I thought my mind had been blown when we got cartooned. Then Sara found out that someone had entered us into LiveJournal popculture notoriety. Witness this dedication! My personal favorite.
Theeeen, as if that wasn't totally dudical, Siddhartha Mitter from WNYC interviewed me, Sara, Baratunde Thurston, and Julie Klausner. You can catch it online!
But then shit got REALLY crunk because The New Yorker invited us to work their festival this weekend which meant we got into a super swank opening party resulting in amazingness.
Yes, Sara has blogged about it because she is not full of molasses like sorry ole me, but the following ensued (after a lot of champagne):
1. I told author Jeffrey Eugenides (author of Virgin Suicides and Middlesex): “I really loved Middlesex. I have read it repeatedly, and I really relate to it, although I’m not a hermaphrodite.”
2. I thrust a drunken fist in the air at the sight of Alan Cumming's Barack the Vote tshirt and he gave me a peace sign. LOVE.
3. I witnessed a very pretty, very tiny Regina Specktor talking to a trio of hipster douchebags.
4. Sam and I rode the elevator up with Oliver Stone and his posse.
5. Salman Rushdie was walking around and I had to restrain myself (I was only 2 champagnes in so this was still possible) from whispering to him "Padma's a bitch" and then running out of the room.
6. On the walk up Park Avenue towards our homeland, Istarted playing with garbage, including a discarded bra and a shoe, and threw them in the air because I was feeling like Mary Fucking Tyler Moore:
7. Ended up sitting on a sofa across from WESCRAVEN and his amazing, beautiful, warm, friendly wife Iya Labunka (producer on Heathers) and having a butt ass long conversation full of wonder. Highlights included:
- Telling Wes Craven: "My brothers got years of mileage terrifying me with fanfic enchanced Freddy Krueger stories, 'SO THANKS A LOT, WES!'"
- Calling him WESCRAVEN at every possible opportunity.
- Talking about zero gravity sex (Buzz, Neil, we all agreed you probably cranked one off in space).
- Hearing the awesome tale of how Iya and Wes met.
That was pretty much the best party I ever went to. It was also very pretty in that hotel with light bulbs on the ceiling.
And the next day we got to perform at the New Yorker Festival's Humor Panel for 350 people. We were the fluffers for the panel. Witness the happiness.
WITNESS US MEETING Samantha Bee, who is soooo funny and nice in person (and even prettier).
If you thought the story was going to stop here, you were wrong. Because then, by some miracle, we got to meet Margaret Cho that same night. I have the pictures to prove it.
I'm not quite sure how a weekend like that can be topped!
For those still reeling from Spastic Colon Sunday, I have a few things for you that are essentially Prozac for the eyes. They will heal you in places you didn't know where even broken. Such is their power.
Keep your dolphin rape tales away from me, okay, because this shit has just about earned dolphins all the PR they'll ever need in my books.
Conservation officer Malcolm Smith told the BBC that he and a group of other people had tried in vain for an hour and a half to get the whales to sea.
The pygmy sperm whales had repeatedly beached, and both they and the humans were tired and set to give up, he said.
But then the dolphin appeared, communicated with the whales, and led them to safety.
The bottlenose dolphin, called Moko by local residents, is well known for playing with swimmers off Mahia beach on the east coast of the North Island.
Mr Smith said that just when his team was flagging, the dolphin showed up and made straight for them.
"I don't speak whale and I don't speak dolphin," Mr Smith told the BBC, "but there was obviously something that went on because the two whales changed their attitude from being quite distressed to following the dolphin quite willingly and directly along the beach and straight out to sea."
"I shouldn't do this I know, we are meant to remain scientific," Mr Smith said, "but I actually went into the water with the dolphin and gave it a pat afterwards because she really did save the day."
Are you still down? List of the Day provides another video to balm your emotional wounds. Put things into perspective - at least you are not this woman.
I'm not going to lie, I've been feeling alternately overwhelmed and sluggish lately, but The Latvian Symphony Orchestra has decided to kick the world's collective ass and inspire greatness:
Okay, truth is when I read the words "world's smallest bodybuilder" I thought it was going to be another kid lifting weights, but lo!
