Cody asleep on the subway, and hilarity ensues.

I am addicted to hummus.


more to come as the situation progresses...

Remember 9/11?

On the phone with my friend Mike as I'm on my way to his apartment:

Me: What's your address again?

Mike: 14-12 30th Rd.

Me: Please tell me it's the house with the 'Remember 9/11' Sign.

Mike: Yup, that's the one.

Apparently Mike's landlords celebrate 9/11. The first time I went over there in late August/ early September, there was no sign or decorations. Yesterday, however, there most certainly were.

The crux of their display was a large white piece of plywood with a heart-shaped American flag in the center. On the top, in boldly oppressive black letters was written the word, REMEMBER and below the heart-shaped flag, 9/11. The sign was accessorized with red, white and blue ribbons all over the porch and fence, with a couple miniature flags thrown in, just in case we didn't get the point.

I thought to myself, "Ya know, it's just that I had finally forgotten about 9/11--the deadliest, most elaborate attack on our country in our nation's history, and now this sign goes and reminds me of it."

I understand the desire and need to reflect and pay respect to this national tragedy, but is it really necessary to decorate your house? Is 9/11 the new, commercialized holiday for people to make money off of? I mean, you already have the vendors down at ground zero selling 'Day of Terror' books and other sorts of memorabilia capitalizing on the event, but now house decorations?

I'm sorry, but I don't think it makes you more patriotic or respectful to be the house screaming to the world how much you remember 9/11. It's just bringing us one step closer to the day when it will be common to hear the phrase, "Ya know, it's almost October and the Kimballs still have their 9/11 decorations up! Are they just gonna be lazy and keep them up there till next year?"

segue...

www.uniqueny.blogspot.com

Major Johnson and the Bloodshitters

A short documentary on one of the most influential office bands of our generation.

Reason #312 I heart my roommate Jon

I got a voicemail today from my roommate Jon that began with him saying:

"I just want to give you a call and tell you about the incredibly rewarding joke I just remembered from The Simpsons."

He then preceeded to describe the events in the episode where Lionel Hutz is defending Marge for shoplifting a bottle of bourbon.

The only clip I could find is in Spanish, so you'll just have to deal.


*note: Jon explained, nearly verbatim, the entirety of that clip with the enthusiasm of a fat kid describing his birthday cake. He did it in English though.

The specific part he called to tell me about was when David Crosby, Lionel's AA sponsor, said goodbye. He says, "...and know I love you." to which Hutz replies, "I love you too, David"

Well Jon had always thought that was a joke about their relationship, maybe implying some homosexual thing going on, BUT now, listening to Crosby, Stills and Nash songs, he realizes it's actually a line from their song, "Teach Your Children."

In summation of the whole message, Jon says with an earnest enthusiasm, "Which is just absolutely brilliant. Absolutley brilliant to me. (pause) Thanks for listening for 2 minutes."

What I love about this message:

A. How excited Jon was about this reference and connection. His mind being completely blown, he could not wait and had to tell someone.

B. He called me from work. On his work phone.

So huzzah for Jon and his message making me smile while being home sick.

check it, yo!

hello loyal blog readers!

Just wanted to let you know that you will now have yet another blog-avenue to occupy your time/aide in your procrastination.

www.uniqueny.blogspot.com

This is a little project I'm doing with my friends Cody and Brian and it shall be loads of fun. It'll be full of videos, pictures and stories having to do with the beautifully odd New York City and the joys of living here. So set it to your favorites and get ready for awesomeness!

ALSO...

The short film I wrote with Joe Major, directed by Brian Belcinski is almost done! I'll be posting it here probably next week!!

PREPARE YE THE WAY OF THE BLOODSHITTERS.

I hope she wins

Thank you Kevin for this beaut!

Death Cards

There are certain things that are inherently awkward about working in an office: Singing Happy Birthday, Pooping, the painfully silent elevator ride with someone you work with, but don't talk to. When you are a temp in an office, these instances become even more awkward and annoying.

The other day I came across another example of an"oh-my-god,-why-is-this-happening" moment. I had to sign a sympathy card for a woman whose father was ill. Not dead, just sick.

Granted, everyone who works here is amazingly kind and delightful and I do feel sorry for Carol's ill father, but when the card was given to me, I freaked out a bit because I don't know what to say in a situation like this. I've known this woman for a week and a half, I didn't even know she had a father, not to mention a sick one. I'm the temp who works at the front desk. My office duties are to transfer calls, ship out fed ex packages and check myspace. No where in my job description does it mention writing awkward condolences to someone I don't know for her father who might die. What does one say?

I solicited the help and advice of my friend Chris Kelly over a gchat conference, and together we came up with some pretty good options.

Possible ways to sign Carol's sympathy card:

• Hope he doesn't die. -Corey
• Ive got a boner. - Corey
• have a crazy birthday! live it up and get crazy - after all, life's short! - corey
• Hey, at least you're making a shit load of money! -corey
• waa waa my daddy's dying and i expect a card because of it! boo hoo! jk =) -love, corey
• Call me! 917-837-0939. -corey
• i know times are tough, so if you need a dick to suck on, im always here. love, Corey
  
• My dearest Carol-- As you are walking down, what seems like, this long, lonley, dark path, know that there is a light. A bright, shimmering, hopeful light. Your father has touched the lives of many, and as he fades into death, be sure that he will not be forgotten. May angels sing upon you and your family during your time of need. Peace everlasting, Corey


• Spend all your time waiting
  for that second chance
  for a break that would make it okay
  there's always some reason
  to feel not good enough
  and it's hard at the end of the day
  I need some distraction
  oh beautiful release
  memories seep from my veins
  let me be empty
  oh and weightless then maybe
  I'll find some peace tonight
  
  In the arms of the angel
  fly away from here
  from this dark cold hotel room
  and the endlessness that you feel
  you are pulled from the wreckage
  of your silent reverie
  you're in the arms of the angel
  may you find some comfort here ~Corey

I ended up signing it "Best wishes for you and your family. ~Corey" which felt trite and cliched, but what are you gonna do. I had important things* to do and couldn't devote any more time to finding the perfect message to write.

*http://www.shygypsy.com/farm/p.cgi the most intricate, time consuming game to waste your time while at work!

Get Ready...

War On Roaches

We have gone to war, people. You are either with us or with the enemy, and my suggestion is that you are with us, unless of course, you want to die a slow, painful death in the teeth of a cat.

As many of you may know, our apartment has been a breeding ground for these merciless freedom haters (yes, cockroaches hate freedom. They also hate comfort, compassion, and all things that aren't gross) and the situation is grave.

But fear not, my fellow cockroach-loathers, we are winning this war. Last night was a prime example of the unity, teamwork, and courageous resilience needed to defeat these disgusting-doers. Last night's battle was a multi-pronged effort carried out with pin-point expertise and precision.

The War On Roaches starts with us; we are the first line of defense. Between the 4 roommates and one cat, we have 10 eyes. 10 eyes to search for anything that looks suspicious (or is a cockroach). And as the MTA tells us, if we see something, we must say something. Last night, I did just that. I saw the suspicious activity (cockroach crawling on the living room bed) and said something (a shrillish holler that brought me up off the bed onto my feet.) I tried to scoot the fucker onto the floor so I could crush it, once again, with my mighty journal. The effects of my mismanaged scooting, however, were unfavorable and the insurgent scurried away towards the safety of a cluttered bookcase. This prompted me to lunge after him with a clunky, inelegant force bringing me, boorishly, to my knees.

The awkwardly loud flailing and falling frightened the cat. After he realized what the commotion was about, though, he jumped into action as the first-response unit we've trained him to be, giving me a look that said, "You go away, I got this under control." Bear lurked around a bit and then retreated into his Mosque (One Saturday, Brian decided to take the cardboard boxes he got from a pillow shipment and constructed a 2-level sanctuary for the cat. He labeled it, 'Kitty Mosque'). I told Bear that this was no time to pray but was quickly informed that he was actually using his Mosque as a hide-out, a camouflaged post from which he could stalk his prey. Good thinking, Cat!

It wasn't long before we heard Bear pounce towards the bookcase and carry out an in depth ground operation which ended in him trotting away with an excessively successful bounce in his step. We quickly noticed he was parading the sinful creature in his mouth. He brought it into the living room and sat there looking at us in a way that said, "Before we go any further, I want it documented that this is my kill. Got it?" We agreed and followed him back towards the other side of the apartment next to the bathroom--The area which I now refer to as Astoria Ghraib.

