Life: The Best Of 2007...

The New York Times and Radar Magazine both asked me to compile a list of 2007 Best Of's for the new year (yeah, both! it was so weird. I was like, I've got my own blog I don't need you, thanks so much).

So here's what I wrote anyway, for free, because I believe that your job should be what you would do anyway if you weren't getting paid. And I'm not getting paid to do this, and it's not my job, so it all works out for everyone in the end.


Best Movie(s):
The Savages
Flannel Pajamas

Best Book:
Man Walks Into A Room, Nicole Krauss

Best Song:
Kill To Know, Amy Miles

Best Pet:
Sesame (RIP)
& the ball will roll no longer

Best City:
Florence

Best Bubby:
Bubby

Best Restaurant:
Aqua Due

Best Website:
Blurb.com

Best Magic Marker:
Sharpie, ultra fine point

Best Artist:
Alex Webb

Best Way To Locate Your Birth Mother:
Maury Povitch

Best Catch Phrase:
"Move it to the top"
(aka: "Put it on your queue")

Best Use Of My Time:
Not this

Best Answer I gave someone who asked me how it's possible for me to meet people if I don't do online dating:
"Serendipitously"

Best Use Of Mother Nature:
Full moons

Best Line:
"I'm really busy and I don't know what I'm doing with my life."

Best Name for a Restaurant:
The Bourgeois Pig

Best Airline:
British Airways


Add your own in the comments below.

News: Guess the story

"Information is not private because no one knows it; it is private because the knowing is limited and controlled," argues Danah Boyd, an anthropologist and social-networking expert at the University of California, Berkeley.

Art: Street Dancing

Street Dance from Robin Cantrell on Vimeo.

Events: Art Openings

You know that scene in Strangers With Candy when Jerry tells her friend that he reminds her of a monkey. And he gets insulted. And she says, "But why? Monkeys are hilarious!"

That's what ran through my mind last night when I was at the opening of The New Museum (of Contemporary Art -- but if you have to ask, you don't deserve to know) at 235 Bowery Street.

To make the directions simple, just take the N/R/W to Prince Street, and walk all the way away from Broadway up Prince Street, until you get to the end of options. And there in front of you, will be a big metallic building, like square blocks piled precariously on top of one another, with a big neon rainbow sign that says, "HELL, YES!" on the front. It brings the phrase, "don't worry, you can't miss it" into a whole new light. Plus, the only reason I'm telling you how to get there is because you don't even want to know how lost I got getting there. But that's the story of my life now, isn't it? Hell, yes.

By the time I reached the 7th floor of this museum, I was leaving a voice mail for my sister, saying, "This is the raddest museum I have ever been to."

Well, first I should tell you what happened before I reached the museum. A friend was having a show in the Garden State, and I stopped by her opening first. She does ceramics, and she was showing with a pastel artist and a photographer. Can pastel ever catch a break? I don't think so. It's the bedazzle of the art world. No matter how hard you shine it, it's still a rhinestone. Once I was in someone's house in Ohio, and she had framed pastels on her walls. They matched her couches. Intentionally.

The ceramics were wonderful. I love her work. Brilliant, sensitive, delicate, mysterious. Different. Definitely different.

The photography was OK, and the subject matter reminded me of quaint little thrift stores I used to frequent in my upstate NY days. But I felt like the artist never stopped saying, "This is sooo quaint" with her photographs, and so it didn't really impress me. Like, she was photographing for the sake of capturing someone else's things, but not really as a way of making her own statement. It was like her photographs were saying, "Look how the snow falls on the edges of this wooden wheel that is propped against the farmhouse." Instead of, I don't know, something else. There was little room for, interpretation, I guess you could say.

OK, moving onward. I eventually made it downtown and found myself at this little opening (all the mirrors outside caught my eye) at this big name gallery which is actually a very little space. The show was called, and let me see if I can spell this right, Nude Anthropometries Descending A Staircase. On Crosby Street.

Every inch of every wall was filled up with big paper, little canvases, note cards, and whatever. The art seemed like commentary, reactions to something, impressions of something. I don't know. I don't know what was going on there. They served a great vodka pomegranate drink upstairs though, and that put a smile on my face.

Some conversations I overheard (inspired by the art, I presume. I hope):

• "I wish you had a hoof instead of an arm."
• "This work is reminiscent of..."
• "Eva Mendes once called me drunk."

No, really, I enjoyed it. Total fun. Total energy. Lots of happy people, most as colorful as the art, staring at the art, trying to look like they got it. Or not even trying. Just enjoying it. It was full bodied, reminded me of art school days, vibrant. If I were a cynic, I would write something harsh and judgmental with big words to show you how smart I am, but I'm not. So I won't. I think art is hilarious, especially on nights like this. Who knows what we're creating, why we're creating it, why we're celebrating it. But I tip my hat to those who make it happen, and keep trying. It's hard to be original these days. It's hard to impress and make a dent in this world, beat up already as it is. But yay! for those who give it a go.

Then, onward, buzzed from the pomegranate, into the night air once more. I reached the aforementioned neon HELL, YES! and was happy to step in from the freezing night air. To celebrate their opening, the New Museum was opening their doors for free, for 30 hours, this weekend. The space is pretty fun and original as far as museums go. It's open, vast, and electric. I won't bore with you a play-by-play of everything I saw (gotta see it to believe it, as they say) but it involved the following:

• Candy
• Cardboard
• Flash animation
• Tim Allen's Disney movie, The Shaggy Dog

Overheard:

• "I think that's real mattress!"
  
• "102 dollars, please."
  
• "I'm sorry, there's no eating allowed on this floor, even though I know they gave you food on the other floor."
  
• "That was really funny. You have to watch it from the beginning."
  
• "How do you get out of here?"

I really do think this is a great museum, and I'm psyched I got to see it as a newborn. Some crazy stuff is going to go down there, I'm sure.

On the subway back up town, I came across an Asian man sitting in a corner, constructing complicated portraits of people with nothing but an origami-sized piece of paper and a scissor. It was unbelievable, and he drew a large crowd as people gathered round to watch him cut and snip his way through a piece of black paper ("in only 2 minutes!"). For a mere $8, he would cut your self-portrait, snowflake style, magically forming a total likeness of your face ("Smile! You must smile!"), which he then signed and placed inside a pre-cut beautiful matte. I mean, it was astonishing, and beautiful. The young guy standing next to me was getting his portrait done, and the result was complete before the L pulled into the station. It was more than a keepsake. It was just as valuable as any of that "art" I saw earlier in those fancy shmancy name dropping gallery spaces.

I can't complain. I can't really criticize any of this. It's all a form of eyeball exercise, taking the time to see what other people are creating and birthing. Who are we to judge so quickly and mock their mysterious reasons for fame. Who are we to say, "I paid $20 for what??" when we exit these big museums and small galleries and drink their vodka. Especially when it was all free.

LINKS:

• Jonathan Shorr Gallery
• The New Museum
• I googled everywhere for the origami subway man, but found nothing.

Movie: Angels In America

I hope you don't hate me for putting it this way, but Angels In America, as a film, is as monumentally defining of a epidemic as Schindler's List was. I know I'm about 5 years late in discovering this film, but I don't care if takes someone 80 years to see it, eventually we should all be an audience to this work of art. It's sheer brilliance.

I should change the name of this blog to the Official Justin Kirk Fan club, because if I loved him before, I bow to him now. His craft is tremendous. It stared with Flannel Pajamas, then Puccini For Beginners and now I'm a Weeds addict, all because of him. Plus, Mary Louise Parker shows up in Angels with him in some beautiful scenes, and in Weeds too.

Angels also stars Meryl Streep, Al Pacino, and Emma Thompson. Plus a lot of other names you'll want to start IMDBing as soon as the credits start rolling. Including Jeffrey Wright and Ben Shenkman. It's based on a play by Tony Kushner, and directed by Mike Nichols. It was originally on HBO and sweeped the awards seasons in 2003. It's about AIDS and relationships, and gayness in America, and religion, and family. It's total brilliance, captivating, unforgettable. Really, it's rare I think that a film can make that much of a difference in the world today. Everything has a shelf-life, you know? But this film. THIS film.

