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.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
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
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
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
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!)
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 HoodieThe 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.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
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.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
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.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
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.'"
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
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."
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
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!"
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!"
Sunday, August 26, 2007
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.
---------------------------------
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.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
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]
[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]
Story: Meet & Greet
[Ext. - Day - Woman is waiting on line at food cart on the streets of Manhattan. There are a few people ahead of her. When it reaches her turn, she seems to order the food with her eyes, as she hungrily surveys the breakfast items in the glass container. A foreign man, in his forties/fifties, is working the cart.]
Man: Yes?
Mira: Um, one bagel, sesame, with cream cheese, please. And an orange juice. Do you have a no pulp one? Yeah, that. And... Um... the muffin, that one.
Man: This one?
Mira: No, that-- that one over there.
Man: This one?
Mira: Yeah. Is that chocolate?
Man: Blueberry.
Mira: Oh. No thanks then. Just the bagel.
Man: $3.75
[He hands Mira the bagel and the orange juice. She needs to get into her bag to get her wallet but her hands are full now with a magazine she was holding, and the new food. She takes the bagel and puts it in her mouth to hold it with her teeth. With the food in her mouth, she continues talking.]
Mira: Hold on... wait, let me get it... [Her words come out garbled]. Here. [She takes out her wallet and looks inside. She has 2 single dollars. She looks through her coins, but she doesn't have enough money.] Crap.
Man: Three. Seventy five. Miss.
[Mira takes the bagel out of her mouth, and a bite comes off with it.]
Mira: I'm so sorry, I seem to be... [She chews as she talks] I'm so sorry. I have two?
Man: Yes and I need three.
Mira: Shit. Um, um. [She starts looking through her bag but nothing is there. She pulls out a metro card instead.] How 'bout this? It's good for one more ride within the hour.
Man: What good that does me? I have to stand with my cart.
Mira: I could watch your cart!
Man: And where should I go? The Statue of Liberty? I've already seen it. Two times. I took the full audio tour as well. Three dollars, lady. And 75 cents.
Mira: How about an exchange?
Man: An exchange of money, yes very good idea.
Mira: An exchange of, product! You gave me a very delicious, very tasty bagel. So I will... I will, write about you on my blog!
Man: What blog?
Mira: My blog! It's great. You'd love it. I'll write about your bagels and your whole, the whole set-up thing you got going on here. And I'll tell people, go to this food cart, on the corner of Spring and Broadway, and you'll never want to visit Dean & Delucca again.
Man: [Looks like he is considering it] How many hits you get?
Mira: What?
Man: On your blog. How many hits?
Mira: Um... I don't know. Like, I think. Well, let's see, last time I checked... Um...
Man: Lady, you have a blog and you don't track your visitors? What kind of blogger are you?
Mira: Well...
Man: Page loads? Nothing?
Mira: I do just fine for myself. Last week two people left comments for me.
Man: Two? Two comments? Clearly, you don't know how to grab your audience. You have to reel them in! Start the fire! You have Google ads?
Mira: No.
Man: Your blog is worthless to me. $3.75.
Mira: But...
[At this point a man reaches from behind Mira and hands the man the money. Mira turns around suddenly.]
James: Here you go, man.
Man: Ahh, a savior. Very nice. Now THIS, I will write about in MY blog. What strange encounters I have in this city.
Mira: You don't have to do that.
James: Someone has to. You got a line of people waiting behind you.
Mira: [Suddenly realizes] Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. And thank you. I can pay you back.
James: Or write about it, so I hear. I just felt bad, I had to do something.
Mira: I forgot to get money out. I know, embarrassing.
James: No, I mean about the blog. No Google ads? No one writes for free anymore. [To Man at cart] One coffee please. Black. With the change from the five.
[Cart man hands James his coffee and Mira her orange juice.]
Man: No milk. And no pulp.
[Mira takes her drink. She and James step away from the cart.]
James: Anyway, happy to help.
Mira: Yeah, yeah. That was, really nice. But I do want to pay you back.
James: Don't worry about it. No worries.
Mira: Oh, well thanks!
James: Yeah.
[They stand at the street corner, silently. It's awkward.]
Mira: Um, so. Have a nice day.