1st Dispatch Courtney B. Lauria was keen on getting the necessary equipment and supplies ready to be used. With her help, I grabbed the can of Raid, some paper towels, and our atomic weapon of choice, "Ceil Dyer's Best Recipes Made from the Backs of Boxes, Bottles, Cans and Jars" which has about 3 more inches of roach-squashing thickness than my Mighty Journal.

I walked back to Astoria Ghraib, supplies in tow, to see Jon "The Finisher" Erdman coaxing the cat to release his kill. But Bear just sat there, torturing the crawling devil trying to obtain any information regarding the whereabouts of any additional roach cells, training centers, or future plans of attack. It is unclear if Bear got any information, but he waited until he felt the life expire and escape through the roach's dirty exoskeleton, at which time he dropped the carcass. Brian, wrangled the cat while Jon smashed the cookbook down with brute force, just to be certain the fiend was dead. It was. He then flushed the remains down the toilet.

Bear patrolled the grounds for the rest of the night, staying alert and focused on protecting the homeland. He sniffed the perimeter of the apartment, making sure the borders to the outside, roach-infested world were secure.

This is the kind of determination and resolve we must live each night of our lives while facing these monsters. We must be prepared to do whatever it takes to complete this roachicide.

After seeing the accomplishments of Gatsby "Bear" Handsome III, It is my honor and privilege to appoint him Secretary of Apartment Security.

Huzzah!

Yay Healthcare!

While on unemployment and making a meager $260/week, I earned TOO MUCH to qualify for Health Plus, the "affordable" not-for-profit healthcare plan.

huzzah!!

Learn To Laugh, People!!

Life is too short not to laugh at the absurdities that are thrown are way: tripping up the stairs, burning dinner, cancer. If we all learned to laugh with (or at) ourselves and our lives, we'll be much happier.

Tonight I was walking in the times square subway station (a place where aggression and frustration run rampant) and stopped to listen to this kick ass band consisting of 3 cellos and a bongo. I forget their name, or rather never learned it, but I did sign up to be on their email list; I'll let you know when they have a concert.

On my way up to sign the email list, this man crossed right in front of me. As he rushed past me, I stepped on the back of his flip flop (my feet tend to gravitate towards the backs of flip flops...). He kept walking, but when I looked down, his flip flop was still under my foot. I stole his flip flop!!!! I said sorry and laughed at the random, absurd moment we just shared, but I was the only one laughing. When I looked up and saw him walking towards me with only one flip flop, instead of greeting me with a smile and a "flip flops are craaaazy" type look, he grunted in exasperation, "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" Then awkwardly put his foot back into said flip flop and stomped away towards the train.

Did I inconvenience him that much? I don't think so. Maybe I did. I bet his night would have been a tad bit better though if he just laughed about it.

Speaking of laughing, this Onion video is hilarious; it might be my favorite so far. So laugh and enjoy your laughing.

And read the first joke on the bottom crawl, cuz it's mine, bitches!


NASCAR Coach Reveals Winning Strategy: 'Drive Fast'

Hey Paula

I'm a little ashamed to admit that I, a very long time ago, was a HUGE Paula Abdul fan. Huge. I would dance around my living room with equal parts vigor, bulk and confidence that most likely resembled a blind schizophrenic on crack with little boy man boobs. But I was in heaven, dancing and singing along to Straight Up Now Tell Me, or Cold Hearted Snake, or the lesser known, but amazing song, Promise of a New Day.

She was the third concert I ever attended (my first two being equally sad and pathetic: Janet Jackson and Whitney Houston). I thoroughly enjoyed it though; the climax of the show was her falling backwards off a 10-foot platform into the arms of her dancers. A trust fall!!! I mean, brilliant choreography.

And then she went crazy.




There are 2 things that are hilariously sad about this clip.

a. Her assistants are blatantly entertained by her devastation.

b. She is this upset over the BRATZ movie. The most idiotic, soul-deadening movie to be released this year. I mean it's a movie based on slutty dolls, and this was her big creative passion?

What a mess she's turned into. She wasn't always crazy, though. She's gotta get back to what she knows best.

Dancing with the cartoon MC Skat Kat.

The final "fuck you" from Broadway.com:

The pens I stole after being laid off do not work.

Not a single one.

Roaches are inspiration

Somehow, the hellishly small 3X3 cell that was my cubicle was more conducive to stimulating ideas for blog entries. Maybe it was something about the dull hum of florescent lights and robot-like keyboard clicks that honed in on a certain creative wavelength in my brain. Maybe it was my dying soul desperately reaching out for some sort of creative salvation. Maybe it was just the fact that I didn't want to do any work. Whatever it was, I had a much easier time figuring out what to ramble about.

Last night, whilst writing in my journal about this post-cubicle writer's block phenomenon, I came to the realization that there is so much more inspiration to be had out in the world than there is in that deadening grey cubby hole.

This realization, which is by no means profound and is actually quite apparent, got me thinking about all the activities I've taken part in the past few days that are ripe with blogging fodder: like yesterday when I toured the Chelsea art galleries pretending to be shi-shi and rich, then instantaneously lost all of my gained status when I didn't know how to open the door to leave. I started thinking about all the endless events in my life perfect for posting to the world. At which point, a cockroach scurried from underneath my chair and behind the entertainment center.

We have had a few run-ins with cockroaches in this apartment, one of which I am told was big enough to eat a small child. Bear, our roommate of the feline persuasion, is a hunter of these foul creatures. He goes after them, tears them apart, and then proudly places the remains in front of whoever is home with an air that seems to say, "You owe me. Give me some love and one of those treats, bitch."

After seeing the vermin scuttle into the jungle of wires and cords, I called for the hunter, trying to bridge the human-cat language barrier and communicate the urgency of the situation. Bear is not dumb, but he is a cat. He knew something was up and looked around a bit, sniffing out the situation but the ultimate response I got was the pussy walking away to go lick himself. Good-for-nothing cat.

I sat back down, feeling dirty and praying a cockroach wouldn't crawl up my shorts, and without delay, the fucker darted out from behind the entertainment center. Bear was nowhere to be found, so the extermination was up to me. I got up and walked over to the tiny beast and without pause threw my journal onto him.

"Fuck you and your exoskeleton"

My journal, which I just started, is one of those Meade composition notebooks I used in 3rd grade. Mrs. Howard, however, never informed our class of their potential as cockroach-killing instruments of death. I picked up my journal and saw the severed body parts stuck to the back of notebook and thought about how this journal is already beginning to show some character.

Quick side note: I threw up on one of my journals once, on the subway--each page stained with vomit chunk tells a part of that drunken story. After this cockroach incident I was inspired to write the following haiku:

The mighty journal
Either vomit or roaches
You come out on top

See the world is full of bog entries. At least our apartment is. Our apartment is full of too many bog entries actually--there may be an infestation. Does anyone know of a blog entry exterminator that is safe for cats?

PS. Bear has been redeemed. Last night’s cowardice was shadowed by his brazen kill this morning. He pounced out of his sleepy-morning walk and ripped a cockroach to shreds in front of Jon and Courtney’s door.

You Can Do Better Than This: Gary Coleman

Poor Gary Coleman. The version of this commercial I saw on TV was even more comically sad. Gary said the line, "no one would lend me money, not even my relatives" and then he proceeded to laugh for about five seconds. A hearty laugh that gave a window into his blackened soul.

This is what's it's come to for Gary Coleman. This as well as This:



Gary! You can do better than--

Come to think of it, maybe he can't do better than this...

Mathematics by Courtney Brooke Lauria

Depart for the Beer Garden with $20

Buy A Beer. With tip -$6

Find a bunch of money on floor

Give two ladies -$5 each

Buy roommate mayonnaise and bread -$6 and change

arrive home with $27, a beer mug and a pocket full of change.

not bad.

Done and Done!

As you may or may not know, on Friday I was laid off. That's right, this glorious, long awaited day of no longer being employed by Broadway.om has finally arrived. 4 out of 5 people in my department were called into a meeting and told we were no longer needed. The 5th person in our department was spared because of his socially-inept productivity. He was told to go hide in someone's office while shit went down.
Some great things about being laid off:

1. I get a severance.
2. It makes me sound very adult.
3. I no longer work at Broadway.com

It really has been a wonderful, fulfilling and exciting 2 1/2 years at broadway.com; it makes me glad to know that I made some sort of difference and really had a positive effect on a great company. That was sarcasm...in case it didn't read. My favorite part of the whole event, though, was when I was leaving the office. I was waiting for the elevator and who should walk out of his office? Jerome, one of the "suits" whose decision it was to deem me unnecessary. (I'm not sure I can accurately label him a suit, though, since he wears sneakers) He walks out of his office, sees Nairoby and I waiting at the elevator carrying bags of our belongings and then awkwardly turns back around to go back into his office. Pussy.