Everyone should see this.
Move it to top of your queue today.

Camera: Leica Mini Digital Camera

I.Want.This.Immediately.

How bad do I want this? If I were a kid, and I was walking with my mom in the mall, and I pointed to that camera and cried out, "Buy! Buy! Buy!" and she said, "No, you have enough stuff already," then I would proceed to slump on to the floor and throw a fit until she caved and got me what I wanted. But of course, my mom would never cave. So I'd start babysitting, get a paper route, and save every penny I found in the corners of the couch until I could buy it myself. That's how we rolled in my house.

Leica Mini Digital Camera
Available Online Only!
Free Shipping!
$225.00!

Hear that Santa?? Hanukkah Harry? Tooth Fairy?

• 5.0 Megapixel
• 1/3-scale reproduction of the iconic Leica rangefinder.
• Features include: 5.0 Megapixel resolution; 4X digital zoom; Video mode, which captures motion in AVI format; a 1.5" TFT/LCD display at the rear; 32MB of internal memory; an SD card slot to expand your memory up to a whopping 8GB; USB interface with included cable; compatibility with Minox's Classic Camera series flash; rechargeable long-life Li-Ion battery.
• Comes complete with a leather camera strap and a classy wooden display box.
• Mac and PC compatible

Here's the funny part...
Apparently, you can only buy it online at... Urban Outfitters.

Artist: Sarah Walker

Sarah Walker's paintings, now showing at PIEROGI gallery in Brooklyn, are a mind bender. You don't simply see her paintings, you enter them. They seem like a vision of what the eyes sees before it registers what it is. Her images, though abstract, seem familiar. I can look at one and think that I see a cabin in a woods, the sky between the trees, an ethernet, a web. But the image she has created is more complex than that, more puzzling, more advanced than a simple representation of a thing.

Her technique is a series of layering, overlapping, deleting, rubbing and revealing. There is a sense of archival to her paintings, which you understand when you peer up close (which you must do, and are compelled to do). It's like some areas of paint are preserved on purpose, while others are deleted in an attempt to unveil their residue below. You can like one painting more than another, with no real ability to discern why. You can be drawn to one, and unaffected by another, yet the content is the same. Colors can be deceiving, shapes can transform before you.

The canvases in the gallery are embraced by simple white planks of wood nailed into the walls. It is all white, save for her work. It is simple vs. chaos. There is order, and there is nothing.

Pierogi website
Sarah Walker website

People: Jay Z

I saw Jay Z walking around the LES, talking on his cell phone. I almost didn't think it was him because he seemed so un-bling. Just a guy, wearing a black track suit, walking down the street. But I'd know that face anywhere.

Cruisin down the westside (high, way)
Doing what we like to do (our, way)
Eyes behind shades, this necklace the reason
all of my dates been blind dates
But today, I got my thoroughest girl wit me
I'm mashin the gas, she's grabbin the wheel, it's true to the heart
She rides with me - the new Bobby and Whitney
Only time we don't speak is during "Sex and the City"
She gets Carrie fever, but soon as the show is over
She's right back to being my soldier

Art: Artists & Fleas

Today I was at "Artists & Fleas" -- an amazing flea market for artists in Bklyn. It took my breath away as soon as I walked in. This garage-turned-market is filled corner to corner with fantastic, one-of-a-kind artisan wares -- mostly jewelery and t-shirts, but also books, records, and vintage clothes. There's even a DJ mixing the best beats while you shop (if you can even imagine the type of music you'd want to hear at an artist's flea market, then that's exactly what he was playing).

What's most important to note here, is how NICE everyone was. These are working artists, who are genuinely passionate about their crafts and eager for you to try them on, touch them, and ask questions (most of the artists also sell their work on etsy.com).

The place has such a great ambiance and flavor to it. I looked at everything and my eyes lit up every time I heard the stories behind the crafts. Like, "Oh, those earrings are made from old pennies covered in found paper." Or, "I found the centerpieces for the necklaces in an old button store." Or, "my mom just showed me a whole box of jewelery she had from the 80's, big gaudy rings that I can take apart. But not this piece. This one I'm keeping." Or, "yes, my husband and I designed all these pieces together. The necklaces are only $10." Or, "sure, we take credit cards!"

I went home with the first piece of jewelery I spotted as soon as I walked in the store. My friend told me I gravitated towards it so quickly, that I needed to get it. So now it's around my neck. And it has wings. I can't tell you how much I love it.

"Artists & Fleas" is located at 129 N. 6th between Bedford & Berry.
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
open EVERY Saturday & Sunday from 12-8pm
Website

Video: Animator vs Animation

You have no idea the depth of coolness this animation contains.

Video: Plug Your Head

TV: Saturday Night Live - On Strike!

I.want.to.be.there
---------------------

NEW YORK - With their regular programs halted by a writers' strike, cast members of NBC's "Saturday Night Live" and "30 Rock" planned to stage a pair of live performances at a Manhattan improv theater.

The shows, held at the 150-seat Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre co-founded by SNL's Amy Poehler, will benefit the behind-the-scenes staffers who have lost work because of the shutdowns caused by the two-week strike by the Writers Guild of America.

"The Upright Citizens Brigade Theater is a second home to a lot of these performers and writers," Poehler said in a statement. "We are doing this to raise spirits, raise awareness and raise money for our hard-working production crews who will be having a hard holiday season if this strike continues."

Saturday night's sold-out 11:30 p.m. performance, billed on the Brigade's Web site as "Saturday Night Live — On Strike!" was reportedly to include skits, musical guest Yo La Tengo and "Superbad" star Michael Cera as guest host.

A performance of "30 Rock — On Strike!" at 8 p.m. Monday is to include the show's full cast performing a complete episode, according to a theater employee. The show's stars include Tina Fey, Tracy Morgan, Jane Krakowski and Alec Baldwin.

That show is also mostly sold out, except for a handful of tickets to be made available at the door.

Fashion: Guitar Tshirt

I know the very notion that I am considering purchasing this t-shirt makes me a 16-year old girl. But isn't 30 the new 20? So that makes this only about 5 years inappropriate.

But, pleeeease?

I think I deserve it. You have no idea how much better I am getting on the guitar. And how much of a butterfly I really am. I wish it didn't say Jason Mraz on the front. But. Well. He did email me personally that one time. Remember?

So, can I get it?

Authors: Jonathan Safran Foer

I was supposed to go to a literary event in my town tonight. But plans changed, and at the last minute I found myself back in the car, heading over the GW for a different literary event at BN on 66.

Tonight, Jonathan Safran Foer (my favorite writer as you know, second to my other favorite writer, Nicole Kraus) was introducing/interviewing/supporting another writer named Howard Jacobson. Foer is a 30-something, Brooklyn-dwelling, shaggy haired, bespeckled writer with an incredible talent and a very rich agent. His books are personal, Jewish, pondering, painful, and hysterical. Jacobson is a much older, just as funny, just as Jewish, introspective, intelligent writer from England.

I escalated all the way up to the top floor of the bookstore to grab a hot chocolate before the talk began. I had Foer's book in my bag -- the final novel I bought in Italy during my last lonely but powerful days in Florence. I devoured this book while traveling, and embraced it like a companion.

Standing in line, waiting for my drink to arrive, I suddenly noticed Foer amongst the group of patrons, talking with a friend. I knew it was him immediately. At first my mouth broke into a huge grin, and then I quickly looked away. It was almost odd. I think the gleam of seeing one of your "favorites" becomes tarnished when you see them standing in the same consumer line you are in, simply a pedestrian waiting for coffee.

