer.

Editor's note: After copying and pasting the text from this post, I had to republish it 4 times before it posted.

Breathe

So yesterday I finally finished the Triscuit tale, hit publish, then blogger.com fritzed out. I lost the damn post! After so much ridiculous build-up, I was the opposite of heartened (there should be a word for that.)

But I'm not daunted for long. The now-irrelevant, now-boring climax of my roommate story will be finished by the end of the day. I have a new schedule at work, 1pm to 9pm. The bosses leave at 5. Expect to see the conclusion shortly after that. Thanks for your patience. And your delicious candy, if you wanna give me some.

Featured above is the trio of cats at 209 Summer, Mr. Lady, Grayskull and...Didier! Snug as a bug in a rug. Didier isn't usually so placid but I think he's sucking on the bones of a freshly killed infant.

Inspector Hirsch

I am almost done with the final Triscuit. Until I finish this evening, allow this brilliant creation by Rebecca to tide you over.

Simone and Sipowicz

I'm totally not gay, like seriously. But if I was...

Movie Rec

Week 2 is Lawn Dogs. Remember this one, Marissa?

Boo Bonus!

Before you start cooking your turkey and trimming the tree, I thought I'd give you a few bonus Halloween pics.

Ernie and April went to a party as Yuppie Kiss this year, which I think is just brilliant. I guess there weren't many people at the party that 'got it.' I would like to nominate these two as the couple we can all aspire to when we start settling down and domesticating. Never not fun.

Jon's brother Justin donned his Mexican wrestler mask to fight against legions of mindless Borat quippers. I think he cuts quite a menacing figure. Am I biased because the mask was my birthday gift to him? Hardly.

Rebecca went as a witch this year, pretty standard stuff. What I find hilarious is that she screamed loudly every time someone approached her wearing an un-scary costume (bumblebee, Britney Spears, etc.) She said this was obnoxious and no one really appreciated it, but I do.

What can I say? You've got to try a few things before you really hit your stride. This outfit ended up in the reject bin, though I can't for the life of me remember why. p.s. That's not a hickie, I cut myself shaving. I'm a hairy lady.

Early Retirement

I used to work at a gourmet ice cream parlor called Herrell's. Steve Herrell*, the eccentric millionaire owner, used to have a bunch of standard jokes. Examples-
Customer: So is business expanding Steve?
Steve: Not as quickly as my waistline!

Employee: I don't feel like _____ (cleaning the freezer, killing rats, etc.)
Steve: Well maybe I won't feel like signing your paycheck on Friday!

At some point Steve realized his jokes were so standardized that he could put them in a spreadsheet. In fact, that's exactly what he did. He created a time-saving list of jokes so he wouldn't have to repeat himself all the time. "Please reference Joke #79, Re: hot fudge."

Personally I think this was a bad idea. Humor is best served fresh (much like delicious homemade ice cream!)

Thing is, I have a lot of old standbys myself, jokes to rely on when I feel lazy and unimaginative. I would like to use my blogspot to say goodnight to these musty relics. My theory- if I say them out loud here, I will be embarassed to use them in the future. Please keep in mind I have dozens of these; this may be a new feature.

1) 'Bless you.' This isn't really a joke. People say bless you all the time when someone sneezes, rarely followed by laughter. Thing is, I say it after someone burps, a clever re-working of the classic sneeze! Maybe not so clever. Variation: sometimes I grab someone's burp out of the air, then I blow it away and pretend I'm making a wish.

2) 'Leave them in the car with the window a crack down and a dish of water.' How I've gotten so much mileage out of this one, I'll never know. It started as a joke about taking old people to the mall, funny because it makes them seem like dogs. Since then I expanded it to include anyone who waits in the car.

3) 'Oh, they grow up so fast.' I like to use this one whenever a child does something particularly nasty. I say it with a doting nostalgiac tone which is totally out of place. Like when my little cousin recently posted a MySpace bulletin about fucking.

4) Anything Borat says. I don't do much Borat impersonation but I'd like to entreat people everywhere to shut the hell up. You are ruining everything. Footnote: this post from Jon's brother.

5) Tucking imaginary hair behind my ears, saying 'Right on,' then nodding my head like a goon. This is an ollllld favorite, I've been doing it for many years. Odds are that anyone who knows me in real life has seen this little number in action, usually in response to some stoner idiocy.

Say goodbye folks, there's a new Jesse in town.

*if you get a chance, check out the'About Me' section on Steve's profile page. It is GD hilarious.

New feature!

Time for something fresh- the weekend movie rec! These will only be my top choices. First week- All the Real Girls. Beautiful movie. Watch it. That's all.

My Barber Vinnie

My barber Vinnie is anecdotal gold. He has a glass eye, a mullet and he used to be in a 9-person "black music" cover band that had no black people in it. Highlights of yesterday's haircut included:

-When the other barber Jack came in eating a tuna sandwich, Vinnie exclaimed, "Il pesce, smells like I'm up in some girl's legs here!"

-Vinnie explained to me the process of making bets through his bookie. I learned about over/under, Vegas odds and the vig. Despite all his knowledge, Vinnie lost 300 bucks this weekend. Boy was he sore! I learned curse words I never knew existed.

-Vinnie told me that if I go to Vegas, I gotta stay at the Riviera. It's the type of place where 'they know your name, they really take care of you, ya know?' Apparently the city is 'going to shit' now and Riviera is one of the last holdouts of 'old Vegas.'

-Vinnie told me what he would do to the LA Lakers girls if given half a chance-
"A weekend wouldn't be good enough for me, I tell ya. I'd need a week straight, to like, explore all the avenues!"

And yet, none of this was the most alarming part of my haircut. No, I reserve that distinction for when Vinnie told me it was time to trim my eyebrows.

"Why Vinnie, do you think I need that?"
"You wanna let me do as I see fit here?"

So I did. No jokes, please.

My

A Game

One of my co-workers invented a fun game today called 'What 3 things would you buy at Wal-Mart to freak out the cashier?' My ham-fisted contribution was:
clown suit
condoms
bible

wanna play? I bet you're funnier than me.