As sucky as it is to lose your job, I hear that Oprah says, "When you are fired, say thank you!" And I shall do that. This is a great thing. If my life were a musical, this would the power ballad moment. This is the 'Wizard and I' from Wicked, or 'Astonishing' from Little Women, perhaps even 'Somethings Coming' from West Side Story.

I can now spend my days doing important things, like watching the movie Rent and wondering how something that could have been so good turned out so bad. Or watching Rachel Ray and wondering why the audience applauds whenever she makes up a word. Lots of wondering.

But seriously, anyone know of any job openings??

I try...

So last night I was waiting for the N train at the 28th street stop at about 12:30 or so. Thursday night is apparently the night that the 28th street stop gets a shower because everyone waiting had to huddle at one end while 2 people were going up and down with power washers blasting the layers of grime away.

This is the second time I've been privy to seeing the 28th street stop get its weekly douche and both times it's the same woman manning the power hose. She is probably in her late fifties/early sixties and had a long blondish-brown weave. She seemed tired, and working solely to get the job done so she could go home. Or move on to the next station. It then dawned on me that this is her job! Okay, I guess that's by no means some major revelation, but thinking about it I realized that every Thursday night at about midnight she hauls all this douching gear out and proceeds to clean the entire subway station. What is dirtier than a subway station? Maybe subway station bathroom? She probably has to clean that too. And that is what she does. Everyday. She probably knows the nooks and crannies of each station she cleans; there are some stations that are easier to clean than others; she probably counts down the hours until she is off--it's a repetitive, boring job. Just like mine. Kind of...

I wanted to give her some recognition, some compliment that made it known I appreciate the hard work she's doing. We all need to feel appreciated, right? Right. The train came, so she paused her washing and I made my way down towards her. As I walked towards the train I said to her politely, "Thank you."

She didn't hear me. I could have just given up and gotten on the train, but I thought, "No. I will thank her for her work!"

I moved a little closer, not really knowing what to say.

"The floors look great..."

That's the best I could come up with; like some over privileged white woman thanking her Mexican cleaning lady.

I topped it off by giving her a "thumbs up." Yes. When I feel awkward and don't know what to say, I instinctively give the "thumbs up." It's a habit I need to work on.

She responded by giving me a look that said, "get on the damn train." I murmured "Thank you" as I quickly got on the train hoping no one witnessed the uncomfortable encounter.

Go look at the 28th Street stop on the uptown NWR though. It is very clean.

the jig is up

Best Of Totesblog

December 3, 2006
A short scene inspired by my journey from the 125th street subway station to my apartment last night:

EXT. Harlem
It is night, about 11:00pm. Corey walks home listening to his ipod nano; Jamie Cullum's All at Sea plays. He walks up to an intersection and waits for the walk signal. Random Man (or prostitute?) enters, he is mid-late twenties and Puerto Rican or possibly Mexican. He stands looking at Corey. Corey pretends not to notice him.

Random Man(or prostitute?): Hey.

Corey pretends not to hear and continues to listen to music.

Random Man (or prostitute?): walking closer Excuse me.

Corey takes out one earphone as to listen to what this innocent looking man is saying.

Random Man (or prostitute?): Where's Madison?

Corey: Oh, that's a ways away, but if you walk that way you'll eventually run into it.

The Random Man (or prostitute?) looks confused and stumbles for words. His eyes start to become shifty. Corey takes notice and increases the awareness of his surroundings as to make sure he is not the target of a multi-thug sting operation.

Corey: Where do you need to be?

More shifty eyes and confusion

Corey: Madison is that way, so you'll hit it if you just keep walking.

Random Man (or prostitute?): Where are you going?

Corey: uhh... I'm walking south--Madison is east; that way.

Random Man (or prostitute?): Can I go with you?

Corey: What?!

Random Man (or prostitute?): Can I go home with you?

Corey: laughing in his face Sorry.

Corey quickly walks away.

---ALT ENDING---

Random Man (or prostitute?): Can I go home with you?

Corey takes in his question and looks into his sad eyes which are crying out for the warm, matronly embrace of a friend or lover.

Corey: Sure. Lets get you into some warm clothes--do you like hot cocoa?

Random Man (or prostitute?): Do I?! Thanks Mister!

Cut To:
INT. Corey's apartment
The apartment is alive and bustling with the excitement of the quickly approaching holiday. Although meager, their Christmas tree is decorated with lights, ornaments and other accoutrements of holiday cheer. Presents lay strewn underneath the tree and Christmas music is playing in the background. The roommates are singing and drinking hot cocoa and eggnog. Corey Enters.

Corey: Greetings!!

Roommates: Merry Christmas Corey!

Corey: And a Merry Christmas to you too! I have a surprise!

Jon: Is it a gift for us?

Corey: Well yes, in a way.

Brian: Were you able to get the extra fat goose for Christmas dinner? The one that's hanging in the butcher's window?

Corey: (laughing) Not this year, Brian. It's a different sort of gift.

Courtney: Well what is it?

Corey: His name is Julio. I ran into him on the street and he asked if he could come home with me.

Roommates: How is this a gift for us?

Corey: Well, I think he might be homeless.

Jon: You mean, he doesn't have a home?

Corey: Yes, Jon. That or he's a prostitute, I'm not quite sure. Either way he looked sad, confused and possibly on drugs, so I invited him back to spend the 3 weeks leading up to Christmas with us.

Courtney: I don't know...Is he nice?

Corey: Well yes he is, Courtney. He didn't talk much on the walk here, but he seems very pleasant. What better way to bring in the Christmas holiday by inviting a stranger in and welcoming him to our home with open arms. What do ya say?

Roomates: YAY!!

Corey: Come on in Julio!

Julio Enters. The roommates shower him with gifts, cookies, eggnog and hot cocoa as they all sing along in joyous harmony with the David Bowie, Bing Crosby version of Little Drummer Boy. A claymation snowman narrator enters in front and begins speaking to the camera.

Snowman Narrator: Corey and his roommates learned the true meaning of Christmas that year. After Julio sold their belongings for drug money and raped their innocence, they were left with nothing more than their Christmas spirit shattered beneath the tree. There were no more presents, no more carols, no more cups of eggnog spiked with delicious optimism. All that remained was the hope that next Christmas would be a better one, one in which they learned from the mistakes of Christmas past. Have a happy Christmas children!

Commentary: I love snowman narrators!!!!!

July 13, 2006
We Love Wasting Time

indulge me as a try to entertain myself here at work. Today is Thursday. Only Thursday?!?! are you kidding me? ugh. I still have to get through friday till I make it to the weekend? Oh, Father Time, you fickle, maniacal beast, you. Why do you forsake us? Who are you, really? In search for answers to these questions, here are some depictions of this so called "father":






Yes folks, here he is: Father Time. and he's carrying a SICKLE?! He's gonna fuck you up! What's that in his other hand, a motorcycle helmet? So what this depiction is telling me, is the force that controls the past, present and future is actually a drunken, old timey, serial-killer, biker with grizzly hair. kick ass.





Well this one makes me feel better. In this rendering, artist brian o'conner portrays father time as a rapist, eerily carrying a drunkenly passed out Mother Nature over his shoulder. I don't know about you, but i suspect foul play--look at her hanging lifelessly off his naked back. I know what you're thinking, and I have an answer that will make you smile: YES you CAN buy this painting!! For only $3,500 you can hang this picture above your bed serving as a constant reminder of the delicate balance (abduction) between nature and time.




And finally, I hand you this: An interpretation from Michael, a 4th grader in Mr. Leatty's class. Great work Michael. How ever did you come up with the idea to draw Father Time as a googley headed man with a beard, wearing a robe? Oh, and he's standing on a grandfather clock--wow, that's really clever and original, Michael. And, wait--are those more grandfather clocks floating mysteriously in the air around him? And, no...wait, yes!!! You drew colorful squares at the base of each of those floating clocks!!! How whimsical!!! Michael!!!! Your creativity is astounding! And just in case we didn't get your subtlety, you gave us "father time" sloppily crammed in at the top. douche.


I know what you're thinking. and, yes, i did do a google image search of father time. So? you're just jealous cuz you didn't think of it yourself! And so what if i have to make fun of a 4th grader's art assignment in order to feel good about myself. You're just jealous cuz you don't have a boring ass job making $20,000 a year w/ no benefits.

sigh.