I wanted to hand him my book. I want to say something. I wanted to ignore him, or call his name, or pretend I didn't notice, or smile in his direction. But, I did nothing. The line passed by me. Because of some confusion behind the counter, people's drinks were coming out before mine and I was left standing to the side watching confused cashiers try to untangle the mess of lattes and skim milks. I was in no rush. With each drink that was handed out, Foer and his friend stepped closer to the front.

And, as fate would have it (can you call it fate?), eventually he was standing next to me, and we were reaching for our hot beverages at the same time. I seized the moment.

"Forgive me for becoming a dork," I said, with a smile, "but I am a huge fan of your work." I didn't introduce myself. I didn't acknowledge him by name. I just, spoke, before I could loose the nerve, here, in the line for coffee.

He smiled, and thanked me kindly. He looked like such a modest man. Somewhat reserved, not as rambunctious as the characters he writes about. "I just loved your book so much, it meant so much to me," I said, words bumping against one another. He told me quickly that I should come to the talk downstairs so I would meet a different writer who was really great. "I know!" I said, "That's why I'm here." And then I added, "And please, tell your wife, if you don't mind, that her book, Man Walks Into A Room, just moved me so much. I mean, I just loved it so much." He said, "I'll tell her." That was it, and I turned away.

I headed down the stairs, boasting with excitement. I took a seat with the 50 or so people who had filled the room for the talk. When it began, Foer started with an introduction of Jacobson and his new book, Kalooki Nights, which couldn't have been a more effusive, hilarious and gushing pronouncement. It was honorable praise, one I imagine an author could wait a lifetime hoping to hear. Genuine reverence is hard to come by these days.

Jacobson was a delight to listen to, and I got the sense that if I were up to date on the English Jewish writer's scene, I would be falling over myself to make his acquaintance. He read a few excerpts from his book, talked excessively and poignantly about the Jewish persona and the valour of comedy (his true religion, he said). He was even bold enough to take a question from someone who asked, "When did anti-semitism against Jews begin?" Jacobson fell back into his chair and inhaled his gasp. "Could you ask me a heavier question please?" he asked. The audience laughed with empathy. It was an interesting moment because so much of their discourse seemed structured around the assumption that everyone in the audience was a bonafied kvetcher, a Hebrew school drop out, a shayna punim. After all, it was the upper west side. But apparently that wasn't the case, and the man who asked the question seemed bewildered by everything that was so nonchalantly being said about Jewish existence that evening. The room was filled with subtle references and innuendos that only a card-carrying member of the tribe had the luxury of taking for granted. But Jacobson answered the question slowly, thoughtfully, and at times, perversely. There were more sex jokes thrown around than kugel references.

After the talk, the lined formed for autographs. I picked up Jacobson's book, and once I saw others do the same, pulled out my copy of Foer's book that had been touched by the Tuscan sun.
When I reached the table, I said hello again to Foer, and handed him my book. He commented on the origin of my name, and then signed the inside cover, personalizing his signature and writing the letters of my name with a curvaceous flair. I told him to look at the back so he could see the Italia sticker marking the geographic source of its purchase. "It even has the European cover," I pointed out. I couldn't have been more excited, more filled with gratitude for this moment. It felt like it all had come full circle.

July. I remember holding the book tightly, reading it under the pink shadows of the Duomo and under the stern glares of Medusa's head in Piazza Signoria. I remember clutching it on the plane as we took off, heading back to the States, the threatening rumble of jet engines below my feet. Who would have known that 4 months later the book would be in the hands of the person who had written it, inscribing his name below the title? And then, with a twist of the pen, my own name would appear, like a final stamp of declaration that this story, my story, had really occurred.

Websites: More to play with

Amazing new sites (with amazing new names) that I came across today, thanks to the collection of resources I got going over on my igoogle.

FAUNT:
http://fawnt.com/
It's a GREAT resource. So many free fonts to download for your mac or pc. It even has search functionality and categories (like handwriting, pixel-fonts, dingbats, etc.). Who cares about shoes, it's FONTS this girl can't have enough of.

TILT VIEWER:
http://www.airtightinteractive.com/projects/tiltviewer/app/
Airttight Interactive, a web development company, is responsible for this amazingness. It's a "titlt viewer" that works with flickr. Click on it and see what happens. First, notice the cascading way the images fall onto the page. Then, literally, start tilting. Press the little arrow on the bottom of a photo to see who posted the image on flickr. It makes the web seem so much less "click here" and so much more "float here."

Wondering what the point of this is and how it makes the world a better place? Well, the artists themselves said this:
"Does a 3D UI give more functionality than the equivalent 2D interface? No, but its certainly a lot cooler! Part of the motivation to build this was to explore ways to make 3D interfaces simple and intuitive."

And finally: FREE RICE
http://www.freerice.com/
Click on the answer that best defines the word. If you get it right, you get a harder word. If wrong, you get an easier word. For each word you get right, 10 grains of rice is donated to the United Nations World Food Program.

Artist: Ansel Adams

Just discovered a great article on the AP wire about Ansel Adams. There's been a recent discovery of some photographs of his that most likely were never entended for public viewing. But, now they've been revealed as "proofs" of images he was planning on photographing. Sketch-photos, if you will.

Everyone loves something behind-the-scenes. Famous, heroic artists like Adams are normally preserved under bright lights beneath big museum names. But it's rare that we get the chance to see them as human, experimenting, messing around with ideas.

"Adams' prints are perfection," exhibit curator Stephen Jareckie said. "But these proofs have a certain vitality that you don't find in a finished print. It gives them an educational point of view and shows the public what Adams' work is like at that stage — a work in progress."

Do you think Adams would have been cool with this? If you became a famous artist, revered by the billions, would you want a sketchbook of your ideas released to the public?

William Turnage, one of three Adams' trustees [said]. "I think it's unethical in terms of museum ethics and behavior. It's something that never would be done at MoMA or the Art Institute of Chicago. ...But you know, what the heck? Some people are going to take advantage and try to profiteer, and there's nothing we can do about it."

Ethical or not, what can we learn from this? That everything we make is about process, that nothing just appears as it is, and images take time to unfold. Artists think, and they plan, or they plan not to think. Either way, it's process.

"The more we find out about artists, the better perception we have of their life," Pendergraft said. "This gives us a better feel for Ansel Adams and some of his travels through the country that we didn't realize he had been in. It fills in some of the blanks and will give the visitor here a whole new perception of who he was and how he took photographs."

Source

Restaurant: Jules

The restaurant is called Jules
It's on 65 saint marks st
between 2 and 1st ave

I don't usually write about restaurants on this blog, but if you're googling this eatery and you come across this blogpost, then you should know that it is really worth your time. So if that's your question, then yes, you should go there tonight.

When you first enter the place, you have to push back the big, plush, red velvet curtains. That right there turns your foray into the restaurant into a "stop and pay attention" moment. The small, candle-lit room is busy with energy, laughter and vibrance. Mostly I noticed how it seemed so friendly -- big tables surrounded by smiling people, linen tablecloths, wine-filled glasses, everyone having a good time. Lucky for me, that's what we were there to do.

The other thing, the most important thing really, is the jazz band playing against the wall. Cute guys with big instruments were making some really good music that night, and apparantly there's one musician who frequents the place as someone who can play the trumpet with his mouth. Meaning, no instrument; just his mouth. And he's good!

We sat in the back "hallway" area, where you can still hear the music but hold a fun conversation with the person next to you. The waiters were excellent, kept our glasses full the whole night. The food was terrific! I had a steak dish, with asparagus risotto. The person to my left had a salmon dish with amaazing mashed potatoes. The person to my right ordered something with an extravagant name that turned out just to be meatballs and spaghtetti, and she could only finish one of them.

I appreciate good food, but I don't always want to eat a meal where I have to keep praising the food. Sometimes you want good food, but you want your energy to be on the people you're eating with. However, this was really good food! And really great music! And a great table of people to share it with. So that makes the evening a what? A triple threat.

Artist: Jeff Scher

Ohhh, goodness. What a discovery.

