Accismus

June 3, 2008

The End of People, Movements, the World

Viennese artist Oscar Kokoschka had a doll made to resemble Alma Mahler (this is a letter to the doll’s maker):

“I was honestly shocked by your doll which, although I was long prepared for a certain distance from reality, contradicts what I demanded of it and hoped of you in too many ways! The outer shell is a polar-bear pelt, suitable for a shaggy imitation bedside rug rather than the soft and pliable skin of a woman. The result is that I cannot even dress the doll, which you knew was my intention, let alone array her in delicate and precious robes. Even attempting to pull on one stocking would be like asking a French dancing-master to waltz with a polar bear!”

(via Kottke)

Also, Jeremy Bentham’s corpse is an auto-icon:

As requested in his will, his body was preserved and stored in a wooden cabinet, termed his “Auto-icon”. . . . For the 100th and 150th anniversaries of the college, the Auto-icon was brought to the meeting of the College Council, where he was listed as “present but not voting”.[12] Tradition holds that if the council’s vote on any motion is tied, the auto-icon always breaks the tie by voting in favour of the motion.

Also, the creator of Pringles was just buried in a Pringles can.

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George Packer on why it’s impossible for us to discuss Iraq intelligently:

Throughout the opinion classes, the impulse to keep a little part of the brain open to inconvenient facts seemed to have been extinguished. In magazine offices, bloggers’ bedrooms, Hollywood studios, and the White House, a fantasy war was underway, a demonstration of American virtue or a series of crimes against humanity-both of them self-serving fictions.

(via 3QD)

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On those humorless Commies:

Humour offered the early communists the same philosophical conundrums that every other area of culture offered: what belonged to yesterday and what to tomorrow? Many argued that humour could be used to ridicule the old bourgeois habits that persisted … But, said others, given that the Soviets were creating a perfect world, there would soon be nothing left to laugh at in Russian politics or society …

(via 3QD)

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Ian McEwan on why it’s probably not a good idea to romanticize the end of the world:

The apocalyptic mind can be demonising – that is to say, there are other groups, other faiths, that it despises for worshipping false gods, and these believers of course will not be saved from the fires of hell. And the apocalyptic mind tends to be totalitarian – which is to say that these are intact, all-encompassing ideas founded in longing and supernatural belief, immune to evidence or its lack, and well-protected against the implications of fresh data. Consequently, moments of unintentional pathos, even comedy, arise – and perhaps something in our nature is revealed – as the future is constantly having to be rewritten, new anti-Christs, new Beasts, new Babylons, new Whores located, and the old appointments with doom and redemption quickly replaced by the next.

(via A&LD)

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Haruki Murakami likes to run:

Sometimes I find it too hot to run, and sometimes too cold. Or too cloudy. But I still go running. I know that if I didn’t go running, I wouldn’t go the next day either. It’s not in human nature to take unnecessary burdens upon oneself, so one’s body soon becomes disaccustomed. It mustn’t do that. It’s the same with writing. I write every day so that my mind doesn’t become disaccustomed. So that I can gradually set the literary yardstick higher and higher, just as running regularly makes your muscles stronger and stronger.

. . . Working artistically is unhealthy; an artist should lead a healthy life to make up for it.

(via The Book Bench)

Posted in Art, Books, Health, Humor, People, Politics, Writing | 1 Comment »

Tags: Alma Mahler, Commies, dolls, George Packer, Haruki Murakami, Ian McEwan, Iraq, Jeremy Bentham, Oscar Kokoschka, Pringles

June 2, 2008

The Beefcake Has Landed

Okay, so I would like to retract my earlier statement about the crowded Greenpoint running track. Today was…an inspiration. I think I ran about 10 miles. I don’t know where you fellows have been all winter (presumably, you can all afford gym memberships, because if this is your condition after six months of neglect, I cannot wait to see you in September), but damn. Feel free to lob your golden apples my way, boys – I find myself growing less competitive with every passing torso.

Posted in Brooklyn, Health | 1 Comment »

Tags: beefcake, chiseled torsos, Greenpoint, hellooooo June, male objectification, running

June 2, 2008

Give Me Transit, Or Give Me Death

Seems everybody wants to keep the racism and lose the term for it. Here, M. LeBlanc at Bitch Ph.D. responds to Geraldine Ferraro’s recent op-ed:

Bringing up sexism or racism has become, in the minds of those outraged by accusations that they might be sexist or racist, “playing the gender card” or “playing the race card.” . . .