Well i hope you feel you didn't waste too much of your time today perusing these random pictures of a fictional figure. It served my purpose though--its now 5:04 and I only have an hour and a half left of work.

an hour and a half...hmmm...

ok, bear with me. here's a picture of Mother Nature:





Oh boy. Fuck global warming--this bitch is why the weather has been screwy. one more drink and I think she's ready for that father time to carry her home...


And thus concludes my blog entry about Father Time and Mother Nature. Wow. We've hit a new low....i hope you enjoy it as much as i do.




Commentary: I feel like i must have been wasted when writing this--however i was not. if i was wasted, i would not have been bored enough to write it. it probably would be misspelled too. But let's be honest, doing a google image search of father time is a good waste of time, yeah? i stand by it.

Best of Totesblog

September 19, 2006
Is This Racist??

When I was in elementary school, all the 5th graders went to a place called Nature's Classroom. "Nature's Classroom is a unique educational experience for students and their teachers, offering the very best in environmental education." Translation: you leave school and go to sleepover camp for 5 days, dissect things and play games in the woods. It was pretty rad if you ask me.

Now I haven't thought about Nature's Classroom in the longest time. Until this weekend that is. I was at my friend Kate's cabin in Moosup, CT when my memory was sparked. It was dark, and a group of us were blindly making our way through the the woods back towards the cabin, desperately trying not to sprain an ankle or run into a barbed wire fence of some sort. I made an off-color comment to my friend Mike along the lines of, "wow, this must have been what it was like to be a slave in the underground railroad" and all of a sudden my memory was sparked: the Nature's Classroom people made us play a game called RUNAWAY SLAVE.

I shit you not. Did anybody experience this? Any Hebron Ave Elementary School alumni out there?

I had completely forgotten about this peculiar activity until that moment, but oh, how the memories came flooding back. The counselors at this "educational retreat" split all of us up into small groups, "families" if you will, told us that we had just escaped and were running to freedom and sent us off into the woods to hide. These counselors, probably in their early twenties, were the "bounty hunters" and came after us. It was kind of like Hide and Seek, except when a Bounty Hunter found you, you could stand still and be "invisible" to them--the theory behind this was since we were pretending that our skin matched the blackness of the night, we were able blend in seamlessly...As long as we didn't move and kept our eyes closed. The other details are semi-fuzzy. I remember some sort of jail, and there must have been a home base of sorts--a Harriet Tubman house or Mason Dixon line--not really sure. I also vaguely remember the bounty hunters carrying big sticks.

I can't tell if a bunch of very white, very middle class 5th graders running through the woods pretending to be slaves is ridiculous or ridiculously awesome. I mean, they didn't put us in black face or anything, and to my recollection no one dropped the N-bomb. There was some definite role playing though. When a bounty hunter captured you, they were not friendly. Oh no. They played their role the best they legally could: making you crawl on the frozen ground, or stand silently in the jail until you were rescued. It was loads of fun. I'm fairly certain we convinced them to let us play it again at the end of the week.

I took a little trip back to Nature's Classroom via the internet and whilst tooling around I was surprised at a) how out of date the pictures are and b) how they now call this wonderful game The Underground Railroad. Is this their attempt at being more PC? Now, its possible this was the name of the game all along. Maybe I'm merely projecting the more inappropriate title upon my memory in order to create a more interesting blog entry, but I really don't think so. I'm pretty sure they called it Runaway Slave.

Bravo to Nature's Classroom for bringing suburban white kids one step closer to understanding the struggle and history of the African American slave.

Commentary: I don't know if there is much else to comment about this. Nature's Classroom is run by a bunch of biggots. But i failed to mention that i got to dissect a bird when i was there. that was pretty cool.

Best Of Totesblog

So in the midst of maintaining my rigorous schedule of stuff that I do, I completely missed the One Year anniversary of Umm...i didn't know i was starting a blog!

My recognition of this momentous occasion is only a tad belated as umm...i didn't know i was starting a blog was birthed from my creative womb on May 22nd, 2006. I'm only a couple weeks late.

Anyway, in honor of this event, I shall post the Best Of Totesblog. Each day of the week will be a new entry from the archives with some special commentary.

The first Best Of clip comes from the infancy of the archives and is one of my all-time favorites. The fourth post ever, this entry set the tone for humiliating people which has since become a long lasting tradition of this blog. Enjoy.


May 26, 2006
Defying Heterosexuality


ugh. damn you blogger. I wrote a hilarious post...Which to the dismay of me and my readers (all two of them--what up mom and her friend from work!) was erased. So I'll have to rewrite it...it WON'T be as funny though. Really. The other one was insanely funny. I peed twice while writing it.

ANYWAY. In an attempt to find something as embarrassing as the two queens singing wicked in a parking lot--I scoured youtube for something equally tingly (tingly is a word my friend Lindsey introduced me to describing that feeling you get when you're super embarrassed for someone else.) After some time, and some excellent possibilities, I settled on this monstrosity. Granted, it's not AS funny as our two friends who give gays and musical theater a bad name, this is still pretty priceless. I think I blew my comedy wad by posting the other video first, but whatever. This guy (or is it a girl, I'm not really sure) is AMAZING.



Now what gets me in this video, isn't the fact that he (or she?) is so into it he (or she?) actually believes they're on stage at the Gershwin. It's the fact that he (or she?) is SO into it, he (or she?) took the time to pick out a dress in his (her?) mom's closet, find a black wig from the Halloween box in the attic, rummage through all the make up in the house so he (she?) could cover his (her?) face in green eye shadow, and then paint pointy eyebrows (seriously, that's at least a 45 minute make up job). And that was just pre-production. He/She THEN spent at least an hour setting up the camera and making sure the lighting was good. rigging the stereo and cuing the CD to the right spot, followed by a couple good hours of filming. The post production then consisted of choosing the best shots and EDITING them together and synching up the sound. Now that is crazy as it is, but this guy/girl is a professional. for him/her, the plain video will not suffice. No. He/she needs computerized credits introducing him. her.

I am not one to judge. I did some pretty lame things as a kid (including, but not limited to: turning my sun room into a theater by rigging a curtain using fishing line, bed sheets, and duct tape; and dancing to Janet Jackson in my driveway as my mom secretly watched from my bedroom window.) BUT in no way would I EVER videotape this and post it for the whole world to see! C'mon dude, show some class! This is shit you do in the privacy of your own home, when no one is there. if you DO make a video of it, you destroy it. Clearly. ugh. When will these kids learn.

in the meantime I can't really complain, its giving me great fodder for my blog.

Special Commentary: I originally wanted to post the other video of the 2 dudes singing wicked in a parking lot, but apparently they took that off Youtube. This'll have to do. Some of you may remember that the person in this video actually left a comment on this original post. He (not a she) was honored that I found his video, and is very proud of the fact that he had the passion to lip sync and post it to the world. yay for him. We should locate all his videos that he's made (there have been many) and post them to as many blogs as possible; get his work out there!

Autism Isn't Cool

I don't like Autism, so I'm doin' something about it.

I'm raising money for Autism Speaks to help fund research for this lame ass developmental disorder. Seriously, I denounce this condition and DO NOT, under any circumstances endorse Autism.

I do, however, endorse the people WITH Autism. I would like to see them prosper and thrive while living generous, fulfilling lives.

Some Facts about Autism:
1 in 150 births
1 to 1.5 million Americans
Fastest-growing developmental disability
10 - 17 % annual growth
Growth comparison during the 1990s:
--U.S. population increase: 13%
--Disabilities increase: 16%
--Autism increase: 172%
$90 billion annual cost
90% of costs are in adult services
Cost of lifelong care can be reduced by 2/3 with early diagnosis and intervention
In 10 years, the annual cost will be $200-400 billion

Well what can YOU do, you ask?!
http://www.autismwalk.org/site/TR?px=1989103&pg=personal&fr_id=1531&et=zJdQUcEmgsNqaM3lR3toyQ..&s_tafId=44608

click on that and donate!
a. it's tax deductible
b. it'll make you feel warm and tingly...in a good way, not like you're having a stroke or something
c. if you don't, it means you love autism and call people retards.

An Addendum to Yesterday's Open Letter

It was learned that while the employees of Broadway.com were buying their own lunches, the supervisors treated themselves to a 2 hour lunch at Maria Pia paid for with Dinner Vouchers the company sells. They were "testing out the service."

Makes complete sense.

Anyway, I don't want this blog to turn into a complete rant on the dickish hoohaa of broadway.com, so here is something light, funny, and completely unrelated:

An Open Letter

Dear Broadway.com--

Just when I thought you couldn't get any more greedy, unappreciative, and awful, you go and do something like this. We, the employees, spend countless hours slaving away in our oppressive cubicles to feed your corporate hunger and how do you repay us? By cancelling our free lunch you promised us.