I love learning about a new artist whose work just makes me want to stop everything and start creating immediately.

Today I discovered Jeff Scher, who has a blog on the New York Times website. His bio says that he is "a painter who makes experimental films and an experimental filmmaker who paints." I like that. I like using the word "experimental" in a description about yourself, and I like the idea of presenting an identity that is a dichotomy of sorts. I don't think that artists should be able to define themselves too clearly. Kind of reminds me of that show tune lyric, "you gotta get a gimmick, if you wanna to get ahead."

I did some research into his work, and learned this on zanimation.tv:

Scher gave up his pre-med studies for film while at Bard College in the mid-1970s. He still makes use of rotoscoping, an old animation technique in which film frames are blown up and traced individually onto animation cels. In Scher's case, he painstakingly hand paints and shoots each frame of film, sometimes substituting clay, paper models or found materials for his paintings.

His work is sooooooo(etc.) moving. I'm especially recommending that you take a moment out of your busy day to watch his short animation, "You Won't Remember This." The title, the imagery, the movement, the music, is just so tender and precious.

I'm so in awe by this, as I usually am by animators, because I feel like the idea of capturing life frame by frame, light by light, is so awesome (and I mean that in the truest sense of the word). It's life in slow motion, then sped up again, but with an acute appreciation for how all our subtle nuances come together to create the big picture.

I'm really inspired by this.

--> His NYT blog, "The Animated Life"
--> His official website
--> "You Won't Remember This" - Film

Music: Covers - Part 2

I was going through my music, putting a new "mix tape" together for the car. I started looking at a bunch of songs I have by artists covering other artists. It's interesting how two artists can interpret the same song in totally different ways.

Play nice, children:

Bjork, covering the musical, Showboat



The Fugees, covering Queen



Ari Hest, covering John Mayer



Teitur, covering Jerry Lee Lewis



Jason Mraz, covering Christina Aguilera

Life: Best Of...

Who I Am (straight from the personals)

I play musical instruments and have a slight desire to raise bees for honey (perhaps related?).

I don't have a unique or original thought in my head, and make dull conformity the guiding principle of my life.

I consider myself unique and special, like a snowflake, and have an important destiny predestined for me, which entitles me to act in a selfish and occasionally petty manner but it's all for the greater good, you know, because of that snowflake/destiny I have.

I can ask monks for directions. This trait seems to be rare among men so i think this is good product differentiation.

Picture a young, half-asian Larry David with an absurd affinity for Tequila that works for a mega corporate conglomerate...jesus ...putting that in words was unbelievably therapeutic.

I've been in New York for a few years now, but I spent the majority of my life in the South. I point that out because I do miss the ability to call up a friend and just hang out without making an appointment a week in advance.

I have a to-read stack that includes Chekhov, Rushdie, and Saul Bellow -- yet I have a mysterious addiction to Us Weekly.

I'm so ugly that they push my face into dough to make animal cookies. I'm so ugly I make onions cry. I'm so ugly that my mom used to take me to work with her so that she didn't have to kiss me goodbye.

Those who don't know me very well would say I'm underspoken, but those who do know me, would probably say I border on obnoxious.

I was really really funny in grade six, I might have peaked there.

I am easily manipulated, will work for food, and for five minutes once a year I can be the life of the party.

I might be incapable of a long term emotional commitment. Or is this the wrong place to mention that?

I'm not sure I have any conception of what honest communication would be like with another human being, although I can imagine it being frightening, so we'll want to do it with a Plexiglas partition in between us.

Punk rocker turned science teacher.

Life: Annoying

I have an influx of fruit flies in my apartment.
If anyone can tell me how to get rid of them, I will pay you a million dollars.

Thank you.

Movie: Knocked Up

Ohhh, how hard it was not to hang around the water cooler when everyone started talking about this movie. Because for some reason, it took me forever to see it. But sometimes the perk of waiting for the DVD to come out is knowing that you're going to get to see the movie AND the bloopers all in one night. And who doesn't want to see the bloopers, especially with a movie like this?

Can I tell you? Can I just tell you? I LOVED this movie! I was told I would love it. And if you are one of the people who said I would love this movie [insert Ed McMahon voice]... YOU are correct, sir!

I loved it because it was funny and endearing and Seth Rogen is wicked cute. I loved it because it was filled with lots of hilarious, undersexed, overweight Jewish boys. I loved it because the women acted like women when they were around one another. I loved it because of some really great comedic actors who made poignant cameo appearances (hello Kristen Wiig). I loved it because everyone was redeemable. I loved it because it had a great soundtrack. I loved it because I had someone to root for in what first appeared to be a most unfavorable scenario.

Look, I've read the article that bashes this movie. I get the feminism argument. I hear ya and I see your point. But can we not talk about a woman's right to do whatever she wants for a moment? Instead, can we talk about why MEN are writing all these funny movies right now? And why the context is always about nerdy boys who get the hot girls? And why WOMEN are not writing all these funny movies about nerdy girls who get the hot boys without getting a makeover? Let's make the argument for or against this movie not about the lack of depth our female heroine displayed or the degree to which her hair was blond or her lips pouted. Let's raise the point that WOMEN are not writing jokes and it's about time we did!

The men in this movie were very, very funny. And the women made really great grossed-out faces when the men told their jokes. However, if you take the time to watch the out-takes and the bloopers on the DVD, you'll notice that there are a lot of outtakes where the female actresses are "out of character" and are actually making funny jokes. But for reason, that's not the way the MALES wrote the script. So, as soon as they gain their composure in front of the camera, they revert back to "girl makes gross face after guy tells fart joke".

Come on, people! I know some very funny women who tell some very funny fart jokes. And I would like someone.... No, wait... some WOMAN to write a funny mainstream movie like this. Newsflash: Girls who don't wear mascara to bed and don't try out for the cheer leading squad actually are worth writing a movie about. And no, I don't mean "Welcome to the Dollhouse", or "Mean Girls". Because even in "Mean Girls", eventually, her skirt gets shorter.

How about a movie about a girl who stays just the way she is, and she gets the boy who really comes to appreciate her for that. AND, I promise, someone can fart along the way.

Life: Best Of...

Who I'm Looking For:

if you said I should know you because you're unique, love to meet new people, and are up for everything, you're probably not and I probably shouldn't.

Someone tall and slender. I have a cardboard outline/silhouette you should measure up to.

Now i know this may be hard to find on this site. But someone that is equally as comfortable in heels as they are in jeans a shirt. (because that is really the glue that keeps any good relationship together)

Someone who understands that "chick" is not me being crass, its a term of endearment.

I would like to find a woman that makes me shut up every once in a while just by looking at me.

She ain't no Challah back girl.

If I met a girl with even half a sense of humor I'd follow her around like a puppy, a mostly house-broken puppy.

I'd really like to meet a woman that loves watch football (Jets fans preferred!) while wearing cute outfits.

In short, I'm looking for someone who encompasses the contradictions implicit in life, or at least someone who likes going to the movies.

I'm not looking to jump into bed with the first girl I meet, however I'm not looking to jump into a wedding tux either.

I want her to be blond, I want her to have no history of retardation in her family. If possible, she must have plow experience. Not much. Maybe a year. A girl who will remind me of my wife.

My ideal relationship would be very physical, both in the outdoors and sexual sense.

Not into high maintenance women and their matching umbrellas/purses.

Girls in therapy are so sexy.

Life: Best Of...

I am that guy you're looking for (unless you're really religious in which case I'm just the guy you wish was religious).

5'10" Jew. Keep reading.

I should mention that I'm only about 55% Jewish, most of it coming from my dad's side.

I am looking for a dream hybrid of Kate Winslet (or Natalie Portman, as long as we're talking Jewish girls) and Eleanor Roosevelt.

Let's hop on my Harley for a wild ride to the synagogue.

My culture and identity have become evermore important, and I want to celebrate it, in all it's glory and neuroses, with the right woman.