I’ve been astonished at the degree to which “playing the race/gender” card has flourished as a phrase and concept in the conversation about this primary race. I’ve heard it from so many bloggers, pundits, straight-up newscasters, and even some of my personal friends. I want to be as absolutely clear as I can: it’s a bogus concept, and using it makes you part of the problem.

Race and gender are not “cards” that you play, like laying out trump in bridge and winning the hand. Because when you have to bring up racism or sexism to explain what is happening around you, that means you’re already losing.

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News that’s not news: shopping and eating cookies can help you forget about death:

The authors believe people with low self-esteem use consuming as a way of subconsciously escaping self-awareness, which is heightened by thoughts of dying. “When you indulge in shopping or eating, it helps you forget yourself,” says Smeesters.

(via Serious Eats)

Related, people in Japan should eat more cookies. So should the U.S. Army. And the Russian army.

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Jeffrey Goldberg interviews John McCain on Israel, Iran and Obama, among other things:

JG: Let’s go back to Iran. Some critics say that America conflates its problem with Iran with Israel’s problem with Iran. Iran is not threatening the extinction of America, it’s threatening the extinction of Israel. Why should America have a military option for dealing with Iran when the threat is mainly directed against Israel?

JM: The United States of America has committed itself to never allowing another Holocaust. That’s a commitment that the United States has made ever since we discovered the horrendous aspects of the Holocaust.

In addition to that, I would respond by saying that I think these terrorist organizations that they sponsor, Hamas and the others, are also bent, at least long-term, on the destruction of the United States of America. That’s why I agree with General Petraeus that Iraq is a central battleground. Because these Shiite militias are sending in these special groups, as they call them, sending weapons in, to remove United States influence and to drive us out of Iraq and thereby achieve their ultimate goals. We’ve heard the rhetoric — the Great Satan, etc. It’s a nuance, their being committed to the destruction of the State of Israel, and their long-term intentions toward us.

(via FP Passport)

In the same interview, McCain takes issue with Obama’s willingness to talk to Iran. Here’s what Thomas Friedman thinks about all that:

Mr. Bush was also right: talking with Iran today would be tantamount to appeasement – but that’s because the Bush team has so squandered U.S. power and credibility in the Middle East, and has failed to put in place any effective energy policy, that negotiating with Iran could only end up with us on the short end. We don’t have the leverage – the allies, the alternative energy, the unity at home, the credible threat of force – to advance our interests diplomatically today.

Here’s Matthew Yglesias responding:

We’re a giant rich country and they’re a medium sized middle income country. We have military forces in two of Iran’s neighbors, we maintain sanctions on Iran that hurt their economy. Our closest ally in the country is a rich nation with a power military establishment and nuclear weapons, their closest allies in the region are non-state militia groups. We have plenty to offer Iran that would be valuable to them insofar as they’re willing to change their behavior in ways that are valuable to us. That’s all the leverage you need to start a process of negotiation.

And Yglesias on McCain:

I was walking earlier today thinking to myself, “you know, say what you will about John McCain, but he’ll almost certainly be a better President than George W. Bush so we have something to look forward to no matter what happens in America.” Then I thought to myself that to write that up, you’d need to include the all-important to-be-sure sentence. Specifically, something like “if, that is, he manages to avoid any catastrophic new wars that lead to massive bloodshed.”

Also worth a mention (although to me this doesn’t sound like as big a deal as the whole Phil Gramm thing):

Before Rick Davis began serving as John McCain’s campaign manager, his lobbying firm had a pretty cosmopolitan set of clients. For example, Ukranian billionaire Rinat Akhmetov, who has several business links to Iran.

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A history of the L…

…and a gallery of the coolest subways. Included is the best subway I’ve ever experienced:

The Hong Kong MTR has the distinction of being one of the few subway systems in the world that actually turns a profit. It’s privately owned and uses real estate development along its tracks to increase revenue … and ridership. It also introduced “Octopus cards” that allow people to not only pay their fares electronically, but buy stuff at convenience stores, supermarkets, restaurants and even parking meters. It’s estimated that 95 percent of all adults in Hong Kong own an Octopus card and they generate more than 10 million transactions each day.

Not to mention, it’s clean as a whistle and a piece of cake to navigate.

Timely to study what works, since lately, Americans are cuckoo for public transit!!!