James: Oh, yeah, yeah. You too.
Mira: OK. [long pause]. Bye.
[She waves and he waves. They turn around and walk off in opposite directions, both smiling a bit].
Man: Yes?
Mira: Um, one bagel, sesame, with cream cheese, please. And an orange juice. Do you have a no pulp one? Yeah, that. And... Um... the muffin, that one.
Man: This one?
Mira: No, that-- that one over there.
Man: This one?
Mira: Yeah. Is that chocolate?
Man: Blueberry.
Mira: Oh. No thanks then. Just the bagel.
Man: $3.75
[He hands Mira the bagel and the orange juice. She needs to get into her bag to get her wallet but her hands are full now with a magazine she was holding, and the new food. She takes the bagel and puts it in her mouth to hold it with her teeth. With the food in her mouth, she continues talking.]
Mira: Hold on... wait, let me get it... [Her words come out garbled]. Here. [She takes out her wallet and looks inside. She has 2 single dollars. She looks through her coins, but she doesn't have enough money.] Crap.
Man: Three. Seventy five. Miss.
[Mira takes the bagel out of her mouth, and a bite comes off with it.]
Mira: I'm so sorry, I seem to be... [She chews as she talks] I'm so sorry. I have two?
Man: Yes and I need three.
Mira: Shit. Um, um. [She starts looking through her bag but nothing is there. She pulls out a metro card instead.] How 'bout this? It's good for one more ride within the hour.
Man: What good that does me? I have to stand with my cart.
Mira: I could watch your cart!
Man: And where should I go? The Statue of Liberty? I've already seen it. Two times. I took the full audio tour as well. Three dollars, lady. And 75 cents.
Mira: How about an exchange?
Man: An exchange of money, yes very good idea.
Mira: An exchange of, product! You gave me a very delicious, very tasty bagel. So I will... I will, write about you on my blog!
Man: What blog?
Mira: My blog! It's great. You'd love it. I'll write about your bagels and your whole, the whole set-up thing you got going on here. And I'll tell people, go to this food cart, on the corner of Spring and Broadway, and you'll never want to visit Dean & Delucca again.
Man: [Looks like he is considering it] How many hits you get?
Mira: What?
Man: On your blog. How many hits?
Mira: Um... I don't know. Like, I think. Well, let's see, last time I checked... Um...
Man: Lady, you have a blog and you don't track your visitors? What kind of blogger are you?
Mira: Well...
Man: Page loads? Nothing?
Mira: I do just fine for myself. Last week two people left comments for me.
Man: Two? Two comments? Clearly, you don't know how to grab your audience. You have to reel them in! Start the fire! You have Google ads?
Mira: No.
Man: Your blog is worthless to me. $3.75.
Mira: But...
[At this point a man reaches from behind Mira and hands the man the money. Mira turns around suddenly.]
James: Here you go, man.
Man: Ahh, a savior. Very nice. Now THIS, I will write about in MY blog. What strange encounters I have in this city.
Mira: You don't have to do that.
James: Someone has to. You got a line of people waiting behind you.
Mira: [Suddenly realizes] Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. And thank you. I can pay you back.
James: Or write about it, so I hear. I just felt bad, I had to do something.
Mira: I forgot to get money out. I know, embarrassing.
James: No, I mean about the blog. No Google ads? No one writes for free anymore. [To Man at cart] One coffee please. Black. With the change from the five.
[Cart man hands James his coffee and Mira her orange juice.]
Man: No milk. And no pulp.
[Mira takes her drink. She and James step away from the cart.]
James: Anyway, happy to help.
Mira: Yeah, yeah. That was, really nice. But I do want to pay you back.
James: Don't worry about it. No worries.
Mira: Oh, well thanks!
James: Yeah.
[They stand at the street corner, silently. It's awkward.]
Mira: Um, so. Have a nice day.
James: Oh, yeah, yeah. You too.
Mira: OK. [long pause]. Bye.
[She waves and he waves. They turn around and walk off in opposite directions, both smiling a bit].
Thursday, August 23, 2007
BOOK: Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close
This is a book you won't soon forget.I bought it for the plane coming home from Italy, but I couldn't finish reading it on the plane, because the book is about planes, and not in a good way.
