Monday, August 17, 2009
Friday, July 18, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Monday, October 01, 2007
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
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
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Major Johnson and the Bloodshitters
A short documentary on one of the most influential office bands of our generation.
Friday, September 07, 2007
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.
"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.
Friday, August 31, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
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:
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!
Friday, August 10, 2007
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
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!
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
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!!
huzzah!!
Thursday, August 02, 2007
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'
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'
Thursday, July 26, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
The final "fuck you" from Broadway.com:
The pens I stole after being laid off do not work.
Not a single one.
Not a single one.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
