Cuz Baby I'm Bad News

Okay okay, before this Valentine puts me on the FBI watchlist, let me tell you my thoughts. It's tasteless. It's insensitive. It's shocking for shock's sake. And it's kind of clever.

That's why I made a little judgment error, sending this card to a couple girls at work. I figured the memory of September 11th had largely been sullied by the merchandising blitz and wars and embarassing revelations which followed it. Additionally, we're pretty immune to over-the-top comedy at this point, I figured nothing's shocking in 2007. Here is the email exchange that followed my ill-advised sending of this card:

Julia: That's not funny, my uncle died on September 11th.
(!)
Jesse: That was very tasteless, I'm a jerk. Sorry Julia.
Julia: You should be. But my uncle didn't really die.

Now I'm not sure which one of us is the jerk.

The Fates, they are chuckling

You know how I have a habit of accumulating crutches, though I've never broken a bone or sprained a muscle?
Example One
Example Two

My little sissy sprained or broke something today while running for a cab. At the hospital, they called around and said there were no crutches at pharmacies or hospitals in the Boston area. First of all, that's bizarre. Second of all, do you think the most ridiculously prepared scavenger in Boston had a single pair of crutches to spare? What a terrible brother. I need to start spelunking in dumpsters again.

Happy birthday Ms. B

Thirty years young!

Red Carpet

I've been going to free movie premieres since last fall as I'm part of a special web group* that notifies me when there's free advanced screenings in Boston. So far I've seen Borat, Shortbus, The Lives of Others, The Queen and Miss Potter. I would've seen Deja Vu and The Host but I screwed up on locations and timing.

Typically Joanna is my companera for the premieres, and I'm always telling her how exciting it is to be VIPs at such exclusive events. For instance, one Saturday night at the screening for Miss Potter, a sugarsweet biopic of the British author who penned Peter Rabbit, I remember having a conversation like this-

Jesse: Isn't it exciting to be here like Hollywood stars, seeing movies for free long before they come out?
Joanna: I have too many shoes.
Jesse: C'mon now, aren't you a little bit excited?
Joanna: Kitties are cute.

Last night I went to see The Lookout with the infamous Beth Mullin. I rearranged my work schedule weeks in advance, I skipped dinner to get a good place in line, I ran through the rain with no umbrella, all for my big Monday out.

I thought maybe Bethinus Mullinus would be more enthusiastic over the novelty of a free premiere, especially when it promised guns, sex and grittiness (as opposed to the sweeping British landscapes and lukewarm tittering of Miss Potter.)

So as we took our primo seats near the front and feasted on the turkey sandwiches Beth brought, I said, "Don't you feel like, wicked cool right now?" She responded, "Actually I feel just the opposite." Before I had a chance to ask how she could be so stupid and wrong, our eyes fell on an old lady with a walker approaching us.

The comic timing couldn't have been better. This lady was 136 years old, had a wonky eye and a patchwork mumu, and she looked like she smelled like cat food. Not exactly VIP material. Then as I scanned the audience, I realized that everybody in the crowd was a bit 'off.' Greasy-haired Star Trek types, pimply teenagers, the elderly, the overweight, the lonely, the outcasts. These are my my brothers and sisters.

Let's talk about something else now.

*maybe my casual use of the phrase 'special web group' should be a red flag that I'm the Geek King.

Exhausto

Please to amuse yourselves with this hilarious piece from the New Yorker's Shouts and Murmurs humor column while I go soak my head.

A Conversation at the Grownup Table, as Imagined at the Kids’ Table

MOM: Pass the wine, please. I want to become crazy.

DAD: O.K.

GRANDMOTHER: Did you see the politics? It made me angry.

DAD: Me, too. When it was over, I had sex.

UNCLE: I’m having sex right now.

DAD: We all are.

MOM: Let’s talk about which kid I like the best.

DAD: (laughing) You know, but you won’t tell.

MOM: If they ask me again, I might tell.

FRIEND FROM WORK: Hey, guess what! My voice is pretty loud!

DAD: (laughing) There are actual monsters in the world, but when my kids ask I pretend like there aren’t.

MOM: I’m angry! I’m angry all of a sudden!

DAD: I’m angry, too! We’re angry at each other!

MOM: Now everything is fine.

DAD: We just saw the PG-13 movie. It was so good.

MOM: There was a big sex.

FRIEND FROM WORK: I am the loudest! I am the loudest!

(Everybody laughs.)

MOM: I had a lot of wine, and now I’m crazy!

GRANDFATHER: Hey, do you guys know what God looks like?

ALL: Yes.

GRANDFATHER: Don’t tell the kids.

Puke

I have to say that the contents of this article strike me as some of the most self-serving, manipulative political trickery ever. When Edwards says, "Don't vote for me because my wife has cancer," he is really saying "Did I mention my wife has cancer? Vote for me."

Have you guys seen Wag the Dog? See it, then read the article again.

