Stir Crazy

I've been alone in my apartment all day. It's been self-imposed; I'm trying to finish writing this script I've been busy with, and I have a ton of paying work I need to catch up on.

I tells ya, there's certainly nothing like being alone in a somewhat dark, relatively tiny apartment; listening to local Sports Radio and caressing your hips while wishing you were a woman.

Earlier today, I was visited by my super. He walked in, slapped me in the face with a halibut and began to do the mashed potato dance. When I asked him what he was doing, he told me that "I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does". He then took off a face-shaped mask and revealed himself as Morrissey, lead singer of The Smiths. I found this odd, because I'm pretty sure my super is a Cure fan.

Later on, Jesus stopped by and we had some drinks. After about half a bottle of wine, he said "you're drinking my blood!". I was mildly upset, but not as upset as I was 10 seconds later when I thought about the heaping glass of whole milk he brought me.

He called it Jesus Juice. Actually he called it "Jesus Jews", but I didn't catch the pun until after he laughed at it for a few seconds. Forced to pretend I got it immediately, but just wasn't polite enough to laugh, I said "puns! I love puns! They never make me laugh out loud, but you gotta love puns!" Dodged that bullet.

Then I had some Elks over and they brought Elkahol. We got massively drunk and spoke ill of moose and their faggy antlers. I said mooses, but they quickly corrected my grammar...the Elks never looked at me with the same respect again.

After 6 hours of solitaire scrabulous, I got into bed and played another 6 hours of solitaire scrabulous. Then I shaved racing stripes into my cheek hair.

I live a highly fulfilling life.

Polls Find White Obama Pulling Away From Black Obama

With voters’ increased confidence in his ability to serve as commander in chief, as well as a majority who now believe he would do a good job as president, White Barack Obama has opened up his biggest advantage over Black Barack Obama in the latest NBC News/Wall Street Journal poll.

With two weeks to go until Election Day, White Obama now leads his African-American counterpart by 40 points among registered voters, 70 to 30 percent, up from 65 to 35 percent two weeks ago.

The top concerns those polled had about Black Barack Obama were his "Socialist Liberal Agenda" and his "Concerning Ties To Terrorist Organizations".

"I just can't trust that Black Barack Obama," said Marylin Schunk of Columbusville, Ohio. "He's an Arab who pals around with terrorists. I don't want him taxing me and giving my hard earned money to homeless drug dealing gay black Communists. As for White Barack Obama; well, I feel like I know him; he's been on the campaign trail for over two years and he seems like a nice, even-tempered guy who'll cut my taxes. I'd love to grab a beer with him, you know what I mean?"

White Obama supporter Norman Stills of Darkiekill, South Carolina says he is most concerned about the economy: "Black Obama is going to tax me. I only makes 42,000! Now, White Obama, he's out for people like me...because he looks like me."

In the survey, White Obama also holds commanding leads on the issues — especially economic ones. He has a 39-point advantage over Black Obama in handling health care (59 to 20 percent), a 21-point edge on improving the economy (49 to 28). Black Obama still leads in "who I'd want on my basketball team" (65 to 29) and "who can dance better" (74 to 12).

As for the electoral count, White Obama leads in every state, especially in the South, where, for example, he's carrying Alabama by a 93-4. Black Obama still leads in Washington DC, 90-10.

With no clear policy differences, analysts are struggling to determine the cause of the giant spread between the two candidates.

"I guess when that hole in the fabric of space time opened up, White Obama brought some of that good old fashion alternate-universe charm about him. People really get a sense like they know him, as opposed to Black Obama, who they still have many questions about, especially in relation to his dubious, America-Hating associations." Says Dr. Arnold Rimmer of Lancaster, PA.

"Personally, I'm not voting for him because I hate black people".

Just remembering...

Just watching a piece on Obama's grandmother reminds me of my own. Here is a blog post I wrote 7 months ago about my grandmother, who had died the day before. Her absence was underscored in a Bat Mitzvah I went to on Sunday...the first major family function without her.