Some of us, upon learning of lunch being provided today on Tony nomination day, were grateful and excited. "Gee, that's considerate of them--free lunch! Woo! That's delightful." Some of us who aren't paid very well may have even felt relieved that the burden of purchasing our own lunch was lifted. But, per usual, you go and crush all hopes of decency and kindness.

I'm sorry if Tony nomination Tuesday was not as busy as you had thought, but am I not deserving of a free lunch just cuz? I guess not. I guess its only when you're raping customers of their money at a high volume. The normal rape of 20% service charge per ticket at a low volume isn't enough to give you that extra couple bucks to warrant buying lunch for your employees. No, I understand, spending $200 on lunch is a lot, especially when you're a growing corporate monster such as yourself--you gotta SAVE THOSE PENNIES! This week we might only make $2,000,000. I understand, you gotta be careful.

Once again, you've disappointed me Broadway.com. Yet another instance of putting the almighty dollar ahead of human compassion. Huzzah!

Sincerely,

Corey W. Johnson

PS. The 2 boxes of day old doughnuts you got us for breakfast were SHITTY.

cutest thing ever...

A Couple Things...

A. A customer I talked to on the phone today was ordering tickets for some show but needed good seats because his wife, "is short; she's just a little bit taller than a midget. She's a real small lady."

So, I guess this woman isn't legally a midget. What is the cut off point for midgets? I think he mentioned she was 4'8". Poor gal. Does she miss out on all the benefits real midgets get? I wonder if she's allowed to drive a fancy midget car, or eat special midget food, or...I'm not quite sure what other fringe benefits being a midget gets you. It's so sad! Her whole life she has been on the outskirts of this special little club, peering into a world she feels a part of, but is horribly shunned from. And then her dick of a husband goes around calling her a "small lady." Excuse me sir, she is big on the inside!! I watched an episode of 'Little People, Big World" once! That is racist*.

B. Something else that is racist*: sunflower seeds.
I'm sorry, but whoever invented sunflower seeds as a 'snack' is an asshole. The amount of work it takes to pry open the (delightfully) salted shell to get to the actual food is way too much for what you get. It it were a math equation, it'd look something like this:

Energy + Amount of Taste = NEGATIVE ENJOYMENT

Okay...i don't think that's math, but you get the point.

Seriously, sunflower seeds were meant to be enjoyed by small birds, with small, agile beaks, not humans with clunky chompers. The only part of the process that is enjoyable is the flavoring of the shell, but that's all it is--flavoring! You can't eat just flavoring, that's not food! It's ridiculous to think that after all that cracking of the shell, taking it out of your mouth, getting saliva everywhere, prying small pieces of shell away--all you get is a tiny morsel of seed. No thank you.

*my definition of racist= something that's not right

Fire Drill

We just had a fire drill at work.

It consisted of us walking out into the hallway, standing there with our arms crossed and asking, "if this was a real fire, what is the next step?"

Then the elevator door opened and a man declared the fire drill was over.

I lead the applause.

My New Obsession

MIKA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, so I had never heard of this guy until the other day when I was introduced to his album, Life In Cartoon Motion, and I can not stop listening to it. Seriously, It's been 2 days, and I've listened to it at least 5 times

This album is amazing and you must do what ever you can to get it. It sounds like a cross between Queen, Scissor Sisters, The Darkness, The Killers and a little piano-playin' Jamie Cullum thrown in for fun.

How fun is that???

The last song has a gospel choir in it! HELLO!?! If that doesn't make you run out and buy it, you have no inner black lady. There, I said it.

For a pop album that has all the fun fluff as well as more thought-out, richer music, look no further!

MI-KA!

Today, I was peed on

The title of this post pretty much says it all.

I was in CT at the restaurant my sister works at and I went to use the little boys room. I was peeing at the urinal when a man walks up to the urinal next to me. I hear him unzip and then all of a sudden I hear pee hit the floor next to my shoe and feel a little splash on my lower pant leg.
Who misses a urinal?? I mean, sure, when peeing into a toilet, you got at least 1-2 feet (depending on how tall you are and the size of your hooha) between you and the bowl. There is some skill involved. I have been known to miss the toilet on occasion, peeing a little bit on the side; no big deal. But a urinal? There is no aim involved. You could do it with out even holding your hooha if you were so inclined.

To all you ladies out there who have never peed in a urinal, there is literally no way you can miss. A urinal surrounds the entire area your pee could possibly go. Which leads me to believe (just right now, as I'm writing this) that it was intentional. I think this man purposely peed on me. Ugh. That's a kick in the balls.

I'm not a very confrontational person, so I didn't say anything to him...
Is that bad? Should I be embarrassed? I mean, at the time I thought it was just a bizarre accident, so what would it have accomplished if I had said, "umm...I think you just peed on me..." He would have said "sorry" and then there would be an uncomfortable silence while we finished peeing and, I'm sorry, I don't need any more awkward silences in my life. They are annoying and, well, uncomfortable.

I decided to let it go. Maybe being peed on, intentional or not, should be filed under things you don't "let go" but at this moment it was the best option. Judge me how you will.

I didn't say anything when I got back from the bathroom either. To be honest, I kind of forgot about it. Is that embarrassing? What does it mean that some stranger's urine trickled on my pant leg and I wasn't all that phased by it?

Upon reflection, the possible reactions I could have had:

1. Turned to look at him and said, "You just peed on me. (smile) I like that."
2. Shake my leg and say, "eeeeeewwwwwwww"
3. Slam my hand on the wall and grunt, "God damnit, that's the second time today"

All would have been entertaining and fun.

Ah well, next time I suppose!!!

hmm...

I just put up a picture of my roommate's cat in my cubicle.

True, this is the most adorable cat in the universe, however I am still scared at what this says about me and where I am in life.

I also set up a myspace page for him.....

again, not sure what that says

Improv shows Fri and Sat

LORETTA!

She takes up 2 seats on the train, wears plaid, and loves to make you laugh!

LORETTA! is:

Brian Belcinski
Kevin R. Free
Corey Johnson
Chris Kelly
Cody Lindquist
Katie Schorr

Come check out our improv show and be amazed and dazzled by our talent, good looks and humility.

Friday, March 30th
10:00 pm
Gotham City Improv
48 West 21 St Street, 8th floor(between 5th & 6th Ave.)Buzzer 13

212-367-8222

www.gothamcityimprov.com


Playing with
Don Flamenco and Bombardo

Saturday, March 31st in CT!
8:00 pm
CCSU Torp Theater
Benefit for AIDS Project Hartford! $5 suggested donation

Ask me for more info!



be our friend.
http://www.myspace.com/lorettacomedy

Endorsements

As Founder, Board of Director and Insatiable Ruler of umm...i didn't know i was starting a blog, I understand the importance and power of my endorsements. I do not take this responsibility lightly and choose to endorse/not endorse something based on cold hard facts, unwavering likability and with the utmost respect. Read on, dear reader, and embrace the splendor of my endorsements.

1. The Secret
Yes, this is the crazy, cultish phenomenon that's sweeping the nation after Oprah gave it her kind-of-tire touch. It basically says that if you think positively, take stock of the things you are grateful for and visualize how you want your life to be you can control the universe and make it all become a reality. Yes, that is right, you can control the U-NI-VERSE. Sounds like some hippy-dippy hoo-ha, right? Well that may be so, but really what is so bad about everyone becoming more positive? There's no harm; it can make you more content, grounded, and fulfilled. It's sort of nice. And plus, who doesn't like to be in on a secret?!



2. At Least It's Pink
This is a hilarious show playing at Ars Nova until April 1st, so see it NOW. The crass, raunchy humor will have you laughing from the first sex-with-fat lady joke to the last abortion song. Innovative and clever lyrics bring this mock-cabaret to a hilarity of inappropriate proportions.

The show plays at Ars Nova and you can get tickets from Smartix.com - 212-868-4444.

If you mention this blog you will get a 50% discount on your tickets!!!

Okay, not really, but you should mention this blog anyway cuz that would be fun.



3. Guacamole

I love dip, all sorts of dip, but guacamole is by far the best dip that there is. If you thought hummus was good, LOOK OUT! I'm sure you have had guacamole before, most people have, but no one ever really takes the time to point out its brilliance. Guacamole goes under appreciated every day and this blog will put an end to that. Now I have had some kinds of guac that are too avocado-y, this is no good. The perfect guac will have onions, tomatoes, corn, beans and other accouterments of deliciousness. Does anyone have a good guac recipe? I have never made it, and I think its high time I put an end to that. Who wants to come to a Guacamole party?! anyone?!? I'm in heaven just thinking about it.