The House of Hirsch (1)

As most of you know, my Uncle Oliver died in January after a long battle with cancer. It was quite traumatic at the time, my usually stoic family fell apart in a way I'd never seen.

Two weekends ago, we had a memorial service at a converted church/community center in Manhattan. We had had some time to process, so it wasn't nearly as heavy as the weekend we spent at the hospital, grappling with whether to take Oliver off life support.

There was over a hundred fifty people at the service, ranging from close friends and family to Oliver's first-grade classmates and students who interned at his shop. It began with an hour of people taking the microphone and sharing anecdotes and praise about my uncle's long and storied life. Then the living members of his old band, Sturm & Twang, took the stage with his daughter Jenny and performed some of Oliver's favorite sad songs.

Afterwards, there was a reception with wine, coffee and Brazilian finger foods (Oliver's wife Marcia is from Brazil.) And as weird as it may sound, it was actually a happy day. Remembering all the good things from this man's life and spending time with the people who loved him, couldn't have been a better way to say goodbye and spend a sunny afternoon in New York.

I will tell interesting stories from the memorial weekend over the course of this week. (And yes, everybody's favorite confetti guest star Rebecca was there, so expect a few laughs.)

Finally!

All comments responded to. Next is picture captions...

Cheap trick

I've felt foggy since I woke up but I've been trying to put out at least one post a day. I was about to put up a weak little kittenswipe of a post when, hearing of my dilemma, Rebecca (awesome) pitched in and sent me this email questionnaire. The responses are mine.

FOR A BLOG POST, JUST ANSWER MY QUESTIONS:

Do you like gays?
So much.


What is something you feel terribly guilty for?
My decadence at work, stealing enough food for a family of four. Actually I don't feel guilty at all, I was just showing off.


Do you like oatmeal?
If it's sweetened right.


What’s your favorite car?
I get quaky around 70s pimp cars like the El Dorado.


What are you proud of?
My Lent.


Who do you like?
She knows.


If you had to change your eye colour, what colour would you choose?
nope.


Do you like ants?
I used to be one of those weird little boys who went on ant-killing sprees. Now I'm mostly indifferent to ants, though I don't much care for the kind that hurt your face.


If you were a forest, would you want to be on fire? Wink Wink
Is this where I'm supposed to put my thumbs under my suspenders and brag of my sexual prowess?


Where’s the beef?
That's what I'm saying.


Who’s your daddy?
If only mommy knew.


Where are you?
a room with killer lighting


What do you want?
to fast-forward time

Overheard in the office

"Does anybody want any Quiznos coupons? I'd use them but I'm still weirded out by their 2004 Hepatitis scare in Seattle."

This is from the same nutsy girl who recently went to the Emergency Room, claiming third degree mouth burns from a BK Fishwich. She told us how the skin was hanging down from the roof of her mouth.

Also the same girl who wears five pairs of sunglasses when she goes outside because of light sensitivity issues.

Oh yeah, and I recently overheard her on the phone with a real estate agent saying she'd like an apartment that doesn't have many rodents. "A few rats is okay but not so many that they'd take over."

Variety is the spice.

Going to the Chapel

Two weekends ago, I attended the wedding of a nice vegematarian couple from around the way, Scott and Amy (see pic*.) With the open bar reception, there was the predictable dancing, schmoozing and drunken hijinks. I'd still like to give a few highlights:

- Our cab driver couldn't find the wedding hall, driving around the same five blocks for almost 20 minutes. I wasn't too worried, I figured it was an anarchist wedding, they wouldn't start at six on the dot, right? Wrong.

Me, Beth, Julio and Jenny walked in while Amy and Scott stood on stage looking in each other's eyes, listening to words of wisdom from the master of ceremonies (preacher?) And just like in the movies, everyone in the room swivelled around to look at the assholes who couldn't manage to be on time.

- In a brilliant kiss-off to tradition, the happy couple made it a potluck wedding. I brought a batch of my world-famous enchiladas, but I didn't stuff them with pork giblets, in honor of the veggie couple. Thing is, the potluck line moved so fast, I didn't get any of my own creations!

In fact, by the time I went through the line, there was only one portion left of every dish. Of course, this meant I snagged everything before some aggressive auntie could beat me to it. I turned at one point and apologized to the dude behind me for my greed. I was pleasantly surprised when the guy (a stranger) retorted with a wan smile, "That's okay, the secret ingredient of that lasagna is diarrhea." I liked his joke but told him that was one word I hadn't expected to hear on a wedding night. I kid you not, within a half hour two other people randomly brought up diarrhea. That shit is cosmic.

- After the wedding we all went to a lame nearby sports bar. I managed to make a huge scene by knocking over a deli tray of 100 finger sandwiches I was bringing home from the wedding. Only a few touched the ground but the waitress immediately threw everything away. That kind of waste really frosts my muffins.

*You can't tell from the picture, but Scott is actually 74 feet tall and Amy is a midget. You can find videos from their French honeymoon on certain 'specialty' websites.

How can it be wrong?