It's also (mostly) about a 8-year old boy named Oskar who is the most interesting, most complex, most sensitive, most intelligent little boy you'll ever read about.
He lives on the Upper West Side in Manhattan, with his mother. His grandmother lives across the street. His father died in 9/11, and this book is about Oskar's mourning process, though he does not know it. You'll know it, from the perspective of an adult. You'll know it, silently, reading about his adventures, your heart breaking, knowing that the reason he is on this nonsensical journey, is because he is searching for what he has already lost forever.
I don't know how Foer does it. His writing is so detailed. Everything eventually connects in ways that you won't see coming. If you reach a point that makes you wonder why it's even in the book, that's probably the moment you should pay the closest attention. The book isn't just A BOOK. It's got pictures, pages and pages of photographs, as though the story could not be told with words alone. It plays with the page margins, the font kearning, the space between the lines. This is NOT a normal book and it is beautiful.
A few months ago I was lucky enough to hear Foer do a reading at a public event. At that point, I had never read any of his books, and didn't really have plans to. But he's a young, 30-something from Brooklyn, and he's an up-and-coming author (more like an up-and-already-arrived) and he is married to my favorite author ever, Nicole Kraus, whom I was secretly hoping would be there.
He did a reading of something he was working on, which no one had heard before, and which may or may not reach the public one day. It was so funny and brilliant and had the whole audience crying with laughter. That seemed to put his "voice" in my head, so when I began EXTREMELY LOUD & INCREDIBLY CLOSE I could "hear" how it was supposed to be read, and that made the melody of the book so much more enjoyable.
I finished it last night with tears in my eyes and a deep sigh. Another book that took my breath away.
Websites: Maps
I am directionally challenged.Unless. Unless I really, really love where I am.
For example. I like Brooklyn, but I don't love it. Therefore. Therefore, I get lost every time I am there.
I love Florence. I figured out those tiny, narrow streets in no time. I don't love the Village, so I usually don't know where I am. I love the lower east side, but that love is new, so I'm just starting to get a handle on it. At one point I loved the upper west side, so I know where things are. But. I'm starting to loose my affection for that area, so I'm starting to forget where things are.
I like using "mapquest" as a verb, even though it's not usually what I mean. Mapquest was the first onling mapping website to hit the big time, to grab your eye and steal your heart, but eventually we all realized it didn't really know what it was talking about. Like an old Italian man speaking to you in his native tongue even though you couldn't understand a thing, Mapquest took you on twists and turns that were unnecessary and purely suggestions based on its need for bragging rights.
But. I'll still say to people, "Mapquest it and you'll find it."
& like I said, that's not what I mean.
My dream was to find a mapping system that let ME choose the glorious bridge I should drive over, or the dark tunnel I should drive through. LET ME TELL YOU HOW TO HELP ME, I wanted to shout from the roof tops to mapping systems everywhere.
Googlemaps heard me.
Today I learned, by accident, that after you type in an address in Googlemaps, and the map image is displayed, you can CLICK ON THE HIGHLIGHTED ROADS AND DRAG THEM AROUND THE MAP AND GOOGLEMAPS WILL READJUST ITSELF TO FIT YOUR PREROGATIVE.
This is a beautiful moment. Let's savor it.
http://maps.google.com
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Story: Letter #2
Dear Mrs.
I am writing to inform you about my pending resignation which is about to occur.
Last night your husband asked me to drive with him to the mini mart, the one with the good eggs and the bad milk, you know the one, and receive change in quarters for his one dollar bill, because he owed me $4.75 and not $5.00.
Your son, I am in love with, but it's not the same kind of love that you have for him, which is why I can leave. You love him enough to have me fill your shoes and I don't love him that much. You love him enough to feel guilt about the size of his birthday presents and concern about the cleanliness of his school uniform. You love him enough to practice your signatures on a napkin (I found them) so that his applications for everything are neat and professional looking. I do not love him that much and that is why I can leave.
I have left the things you have lent me in the back closet. I have returned the shawl with the beads on the fringes because it makes a strange noise when I walk through the aisles of Fairways buying your cheeses and deli meats. I have returned the tweezers you did not know I had. I have returned the note you left me 4 months ago, requesting that we no longer have pizza nights on Thursdays in the household as a preemptive move to curb your son's appetite for inappropriately labeled food groups. I thought you would want that for safe-keeping.