I have surpassed my Shiksa quota, and I need to register before my mother does it for me.

a jewish girl would be nice, but at the rate its going with u nyc birds, in the future there's gonna be more rigatoni focaccia on my plate instead of chopped liver.

Song: Nobody Does It Better

Nobody Does It Better
I've collected a few renditions of this song, and each one is different in it's own right.
Download to listen and make your own opinion.

--> Carly Simon
--> 8mm
--> Aimee Mann
--> Me First and the Gimme Gimmes
--> Travis

I used this cool website called DivShare to upload the files, so downloading them from here shouldn't be too hard for yous.

Song: Bubbly

A little thing I think is just swell:
The new song "Bubbly" by Colbie Caillat.

The lyrics are trite, the video is remarkably similar to anything Sheryl Crow has ever done, the sunshine branding is so forced that liking this song will make you feel shamefully unoriginal.

However.
HOWever. I don't think that truths like those should ultimately determine whether you should dislike or disregard a song. I'm just not that kind of girl. Music is music, baby.

As a (pop) song, "Bubbly" is beautiful. Perfect, really. The chords are lullaby-esque. The chorus is memorable. So sweet, so simple, so easy to sing, so easy to play on the guitar yourself. It's classic, it's tender, it's lovely. An instant top ten on the radios.

Who said sunshine is so bad anyway?

Watch the video: here

Fashion: Shoes

Silver shoes with teal trim
Dillard’s.


Orig. $79.00
Now $19.75











Mary Jane Beige Pumps
$19.99
Target

TV: The Office

"Hey I like you… what's not to like? But you need to access your uncrazy side."

Life: 32

When I turned 6 my mom threw yet another birthday party for me in the backyard of our house. She put a lot of planning into those parties. In the same the vain that we never wore plastic, store-bought Halloween costumes (except one year, when she caved, and let me buy a Strawberry Shortcake costume which included a plastic bonnet and apron that I coveted for years), our birthdays were always very home-grown and creative.

So when I turned 6, she wrote a full-length story about a princess who had lost her name, so she had to go through a series of adventures to find it again. Any time we reached a new climax in the story, an activity would be presented and we would have to "reenact" the princess's tale. One turn of events found the princess in a "Carrot Forest". My mother set up the big drying rack (normally used for laundry) across the lawn and hung big orange carrots from strings across the length of the rack. All the kids walked underneath the carrots and we had to "eat our way through the forest". I still remember this and how beautiful it was to be underneath all of those carrots glistening like gold in the backyard sun.

Yesterday I turned 32. Things have changed, and things have stayed the same. My sister met me for dinner on 98th street at Hunan Balcony. Before we moved to the big house with the backyard, we used to live on 98th street in a little one-bedroom apartment that was originally my father's bachelor pad. When my mom moved in, and after I was born, they converted his darkroom into a bedroom for me. Then my sister was born and my earliest memory is when we were all gathered in the living room of that apartment, talking about the new baby.

Two years in a row now my sister and I have met at that same Chinese restaurant for dinner on my birthday, underneath our old apartment. Before the city was a place to meet friends, it was a place where our parents would take us out out to dinner for a fun family night. We always went back to Hunan Balcony, even after we had moved out of the city, and always ordered the same dishes, happily.

Last night my sister and I recreated those dinners. But now it was me at 32, she at 29. After our meal, as we lamented our shitty fortune cookies, my mom suddenly walked into the restaurant to surprise me. She had a huge bouquet of birthday flowers and a big smile on her face. We three women ended our evening sharing laughs across the table, overlooking a busy Broadway street in a neighborhood that my mother insists is not like it used to be.

Life changes, families move, people age, names disappear. But chicken with snow peas will always taste the same.

Movie: Into The Wild

I don't really know how to write about this film. But Into The Wild is the kind of movie that lights a fire inside of you and takes a long time to extinguish.

I tend to like movies where people chuck it all. I like stories about giving it all up, tossing it in the back seat, and running with it. Emile Hirsch plays Christopher McCandless, a 23-year old young man with a passion for life and a quest to live it to the fullest. How trite that must sound, but how hard that is to actually accomplish.

I really don't know what to say. I loved this movie. I'm captivated by this true story. I'm vibrating still from the power of it. I'll never forget it and I'll continue to think about what I think about it.

I know a lot of the critiques, I know the naysayers. I don't really care about them. Who cares. It's a great film that is told in such a way that it gets under your skin, and stays there for a long time.

There are a lot of articles written about this movie now. I recommend this one: Emile Hirsch Walks Into The Wild. It talks about the unique process of making this film and what Sean Penn (the director) was going for.

News: A Mock Columnist, Amok

A Mock Columnist, Amok

By MAUREEN DOWD

I was in my office, writing a column on the injustice of relative marginal tax rates for hedge fund managers, when I saw Stephen Colbert on TV.

He was sneering that Times columns make good “kindling.” He was ranting that after you throw away the paper, “it takes over a hundred years for the lies to biodegrade.” He was observing, approvingly, that “Dick Cheney’s fondest pipe dream is driving a bulldozer into The New York Times while drinking crude oil out of Keith Olbermann’s skull.”

I called Colbert with a dare: if he thought it was so easy to be a Times Op-Ed pundit, he should try it. He came right over. In a moment of weakness, I had staged a coup d’moi. I just hope he leaves at some point. He’s typing and drinking and threatening to “shave Paul Krugman with a broken bottle.”

I Am an Op-Ed Columnist (And So Can You!)

By STEPHEN COLBERT

Surprised to see my byline here, aren’t you? I would be too, if I read The New York Times. But I don’t. So I’ll just have to take your word that this was published. Frankly, I prefer emoticons to the written word, and if you disagree :(

I’d like to thank Maureen Dowd for permitting/begging me to write her column today. As I type this, she’s watching from an overstuffed divan, petting her prize Abyssinian and sipping a Dirty Cosmotinijito. Which reminds me: Before I get started, I have to take care of one other bit of business:

Bad things are happening in countries you shouldn’t have to think about. It’s all George Bush’s fault, the vice president is Satan, and God is gay.

There. Now I’ve written Frank Rich’s column too.

So why I am writing Miss Dowd’s column today? Simple. Because I believe the 2008 election, unlike all previous elections, is important. And a lot of Americans feel confused about the current crop of presidential candidates.

For instance, Hillary Clinton. I can’t remember if I’m supposed to be scared of her so Democrats will think they should nominate her when she’s actually easy to beat, or if I’m supposed to be scared of her because she’s legitimately scary.

Or Rudy Giuliani. I can’t remember if I’m supposed to support him because he’s the one who can beat Hillary if she gets nominated, or if I’m supposed to support him because he’s legitimately scary.

And Fred Thompson. In my opinion “Law & Order” never sufficiently explained why the Manhattan D.A. had an accent like an Appalachian catfish wrestler.

Well, suddenly an option is looming on the horizon. And I don’t mean Al Gore (though he’s a world-class loomer). First of all, I don’t think Nobel Prizes should go to people I was seated next to at the Emmys. Second, winning the Nobel Prize does not automatically qualify you to be commander in chief. I think George Bush has proved definitively that to be president, you don’t need to care about science, literature or peace.

While my hat is not presently in the ring, I should also point out that it is not on my head. So where’s that hat? (Hint: John McCain was seen passing one at a gas station to fuel up the Straight Talk Express.)

Others point to my new bestseller, “I Am America (And So Can You!)” noting that many candidates test the waters with a book first. Just look at Barack Obama, John Edwards or O. J. Simpson.

Look at the moral guidance I offer. On faith: “After Jesus was born, the Old Testament basically became a way for Bible publishers to keep their word count up.” On gender: “The sooner we accept the basic differences between men and women, the sooner we can stop arguing about it and start having sex.” On race: “While skin and race are often synonymous, skin cleansing is good, race cleansing is bad.” On the elderly: “They look like lizards.”