Below, you'll read a little about my feisty grandmother and jazz celebrity great uncle:

My grandmother passed away yesterday (3/24/08) at the all-too-young age of 98. I say "all-to-young" (with grammatically dubious dashes), because she never seemed like she would die. I remember when I was a child and she was in her early 80s, I assuredly thought she'd still be baking me gooey Apple Pies and scrumptious Chocolate Cakes well into her 120s. Even towards the end; as she was sick, frail and bedridden, her spirit remained strong and I had no doubts that Willard Scott would be announcing her 100th birthday on "The Today Show" in 2009. Her spirit was just THAT strong: she was the definition of a tough old broad and will forever be missed by those that knew her.

Anyway, I attended the funeral this morning. It was sad, funny and beautiful. I was most effected when my Aunt played Sophie Tucker's "Some Of These Days" on a little portable boom box. Lyrics like:

"And when you leave me you know it's gonna grieve me
Gonna miss your big, fat mamma, your mamma some of these days"

Seem to be written about my big old fat grandma.

While at the funeral I saw my dad's cousin Charlie (or Charlsie! for short). He's a gregarious, funny, amiable fellow that you immediately take a liking to after hearing a single burst of his humongous laugh. His parents were also first cousins, which is neither here nor there.

He told me this amazing story about my great uncle Lee Myles (my grandmother's brother). Lee was a big-band leader who was a contemporary of Irving Berlin and had articles written about him by the likes of Ed Sullivan. He started his own automotive transmission store aptly named "Lee Myles". It's a chain today that's located mostly around the northeast. His store had a big billboard with his name on it, smack in the middle of the Long Island Expressway. It had a big clock, so people who waited in traffic could check the time. Can you imagine people driving around without knowing what time it is?

Charlsie worked for Lee (and later ran one of his stores) and recounted a very funny story to me. Sometime around 1959 or 1960 Lee was contacted by General Motors. They wanted to pay him 7 Million Dollars to buy his stores and another 500 thousand a year to run the place. 7 Million bucks is a lot of money now, I can't even conceive how much that was back then.

Anyway, Lee was excited and was about to make the deal. In the final meeting GM told him and Charlsie what they wanted to do: take Lee's name off the billboard on the expressway and replace it with a GM sign. After all, it would be great advertising; all those motorists checking the time with a huge GM clock. This was a major thing for them.

Lee walked out of the meeting, looked at Charlsie and said "Fuck them!". Charlsie tried to convince Lee that he could maybe negotiate and have the sign say "GM presents Lee Myles", but Lee would hear nothing of it; no damn company was taking HIS name off the L.I.E. He turned the deal down flat and nothing was ever mentioned of it again.

He's my new hero. What a wonderful stubborness! Nanny was special, but obviously she came from a special family: and I'm glad to be a part of it.

Uhh...what was I talking about?

Alas, it's been too long since I've updated. A lot has happened in the past week;

I...uhm...actually I haven't really done jack shit. I am taking a brief respite from blog writing in order to focus on my crying and self pity. That well is almost dry, and I do believe I will have something new and interesting before the week ends.

Why is it that I cannot focus on anything for more than 5 seconds anymore? I pop up a web page and within a few moments, I open up a new tab and am looking at something else. I don't finish articles, postings or even a coherent sentence. I mention this because over the course of the preceding 2 paragraphs I have opened up a new tab at least 5 times. But, I'm stopping myself.

No more! Oh wait...Obama's grandmother is sick. Just gotta check that one out...

bonheur de la mort

NOTE: To give context, this entry was written at 4:30am in a dark, silent room.


Wow. These days are going by fast, no?

Every day I wake up, I blink, and then I'm back where I started; except it's cold and black. I'm pretty sure some stuff happens in between those moments, but I can't for the life of me tell you what it would be.

Of course; since we age, each day becomes a lesser percentage of our life, so we perceive each day exponentially shorter than the last.

Basically, it's like starting your Geo Metro and waiting for it to get up to 60 miles an hour. It might take 85 years, but at least you're heading for a brick wall that will kill you instantly. Ahh, sweet, delicious death. I hope I'm drunk or wearing a tuxedo.