How hard does this guy rule? First off, his name is Romeo, which is a score. Secondly, he has a killer 'stache at the tender age of 19. Thirdly, he is fucking stone cold "whatevs" about being lifted up by some hairy backed cretin. Fourthly, he's rocking that hair. Fithly, I cannot ever imagine a dude with a smile like this could ever be a dick, ever.
Romeo is famous in his home country, and his father has spoken of his pride in his son's determination to overcome any difficulties in his path. "He has never been bothered at being so small. He has no inferiority complex. He is the jewel of our family."
If that isn't the sweetest thing you've read in ages you should really try and buy yourself a soul.
How wrong is this gum? It used to be my favorite gum ever. When I'd go on errands with my dad, the hardware store he'd go to had it in stock and I'd beg and lose my damn mind to get him to buy me bologna gum. In looking back I thought it was because the premise was so disgusting, that he couldn't believe his daughter would want to eat that shit, but if this packaging is historically correct, he was clearly concerned about other messages.
It seems like Obama is going to take New Hampshire tonight, I like to think that this picture captures the moment where Obama tells Hillary as much.
Things keep pissing me off on the feminist tip. I'm getting particularly disgusted by the fact that there is a "Men Are the New Women" tshirt in existence. I would like my own version.
I even put it in Comic Sans to really reflect the suck. Comic Sans is the morning dj of fonts. Even worse? Dudes lamenting their old girlfriends' past abortions. Guess what, dudes, DON'T CARE. Call us when you can carry a fetus to term.
As I pull the wedge out of my ass I realize that there's a writer in the U.K. who needs to be my new BFF because I am LOVING her defense of granny panties.
On how many occasions in the past year have you needed to wear sexy pants? In other words, to break this right down, how many times this year have you suddenly, unexpectedly, had sex in a brightly lit room, with a hard-to-please erotic connoisseur? Exactly. On those kind of odds, you might just as well be keeping a backgammon board down there, to entertain a group of elderly ladies in the event of emergencies. It’s more likely to happen.
You know, when it comes to sex, you have to remember men are blessedly, almost serenely, laisser-faire creatures. Girls – THERE ARE MEN OUT THERE HAVING SEX WITH BICYCLES. Whether you wear sexy pants is neither here nor there to them. They’re really not that fussy. Remind yourself of this every day. For instant calmness, it’s better than meditation. Imagine if men indulged in similarly demented levels of needless overpreparation. If they did, they’d all have two tickets for a mini-break to Prague in their boxers, lest they come across a lady doing spot-checks on their levels of “total dreaminess”. As you may have noticed, men just aren’t doing that in their pants. Indeed, in this inclement weather, they’re barely keeping their genitals in there.
Preach it! I don't know how many times I've heard people defend thongs. Look, we are just not going to agree, but at least don't insult me. Just admit you do it because you think it's sexy. Do not tell me it's because your ass defies the laws of physics - you have a crack that is larger than the ribbon of cotton, therefore the ribbon of cotton will be inside your ass crack. That shit does not feel (or look, for that matter) all that good. While it may differ in size and shape, my ass is not wildly different than yours - it's not a fucking trapezoid. It's an ass. With a crack. And a piece of fabric in my ass crack does not = good times. If you like them, bless you, but do not tell me you do it for comfort because I seriously might have a rage stroke.
This rage attack inspiration wasn't brought on by panties, just a huge pile of panty waste by the name of Dr. Phil. Best Week Ever does a good job of guessing how it might have gone down. I might have to send this to my mother to finally shatter her faith in this man.
DR. PHIL: Let’s talk about Britney. I mean, what is her deal, yo? [AUDIENCE CHUCKLES AT COMFORTABLE, GOOD-NATURED UNPROFESSIONALISM] I mean, what the hell, dammit?
And, finally, because I will not let go of the haunting vision of Huckabee volplaning around the country, eschewing the traditional campaign bus, to descend upon his flock of homeschooled masses alight with promise, their ankle length horsehair fluttering in his wake, it just too funny to me...but it looks like Huckabee Sugarglider Jesus will not be allowed into St. Paul.
I know, it was a long build up for not much pay off. Tomorrow is a new day.
I hope everyone had a good couple of days off on Baby Jesus' tab. I'm off from work until January 2nd which means I will either be incredibly prolific with the blogging or I will do nothing. The only way you'll know is by checking in!