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The Balkans are totally safe now (well, unless you’re a woman).

Posted in Feminism, Food, Health, People, Politics, Science, Technology | Leave a Comment »

Tags: cookies, Geraldine Ferraro, Iran, Israel, McCain, Obama, public transportation, racism, sexism, subways, suicide

May 30, 2008

Things Change

The mystery of Stonehenge is mysterious no more:

The secret of Stonehenge has apparently been solved: The mysterious circle of large stones in southern England was primarily a burial ground for almost five centuries, and the site probably holds the remains of a family that long ruled the area, new research concludes.

I don’t know about you, but…SNORE!!

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For the billionth time, boys are not inherently better at math:

Boys outperform girls on a math test given to children worldwide, but the gender gap is less pronounced in countries where women and men have similar rights and opportunities, according to a study published Thursday. . . . In about a dozen countries, both sexes scored about the same. In many of those places, like in Iceland, men and women have similar opportunities and rights, according to the study, which was published in the journal Science.

(via tmn)

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On the immigration raids, generally, and why the treatment of detainees is so inhumane:

Since 2006, ICE has been dispatching teams of agents into neighborhoods throughout the country as part of a ramped-up enforcement effort called “Operation Return to Sender.” Each team must apprehend an annual quota, currently set at 1,000, of fugitive aliens. These are immigrants who remain in the United States despite outstanding orders to leave. . . . Without an accurate list of which homes actually harbor undocumented immigrants, agents often rely on race to figure out who’s here legally and who isn’t. . . .Race, in fact, is not a very good indicator of whether someone is in the United States illegally. Up to two-thirds of the people ICE arrests have never received deportation orders, frequently because their presence here is lawful. By ICE’s own admission, the bureau has mistakenly detained, arrested, and even deported not only legal immigrants but also U.S. citizens.

It goes on from there.

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There is literally no place left on Earth where you can escape the human racket:

Krause has a word for the pristine acoustics of nature: biophony. It’s what the world sounds like in the absence of humans. But in 40 percent of the locations where Krause has recorded over the past 40 years, human-generated noise has infiltrated the wilderness. “It’s getting harder and harder to find places that aren’t contaminated,” he says.

Don’t I know it, buddy.

Also, this:

Researchers have produced aerial photos of jungle dwellers who they say are among the few remaining peoples on Earth who have had no contact with the outside world.

(via FP Passport)

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Who says nothing ever changes? Nepal is a monarchy no more:

The main palace in Nepal’s capital lowered the flag of the country’s royal family Thursday, a day after lawmakers, led by former communist insurgents, abolished the monarchy that had reigned over the Himalayan land for 239 years.

(via FP Passport)

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I’ve mentioned before, I’m a huge Michelle Obama fan. In Phoenix, she apparently drew a bigger crowd than McCain (and the President):

This just amazes me. The wife of the Democratic front-runner outdraws, handily, both the Republican front-runner himself and the guy he wants to replace in the White House — and does so on the Republican front-runner’s home turf.

Hell yeah, she did.

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Well, this really says it all: a British man who originally started a charity to bring medical aid to Guyana now does most of his flying into rural Tennessee:

On a wet, spring weekend he lands his vintage World War II aircraft – once used to drop American troops on D-Day – in Lafayette, Tennessee. He bought the plane to parachute medics into the jungle. Today he is unloading dentists’ chairs from the plane into a pickup truck. By eight o’clock on Friday evening the first patients have arrived after travelling hundreds of miles. They start queuing.

(via Unfogged)

Posted in Feminism, Health, People, Politics, Science | Leave a Comment »

Tags: immigration, Michelle Obama, Nepal, noise pollution, Stonehenge, Tennessee

May 23, 2008

I Have What the People Want

Whatever happened to that scandalous military analysts story that broke in the NY Times, and then utterly disappeared from the dialogue?

[It's] made the standard transition from “we don’t illegally manipulate the news” to “of course we did that, why are you still making a fuss about this old story”.

Also MIA: conservatives’ support for states’ rights:

Since the conservative ascendancy in Washington, many of these same people have stopped praising states’ rights and have begun burying them – not to protect citizens’ rights, but to take them away. The Bush administration and its Congressional allies have helped their friends in industry by enacting weak environmental, health and consumer regulations – and arguing that they wipe out more robust state protections.