This is the part of the letter where I bring things to a close and let you know that I will be unreachable by phone, but always available by fax. This is the part in the letter where you start to sense that I am bidding à tout à l'heure.
My best to you and your family and future employees and all of your goals and aspirations of which I have not and will not be able to help you accomplish.
Until next time, or sooner,
Ms.
I am writing to inform you about my pending resignation which is about to occur.
Last night your husband asked me to drive with him to the mini mart, the one with the good eggs and the bad milk, you know the one, and receive change in quarters for his one dollar bill, because he owed me $4.75 and not $5.00.
Your son, I am in love with, but it's not the same kind of love that you have for him, which is why I can leave. You love him enough to have me fill your shoes and I don't love him that much. You love him enough to feel guilt about the size of his birthday presents and concern about the cleanliness of his school uniform. You love him enough to practice your signatures on a napkin (I found them) so that his applications for everything are neat and professional looking. I do not love him that much and that is why I can leave.
I have left the things you have lent me in the back closet. I have returned the shawl with the beads on the fringes because it makes a strange noise when I walk through the aisles of Fairways buying your cheeses and deli meats. I have returned the tweezers you did not know I had. I have returned the note you left me 4 months ago, requesting that we no longer have pizza nights on Thursdays in the household as a preemptive move to curb your son's appetite for inappropriately labeled food groups. I thought you would want that for safe-keeping.
This is the part of the letter where I bring things to a close and let you know that I will be unreachable by phone, but always available by fax. This is the part in the letter where you start to sense that I am bidding à tout à l'heure.
My best to you and your family and future employees and all of your goals and aspirations of which I have not and will not be able to help you accomplish.
Until next time, or sooner,
Ms.
Story: Letter #1
Dear You,
I got the mix tape. It wasn't what I expected, but then again, not much is nowadays. Though now that I think about it, now that I take pen to paper, I realize that you did, actually, leave me the least bit misty eyed with your rendition of Let My People Go on the didjeridoo. You knew that would get me, didn't you? You knew. You know me too well.
Ms. Finch asked about you again. She said, and I quote, "Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" and then she raised her penciled eyebrow at me. She's on to us. She's also got beautiful eyebrows. But whatever. I don't care anymore. I mean, we're adults. We hire people to pay our taxes for us. We hire people to walk our dogs and do our laundry. It's about time we got something of our own to hold on to, you know? I won't fight it anymore. I know, I know, you've heard me say that before. But this time I mean it.
I was going through some old things of mine in a drawer under my bed and I came across a letter you once wrote me, but never sent, but I found anyway and stole. There was a quote that stuck out for me. It said: And I quote, "The town where I grew up has a zip code of E-I-E-I-O." I can't make this stuff up.
Did you know Valerie Harper was born today? I think that's fitting.
Until next time, or sooner
Yours.
I got the mix tape. It wasn't what I expected, but then again, not much is nowadays. Though now that I think about it, now that I take pen to paper, I realize that you did, actually, leave me the least bit misty eyed with your rendition of Let My People Go on the didjeridoo. You knew that would get me, didn't you? You knew. You know me too well.
Ms. Finch asked about you again. She said, and I quote, "Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" and then she raised her penciled eyebrow at me. She's on to us. She's also got beautiful eyebrows. But whatever. I don't care anymore. I mean, we're adults. We hire people to pay our taxes for us. We hire people to walk our dogs and do our laundry. It's about time we got something of our own to hold on to, you know? I won't fight it anymore. I know, I know, you've heard me say that before. But this time I mean it.
I was going through some old things of mine in a drawer under my bed and I came across a letter you once wrote me, but never sent, but I found anyway and stole. There was a quote that stuck out for me. It said: And I quote, "The town where I grew up has a zip code of E-I-E-I-O." I can't make this stuff up.
Did you know Valerie Harper was born today? I think that's fitting.
Until next time, or sooner
Yours.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
TV: All hail the hoodie
It's the year of the dork. The era of the dweeb. The rise of the underdog. Young, self-declared heroes with a dry sense of humor and intelligent candor that you want to believe is as brilliant in real life as it is in the movies. What separates them from the popular kids on the block is their understanding that cool is fleeting, but wit is forever.