I'm so out of my mind with boredom that I have little to offer you aside from this slice-of-life tidbit care of my mom the other day, after talking to her via cellphone about an ailing elderly family member.
Diana - So does that mean you're going to have to do something drastic like give her an enema? Mom - Shit. I don't have to do anything but stay black and die.
That's me this morning and it's not because I ended up in a subway car full of stripping girls like this guy. It's because I clocked in a ten hour sleep fest last night and I'm feeling reborn.
Speaking of stripping on subway cars, it looks like some guy couldn't take seeing girls have all the fun.
He brought his own disco ball, people. But I think the thing that really made me fall in love was his closing line: "Keep your money in your pocket, your erections and your moist panties are thanks enough for me." Despite some faces of discomfort and confusion, Mike's strip tease was relatively hater-free.
No, this is not a photo of a young Emmanuel Lewis-inspired drag king. If you're fond of internet memes you'll know that this is Tay Zonday, internet star of "Chocolate Rain."
Please watch the original if you haven't already. The first time I listened to it I had it in my head for three long days. It's hard to narrow down the appeal of this video to one thing. There are so many layers - the voice, the lyrics, the ceaseless repetition, this MANCHILD'S FACE! I'm working on a Puerto Rican version and it will be called Plantain Rain. Lyrics forthcoming.
Dr. Pepper hopped on the bandwagon and got Tay to do a Chocolate Cherry Rain version for their new drink. I couldn't help but feel awe as large buckets of chocolate goo are poured all over Tay and a model. How exactly does a director make that pitch?
"Look, I have a vision. I'm picturing you, open-mouthed, taken unawares by a huge bucket of brown slop that looks very rich and chocolatey. Then I'm going to run it in slo-mo as it hits your face. You in, cause we'll need to do about ten takes to get the gunk just right."
As a comedian and mental health industry consumer, I regularly face intense highs and lows. Mostly lows. But I have a little trick that has been expediting the healing process. I have a motivational coach that exists only in my brain. He is modeled after Djimon Hounsou's character, Juba, from Gladiator. And, yes, I do love that movie. And, yes, I have seen it half a dozen times. And, yes, I will see it again. There is some sort of manskirt-shaped hole in my heart that it fills. Go ahead, judge me.
So, I was in the office getting down about life when I started to slip into the netherworld of sadness and failure that is Juba's domain in my mind. Juba only has two volumes: a thunderous, righteous bellow or a meaningful, tender whisper. He was just in the middle of forcing me back into reality with a hushed: "I will see you again... but not yet. Not yet!" when I was snapped back into reality by the ringing of the phone.
It was the first time in my life I was tempted to believe in the hot, steaming turd Oprah calls "The Secret." I think I have been putting out minor celebrity vibrations and the universe had finally responded to my needs. See how easy it is? If only Israelis and Palestinians would put out vibrations and get on the right frequency, they might be able to get their shit together.
Reader, I digress.
Rutger Hauer, you are one of my favorite references. You didn't know this when we spoke. But my heart, how it fluttered - leapt, even - in my chest when I heard you so confidently respond to my workplace greeting with "Hello, this is Rutger Hauer." It was so natural, Rutger. As if every ringing phone should be answered such a way. I salute your boldness in assuming I'd even know who you are. But you are the man, so it's a valid assumption.
Oh, Rutger, how we chuckled over your technical problems that prevented you from emailing. How we reveled in the modern day conundrum of keeping in touch! And when you asked me if I could text you a co-worker's email address, a single tear drove down the highway of my cheek.
Do you know, Rutger, how hard it was for me to not let you know how much I have admired your ice cold steeliness since that first day our eyes locked while you were in Blade Runner? DO YOU KNOW?! I was only six, but I knew from your perfect Aryan stare that you meant business. You are my go-to guy whenever I need a suitably obscure android reference.
If only I had the bravery to ask you to say that line to me over the phone, "I want more life, fucker."
I would have said, even more tenderly than Juba, "I know, Rutger, we all do."
It's easy to lose faith in humanity if you have to use public transportation. When you see a very large, muscular teenager shouting "shut the fuck up you retarded ass n*****, I don't care 'bout Korea" to a crumpled old veteran who objected to having his bag stepped on, you kind of start hating human beings.