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The Christian dating site, Bigchurch.com, is owned by Penthouse:

It’s not like BigChurch isn’t about sex. It’s just more subtle than a site that’s explicitly aimed at swingers. BigChurch’s function is to connect people whose concepts of sex are tied so closely to faith and doctrine that it can be difficult to meet potential partners in more traditional settings.

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There’s racism in Japan, and there’s also a parrot who, when lost, can tell you where he lives.

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I am always looking for ways to get by with less sleep (ideally, I need about 14 hours per night to function properly). I also periodically have problems with insomnia, so I’m always on the lookout for causes: apparently, obese people are short sleepers. Wouldn’t you think it’d be the other way around?

What if all the “sleep hygiene” recommendations mean diddly-squat when the prime reason for one’s poor sleep is simply too much weight?

But then, on the other hand, I usually don’t eat enough, and will often wake up from sheer hunger at 2 or 3 a.m. and have to get out of bed and eat something, just so I can go back to sleep until a decent hour. So, you can’t win.

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Is the Internet ruining humor?

Because the Internet lets normal people make as much noise as funny and original people, the lame humor that usually dead-ends in offices instead spreads like crazy.

The net doesn’t kill humor. People kill humor. (Incidentally, for the very best in original online humor content, click this link!!) [And, while I'm at it, do you agree with Jessa Crispin that "more misanthropes should write travel literature?" If so, then click this link!!]

Also funny:

The Wit and Humor of Immanuel Kant

…and others of the world’s shortest philosophy books.

(via The Morning News)

Posted in Books, Dating, Health, Humor, Misanthropy, People, Politics, Travel, Writing | Leave a Comment »

Tags: Humor, insomnia, Japan, parrots, Penthouse, states' rights, Travel

May 21, 2008

Of Martinis, Dignity and Flying Penises

Oh, thank God – another article about how marriage will never really work, because men are biologically wired to bang as many women as they can. I was getting antsy – it had been at least five minutes since the last one. I hesitate to even comment on this article, because even for these types of articles, it’s unbelievably stupid:

“There is all this political and social commitment to marriage, yet this is what our news is made up of, these infidelities,” said the first person I called, Jennifer Bass, communications director for the Kinsey Institute at Indiana University. “This is something we don’t understand….”

Yes, why aren’t there more news stories about public officials not cheating on their wives? Must mean marriage never works! And that’s just the first of countless non-points this article presents; NY Mag did give this guy eight (online) pages to fill. Hey, you know what else we’re all biologically programmed to do? Shit our pants, eat everything in sight and beat up anybody who annoys us. So what is this article’s point?

Speaking of schlongs, a flying one recently smacked Gary Kasparov upside the head.

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So, what is this “dignity” we’re all hearing so much about, and what does it have to do with stem cells and cloning?

The problem is that “dignity” is a squishy, subjective notion, hardly up to the heavyweight moral demands assigned to it.

(via 3 Quarks Daily)

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Some Interesting Things

Here’s a comprehensive answer to a question I asked many a post ago: what happens if you routinely screw up your recycling?

When loads of plastic are dumped on a recycling facility’s floor, the sorting fun begins. Workers often start by picking through the piles in search of obviously discordant items-kiddie play sets, lawn furniture, clothing mannequins. They also scan for plastic mounds that are drenched in nonrecyclable trash, such as food slurries or medical waste.

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Taylor Clark attempts to dispel the myth of the obnoxiously condescending vegetarian by penning an obnoxiously condescending article:

Those of us who want to avoid the social nightmare have to hide our vegetarianism like an Oxycontin addiction, because admit it, omnivores: You know nothing about us. Do we eat fish? Will we panic if confronted with a hamburger? Are we dying of malnutrition? You have no clue.

In all seriousness, I think vegetarianism is admirable (although PETA, which runs ads that objectify women in order to promote its agenda of giving humanity to animals, can suck it). But I’ve never understood my vegetarian friends’ complaints of the difficulty of finding anything to eat. I’m not even remotely a vegetarian, and I’d estimate that 90% of my diet is cheese, bread and sugar.

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I am nothing if not a lover of routine – in fact, my behavior is so habitual that it borders on insane. Like many writers, I find that I am unable to be creative at all if I don’t build being creative into a fairly rigid routine. According to this article, the important thing is to change up your habits:

. . . it seems antithetical to talk about habits in the same context as creativity and innovation. But brain researchers have discovered that when we consciously develop new habits, we create parallel synaptic paths, and even entirely new brain cells, that can jump our trains of thought onto new, innovative tracks.