Here are the boys with whom you should have shared a lunch table with, afterall:
TV Show: CLARK AND MICHAEL
Michael Cera (left in photo) is the unbelievably lovable hero of SUPERBAD. His buddy Clark makes a (brief) appearance in the movie, but mostly he'll be known for his dorky persona in the new ABC Family show, GREEK (which stars another up and coming dork, Jacob Zachar). The two of them made a few funny movies together (10 minutes each), that CBS (weirdly enough) picked up and put on a website in a ten episode, web-only format. It's maddeningly funny and totally worth your time to watch.
Here: www.clarkandmichael.com
TV Show: Freaks & Greeks
In my opinion, this is one of the best shows to EVER be on television. It's the boy version of My So Called Life. Less mellow-dramatic, more funny, but just as endearing. It's brilliant writing with a brilliant cast and worth the DVD purchase (your welcome, Sis). It's another one of those great moments in television that was axed by the network because no one was watching it. The one-season-only program stars John Francis Daley, who, lucky for you, also makes an appearance in CLARK AND MICHAEL. Daley is another endearing dork, who has grown, like, 5 feet since Freaks & Geeks first aired, potentially threatening his dorky title.
Jonah Hill
Also a SUPERBAD front runner, this guy is clearly super smart and out of his mind. He's too funny for the page. But something tells me if he lost the weight, he'd reveal a debonair charm that would land him in a few Tiger Beats. Oh, and he also shows up in CLARK AND MICHAEL as another aspiring writer who is very unimpressed with the awkward Clark and Michael characters.
Adam Samburg
When did dorkiness become something to aspire to? Probably for boy-men like this it meant more time in the principals office than the prom. But something happened in show business. Someone finally took the memo that women already know that the Carey Grants of the world aren't the most interesting conversationalists/attentive caregivers/loyalists, after all.
Luckily, this guy is a lot older than the others in the lot, so it's not illegal to lust after him. He's got that ridiculous grin and comic timing that originally paved the road for his predecessors (Jimmy Fallon, Adam Sandler, Mike Meyers, et al). Now he's in charge, and probably will be for a long time. He shows up on the SNL set every week, in case you're wondering how he hit the big time.
John Krasinski
Oh, OK, so I get it. I get it now. The road to dorkiness begins with being the guy who falls for the girl, but doesn't know how to tell her. And probably won't until season three. Women are so done with the macho man who can walk up to a lady and woo her with a three-word sentence that includes at least one use of the word "baby". No, those days are over. Brad Pitt? He's unreachable. John Krasinki? He's the one you never even noticed. Until he got a hit TV show and you realized that stuttering and excessive blinking are sure signs of a guy with potential.
Have a nice day.
Here are the boys with whom you should have shared a lunch table with, afterall:
TV Show: CLARK AND MICHAEL
Michael Cera (left in photo) is the unbelievably lovable hero of SUPERBAD. His buddy Clark makes a (brief) appearance in the movie, but mostly he'll be known for his dorky persona in the new ABC Family show, GREEK (which stars another up and coming dork, Jacob Zachar). The two of them made a few funny movies together (10 minutes each), that CBS (weirdly enough) picked up and put on a website in a ten episode, web-only format. It's maddeningly funny and totally worth your time to watch.Here: www.clarkandmichael.com
TV Show: Freaks & Greeks
In my opinion, this is one of the best shows to EVER be on television. It's the boy version of My So Called Life. Less mellow-dramatic, more funny, but just as endearing. It's brilliant writing with a brilliant cast and worth the DVD purchase (your welcome, Sis). It's another one of those great moments in television that was axed by the network because no one was watching it. The one-season-only program stars John Francis Daley, who, lucky for you, also makes an appearance in CLARK AND MICHAEL. Daley is another endearing dork, who has grown, like, 5 feet since Freaks & Geeks first aired, potentially threatening his dorky title.Jonah Hill
Also a SUPERBAD front runner, this guy is clearly super smart and out of his mind. He's too funny for the page. But something tells me if he lost the weight, he'd reveal a debonair charm that would land him in a few Tiger Beats. Oh, and he also shows up in CLARK AND MICHAEL as another aspiring writer who is very unimpressed with the awkward Clark and Michael characters.Adam Samburg
When did dorkiness become something to aspire to? Probably for boy-men like this it meant more time in the principals office than the prom. But something happened in show business. Someone finally took the memo that women already know that the Carey Grants of the world aren't the most interesting conversationalists/attentive caregivers/loyalists, after all.Luckily, this guy is a lot older than the others in the lot, so it's not illegal to lust after him. He's got that ridiculous grin and comic timing that originally paved the road for his predecessors (Jimmy Fallon, Adam Sandler, Mike Meyers, et al). Now he's in charge, and probably will be for a long time. He shows up on the SNL set every week, in case you're wondering how he hit the big time.