Maybe if I saw people give up seats for pregnant women or old people more often, I wouldn't let the dark side overtake me so easily. But for now, I'll just have to seek out stories and keep my eyes peeled for acts of kindness to keep me from committing assault and throat punching someone.
So reading this story about a five year-old boy dressed as Spiderman saving a baby from a house fire completely rocked my world in a very Amelie-esque way.
More proofthat Jon Stewart just may be Christ incarnate.
Stewart Will Keep Striking 'Daily' Writers Afloat
If the writers strike fails, it won't be on account of Jon Stewart.
In a show of solidarity with his fellow scribes, the Daily Show host has told his writing staff that he will cover all their salaries for the next two weeks, according to a well-placed source. He has also vowed to do the same for writers on The Colbert Report. A Comedy Central spokesman referred my inquiry about this to Stewart's personal publicist, who has yet to respond.
Stewart's intention, says the source, is to ensure his writers will face no financial hardship should the strike, which kicked off at 3 a.m. local time, conclude within that timeframe.
Katherine Hepburn in her hey day, reclining after just telling the world, "Oh, I'm sorry, did I give you the impression that I gave a shit?"
According to The Guardian, Katherine Hepburn was every bit the strident pain-in-the-ass she played on film. After being pulled over by a cop for speeding in Oklahoma, Hepburn called him a "moron" and "handsome... in a dull sort of way." She then told him she had better things to do then deal with a speeding ticket for the next week, and swore she would slash the tires of any car she saw in Connecticut with Oklahoma plates as a form of karmic retribution.
I thought my mind had been blown when we got cartooned. Then Sara found out that someone had entered us into LiveJournal popculture notoriety. Witness this dedication! My personal favorite.
Theeeen, as if that wasn't totally dudical, Siddhartha Mitter from WNYC interviewed me, Sara, Baratunde Thurston, and Julie Klausner. You can catch it online!
But then shit got REALLY crunk because The New Yorker invited us to work their festival this weekend which meant we got into a super swank opening party resulting in amazingness.
Yes, Sara has blogged about it because she is not full of molasses like sorry ole me, but the following ensued (after a lot of champagne):
1. I told author Jeffrey Eugenides (author of Virgin Suicides and Middlesex): “I really loved Middlesex. I have read it repeatedly, and I really relate to it, although I’m not a hermaphrodite.”
2. I thrust a drunken fist in the air at the sight of Alan Cumming's Barack the Vote tshirt and he gave me a peace sign. LOVE.
3. I witnessed a very pretty, very tiny Regina Specktor talking to a trio of hipster douchebags.
4. Sam and I rode the elevator up with Oliver Stone and his posse.
5. Salman Rushdie was walking around and I had to restrain myself (I was only 2 champagnes in so this was still possible) from whispering to him "Padma's a bitch" and then running out of the room.
6. On the walk up Park Avenue towards our homeland, Istarted playing with garbage, including a discarded bra and a shoe, and threw them in the air because I was feeling like Mary Fucking Tyler Moore:
7. Ended up sitting on a sofa across from WESCRAVEN and his amazing, beautiful, warm, friendly wife Iya Labunka (producer on Heathers) and having a butt ass long conversation full of wonder. Highlights included:
- Telling Wes Craven: "My brothers got years of mileage terrifying me with fanfic enchanced Freddy Krueger stories, 'SO THANKS A LOT, WES!'"
- Calling him WESCRAVEN at every possible opportunity.
- Talking about zero gravity sex (Buzz, Neil, we all agreed you probably cranked one off in space).
- Hearing the awesome tale of how Iya and Wes met.
That was pretty much the best party I ever went to. It was also very pretty in that hotel with light bulbs on the ceiling.
And the next day we got to perform at the New Yorker Festival's Humor Panel for 350 people. We were the fluffers for the panel. Witness the happiness.
WITNESS US MEETING Samantha Bee, who is soooo funny and nice in person (and even prettier).
If you thought the story was going to stop here, you were wrong. Because then, by some miracle, we got to meet Margaret Cho that same night. I have the pictures to prove it.
I'm not quite sure how a weekend like that can be topped!
WTF? who ARE you? and how can I be you when I grow up? So EXCITING!!! Padma is a bitch, what does she know about food? She's so tiny? And Margaret Cho... have you showered yet? If not I'm gonna hunt you down in the city tonite and touch you... because you touched her and a third degree touch is as good as me being there myself ;)
I heart Margaret Cho so much I would have hugged her.