Not long ago, I leafed through a book (can’t remember the title) that was basically a longer version of the above article. The book’s author advised that, to free up creative thinking and combat brain atrophy (and possibly Alzheimer’s), you should constantly be trying to surprise your own brain by doing something jolting – walking a different way to work, writing with the wrong hand, using the opposite hand to do different tasks, performing daily activities in a different order than usual, and so forth. Hmm. Maybe I should build breaking my routine into my routine.

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Lindsay Beyerstein responds to Thomas Friedman on subprime mortgages:

Earlier generations weren’t more virtuous because they had less debt. Their dollars bought more. They were more likely to have steady jobs with benefits, including employer-subsidized incentives to save . . . Americans have always valued hard work–and nothing has changed. In the USA, the average worker clocks more hours than anywhere else in the industrialized world.

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A very brief history of illegal immigration:

Chinese exclusion invented something like the concept and business of modern illegal immigration.

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And finally, this is way cooler than missed connections: if you live in New York, this guy might draw you…especially if you hang out much at the Taco Bell on 14th. (via Kottke)

Posted in Advertising, Food, Health, New York City, People, Politics, Science | 2 Comments »

Tags: debt, habits, immigration, recycling, Taco Bell, vegetarians

April 25, 2008

Spring Is Here: A Runner’s Lament

Summer is just around the corner. Normally at this time of year, my seasonal anger (which starts to build in late September and reaches its peak in the dead month of February) melts as the sun rises. This year is different, however, because this year is the first year I’ve managed to run outdoors throughout the entire winter. New York is mild enough; in Chicago, I could never make it much past mid-October. Anyway, because of this, for the first time the warming weather has actually had some negative effects in my life: there are people about now. When I go running in the park of a morning (or afternoon), there are people all over the paths. People meandering back and forth, people with dogs, people with babies, people with yoga mats and ice cream cones and no sense of purpose or direction. People, in short, who are In The Way.

They are even in the way on the running track, which blows my mind. While I may hate it, I understand how some people arrive at the conclusion that sidewalks are an appropriate place to list vaguely back and forth while staring at the sky with your thumb up your ass, but surely an actual running track is the one place in New York where even the most placid and directionless fool would realize people are meant to move about in an orderly, brisk, purposeful fashion. But yet, the track in Greenpoint is clogged with people (and their freaking children) wandering all over the place, completely oblivious to the lanes and the many runners moving with a momentum that makes it difficult to swerve and stop at a moment’s notice. There are people who appear as though this one half-hearted lollop around a track is the first time they’ve gotten off a couch since they hit puberty. There are old people who wheel around and stop in the lane and gawk at you when you run up behind them, as though they’re horribly offended you would do something so blatant and aggressive as run on a running track, when they are out for their morning waddle. There are even (I swear to God) hulking teenage boys riding little girls’ bikes the wrong way around the track. And incidentally, every single time I’ve observed any soccer player from the field in the middle of the track crossing after some errant ball, I’ve never once seen one of them look both ways and wait for runners to pass. Nope, they just stroll right on across without looking up and let the joggers either stop short, jerk to the sides or plow straight into them.

So much for the running track. There are also two parks where I run every day, and both of them have been lately ruined by the Brooklyn Park Service’s yearly spring maintenance. In Park No. 1, they are busily cutting the branches off all the trees; to avoid killing people with the falling limbs, they helpfully tape off the portion of the walk that they’ll be working on that day, except that they usually only remember to tape off one side of it, so that you’ll be running along and suddenly you’re clotheslined by a length of police tape appearing seemingly out of nowhere, just before a giant tree comes crashing down behind you. And the air is thick with sawdust. In Park No. 2, they have repaved the running track with an insanely thick, pillowy bed of uneven wood shavings, which is about as easy to run through as a Chuck E. Cheese ball pit.

I can’t wait till fall.

Posted in Brooklyn, Health, Misanthropy, New York City, Rants | Leave a Comment »

Tags: Chuck E. Cheese, park maintenance, pedestrians, running, speed, summer

March 21, 2008

Old Wives’ Tales Every Bit as Accurate as Those People Actually Do Believe

If you swallow gum, your hair will grow back darker.

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Blondes frequently go outside with wet hair, which is why they’ll all be extinct in 10 years.

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Never go swimming an hour after menstruating – you will get cramps and drown.