John Krasinski
Oh, OK, so I get it. I get it now. The road to dorkiness begins with being the guy who falls for the girl, but doesn't know how to tell her. And probably won't until season three. Women are so done with the macho man who can walk up to a lady and woo her with a three-word sentence that includes at least one use of the word "baby". No, those days are over. Brad Pitt? He's unreachable. John Krasinki? He's the one you never even noticed. Until he got a hit TV show and you realized that stuttering and excessive blinking are sure signs of a guy with potential.Have a nice day.
Movie: Superbad
Sis and A and I saw SUPERBAD this Sunday, which was really the whole point of the originally planned, hyped-up trip to Great Adventure anyhow, to go do the water slides and say, "I can't wait till we see Superbad!" as we splash around in the water and then when the park closes, go see the movie. You know what I mean?
Every summer we go to a water park and then see a movie that begins with the word SUPER. That's what we do. It's kind of our thing. You can borrow it if you want. But we didn't make it to the park this summer. Why? Because of threatening rainstorms that would have left us cold and miserable on our big yellow rafts. And actually, we would have been wet too, which, now I realize, probably wouldn't have been the worst thing to happen at a water park.
But.
We went to the movie theater in Union Square and I used one of those computer operated machines where you stick your credit card into a slot and push a lot of buttons to get your movie ticket to pop out of a different slot. I find those machines confusing and condescending. It asked me if I would like to process my request in English or Spanish or Other and while I enjoy speaking Other from time to time I was tempted to select Spanish. But the last time I did that it made fun of my accent. What accent? I can roll my R's better than a sushi chef, thank you very much.
Sis said she's been using those machines forever. But I was like, What? Huh? Because I have not. I enjoy human interaction during the ticket purchasing process of my theatrical outings (and for your information, movie in Spanish is PELICULA). I enjoy the question 'n answer session that we engage in, the attendant and I, on either side of the glass. So close yet so far apart. I've grown accustomed to that intimate moment when I slide my credit card in-- (with a subtle but not so subtle twist of the wrist) --and under the half-circle open space on the bottom of the glass plate, into the hands of the eager but not so eager movie ticket attendant.
Where was I?
The process of finding seats in the hottest movie in town. Right. We were there early so we got the coveted recliners in exactly the best location. Then Sis had to go outside and wait for a friend and A had to go buy a tub of popcorn (because we like our popcorn consumption to resemble that of our current presidential race: arriving way too early, and yellow). So that left me alone, guarding, for my life, the three seats that we had coveted (see the beginning of this paragraph for a recap on how we got the seats).
I witnessed an incredible display of human emotion, as people, young and old, hefty and slim, rich and poor, ambitious and lackadaisical, asked me if the seats were taken. I found it incredibly difficult and challenging to answer them because each person asked the question differently and with such confidence that I felt like an idiot for not inherently understanding their facial expressions and hand gestures. Let me explain in simpler terms.
Like, one guy would spot the empty seats, look at me, nod his head quickly, point, then raise his eyebrows with a victorious smile. So I would say, "No." Then he would smile and start to leap towards them. And I would say, "No, no." And he would say, mid leap, "Those aren't free?" And I would say, "No." But I was very confused. And he would say, "No, they're free or yes, they're taken?" I nodded, "No, they are." "They are?" "They aren't."
Then another guy would come by and say, "Seats?" But this time I learned from my mistakes, and I would say, "Yes." And he would say, "Cool!" and run towards them. And I would say, "No! No!" and block them, throwing my limbs across the seats.