4. Arcade Fire's new album, Neon Bible

I have not listened to this album in depth but I am confident enough to add it to my list of endorsements. I am not musically qualified to give an appropriate review of their sophomore album, but its fucking great and you should buy it. They performed on SNL this season and used bullhorns. BULLHORNS, PEOPLE! And there were like 47 of them in the band. How can I not endorse it.





THINGS THIS BLOG DOES NOT ENDORSE

1. March
I'm over it, really. All of this "in like a lion, out like a lamb" bullshit is so gay. It was pushing 70 degrees last week and then with in a few days the skies were shitting sleet and snow. I'm sorry, but that is just not necessary, March! Why can't you be more like your more popular sister, April? From this moment on, I denounce March--I shall not recognize it as a month. Join in my crusade to end this disrespectful month, if we work together, I forsee the destruction and timely death of this awful month with in 10 days.



2. Best Buy
Clearly, if you've been keeping up I don't need to go into too much explanation. I'll give you the quick rundown and final developments.
I brought my busted computer in to be fixed by Best Buy's Geek Squad. 5 1/2 weeks later I get it back worse off than when I originally brought it in. Another 3 weeks follow trying to get in touch with a manager. Finally, this past week, I got a refund of the money I paid to have my computer "fixed." Huzzah....i guess...
All joking aside, this is literally the worst customer service I have experienced in my 24 years on this planet. Their blatant disregard for customer satisfaction was appalling and I whole heartily endorse a boycott of Best Buy. Do. Not. Go. There. If you have to, that's fine...but DO. NOT. USE. GEEKSQUAD. seriously. Lord knows I will never step foot in that store again (starting right after I use my $15 gift card they gave me for my troubles...)

think lovely thoughts...

Some days at work suck more than others. This is one of those days. They just moved me to a sucky ass cubicle--right next to the sucky-ass cubicle I sat at for the first 2 years of employment here at broadway.com. Although bigger, these cubicles are life-sucking and awful; there are no windows remotely close for me to look out, you have to get up and answer the door when no one is at reception, and in the 360 degrees surrounding me my view consists of grey cubicle wall A, grey cubicle wall B, grey cubicle wall C, or white office wall. Not to mention my computer screen faces a high-traffic walk way for all the world to see me blogging, gmailing or myspacing.

The cubicle I was moved from was its own little room, which I shared with my delightful coworker, Joe. Granted, it was hard to tell when a supervisor was approaching with enough time to click onto a work-related page, and there still wasn't a window, I at least had another person next to me, not separated by a wall. A fun person, who made the day a little easier to get through. I do have people on the left and right of my cubicle walls now, however I am not delighted by them, nor will they make the day a little easier to get through. Let's just say I would much rather have my desk moved to Storage Room B a la Milton from Office Space.

BUT, I'm trying to remain positive (I've seen The Secret!!!) so here is a list of good things that having my desk moved has wrought:

1. I had an excuse not to do work for the two hours I took to change desks

2. The windows in this office face the Sheridan Manhattan hotel which has a patio that inexplicably draws ugly people to take off their clothes and sunbathe--who wants to see that?!

3. I get to hear my sassy co-worker Bret mouth off to customers again

4. Moving desks gave me the initiative to hang a tribal tapestry on one of my cubicle walls as to accent the mind-numbing grey

5. After spilling water over all of the magazine pictures I had, I now have a reason to redecorate (Thankfully I was able to salvage my picture of Zack and Kelly, Paul Rudd, and the Six Feet Under Ad.)

6. Moving desks is the most exciting thing to happen at work since a former supervisor flipped out, started crying and rolling around on the ground

yeah bitches!!!

March 27th to be exact...

hmmm...

Would it be rude or hilarious if I angrily Shhhsssh'd the woman in the cubicle next to me while she's having one of her coughing fits?

Things to think about:

She started last week.

She is the assistant to the President of the company.

She is very nice and says "Bless You" every time I sneeze.

I'm Back!!!

Oh, my faithful followers, my dear readers, my loyal minions. In the words of Bryan Adams,

"Please forgive me I know not what I do/ Please forgive me I can't stop lovin' you" Okay, maybe that doesn't really accurately express what I'm trying to say.

Sorry I haven't updated this thing in nearly 2 weeks. Yeah, there we go.

I wish I could tell you that I was off shooting a film, or busy with my new HBO pilot, or backpacking through Europe. Those would all be justifiable reasons for not distracting you with hilarity and joy, as this blog sets out to do. Alas, I have been here all along sitting in my dreary cubicle, uninspired and unable to come up with anything worth your time and effort.

BUT ENOUGH OF THAT, for I have returned. After a 2 week hiatus, I am back and raring to go. Look out world. When Brittney makes her comeback, it will pale in comparison to this!

I still really don't have much to tell you. Except for this:

Remember when I was a big douche and washed my clothes with a pen in the pocket? Yeah, so do I. Well, my mom, being the godly woman that she is, mailed me a box of clothes that she bought me.

Granted, she got these clothes from the 80% off discount rack at Kohl's (Mary Johnson knows a bargain when she sees one, folks!) there were actually quite a few shirts that were not only wearable, but fashionable* as well.

My favorite shirt, though, reminded me of a shirt she got me from Christmas. See Kohl's likes to get in on the trend off shirts with quirky, funny sayings on them. This one T-shirt I got on Christmas is olive green with bright orange words across the chest that say:

YOU'RE BROIN' MY MIND

No one really knows what this means.

The shirt that I most recently got might be even better. It's dark blue with a picture of milk and cookies on it with words underneath saying:

I'M ON SANTA'S DIET!

Again, what? Santa's diet? I kind of like to wear these shirts underneath a hoody or a sweater so they become my little secret. Only I know the amazingness that lies underneath.

If I were a t-shirt designer for Kohl's, here would be my ideas:

1. a picture of a cup with the words, CUPS ARE COOL

2. a picture of a lightning bolt in a pile of rocks with the words, LIGHTNING ROCKS!

3. The Nike swoosh with the words above it, JUST DOUCHE IT

Brilliant.


*I have no fashion sense.

What does it mean?!

This morning I came to work to find an email saying, "Free breakfast is provided in the lunch room!" (the "lunch room" is actually the former supply closet and currently a hallway to the kitchen. but whatever)

Clearly I was excited--even though I ate my last 2 eggs this morning, (damn!! if only i knew!) I still decided to partake in the smorgasbord of bagels and muffins...clearly.

I then found out that two of my coworkers, Joe and Kenneth, had made a bet as to how quickly I would respond to the email about free food when I got in...

I got in at 10:26 and got up to get the food at 10:36. I think I surprised them with my restraint...

:)

I am currently on hold with the Gateway Customer Service line---ya see, after 5 1/2 weeks of Best Buy "working" on my computer, I got it back today (more broken than when I originally brought it in) and was told, "just call Gateway and have them send you the system restore disks and you can install them yourself"



Thanks Best Buy. Ya'll are swell.



What's more frustrating, is the automated radio disk jockey, "Jennifer", who is there to make my wait time more enjoyable just said--in a super condescending tone, mind you...



"You're computer's broken? You know what I like to do? I turn off my computer and then turn it back on again--a lot of times that fixes whatever problem there is. Just think of it as a reset for your computer! Now, up next is Otis Redding's 'Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay'"



This is exactly what frustrated people on the verge of homicidal rage want to hear from some automated robot cunt: "try turning off your computer!!!"



good lord, stop the insanity!!!!!!

Fat Kid Series Part 3: The King And I

The summer after 7th grade I was in the prime of my childhood chunkies. The summer was the worst season for fat kids; coming up with different reasons for why you have to wear a shirt while swimming in the pool is an arduous task. "I don't want to get a sunburn." "It keeps me warm in the cold water." or my last resort, "It's fun to swim with a shirt on--you should try!" Any reason to not have to de-robe and show the world my 11 year old bitch tits and prominent stretch marks was good enough for me. It was a stress you should be grateful you didn't have to deal with (unless you did have to deal with that, in which case you know what I'm talking about)

This particular summer I was in a grand production of the Rogers and Hammerstein classic, "The King and I." For those who don't know, the story revolves around an English woman and the brutish King of a land known as Siam. I, in my 11 year old, awkwardly large body, portrayed the pivotal role of, "dancer."