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If you suspend a wedding band on a string and dangle it over a pregnant woman’s abdomen, you can predict whether or not the baby will be born a homosexual.

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Consorting with cats will stunt a baby’s growth and give him acne.

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If you watch a lot of T.V., read in dim light, or masturbate, make sure to eat plenty of carrots afterwards, or you’ll go blind.

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If your ears are burning, it means nobody loves you.

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If you have a burn, rub a toad on it. This will cure the burn, but make you sneeze. Incidentally, sneezing is one-seventh of an orgasm, which is why men think about sneezing once every seven seconds.

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If playing music for your plants doesn’t make them grow, try feeding them with Pop Rocks and soda. But check the soda first, for syringes and fried rats.

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We really only use 10% of our skeletal structure, so it’s alright to break a bone or two.

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If you have unprotected sex, stand in front of a mirror afterward and recite ‘Bloody Mary’ fifteen times. You won’t get pregnant (but you’ll probably be killed).

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If you travel into space, you can look back and see Bush planning 9/11.

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In the Southern hemisphere, water swirls the opposite way down toilets, which also explains why all the people that live down there are stupid and poor.

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In any given year, you swallow 8 spiders and derail three trains.

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If you spill any salt, it is very bad luck. To counteract it, break all the glasses in the kitchen, and dance and sing for one hour. Also, smack your children and kill the dog. That should do it. But if you spill salt again in the same month, burn down your house and move to another city. And God help you.

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“Trust not the man whose eyebrows meet, for in his heart you’ll find deceit.”*

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*I did not write this. It is an actual saying.

Posted in Health, Misanthropy, Science | 1 Comment »

Tags: cats, everything you hear, eyebrows, old wives' tales, sound advice

March 15, 2008

Rant: Alternative Medicines

This Slate article sums up what has always been my feeling about various pills, potions and procedures that clearly have nothing to do with anything, but can work for you if you only believe, because the placebo effect cannot be discounted.

But here’s the thing: I don’t believe. And one of the (many, many, many) obnoxious things about running in artistic circles is that all winter long, every time you sniffle, you are forced to be polite about a billion recommendations of pills, powders, needles in the back, elaborate hand gestures, and licking of stickers that will, the person swears to High Holy Alterna-Deity, immediately cure you of all pain, whether physical, emotional or existential.

First of all, the human body is not all that difficult to understand (at least on an introductory level). Neither are germs, the immune system, or for that matter, calorie intake and its relationship to weight gain. Yet for some reason, so many people view these very simple concepts as more elusive than quantum mechanics. ‘Surely,’ their reasoning goes, ‘it’s just as likely that some elaborate rhythm of hand-clapping will eradicate my cold, yes? I mean, it’s all magic anyway, right?’

No! No, illness is neither magic, nor particularly mystifying! And beyond just that, there is not an immediate and simple solution to every possible problem. Sometimes when you, for example, have a cold – you just have a damn cold! And you have to have the cold until it’s over with. And you can’t just snort some snake vomit, or drink your own urine, or pray to Damballah, and be immediately cured. Sometimes things are both unpleasant and unavoidable. Deal with it.

And while I’m spazzing about this, if you actually think that Eastern (or more specifically, Chinese) hope-based medicine has it all up on evil, chemical-properties-based Western medicine, I think you are totally insane. I have been to China. Those who rely on a wink and a prayer do so because they have no other option. Not because their non-medications are more poetical, and come in attractive red-and-gold tins with dragons on.

And along the same lines, here’s a statement I simply do not on any level comprehend: ‘Surely a kindergarten teacher knows more about curing illness than everyone who’s gone to medical school, right?’ What? What goes on in people’s minds? I swear, I’m next expecting someone to say, ‘You know, we all just assume that shooting yourself in the face is detrimental to your health, but maybe it actually cures cancer. I don’t just swallow accepted knowledge!’

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UPDATE: Oh, snap! If anyone was offended by my cavalier dismissal of all holistic remedies above, prep yourself for some well-deserved schadenfreude. Not one hour after blithely publishing the above, I was stricken with the most hideous and inexplicable illness I’ve had in years.

I had gone into Manhattan to put in some hours at a theatre where I volunteer, and long about 4:30, a slight throat irritation metastasized into a full-blown raging fever. I had not put in any time at this theatre in weeks, however, and felt I couldn’t leave so soon after arriving, so I continued to work away (no doubt infecting everyone around me), and around 6ish, thought I could help matters by consuming a huge vat of Thai dumpling soup.