Our nation is at a Fork in the Road. Some say we should go Left; some say go Right. I say, “Doesn’t this thing have a reverse gear?” Let’s back this country up to a time before there were forks in the road — or even roads. Or forks, for that matter. I want to return to a simpler America where we ate our meat off the end of a sharpened stick.

Let me regurgitate: I know why you want me to run, and I hear your clamor. I share Americans’ nostalgia for an era when you not only could tell a man by the cut of his jib, but the jib industry hadn’t yet fled to Guangdong. And I don’t intend to tease you for weeks the way Newt Gingrich did, saying that if his supporters raised $30 million, he would run for president. I would run for 15 million. Cash.

Nevertheless, I am not ready to announce yet — even though it’s clear that the voters are desperate for a white, male, middle-aged, Jesus-trumpeting alternative.

What do I offer? Hope for the common man. Because I am not the Anointed or the Inevitable. I am just an Average Joe like you — if you have a TV show.

October 14th, 2007
The New York Times

Product: Hoodie

Practice Hoodie
The Practice Series is your old-school college sweatsuit with new feminine detailing and added stretch for uninhibited motion.

Made from cotton fleece with a soft, brushed inner, these semi-fitted pieces all feature rib trim.

The Practice Hoodie has a cinch hood, ¾ sleeves front kangaroo pockets, a full front zip, tonal floral print at front, and striped taping inside hood and cuffs.

Sold at Athleta for $69
And I want it.

Product: Earrings

Can you believe these earrings? Aren't they darling?

They are made from sterling silver, cotton, and glass. Tell me, when was the last time you owned a piece of jewelery that contained all of those materials?

I saw them online at the Anthropologie store. I so fell in love with that store when I walked in it for the first time this summer. It's a wonderful, wonderful store. Such beautiful fashion. Such unfordable prices.

These puppies are $68.
That's 6 thousand 8 hundred pennies. Start saving ladies.

Zoom in on them here.

Video: 2 Hearts

I wonder what it feels like to be immortalized.

Although, actually, I guess that statement is an oxymoron.

Video: Clumsy

Say what you will about pop music, but I think this is one of the most creative music videos I've seen in a long time.

Video: SNL digital short - Iran

News: Congratulations Sis!

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Website: Endless.com

Here is an introduction to a website that does not need my promotion, and probably isn't something I'll go back to use. However, it made a GREAT first impression on me, and while we don't seem to have the chemistry for a long lasting relationship, I'm happy to set it up with friends who may feel more of a connection.

The site is called Endless.com -- and it's all about shoes.

Here are the stand-out moments which it (the site) and I shared:

1. It's got the friendliest interface I've encountered in a while. Like a firm handshake, you can tell right away that this site means business and plans on giving you it's full attention.

2. The prices it offers are terrific. Shoes that would normally cost you at least $100, will only cost you at least $80 on this site. And shipping is free. And returning is free.

3. You can select and sort and itemize your preferences. For example, if I only want to see pink knee-high boots in a size 10 with a medium width made by any brand that starts with the letter S for under $63 --- well, my wish is this web site's command. Like its name suggests, the opportunities for selectivity are Endless.

4. You can see possibly every angle of a shoe you are interested in. Some art major who likely spent thousands of dollars getting their BFA at a famous art school is now using their expertise to photograph each shoe's heel, insole, texture and toe width. And when you're done shifting through the angles, then place your cursor over the shoe, and look deep into it's seams with the suave zoom tool. Really people, this is interface at it's finest.

6. Don't like the shoe you just spent an hour dissecting simply because it's fun to do so? Then the site offers you alternative suggestions right away. "Not quite the right shade of pink? Why, here's another one you might like."

7. Don't spend hours looking at shoes that don't come in your size. Tell Endless to display only the 7's. Or the 7.5's. Don't get your hopes up for a shoe that isn't even available. But if you believe there is a chance you two are destined to meet, then save it in your "save it for later" bin, and sign up for an alert when that pretty little shoe is on the market again.

8. Can't afford it? Forward the shoe to your mom and say, "buy me."

9. Talk about the shoe! Yes, talk about the shoe with other people. Contribute to each shoe's discussion board.

10. Here's the kicker. The site lets you know that if you order the shoe by a particular hour that day, you are guaranteed to receive the shoe by the next day.

OK, that was 10 accolades for Endless.com
I'm sick of talking about it now.

News: Acceptance Speech

An off-color "Saturday Night Live" video featuring Justin Timberlake and strategically placed gift boxes was honored at the Creative Arts Emmy Awards.

"(Blank)in a Box," last December's fake music video performed by Timberlake and "SNL" cast member Andy Samberg, is about wrapping a part of the male anatomy and presenting it to a loved one as a holiday present.

"I think it's safe to say that when we first set out to make this song, we were all thinking 'Emmy!'" Samberg said in accepting the award Saturday for best original music and lyrics.

"The other thing we were thinking was, 'Hey! Here's this young up and comer, Justin Timberlake, who is clearly very talented and could clearly use a break,'" Samberg said. "So, Justin, if you're out there, congrats to you, kid.'"

News: Guess the article topic

"That is the next step," Pop told the Times. "That dog got money. That money is going to be taken away from that dog."

Story: Overheard

It was getting dark in the park. Soccer games were coming to an end and strollers were finally being pushed home. Two boys, around 7 or 8 years old, were riding their bikes. The older boy was waiting at the top of the little hill under the big trees for the other boy to catch up.

As he pushed his bike ahead of him slowly, the younger boy called out, "Hey Harrison, close your eyes!" The older boy closed his eyes. Then the younger one called out, "Don't you have darkness in your eyes when you close them?"

The older boy said with a little laugh, "Um, I always see darkness when I close my eyes."

But the younger boy couldn't hide his excitement, as though he had just had a Eureka moment. "Harrison, there's darkness in there when you close them!"

Story: Announcements

Monologue for Male, 20/30
---------------------------------

Hello?...
Testing?...

Can you guys hear me? Feinberg? Can you hear me? Yo! Feinberg! You're not gonna get her number man, so please do a mic check for me, will ya? ....Thanks, buddy, I owe you one. So does she.

OK, so hey! Hey everyone. How are you doing tonight? Welcome to tonight's synagogue soirée. Our annual fiesta. The summer's end rooftop gala at Congregation Beit Ahava for the kids of the house. Casa De Love, as I like to call it. The one event where we young Jews actually get to bust it out with or without our yalmukas, depending on your preference, whatever that may be. We'll love you just the same.

...Seriously, Feinberg, you're not gonna get her number, let the poor girl get back to her friends. She came with, like, 10 of them so guys like you wouldn't talk to her.

Where was I? So, Miri is in Israel today, as many of you know, doing something with, Ethiopians? No? Palestinians? No? ...what was it again? Her cousin's getting married? Daniel, why is she there? ....OK, apparently no one knows. But does it matter? No, it does not. What matters is yours truly was asked to fill in for her as the "end-of-evening-announcements" MC. And again, once again, I apologize for my public statements at last month's Shabbaton. Like I said, I did not realize the Torah was miked, so I certainly would not have... Anyway, Ben, thanks for giving me another shot, for thinking of me. Really, it's an honor. I haven't had this many eyes on me since my bris, so thanks. Did that just make everyone look at my nether regions? Alana, I saw you peaking, eyes up young lady. Don't worry, it was a success.

So, let's see what is on the agenda.... Before I get to that, in a minute, I have to say, you all look beautiful tonight. Honestly. Some real lookers out there. You know who you are. Hotties in the house of God, that's what I like to see. J-date live, I call this. Look at all of you. Show of hands, how many of you like staying in for a blockbuster night AND going out on the town? Come on, I know you're out there. Ladies, ladies, tell me, does this count as one of those nights when you opted to wear heels as opposed to your sneakers? Was that tonight's choice? Because I've read your J-date profiles, and you're always talking about how you're the kind of girl who can wear heels AND sneakers, and I'm just throwing it out there, just a suggestion, you might not want to wear those heels to a Jewish singles mixer. Ladies, look around you. We are a vertically challenged people. Please, please be kind and put on the flats. Thank you, I always wanted to say that.