I've often wondered why I'm so obsessed with death. I guess it's the contradiction; It's really the only certain thing in life, but it's also the most mind-bogglingly uncertain. Do I get to meet my childhood dog for that teary eyed game of catch that I miss so dearly; or am I brutally raped by a various consortium of damned souls, fire-breathing monsters and those people who call you up during dinner and ask "are you happy with your current bank?".

Or, does nothing happen? Vast, blank, empty nothing? Eternal nothingness devoid of space, experience and graham crackers? It's like when they used to put you in "time out" during elementary school, except there's a lot less humiliation slash vicious beating when you're dead.

And therein lies the problem. I'll never know and yet I'll spend time worrying about it for the next 60 odd years. What a waste of time life is.

At least I'm not on the Mets.

Here's a good song off an album that hasn't been released yet that you should listen to. It's not as interesting as the complex questions that surround death, but let's just say it "kills" some time. Buh-dump-bump (VOMIT!)

Music Playlist at MixPod.com

Professor Hevana

Professor Hevana liked to smoke Cuban cigars, which is why his students gave him the nickname Professor Hevana. He taught English at a local public school in Los Angeles.

He was 65, acted 25 and complained like he was 85: to him, he was still that 14 year old playing stickball in Brooklyn, but, "oy" did his back hurt, and "what's with that noise? you call that MUSIC?".

One evening, while smoking some pork ribs (he had run out of cigars), he saw the prettiest girl he had never seen in his life. 5'10 with perfect chestnut hair, a statuesque figure and a beauty mark in the shape of France; he knew that he was too old to pass this opportunity up.

But what to say? He had been out of the game so long, he wasn't even sure he knew what "the game" meant. "Fuck it!", he thought. "I'm going to wing it like John McCain is winging his campaign!"

He walked up to her.

"Hello, I'm 65 and scared of death. I teach high school English and have never met a Welsh person. What's your name?"

Sandra was immediately impressed. Not by his honesty, but by the fact he was her teacher 10 years ago and obviously didn't remember her. She'd play along.

"You're mighty forward".

"Well, I come from a long line of forward people. My father was forward; I called him father forward, or was it forward father? Either way, he'd beat me while reading from the bible."

"Are you religious?"

"I go to synagogue, church, and an Atheist meet up weekly. I try to cover my bases."

"But what do you believe?"

"I believe that believing is for suckers. Whatever is going on, we'll never know. I'm not stupid enough to believe in an all powerful deity, but I'm not naive enough to believe in nothing".

"Oh yeah? Well, I'm a pantheist."

"Really? That's noble".

"Let me clarify; I'm a frying pantheist. I believe only cutlery goes to heaven. The rest of us are fucked."

Hevana was in love with that sentence. So in love that he fell in love with the mouth that spoke those words and, by extension, the woman whose mouth spoke those words.

She looked at him.

"You really don't remember me?"

"Should I?"

"Sandra Cosby; class of '98? I had AP English with you. Remember?"

He didn't.

"I don't, but I should, right?"

"Probably. You told me you thought I was one of the best in your class."

"I guess I was lying."

In that single moment she reflected upon her entire life; all the teachers she remembered, all the classmates: They were frozen solid in time; ageless; unchanged despite the years that separated them.

Hevana must have taught another 500 students over the last 10 years; so why on earth should he remember her?

She studied him; a few more gray hairs, a few extra pounds, more pronounced crow's feet. This wasn't her English teacher, this was some 65 year old guy that she'd never met. She wanted to keep her frozen moments intact.

So, she walked away.

"Hey!" he called after. "If I pretend I remember you, will you go out on a date with me?"

She walked away pretentiously: in slow motion, set to a 60's rock song with a pronounced acoustic guitar. She really hated Wes Anderson movies.

FADE OUT.


AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hevana is misspelled on purpose. If you don't get it, reread the first paragraph.

Obama, McCain And A Bunch Of Swiftboats

Well, I can't say I'm surprised by the fact that Obama (or, more aptly, his people) have funded a "documentary" about the Keating 5. I put documentary in quotes because it's more like propaganda. Perhaps bordering on truthful, but it's still almost "swiftboat"-style politics.

Yes, McCain did some corrupt shit back in the late 1980's, and perhaps the voters should be informed about it, but I really was enjoying this "even tempered" Obama who was focusing on what HE could do for the economy, not railing on McCain about something he did 20 years ago.