I know you were happy because in the picture with Cho you smiled with your teeth. Toothy grin = childlike glee. Your husband will probably never be able to make you cum again, and it's all WESCRAVEN's fault!
For those still reeling from Spastic Colon Sunday, I have a few things for you that are essentially Prozac for the eyes. They will heal you in places you didn't know where even broken. Such is their power.
Keep your dolphin rape tales away from me, okay, because this shit has just about earned dolphins all the PR they'll ever need in my books.
Conservation officer Malcolm Smith told the BBC that he and a group of other people had tried in vain for an hour and a half to get the whales to sea.
The pygmy sperm whales had repeatedly beached, and both they and the humans were tired and set to give up, he said.
But then the dolphin appeared, communicated with the whales, and led them to safety.
The bottlenose dolphin, called Moko by local residents, is well known for playing with swimmers off Mahia beach on the east coast of the North Island.
Mr Smith said that just when his team was flagging, the dolphin showed up and made straight for them.
"I don't speak whale and I don't speak dolphin," Mr Smith told the BBC, "but there was obviously something that went on because the two whales changed their attitude from being quite distressed to following the dolphin quite willingly and directly along the beach and straight out to sea."
"I shouldn't do this I know, we are meant to remain scientific," Mr Smith said, "but I actually went into the water with the dolphin and gave it a pat afterwards because she really did save the day."
Are you still down? List of the Day provides another video to balm your emotional wounds. Put things into perspective - at least you are not this woman.
I'm not going to lie, I've been feeling alternately overwhelmed and sluggish lately, but The Latvian Symphony Orchestra has decided to kick the world's collective ass and inspire greatness:
Okay, truth is when I read the words "world's smallest bodybuilder" I thought it was going to be another kid lifting weights, but lo!
How hard does this guy rule? First off, his name is Romeo, which is a score. Secondly, he has a killer 'stache at the tender age of 19. Thirdly, he is fucking stone cold "whatevs" about being lifted up by some hairy backed cretin. Fourthly, he's rocking that hair. Fithly, I cannot ever imagine a dude with a smile like this could ever be a dick, ever.
Romeo is famous in his home country, and his father has spoken of his pride in his son's determination to overcome any difficulties in his path. "He has never been bothered at being so small. He has no inferiority complex. He is the jewel of our family."
If that isn't the sweetest thing you've read in ages you should really try and buy yourself a soul.
How wrong is this gum? It used to be my favorite gum ever. When I'd go on errands with my dad, the hardware store he'd go to had it in stock and I'd beg and lose my damn mind to get him to buy me bologna gum. In looking back I thought it was because the premise was so disgusting, that he couldn't believe his daughter would want to eat that shit, but if this packaging is historically correct, he was clearly concerned about other messages.
It seems like Obama is going to take New Hampshire tonight, I like to think that this picture captures the moment where Obama tells Hillary as much.
Things keep pissing me off on the feminist tip. I'm getting particularly disgusted by the fact that there is a "Men Are the New Women" tshirt in existence. I would like my own version.
I even put it in Comic Sans to really reflect the suck. Comic Sans is the morning dj of fonts. Even worse? Dudes lamenting their old girlfriends' past abortions. Guess what, dudes, DON'T CARE. Call us when you can carry a fetus to term.
As I pull the wedge out of my ass I realize that there's a writer in the U.K. who needs to be my new BFF because I am LOVING her defense of granny panties.
On how many occasions in the past year have you needed to wear sexy pants? In other words, to break this right down, how many times this year have you suddenly, unexpectedly, had sex in a brightly lit room, with a hard-to-please erotic connoisseur? Exactly. On those kind of odds, you might just as well be keeping a backgammon board down there, to entertain a group of elderly ladies in the event of emergencies. It’s more likely to happen.