.....What? I'm getting to it, Shlomie, hold your tzitzi's. So, what's on the list of upcoming events this Fall?.... Oh, one more thing...Hanni....you look great tonight, honey. Really. I tried talking to you by the cous-cous but you ignored me, so I thought I would take advantage of my volumized voice and give you a shout out. Look at that folks, she's still ignoring me.

Moshe, again, great tie. I like the way you tucked it into your pants. That's money. Really, man. OK, back to the topic at hand.

Fall events. Ah! Here's a good one. September 8th, Dov and the gang are planning a wine and cheese soire. 5 pm at Sips on Delancey street. That sounds hot. Nothing like learning, drinking and nibbling at the same time to make the chosen people come out of the woodwork. What else? The Sukkah Swing is coming up! Who doesn't love the Sukkah Swing. Shake it like a lulav, ladies... Hey! I heard last year someone under the age of 45 showed up, so things are looking up. See girls, and you said all the good ones were taken.

...What? Ok, fine, fine. I'm being told to hurry it up. The benchers are being passed around, so that means you know what time it is... Last call! That's right, yeladim. Everyone to the Manishevitz table for a Dixie cup. This is your last chance to ask that cutie with the chamsa what's she's doing for Shabbos next week. I'll tell you what she's not doing, holding your hamotzi. Yeah, I'm talking to you Feinberg, give it up. Ladies, the man is hung like a mezzuzah, someone be kind to the boy tonight.

...OK, OK, I'm out. Party at Shlomo's house Tuesday night. That's not on the events list, I'm just throwing it out there. Bring your sister and all your sister's friends. Just please, whatever you do, don't invite Shlomo. Thank you New York, I'll be here all week.

Video: US Americans

Someone give this girl a crown.

Video: Martini Commerical

This was the commercial I got to see over and over in Italy. Thanks goodness for youtube or else I would have had to reenact this for you over and over. ...Oh, wait. I did that already, didn't I?

Story: Wednesday

INT - NONDESCRIPT BAR IN NYC - MIDDLE OF THE DAY.

[The bar is not well-lit, but sun through the windows shows that its probably somewhere around 4 pm. There's a group of women, about 10 of them, in the corner, laughing and sharing pints. A few men sit around the tables in the back of the bar. One guy, in his mid-thirties, Jeremy, is sitting by himself at the bar on a stool. He's drinking a beer. He looks dejected. After a while, one of the women from the group comes up to the bar. She orders a drink.]

Mae: Hi. Corona, please?

Bartender: Sure.

[Bartender walks away to get drink. Mae takes a seat on the stool and sneaks a peak at Jeremy, who doesn't look up. He's staring, in a mopey sort of way, into his beer. Mae looks like she wants to say something to him, but she's not sure what to say. She plays with a few random items on the bar, like matches or a paper coaster. Jeremy still doesn't look up. Bartender comes back and places the beer in front of Mae.]

Mae: Thanks. Can you just put this on the tab that we started?

[She motions to the group of women in the back without even looking at them].

Bartender: Yup.

[Bartender walks away and makes a note on a slip of paper near the register. Then disappears in the background of the bar. Mae stays on the stool. She looks back at the women, since they have just burst out laughing. Mae rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to Jeremy]

Mae: It's sort of a cliché, don't you think?

[She's speaking to Jeremy, but he doesn't respond. She pauses.]

Mae: Don't you think?

[She takes her beer bottle and taps it on the table in front of Jeremy's face to get his attention. He seems to jump out of a daze]

Jeremy: Huh? Sorry, what?

[Mae eyes him suspiciously now that she has his attention]

Mae: It's sort of a cliché?

Jeremy: What is?

Mae: The whole brooding man at the bar thing, in the middle of the afternoon?

[Jeremy looks around, trying to figure out who she is talking about]

Mae: You, man! I'm talking about you.

Jeremy: [He stifles a laugh] Huh. Yeah. You think?

Mae: Well, aren't guys your age normally at work or something?

Jeremy: Aren't women your age usually at work? Or something?

Mae: Flattered, thanks.

Jeremy: Sorry, you're right. My mother raised me better than that.

Mae: Well, I had no choice. I'd rather be at work. I had to go to this... [she looks back at the women] bachelorette party... lunch thing.

[This catches Jeremy's attention. He looks back at all the women.]

Jeremy: Really. Huh. [He seems to ponder this] Shouldn't...?

Mae: What?

Jeremy: I don't know much about these things, but shouldn't that be taking place at some sort of night club or something? And not on a Wednesday afternoon?

Mae: We're starting early. It's a rare phenomenon, you realize, women in their thirties getting married in New York.

Jeremy: Is it?

Mae: No one gets married anymore. Not necessarily by choice. But just, you know, they can't really fit a husband into their schedules, in between business meetings and manicures and the gym. At least not in this city.

Jeremy: Interesting. So the celebration started early because, someone's getting married and you all are so impressed with the concept?

Mae: [smiling] Exactly. [She leans in close and says in a whisper] And you know what I've learned?

Jeremy: What's that?

Mae: It's a crock of shit. It's all a crock of shit. Did I mention the crock of shit part already?

Jeremy: No, I don't think you did. A crock of what now?

Mae: Those women aren't happy. They're faking it. They're raising their glasses, shouting things like, "woo hoo, congratulations!" but all they're really thinking is, "you dumb bitch, I spent way more hours than you on the treadmill, how did you get the fiancé before I did?"

Jeremy: I see, so they're a supportive bunch.

Mae: Viciously so. Marriage is a trap, a trophy that people want, thinking that it will make everything better if they can just have it, own it, put it on the mantle. And here we all are, celebrating the conquest. It's ridiculous.

Jeremy: Maybe you should just tell them you have to get back to work.

Mae: We all work together, in the same office, so I'm stuck here. My boss just bought the last round. [Pause] So that's my excuse. What's yours?

Jeremy: Excuse for what?

Mae: For being here. At 4 in the afternoon. On a Wednesday.

Jeremy: Self pity.

Mae: Attractive.

Jeremy: Ya think?

Mae: Oh, totally. Manic, self-loathing, drinking problem. All signs of a man you want to bring home to mommy.

Jeremy: If I were an alcoholic then I would at least be way cooler than I am now. I've been sitting here for an hour and all I've had is half a beer.

Mae: A light weight! Even sexier.

[Jeremy laughs]

Mae: I have to say, you look, for some reason, familiar. Not in a generic sort of way, but like, I've actually seen you before.

Jeremy: That's an acute possibility. [He takes a drink]. I'm insanely famous.

Mae: Are you?

Jeremy: No, I am not. I am quite, not, insanely famous. But yes, there is a chance you have seen me before. Do you have a pet, by chance?

Mae: I do, actually. A dwarf hamster.

Jeremy: Perfect. Do you ever line your dwarf hamster's cage with newspaper that you don't want to read? You know, old boring articles that seem irrelevant?

Mae: I do.

Jeremy: Yes, well, the next time your dwarf hamster takes a piss and a thousand little turds on one of those papers, look closely. And you just might notice a photograph of yours truly.

Mae: [She gasps] You're that guy! [She points at him suddenly, happily, recognizing him]

Jeremy: Wow. I'm glad my reference to hamster piss joggled your memory.

Mae: I've seen you! You're that guy! That guy that wrote that movie!

Jeremy: Well, I'm not sure which movie you're referring to, but if it's the one that I wrote, then yes, I wrote that one.

Mae: Dweebs! You wrote Dweebs! I saw it, like 3 years ago? Wow, I can't believe I remember this. It was great, I loved it. Well, not really. I'm just saying that because you're in front of me. It's not really my kind of humor. But I heard everyone else loved it. People talked about it forever. I can't tell you how many bad dates I went on that year with guys who would immitate that character, what's his name, any time we needed to hail a cab.