The crux of the costumes for us dancers were these huge, M.C. Hammer style pants; super baggy and in the dark, rich colors of the orient. These pants and a matching vest, and that. was. it. Nothing more. No shirt to hide my lumpy torso.

Clearly when I learned of these costumes, I broke into a cold sweat--desperately trying to remain cool and unaffected while on the inside I scrambled for reasons we should wear shirts, "Isn't it cold in Siam?" "We're all really pale, so we wouldn't look Asian" and "Wouldn't it be fun to all wear shirts?"

Yeah, none of it worked. After weeks and weeks of sweaty dread, we finally had our first dress rehearsal. Everyone was excited, looking at each other in their awesome costumes. I undressed quickly and pulled my hammer pants up above my belly button, as to mask the bulge, and slipped on the vest very carefully , as to create minimal jiggling.

Everything was okay. I wasn't hanging out all over the place, it wasn't disasterous. Everything was fine---standing up.

The problem arose--or more aptly, plopped out--when I had to go through the blocking in costume. You see, much of the show was spent kneeling and bowing towards the king. Gravity, my friends, is not kind to fat kids with boobs wearing vests.

I quickly realized the problem I had and began to solve it by slowly and non-chalantly closing my vest flaps and keeping them pinned together using my chin as I cautiously went down to bow. I looked like a deformed seal--neck-less, blubbery, and wet with sweat. I don't know how I thought I wasn't drawing attention to myself. In fact, after a few dress rehearsals, I thought I was getting pretty damn smooth.

Well about a week before the show, one of the moms working on the costumes--Vicki Kangos--called me and said that she was working on the vests and needed me to drop by her house for a quick fitting. She lived in the same neighborhood as I, so this wasn't a problem. I hopped on my bike and pedaled my fat ass up to her house. She made me take off my shirt (which was embarrassing in and of itself) and put on my vest. She started fiddling with it, pulled out her measuring tape, looking things up and down and then added, "we're gonna put a button on your vest"

a button. a little black button to fasten the two sides of my vest closed so I wouldn't worry about my tits hitting the stage when I bowed down.

I was the sole dancer with a button.

And honestly, I don't know what was worse--fat flopping out or having a button call attention to the fact that I had fat about to flop out. So I went through the show, wearing my button, answering questions about the button with, "uh, I don't know, they said that this color vest needed a button..." It was tragic.

My favorite part was after one of the performances my dad came up to me, clearly not thrilled by the 3 hour, 300+ person production he just sat through and said, "Great job! You looked, really, uh, muscular up there!"

I smiled and said thanks.

A question for the ages...

i did a google image search of "inherently funny" and this is what popped up first.




This came in second.






Clearly, this was third.


Why are cows and Phil Collins so god damn funny?

Congratulations!!!!

Today marks the one month anniversary of bringing my computer in to be fixed by The Geeksquad at Best Buy

YAAAY!!!!!

I hope I can go another month with out having it fixed, getting no updates on it, and being put on hold for 30 minutes to ultimately just be hung up on! Maybe they'll even let me pay them another $200 dollars!

A boy can dream, can't he?

A Call I Made At Work Today...

Me: Hi, is Lalonde there?

Woman: Who?

Me: Lalonde? I'm calling from Broadway.com about your ticket request for Mamma Mia

Woman: I think you have the wrong number.

Me: Is this Lalonde Golles

Woman: Oh, Lalonde Golles

Me: Yes.

Woman: That is my ex-husband's girlfriend, so I think you have the wrong number.

Me: Oh........this is awkward. I'm sorry. This is the number that was on the form...yeah ya know what? I'll just email her.

Woman: Yeah, well, I think you have the wrong number.

Me: Okay, sorry.

The Latest Reasons I am a Giant Douchebag

1. I forgot my keys to my apartment (which I moved into less than a week ago) and was locked out at 2 am. 2 of my roommates were home and sleeping, but had their phones turned off. Our doorbell does not work. I called my other roommate, Brian, who was at his girlfriend's.

The remedy: catching a cab to take me to Brian to get his keys. Huzzah for spending $12 I don't have on something completely avoidable.

The Kicker: Brian and I split a cab back to Astoria in the first place; before Brian was dropped off at his girlfriend's, I thought to myself, "Hmm, I should check to make sure I have my keys in case I forgot them."

2. Last night I did laundry and managed to throw 1/2 my clothes in a dryer with a blue pen still in one of my pockets.

The Result: 1/2 my clothes (a majority of the shirts I wear) have blue ink stains all over them. They are now sitting in a pile in my room, next to boxes yet to be unpacked, awaiting the trash or some Martha Stewart miracle.

The Kicker: When I took my clothes out of the washer and moved them over to the dryer, a pen cap fell out and I thought to myself, "Hmm, there is probably a pen in one of the pockets."

I should probably learn a lesson from all this. I'm not quite sure what it is yet though.

The positives of my douchiness:
1. on the way to pick up the keys from Brian, I got to witness a pretty kick ass accident between a van and a van cab

2. I have a legitimate reason to buy new clothes. Yay for my gap card...

a wee bit pissed.

this is NOT my weemee.

Have you seen this new phenomenon on Instant Messenger?? They are called WeeMees. Little cartoons you can design and use as your buddy icon. You can pick different hair styles, clothes, shoes, hats, glasses, drinks, backgrounds etc. All day, more and more people at work have had these little tykes pop up next to their screen names. They are taking over the world, people!

Between myspace and the blue tooth, I really think this might be the next step in our evolution of becoming borg people. I'm kind of opposed to it, but it's the perfect way to kill a good 1/2 hour of your time. Besides, if borg people take over the world, I want to be a part of it. I decided to keep mine naked, though--in protest (in actuality, I just forgot to put clothes on it, and decided to keep it). In any case, my WeeMee is free and all natural--save for earmuffs, a scarf, gloves and a leaf over his junk. He has a little dancing penguin friend standing next to him...clearly, why wouldn't he?

I would be able to show you all of this, but I can't figure out a way to get the image of my WeeMee on here. I've spent a good 2 hours trying to figure out how to share it with the blogging world to no avail. I also can't figure out how to make the little guy appear full size on my IM box. Right now, it just looks like a WeeMee headshot in the lower corner. Ugh, when we do become borg people I am going to be a mess! I won't know what to do---there will probably be some new technological way of breathing and I'll be shit out of luck, trying to fidget with some sort of doo-hicky application on an ipod, slowly suffocating to death.

I know there has got to be some sort of WeeMee expert out there to help me! Where are you?!

She could probably help.

Meet Celia Francis, the CEO of WeeWorld. She is leading the company as it "embarks on a period of global expansion through strategic alliances, partnerships and presence around the world."

That's all well and good, Celia, but how can I get the damn WeeMee on my blog so I can show my handful of readers what I did with a 1/2 hour of my life today!?

You Can Do Better Than This: Betty White

This is the first installment of a new series entitled, "You Can Do Better Than This!"

Spotlight: Betty White

Commercials for 1-800-PetMeds is the best her agents could get her? C'mon, there's gotta be a better vehicle for her talent.

My proposals for new Betty White-driven sitcoms:

1. Betty plays a former prostitute turned elementary school teacher. Hilarity ensues as she desperately tries to keep her students and colleagues from knowing her past as it slowly creeps back into her life.

2. Betty plays a former prostitute who becomes legal guardian of her grandson after his parents die. Hilarity ensues as they butt heads and learn to live together in the same house.

3. Betty plays a former prostitute who is desperate to get back in the game. Hilarity ensues as she hits the streets and learns how to turn tricks in the 21st century.


Call me, Betty! We'll work something out!

What are YOU doing next friday?!?!?!

Friday, February 2nd




10:30pm




The official debut of:

LORETTA!

She is lonely, unfortunate-looking, and a comedic genius

LORETTA! is:

Brian Belcinski
Kevin R. Free
Corey Johnson
Chris Kelly
Cody Lindquist
Katie Schorr

Come check out our improv show and be amazed and dazzled by our talent, good looks and humility.

Friday, Feb 2nd
10:30 pm
Under St. Marks
94 St. Marks Place (between 1st Ave and Ave A)

Opening for the UCB house teams

Fwand and Tantrum

Tag....

Let me first start this off by saying I do not like Tag. I was fat as a kid, so the whole running thing was not an activity I enjoyed, and let's be honest--there's not much more to the game of tag besides the running. If I had to pick a favorite type of tag to play it would probably be Freeze Tag because at least in this version you got a little break every now and then. You could wait there and catch your breath until someone crawled under your legs or some shit like that.

Apparently the game of tag is making it's way around the blogosphere and I, ladies and gentlemen, am it. Katie Schorr "tagged" me to list 5 things you don't know about myself. This is a much easier game of tag, in my opinion.