And then the guy would go like this. He would shoot his fists up into the air and let out this gush of wind from his mouth that sounded like "Ohhhhuughfff!" like I had just told him Yankee stadium was being torn down, or something horrible like that. I felt bad.
Finally the girls were all back, and the movie started. And let me tell you, it was HIGH LEAR EE! US.
Michael Cera is funnier than a monkey's uncle. Any movie that bases most of its jokes around penises and can still make all the females in the audience go, awwwwww, through most of it, is pure genius. We laughed ourselves into oblivion and I would definitely give it one thumb up, because if I showed you my other thumb you would be like, "What? Huh? What's up with your thumb? That's weird looking." But I'm older now, so I'm totally OK with it.
Every summer we go to a water park and then see a movie that begins with the word SUPER. That's what we do. It's kind of our thing. You can borrow it if you want. But we didn't make it to the park this summer. Why? Because of threatening rainstorms that would have left us cold and miserable on our big yellow rafts. And actually, we would have been wet too, which, now I realize, probably wouldn't have been the worst thing to happen at a water park.
But.
We went to the movie theater in Union Square and I used one of those computer operated machines where you stick your credit card into a slot and push a lot of buttons to get your movie ticket to pop out of a different slot. I find those machines confusing and condescending. It asked me if I would like to process my request in English or Spanish or Other and while I enjoy speaking Other from time to time I was tempted to select Spanish. But the last time I did that it made fun of my accent. What accent? I can roll my R's better than a sushi chef, thank you very much.
Sis said she's been using those machines forever. But I was like, What? Huh? Because I have not. I enjoy human interaction during the ticket purchasing process of my theatrical outings (and for your information, movie in Spanish is PELICULA). I enjoy the question 'n answer session that we engage in, the attendant and I, on either side of the glass. So close yet so far apart. I've grown accustomed to that intimate moment when I slide my credit card in-- (with a subtle but not so subtle twist of the wrist) --and under the half-circle open space on the bottom of the glass plate, into the hands of the eager but not so eager movie ticket attendant.
Where was I?
The process of finding seats in the hottest movie in town. Right. We were there early so we got the coveted recliners in exactly the best location. Then Sis had to go outside and wait for a friend and A had to go buy a tub of popcorn (because we like our popcorn consumption to resemble that of our current presidential race: arriving way too early, and yellow). So that left me alone, guarding, for my life, the three seats that we had coveted (see the beginning of this paragraph for a recap on how we got the seats).
I witnessed an incredible display of human emotion, as people, young and old, hefty and slim, rich and poor, ambitious and lackadaisical, asked me if the seats were taken. I found it incredibly difficult and challenging to answer them because each person asked the question differently and with such confidence that I felt like an idiot for not inherently understanding their facial expressions and hand gestures. Let me explain in simpler terms.
Like, one guy would spot the empty seats, look at me, nod his head quickly, point, then raise his eyebrows with a victorious smile. So I would say, "No." Then he would smile and start to leap towards them. And I would say, "No, no." And he would say, mid leap, "Those aren't free?" And I would say, "No." But I was very confused. And he would say, "No, they're free or yes, they're taken?" I nodded, "No, they are." "They are?" "They aren't."
Then another guy would come by and say, "Seats?" But this time I learned from my mistakes, and I would say, "Yes." And he would say, "Cool!" and run towards them. And I would say, "No! No!" and block them, throwing my limbs across the seats.
And then the guy would go like this. He would shoot his fists up into the air and let out this gush of wind from his mouth that sounded like "Ohhhhuughfff!" like I had just told him Yankee stadium was being torn down, or something horrible like that. I felt bad.
Finally the girls were all back, and the movie started. And let me tell you, it was HIGH LEAR EE! US.
Michael Cera is funnier than a monkey's uncle. Any movie that bases most of its jokes around penises and can still make all the females in the audience go, awwwwww, through most of it, is pure genius. We laughed ourselves into oblivion and I would definitely give it one thumb up, because if I showed you my other thumb you would be like, "What? Huh? What's up with your thumb? That's weird looking." But I'm older now, so I'm totally OK with it.
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