Jeremy: Igor.

Mae: Igor! Right. Or was it? I don't know.

Jeremy: I'm pretty sure that was his name.

Mae: Right, that scene where he hails the cab.

Jeremy: With his ass.

Mae: Riggghhht. Right. Yeah, not really my style. But boy, people were obsessed. Wow. So, now I really want to know, what are you doing in a bar at 4 in the afternoon?

Jeremy: Joe public has a short attention span.

Mae: Hmm. Yeah.... [she takes a long look at him]. Shouldn't you be driving around L.A in a Mercedes or something?

Jeremy: I drive an Accord.

Mae: And you live here?

Jeremy: I do.

Mae: Well, hey. That's cool. Yeah, I remember your face. I remember seeing some interview with you on Extra. You were talking about, hot dogs, was it? Something about hot dogs and bullemia. I think you called it the perfect accessory. A two for one.

Jeremy: That sounds like something I would say.

Mae: It wasn't very funny. I felt bad for you that you thought that was funny. That's why I remember it.

Jeremy: Yes, well, I did write a movie called Dweebs, remember. So prolificacy isn't really my thing.

Mae: You still haven't told me why you're here. I'm guessing it's not for a bachelor party. And I already know you're not an alcoholic.

Jeremy: I am here because. Because.

Mae: Because.

Jeremy: Well, I had a bad day. A bad week, actually. No, more like a bad year. And so, I thought. I thought, why not get a drink.

Mae: Well, what happened on your bad day, in your bad week, in your bad year.

Jeremy: Do you really want to know?

Mae: Always.

Jeremy: Darling, I have come to realize, that I am not the great writer people think I am.

Mae: Get out.

Jeremy: It's true. Sure, I've cranked out a few fart jokes in my career. And really good ones, I might add. How do you think I paid for that Honda? But, sadly, it seems the world doesn't want fart jokes from a 37-year old man anymore. They want to hear it from 17-year old punks that never even went to college. The market is infiltrated with these... actual dweebs now... these brilliant, funny, can't dress themselves dweebs who are writing this great material and giggling like girls on TRL. And for some reason, god only knows why, when I walk into the studios now, me, the KING of the dweebs, the man who put these little fuckers on the map in the first place, they look at me, like, shouldn't you be writing for CSI now? Shouldn't you be, like, hanging out with Alan Alda on PBS? 37 is old in this business. O-L-D. And if all you know how to do is write jokes about farting, and penises, and cheerleaders, and you've banked your CAREER on this god-given talent.... Well, well... well.... Well.

[Mae doesn't say anything. She sits silently and the two of them stare at their drinks for a while.]

Jeremy: See, I told you I'd be cooler if I was an alcoholic.

Mae: So that's why you're here. Because no one likes your writing anymore.

Jeremy: No, actually. I'm here because I have this band. Because, you know, when I'm not writing fart jokes I dare to dream that I could be a rock star one day. And I have this band, and we played last night at this club. And someone wrote a review about it. And it wasn't good.

Mae: What did they say?

Jeremy: That I was a cliché.

Mae: Where have I heard that before?

Jeremy: And that I shouldn't quit my day job.

Mae: That's encouraging.

Jeremy: For the day job, sure. Except the day job doesn't really want me anymore either.

Mae: So now you want to be a rock star.

Jeremy: Yeah, but not till I'm 40, though. Y'know? I don't want to loose out on my youth. [He smiles]

Mae: Funny. [she laughs] Hey! That was a joke and it wasn't even about farts!

Jeremy: Wow, you're right. Look, there's hope for me yet. [They clink glasses] So. Tell me. What do you do and are you brilliantly successful at it?

Mae: I don't want to depress you even further. But yes, yes I am. Brilliantly.

Jeremy: Are you making a difference in the world, young lady?

Mae: Absolutely not.

Jeremy: That's what I like to hear. [They clink glasses again]

Mae: I work in real estate. I sell ridiculously priced apartments to ridiculously rich people. It's utterly fulfilling. One client, this guy I've been working with for a few months actually, just bought the perfect 3-bedroom apartment, overlooking the Hudson. Gorgeous. We closed at 3.5 last week....

Jeremy: Wow, now I feel a lot better about myself.

Mae: You should. Guy was a total, asshole. Total asshole. His money is wasted on him. He wanted one room for his gym, another one for his office, and the other one, he said, would be his meditation room. Meditation, can you believe it? If I spent 3.5 for a meditation room I'd be having anxiety attacks about it every night. [Jeremy laughs]. Plus, the thing that gets me is, what the fuck does he need an office for? The guy was an idiot. He made fast money like all the rest of those egomaniacs on Wall Street, and he's not even, remotely interesting. He had not one interesting thing to say. So I just picture him now, in his office, looking at porn all day and IMing underage co-eds on myspace. You know?

Jeremy: Wow. Yeah, I'm not like that at all. Puritan, all the way.

Mae: And the thing is, these men hit on me every time. Every time...

Jeremy: That's rough for you.

Mae: And I have to play along with it, you know, flirt with them a little. Make them think there's a chance they're gonna get some, but they're not of course. All I want is their signature. Sign the papers, asshole. Make the deal happen. Close, close, close. So I can get the hell out of here.

Jeremy: Hmm.

[They're silent again. Then they look at each other and smile]

Jeremy: We are something else.

Mae: Totally.

[They're quiet. Suddenly Jeremy starts shifting a little bit on his stool, and seems a little awkward. He looks like he wants to say something. Mae notices.]

Mae: What?

Jeremy: No, you know, I was just wondering.

Mae: What?

Jeremy: I was just thinking. You know. I was thinking I should ask you for your number. You know, just in case, I wanted to buy an apartment one day. With an office.

[Mae smiles, laughs a little, and looks down uncomfortably at her hands]

Jeremy: Or. Or, we could get a drink sometime. Which, apparently, we're already doing. But a more official one. [He notices Mae's silence, and tried to make a joke] How's that for a segue? I'm so suave.

Mae: Wow.

Jeremy: What's up?

Mae: Nothing, it's just. [She looks back at the women who are still laughing in the corner, oblivious to her absence]. Well, those women over there?

Jeremy: The ones who secretly want to kill the bride-to-be?

Mae: Yeah. Well. [Pause] I sort of, AM, the bride. [pause] To be. [pause] That everyone wants to kill.

Jeremy: [He looks back at the group of women. Then he looks at Mae again] No shit.

Mae: Yes, shit.

Jeremy: Well. Hmm. OK, then. [He takes a drink again] So, I don't mean to be a girl about this, but, shouldn't you be wearing one of those big shiny rings or something?

Mae: I should. But I'm, adjusting? Still. To the concept.

Jeremy: Or, maybe it's just a survival tactic.

Mae: Meaning?

Jeremy: You know, so other thirty-something single women on the streets of New York won't jump you for getting hitched before they do.

Mae: Funny. Very funny. See? You've still got it.

[Jeremy smiles and looks down at this drink, a bit shy. Mae sits silently, a bit awkwardly. She looks back at the women and sees that they're all starting to put on their coats and getting ready to leave.]

Mae: It looks like my party is over. So, I should probably...

Jeremy: Yeah! Right. Sure.

Mae: It was, it really was, a pleasure talking to you. I promise not to let my hamster shit on your face anymore.

Jeremy: That's kind. That's very kind, thank you. I appreciate it.

[Mae gets up from the stool and faces Jeremy. He faces her and they pause in front of each other. Smiling a bit.]

Mae: You know, I don't actually know your name, now that I think about it.

Jeremy: Jeremy. Jeremy Kohl.

Mae: Jeremy Kohl. Pleased to meet you. I'm Mae Gordon.

Jeremy: Pleased to meet you too, Mae Gordon.

[They shake hands, slowly. Then Mae turns quickly and walks back to her friends who are walking out the door. She stops at the door and turns back to look at Jeremy, who is still watching her. She ties the belt around her coat, smiles, waves, and walks out the door]