1. When I was a kid, I LOVED Janet Jackson. The cassette tape of Control was a permanent fixture in my walkman. One afternoon I was out on my driveway listening to this tape; listening and dancing. My driveway was a stage and I was pouring my soul out into my clumsy, thrashing, chunky dance moves. It was intense, I was sweating, but loving every second of it. After about 15 or 20 minutes of my solo concert, I look up to see that my Mom had been watching me from my bedroom window for God knows how long. I got so upset and embarrassed and yelled at her as I threw off my headphones and walked into the garage to hide from my sole audience member.

2. I kind of want to be a pilot.

3. I hate Best Buy and want to start a nation-wide boycott that puts them out of business. Seriously, those fuckers don't know how to fix a computer and have the worst customer service. ever. That's right, I would even go so far to say their customer service is worse than Time Warner Cable....And Time Warner is about as helpful as a monkey holding its dick. So if I start a petition, will you sign it?

4. I read Chris Kelly's 5 things, as he was tagged by Katie as well, and was surprised to see that one of his items was similar to mine. His was that he always pictured his life as a TV show. Mine is that I thought my life was just like The Truman Show. This was way before the movie came out though; I totally thought (not constantly, but every now and then) that I was being filmed and everyone in my life was an actor. Everything that I had experienced was carefully planned and scripted: my parents, family vacations, and even me riding my bike around the neighborhood. The entirety of elementary school was one big, choreographed movement sequence. A slight variant on this imagining was that I had a horrible, deadly disease and no one told me, but everyone in the world had gathered together to create the life that I knew. So every stranger, teacher, friend or foe knew who I was, and that I was dying and wanted to help create this epic masterpiece that was my life.

When I saw the first preview for The Truman Show, I freaked out a little and thought, "hey, maybe it was true. Maybe this is their film-with-in-a-film way of telling me what was going on." I soon realized that I wasn't the center of the universe and no one really knew or cared who I was...

5. I am a convicted rapist.


just kidding.

the real 5. I was potty trained at a normal age, however I refused to go poop on the toilet and MADE my mom put a diaper on me every time I had to poop. I don't know how old I was when I finally shat on the toilet...but it was probably a year or 2 past "normal." My mom finally put her foot down when diapers didn't fit my pudgy body anymore and said to me, "No. You have to go poop on the toilet." I then waited 3 days, holding it in, until I finally succumbed to the building pressure and made the giant step towards adulthood.

Now it's my turn to tag people:

Lauri

Courtney

Carolyn

Brian (i don't know your last name but your blog is named countdown to 28)

Daniel Vosovic (okay...so the likely hood of Daniel Vosovic from project runway reading this and seeing that he has been tagged is not likely...in fact near impossible... but I'm still tagging him.)

YOU'S IT BITCHES!!!

My favorite part of the Golden Globes:

Tim Allen, in his drunken splendor, making a shout out to Galaxy Quest while announcing the nominees for best actor.

Classy Tim.

The sad part was the pride he still had for this movie. Granted, Galaxy Quest is fucking Awesome and it deserves pride(if you haven't seen it, put it on your netflix queue, stat), but the highlight of ones career? A film that needs to be remembered 8 years after on national TV in a booze-inspired exaltation? No, probably not. And the fact that he had to show his connection to Tony Shaloub as if to say, "yeah, I know one of the guys nominated!!! wooooooooo!!! I'm not washed up!!!!!!! YEAH!!!" It's laughably pathetic. Tim Allen is Hollywoods drunk uncle they are forced to see on holidays.

And who did he present with? Was it Vanessa Williams? He made some awfully awkward comment about how "if beauty was a minute, she'd be the longest day of the year." Or something equally as lame. We totally witnessed one of those old-guy-at-the-bar-hitting-on-someone-COMPLETELY-out-of-his-league moments..except it was on stage at the golden globes. hilarious.

But really. Go and watch Galaxy Quest



Help support this man's career...we don't want another one of these:

I am in the house...

My roommates and I were flipping through channels last night and came across the new Disney Show, "Cory in the House."

Whaaaaat?

Okay, first of all, they spelled my name wrong. Second of all, what in God's good name is this?

There was a brief concern that this may actually be a reality show that has hidden camera footage of me bumming around my apartment--watching TV in my underwear, going to the bathroom, sleeping, etc. This, however, was not the case. No, the stuff they actually put on TV is far far worse. Take a look at the opening credits--You will begin to understand what this show is about.

Yeah. Cory's dad gets hired as the Presidents personal chef and they move into the White House. Cory lives in the White House. Clever, no? And, oh how this series is ripe with an unimaginable amount of situation comedy. For one, Cory has to contend with the hijinks of the President's adorably bratty 8 year old daughter; he also must grow accustomed to the stuffy air of private school that is so foreign to his urban upbringing. The possibilities are endless.

Upon further research, I was very surprised to learn that this is not an original idea birthed from a nebula of comedic minds--but, rather, a spin-off of That's So Raven. It's hard to believe that something with such originality, depth and promise is a spin-off. Let's hope that in the land of spin-offs, this is more of a Frasier, than a Joey.

Ya know, talking about this show is getting my creative juices flowing. I think I want to pitch an idea that the Disney Channel might enjoy:

Okay, the show would be me taking a huge crap in a brown paper bag and each week I would light it on fire and throw it at a different TV executive's face. We can call it Corey Shits in the Bag (and then throws it at a TV executive's face)

I will sell this idea for a pilot for no less than 1 million dollars. Commence your bidding.

I am one step closer to fulfilling my dream of becoming a Super Model

Yeah, that's right. Your eyes do not deceive you. 'Tis I, C. Johnson, pictured on the front page of The Onion as one of "800,000 Privlidged Youths [that gets to] Enlist to fight in Iraq".

I am really important shit--clearly if you didn't know that before, you know it now. I mean, not everyone get's to stand in the rain for 15 minutes in the middle of times square and have their picture taken for a fake news newspaper. If that doesn't scream super model, I don't know what does.

Here Here!

mmm...

If you've talked to me at all today you know the exciting news:

I got Olive Garden for lunch!!!!!!!!!!!

I know, it's pretty sad, not to mention super lame that this makes me so excited. It makes me even sadder and supremely lame to then go ahead and post a blog about it; honestly though, this is literally the best thing that's happened to me today. Knowing I was going to order Olive Garden gave me a purpose to get out of bed this morning. And besides, read the description of this blog--I'm fulfilling my mission.

That's right folks, straight from the succulent adds on TV to my mouth: Stuffed Rigatoni with Grilled chicken in a delightful cream sauce. Let me repeat that: Stuffed rigatoni. 3 kinds of cheeses in those tubes. No more plain, hollow rigatoni for me. I can't even believe I used to eat that shit. Who likes pasta stuffed with air?!

AND to add to the splendor of this, there is enough for me to get dinner out of it too!!!!!

I know what you're thinking, "Whoa, Mr. Moneybags!! Eating like royalty today, are we?" and "What village did you rape and pillage in order to be able to afford The Olive Garden?" The answers to these questions lie in the two most glorious words spoken by man:

Gift Card.

I had an $11 gift card I had gotten for Easter last year. (we are not religious and don't really celebrate Easter, however my mom still likes to give us presents and who am I to stop her? She had told my sister to put $15 on the gift card, but Katie only had $11 dollars on her. She bought the card and then my mom gave me the difference in cash.)

For $7 (the difference of what the card didn't cover--$18 for a lunch?!?!? that's crazy talk, olive garden!) I got a huge salad, bread sticks, and the delicious entree pictured above. Lunch and dinner. Done and done.

I hope your jealousy doesn't overshadow the joy you should feel for me.

I am, indeed, in mourning.

Yesterday, when I got off the plane from New Orleans, I spent more time waiting for the car service to pick me up than I did on the plane. In that time I waited with a very classy woman named Dorris. She had some sort of 1/2 British-Madonna accent that made her sound extremely dignified and pretentious--you know she has spent years perfecting it as to disguise her unimpressive American accent. She did succeed, however, in proving her high status position.

Dorris: Tomorrow is a national holiday for the mourning of President Ford.

Me: Ooooh, I wonder if I'll get time and a half at work!

Dorris: (pause. smile.) That's not the right attitude.

Yeah, it's probably not the right attitude. But I still want to know if I'm getting time and a half!

That being said, here is this blog's tribute to our former president.

I bet Dorris didn't publish a picture of him photoshopped in front of an American flag on her blog! Did you Dorris?!?!?

What an unpatriotic bitch.