You know, when it comes to sex, you have to remember men are blessedly, almost serenely, laisser-faire creatures. Girls – THERE ARE MEN OUT THERE HAVING SEX WITH BICYCLES. Whether you wear sexy pants is neither here nor there to them. They’re really not that fussy. Remind yourself of this every day. For instant calmness, it’s better than meditation. Imagine if men indulged in similarly demented levels of needless overpreparation. If they did, they’d all have two tickets for a mini-break to Prague in their boxers, lest they come across a lady doing spot-checks on their levels of “total dreaminess”. As you may have noticed, men just aren’t doing that in their pants. Indeed, in this inclement weather, they’re barely keeping their genitals in there.
Preach it! I don't know how many times I've heard people defend thongs. Look, we are just not going to agree, but at least don't insult me. Just admit you do it because you think it's sexy. Do not tell me it's because your ass defies the laws of physics - you have a crack that is larger than the ribbon of cotton, therefore the ribbon of cotton will be inside your ass crack. That shit does not feel (or look, for that matter) all that good. While it may differ in size and shape, my ass is not wildly different than yours - it's not a fucking trapezoid. It's an ass. With a crack. And a piece of fabric in my ass crack does not = good times. If you like them, bless you, but do not tell me you do it for comfort because I seriously might have a rage stroke.
This rage attack inspiration wasn't brought on by panties, just a huge pile of panty waste by the name of Dr. Phil. Best Week Ever does a good job of guessing how it might have gone down. I might have to send this to my mother to finally shatter her faith in this man.
DR. PHIL: Let’s talk about Britney. I mean, what is her deal, yo? [AUDIENCE CHUCKLES AT COMFORTABLE, GOOD-NATURED UNPROFESSIONALISM] I mean, what the hell, dammit?
And, finally, because I will not let go of the haunting vision of Huckabee volplaning around the country, eschewing the traditional campaign bus, to descend upon his flock of homeschooled masses alight with promise, their ankle length horsehair fluttering in his wake, it just too funny to me...but it looks like Huckabee Sugarglider Jesus will not be allowed into St. Paul.
I know, it was a long build up for not much pay off. Tomorrow is a new day.
I hope everyone had a good couple of days off on Baby Jesus' tab. I'm off from work until January 2nd which means I will either be incredibly prolific with the blogging or I will do nothing. The only way you'll know is by checking in!
I'm so out of my mind with boredom that I have little to offer you aside from this slice-of-life tidbit care of my mom the other day, after talking to her via cellphone about an ailing elderly family member.
Diana - So does that mean you're going to have to do something drastic like give her an enema? Mom - Shit. I don't have to do anything but stay black and die.
That's me this morning and it's not because I ended up in a subway car full of stripping girls like this guy. It's because I clocked in a ten hour sleep fest last night and I'm feeling reborn.
Speaking of stripping on subway cars, it looks like some guy couldn't take seeing girls have all the fun.
He brought his own disco ball, people. But I think the thing that really made me fall in love was his closing line: "Keep your money in your pocket, your erections and your moist panties are thanks enough for me." Despite some faces of discomfort and confusion, Mike's strip tease was relatively hater-free.
No, this is not a photo of a young Emmanuel Lewis-inspired drag king. If you're fond of internet memes you'll know that this is Tay Zonday, internet star of "Chocolate Rain."
Please watch the original if you haven't already. The first time I listened to it I had it in my head for three long days. It's hard to narrow down the appeal of this video to one thing. There are so many layers - the voice, the lyrics, the ceaseless repetition, this MANCHILD'S FACE! I'm working on a Puerto Rican version and it will be called Plantain Rain. Lyrics forthcoming.
Dr. Pepper hopped on the bandwagon and got Tay to do a Chocolate Cherry Rain version for their new drink. I couldn't help but feel awe as large buckets of chocolate goo are poured all over Tay and a model. How exactly does a director make that pitch?
"Look, I have a vision. I'm picturing you, open-mouthed, taken unawares by a huge bucket of brown slop that looks very rich and chocolatey. Then I'm going to run it in slo-mo as it hits your face. You in, cause we'll need to do about ten takes to get the gunk just right."
As a comedian and mental health industry consumer, I regularly face intense highs and lows. Mostly lows. But I have a little trick that has been expediting the healing process. I have a motivational coach that exists only in my brain. He is modeled after Djimon Hounsou's character, Juba, from Gladiator. And, yes, I do love that movie. And, yes, I have seen it half a dozen times. And, yes, I will see it again. There is some sort of manskirt-shaped hole in my heart that it fills. Go ahead, judge me.