Not long after that mistake, a great need for a bathroom came over me – a much more private bathroom than the communal, centrally-located one-seater in the theatre – and I realized I would simply have to go home, as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, this being Saturday, the L-train had gone to its usual weekend heart-of-darkness schedule (because surely no one wants to leave Brooklyn on the weekends, right?), and was shuttling one train every 16 minutes from Union Square to Bedford, causing such a massive pile-up on the platforms as to make the tunnels nearly impassible. There was nothing for it but to grit my teeth and push on through. It was a very, very long journey home. There were many drunken throngs of early St. Patrick’s Day revelers. The crowds, finding no easy space to store their elbows, attempted to shove them repeatedly into my kidneys. In addition, I suppose a raging fever makes a pale woman more attractive – my flushed, sweating face acted as fly-paper to a ridiculous number of reeling, slurring fellows, who, I can only hope received for their trouble (in addition to a whoof of serious Thai-dumpling-garlic-breath) a hearty dose of flu germs.

At long last, I reached my apartment, where, true to my philosophies, I reached for neither green tea nor junebug snot, but rather took a Vicodin, certain that, if it didn’t cure what ailed me, it would at least knock me unconscious for a good twelve hours. However, whether because the drug was expired, or the horrid, mystery fever was too strong for it, it did nothing at all, and I was wracked by fever until sometime between 3 and 10 the following morning.

I feel fine now, though, and this ordeal did not change any of my opinions as to the inefficacy of various alternative medicines (though it did shake my belief in the cure-all properties of powerful painkillers). At the risk of being slapped down again, I will boldly declare that I recant nothing. NOTHING!!!

Posted in Health, Misanthropy, New York City, Rants, Science, Theatre | 2 Comments »

Tags: a solution to every problem, Airborne, alternative medicine, alternative thought processes, Rants

March 4, 2008

Complaint Letters I Might Write If I Were a Complainer

Dear Edy’s,

Plagued with a terrible cold, I recently crept down to the corner grocery store to buy some soup, and a box of your lime fruit bars. The soup was fine; your fruit bars ruined my life. I nearly lived on your fruit bars for a couple of months in 2005, during an extended bout of anorexia, and so I am very familiar with their delicious limeiness. The first fruit bar out of this particular box was sour, and not in a lime way. I ate it anyway, because it was the only thing I had going for me right at that moment, and if I had admitted its inferiority, I would have collapsed in a sodden heap – isn’t that true of so many things to which we cling? For example, jobs, boyfriends, a certain expensive pantsuit.

Anyway, after consuming an entire fruit bar, I peeked into the box, and there inside, nestled amongst the four other remaining fruit bars modestly clothed in their hygienic plastic sheaths, was a blatantly naked fruit bar, melting slowly in the box. Botulism? AIDS? I don’t know what I might have caught. But the disappointment was enough to count as tragedy, all infection aside. I burst into tears, and threw them all into the trash, where they later leaked through and made a sticky mess on the floor, which I then had to clean up, even though I was really, really sick, and had eaten only soup and one rancid, poisoned fruit bar.

Damn it, Edy’s! Those were $5, and the only small joy available to me in this dark time. I suppose you’ll send a coupon, but that’s not what I want. I want you to come over here, and go to the store for me, and love and support me in the good times and bad, and promise me that I’ll never again be alone and miserable when the ruthless germs of February begin their pitiless assault. Can you do that for me, Edy’s? CAN YOU?

Wretchedly,
Elizabeth

–

Dear Nana’s Cookies,

I suppose that there’s not much you can do about this, your cookies being entirely free of preservatives, but every so often, I get a stale one. I live in a neighborhood that closes down at 7:00 p.m. Often, I come home ravenous at midnight or later, my body stretched between the opposite poles of excess and depletion, with few options other than a certain 24-hour mini-mart that stocks your cookies alongside the Entenmann’s. Now, this grocery is staffed in the wee hours by a certain young man who looks right into my soul and judges the darkness he sees there. I come in and purchase one (or even sometimes two) of your cookies, relying on their organic veganness, their all-natural fruit juice sweetening and freedom from trans fats, their unprecedented near 400 calories, to soak up the alcohol and shame that are coursing in equal parts through my system, and this young man looks and he sees. He is all-knowing. He knows that I allow fear, laziness and baseless hubris to rule my life. He knows that I hoard up the few meager talents I possess, denying the world any good I might do it. He sees that I am a coward who will just avoid a fellow’s calls rather than give him a straight up yes or no. He can tell I see a weak thing and zero in for the kill, and it makes me feel big – oh, so big! He knows I hit that child with my car nine years ago, and drove away in a panic.