It's true that McCain is about to launch a basically racist "he's not like us" attack campaign which was started by academician Sarah Palin's remarks on Saturday, stating that Obama likes to "pal around with Terrorists". Did she mention he was Black too?

Anyway, I am disappointed that Obama needs to stoop to the low levels of McCain's attacks to fight back. I know it's more germane, and definitely more TRUE then the bullshit malarkey that they put Kerry through in 2004, but it still feels very "Rovian" and that is almost as bad as "Nazism" in my book. That fat fucking bald asshole.

In the end, I think this will probably do 1 of 2 things: either help Obama break away from McCain by shitting on his chances of convincing people he actually can do something with this necessitous economy; or it will backfire due to McCain's people attacking Obama for "swiftboat style politics", which McCain will then use to call Obama's character into question through "swiftboat style politics". Sounds like Confusing Bullshit? Welcome to politics!

Oh well, if it helps him win, I guess that's OK. Here's hoping it's not just one term. The economy is going to be shit for a while and I can see John Thune or someone similar attacking Obama in a 2012 debate about "making things worse". Let's hope Obama isn't a Jimmy Carter (or Al Gore, for that matter).

I'm reminded of this wonderously awful song by Brian Wilson called "Life Is For The Living" (if you want it, go get it Barack)...that has never been officially released. Full of Vegas Schmaltz horns and lyrics about putting down the "grass", getting off your "ass" and doing "push ups and sit ups" and eating "three times a day", you KNOW it's fucking amazing.

Have a listen:

Music Playlist at MixPod.com

Conversation with Sleeping Person

Here I am, sitting in a doctor's office; chilling, relaxing: chillaxing, if you're so inclined.

I notice a 20-something year old girl sleeping deeply in the other side of the waiting room. I don't want to disturb her, but the 4-month-old Newsweek is calling and I'm bored as hell.

I walk over and her eyes open;

"you wrote a note about being fat" she mumbled, while looking at me.

I figure she's talking "crazy talk", so I lean over to pick up the magazine and begin to walk away.

She calls after me: "I thought you were going to go get pizza."

This required a polite response: "What?"

Then she gets angry: "YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO GO GET PIZZA? WHAT'S SO FUNNY ABOUT THAT?"

She's talking but her mind isn't working, kinda like Palin last night.

She continued: "you said you had a very serious slow-down disease".

Figuring there's nothing I can do, I walk away. Her final words to me before she fell back asleep: "I thought you were going to work".

She was definitely wrong. Ha.

Next time someone you're next to someone who's sleeping, start a conversation; it just might be the most interesting one you have all day.

Sarah Palin Popped Our Cherry

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I Make Ice Cubes Out of Tears

This heat is getting to me.

It's about 90 degrees in LA, and with humidity, it's 197 degrees: which is actually the point in which a Jew's blood begins to melt.

What does melting Jew blood look/smell like? Well, kind sir, I would assume that you probably don't want to know. But in case you're curious, the answer to both questions is Altoona, Kansas.
My only relief is to close my eyes and stick ice cubes down the front of my trousers. Once the ice cubes melt, I begin to cry, which I then put in a tray and stick into the freezer to make more ice cubes. I call them "Cry Cubes", or Crubes for short. I like to put them into drinks of aquaintances so that they can taste my pain.

It's bad. It's so bad my rabbit actually spent the entire day writing poetry about sunstroke. His masterwerk, "I Wandered Lonely As A Baby Carrot" brings a tear to my eyes (which I then put in the freezer).

The only brief respite I have gotten lately is the complete and utter incompetence of the mainstream media. Even forgetting their coverage of the inane minutiae of the current political cycle (did we need a solid three days of "lipstick on a pig gate"?), they show no compassion or understanding in their reporting. Let's take a look at the top 10 stories on CNN.com the other day:

Hmmm...one of the greatest actors of his, or any generation has passed away due to a long, painful illness, but hey! At least Abe Vigoda is still kicking around, being the punchline to oh-so-many of Conan O'Brien's jokes.

I think it's time for some Cry Cubes...