So, I was in the office getting down about life when I started to slip into the netherworld of sadness and failure that is Juba's domain in my mind. Juba only has two volumes: a thunderous, righteous bellow or a meaningful, tender whisper. He was just in the middle of forcing me back into reality with a hushed: "I will see you again... but not yet. Not yet!" when I was snapped back into reality by the ringing of the phone.
It was the first time in my life I was tempted to believe in the hot, steaming turd Oprah calls "The Secret." I think I have been putting out minor celebrity vibrations and the universe had finally responded to my needs. See how easy it is? If only Israelis and Palestinians would put out vibrations and get on the right frequency, they might be able to get their shit together.
Reader, I digress.
Rutger Hauer, you are one of my favorite references. You didn't know this when we spoke. But my heart, how it fluttered - leapt, even - in my chest when I heard you so confidently respond to my workplace greeting with "Hello, this is Rutger Hauer." It was so natural, Rutger. As if every ringing phone should be answered such a way. I salute your boldness in assuming I'd even know who you are. But you are the man, so it's a valid assumption.
Oh, Rutger, how we chuckled over your technical problems that prevented you from emailing. How we reveled in the modern day conundrum of keeping in touch! And when you asked me if I could text you a co-worker's email address, a single tear drove down the highway of my cheek.
Do you know, Rutger, how hard it was for me to not let you know how much I have admired your ice cold steeliness since that first day our eyes locked while you were in Blade Runner? DO YOU KNOW?! I was only six, but I knew from your perfect Aryan stare that you meant business. You are my go-to guy whenever I need a suitably obscure android reference.
If only I had the bravery to ask you to say that line to me over the phone, "I want more life, fucker."
I would have said, even more tenderly than Juba, "I know, Rutger, we all do."
Rutger Hauer rules. Never saw him in NY, but I saw Willem Dafoe all the freaking time, especially around St. Marks. Are they both of Dutch ancestry? Weird.
I still think Rutger Hauer in the 1970s was one of the sexiest creatures who ever walked the Earth. He's really 60-something, I think, but I prefer to think of him when he was the very model of Aryan physical perfection. Rutger, you'll always be my Soldaat van Oranje. And thanks for not being a dickhead on the phone, too.
"How far that little candle throws its beams; So shines a good deed in a naughty world."
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
It's easy to lose faith in humanity if you have to use public transportation. When you see a very large, muscular teenager shouting "shut the fuck up you retarded ass n*****, I don't care 'bout Korea" to a crumpled old veteran who objected to having his bag stepped on, you kind of start hating human beings.
Maybe if I saw people give up seats for pregnant women or old people more often, I wouldn't let the dark side overtake me so easily. But for now, I'll just have to seek out stories and keep my eyes peeled for acts of kindness to keep me from committing assault and throat punching someone.
So reading this story about a five year-old boy dressed as Spiderman saving a baby from a house fire completely rocked my world in a very Amelie-esque way.
More proofthat Jon Stewart just may be Christ incarnate.
Stewart Will Keep Striking 'Daily' Writers Afloat
If the writers strike fails, it won't be on account of Jon Stewart.
In a show of solidarity with his fellow scribes, the Daily Show host has told his writing staff that he will cover all their salaries for the next two weeks, according to a well-placed source. He has also vowed to do the same for writers on The Colbert Report. A Comedy Central spokesman referred my inquiry about this to Stewart's personal publicist, who has yet to respond.
Stewart's intention, says the source, is to ensure his writers will face no financial hardship should the strike, which kicked off at 3 a.m. local time, conclude within that timeframe.
Katherine Hepburn in her hey day, reclining after just telling the world, "Oh, I'm sorry, did I give you the impression that I gave a shit?"
According to The Guardian, Katherine Hepburn was every bit the strident pain-in-the-ass she played on film. After being pulled over by a cop for speeding in Oklahoma, Hepburn called him a "moron" and "handsome... in a dull sort of way." She then told him she had better things to do then deal with a speeding ticket for the next week, and swore she would slash the tires of any car she saw in Connecticut with Oklahoma plates as a form of karmic retribution.
Theeeen, as if that wasn't totally dudical, Siddhartha Mitter from WNYC interviewed me, Sara, Baratunde Thurston, and Julie Klausner. You can catch it online!