I'm about halfway through responding to all your comments so this will just be a short post from my childhood.

When I was four or five years old, I was at the supermarket with my dad. Much to his dismay, he looked down and found me blatantly grabbing my crotch. My father, an easily embarrassed man, leaned down to whisper something helpful in my ear, presumably along the lines of, "Jesse it's not really polite to do that in public."

My response was delivered at top volume, making anyone remotely near us swivel around and stare.

"But dad, it feels good to hold my penis!"

Heh. Bet that made my progressive parents think twice about teaching Anatomy 101 to my sister.

Kitties are cute

Friday I made a crazy impulse purchase on the Internets. I reluctantly told Rebecca (cat-hater) about my big buy on the phone yesterday and I could hear the sharp intake of breath. I think her reaction would have been similar if I told her I got an STD or a pair of studio tickets for The King of Queens.

Maybe I shouldn't have phrased it, "I just bought a 3-hour cat DVD!" Immediately she imagined me sitting in the dark, watching hours of frisky kittens playing with string and licking each other's noses. I'd be oohing and aahing and saying things like "Jon, you've gotta see this- kitty got all tangled up!" How incredibly depressing.

No, I've still got a bit of dignity in me. This video is actually a specially formulated piece of magic that is supposed to entrance your cats with footage of squirrels, gerbils and laser pointers. They suckered me in by saying that cats get bored and depressed when you go to work. Now I'll put on the DVD and the cats will sit like little zombies in front of the TV screen. Just like children!

Hey, that's depressing too.

The Oss

He's one of the most powerful politicians in the United States of America. Please take a moment to marvel at the critical thought of the average American voter.

Like Kissing Cousins

click to enlarge
This is a vintage photo I picked up after my uncle's memorial service last weekend. I'm about 12 or 13, as is my first cousin Annie on the left. Rebecca says I look 8 but I think she's using Canadian Celsius years.

What this picture doesn't capture is the hearts shooting from my eyes, like Pepe Le Pew looking at a painted cat. See, Annie was a hip New Yorker (don't let the thick glasses and Les Mis sweatshirt fool you) and I was a scrubby little country boy from Western Mass. Yet she treated me like I was hip to the score; she laughed at my jokes, listened to my pathetic stories, hung out with me (and my mom) in public.

I was kind of in love with her, but I was also basking in her acceptance of me. It's like how I dated a girl named Jessie for years, just so I could say things like "Jessie, you are the coolest, sexiest, funnest person on the planet." I was secretly in love with myself!

Today Annie is a tough-minded political agitator, still living in New York, still cooler than I am, still a good friend. After the memorial service, some of my family started talking about inbreeding amongst cousins (could they see my guilty soul?) and I feared that wine would make me confess my teenage crush. Luckily I kept my secret inside. Annie will never know! Neither will Rebecca!

Bonus: Please to notice the skulking character in the background on the right. What a pleasant-looking stranger. I'd get in his conversion van anytime!

Happy Endings

Email conversation with Rebecca today-

J: I have a free massage at 4:30!

R: enjoy your rub down. no erections!

J: man you're so bossy. "no erections during your thai massage." "stop eating rotten egg salad." "don't hit me." let me live, rebecca.

R: i knew you'd call me bossy. i guess if the erection happens naturally i can't really be mad. i'll change it to 'no sex with the massage therapist' and reserve the right to not be called bossy for this request. alternate names could be 'girlfriend' or 'girl i don't want to hurt'.

J: wait, did you say "no sex with the massage therapist" or "not very much sex with the massage therapist?" I accomplished one of those goals great!

R: sad face

Don't worry folks, I say nice things sometimes too. And sorry to my sister, for using the word erections in this post.

Voodoo Lady

The other day I was riding the Redline when an enormous black woman in a velvet African head wrap* and a fur coat lumbered on with 3 bulging handbags. Her face was saggy but her eyes were sharp and wise. She sat directly across from me, taking up two or three seats. I think she was 300 years old.

Within minutes, the train got quiet and still, and the scary lady started speaking loudly and directly to me in some sort of French. It was either garbled because she was crazy/old/fat or because she used Creole words I only half understood. I was a bit scared, but I bravely said Je ne comprends pas to the lady.

She got real quiet, then repeared what I said twice in a harsh whisper. Je ne comprends pas. Then she spewed more Creole jibberish, waved her hands around and got off at the next stop.

"Wait lady, what's your message for me?!" I think she wasn't raving mad, as many people would foolishly assume. No, that old saggy baggles was speaking to me for a reason...

"Hey Jesse, this story is a parable, right?" Such astute readers! I'll get to the point.

The message from the old witch was that I need to start writing again. Hello.

*if there is a better word for this garment, will someone please tell me? I'm blithely ignorant of many ethnic things.

p.s.

It'll have to be this weekend. Sorry readers, I'm a busy bee.

whoa nelly

I just fell into a blog time warp, did anyone notice? Today I feel awful so it should be an ideal time to ease back into the water. Agreed, Mr. Hirsch, agreed.