He sees all of this.

So, listen, Nana’s Cookies, if I have to go in nightly and be judged by this prescient overlord, then at least you could see your way to ensuring that the cookie I clutch in my shaking hands when I emerge from the rarefying fire of this ordeal is fresh, soft and peanut buttery.

Enduringly,
Elizabeth

–

Dear Fage Greek yogurt,

You will be interested to know that I have stopped buying your delicious yogurt, as I have decided its price is so high as to constitute an insult. What goes into it, Fage? Molten gold? Who the hell do you Greeks think you are?

I’ll admit you have a reputation for wisdom, so let me ask you: is a small raise and a decent health insurance plan so much to ask when you’ve been with a company for six years? I may not be the greatest of employees, but I am loyal – I’m not going anywhere. It’s perfectly clear to all parties concerned that I will be sitting in that word-processing dock for the rest of my (hopefully brief) life, and all I ask in return is a monetary reflection of my value. Is that so much to ask? (I hope, Fage, that you at least use a portion of your outrageous prices to compensate your less-glamorous employees adequately.)

Is there no room in this society for the middling-to-average? I was a fool to reach for a tiny taste of something finer. Aspiration in excess of ability is graceless indeed. Does a lily fall into a rage over its inability to read Shakespeare? No! And yet, who does not respect the lily?

From here on out, I will eat Dannon and abide.

Transcendently,
Elizabeth

Posted in Food, Health, Humor | 1 Comment »

Tags: complaint letters, Edy's lime fruit bars, illness, judgment, Nana's Cookies, punishment, sin, yogurt

January 30, 2008

When Will the HPV Vaccine Be Fashionable?

I had the opportunity the other day to leaf through the February issue of Marie Claire. I never read women’s magazines (except every now and then when I’m stoking an eating disorder and stockpiling ‘thinspiration’), and as usual, momentarily glancing at one completely reassured me that I am entirely correct to avoid them, and surely everyone reading this blog will understand my standpoint on this issue, even if they do not agree with it, so I will spare us all the tiresomeness of going on about it at length.

–

[...Except I must just say that, for the same reason I had occasion to peruse Marie Claire, I also had a briefer encounter with the January issue of Vogue, which, along with other travesties, contains (near the back) a photo of a model holding a bag designed by Richard Prince. The bag is printed with a number of jokes, all based on the classic ‘my wife is so dumb and/or ugly that...' formula (the blurb refers to these as ‘witticisms'), and retails for $2,720. Looking at it, I thought to myself that perhaps my sex fully deserves all the ill-treatment and inequality it suffers under, just for being so unbelievably foolish and masochistic as to thoroughly embrace (and eagerly line up to swallow whole) every ridiculous demand and pronouncement of an industry that exists solely for the purpose of milking every last dime out of every last woman by the (inexplicably) effective means of: convincing her she is ugly, vapid and worthless; encouraging her to desire nothing so much as her own utter and complete disenfranchisement and objectification; and praising her for valuing nothing so highly as vanity, materialism and greed.]

–

There! Aren’t you glad I resisted the urge to succumb to a full-out hysterical rant?

Except don’t breathe a sigh of relief, as all this was merely a prologue to what really pissed me off: tucked away in the back of the (pointless and embarrassing) Marie Claire issue in question is a brief article by Julia Scirrotto describing the trial of a time she had getting her gyno to vaccinate her with Gardasil.

Here’s a link to her article (which I had to search for, as it certainly wasn’t featured on the main MC page, and of the general categories listed on the main page, the closest thing to health is ‘fat’).

To be fair, it sounds like Scirrotto just has a particularly shitty gynecologist. Still, from what I’ve seen, the promotional campaign for this vaccine has been limited to Gardasil’s own television spots featuring teenage girls (and I haven’t seen one of those in quite some time, come to think of it). Looking at Wikipedia, it appears state governments aren’t exactly rushing to make vaccinating students mandatory.

According to the CDC website, in the U.S., about 5,000 people per year die of illness resulting from Hepatitis-B infection, and in 2006, about 3,700 women were expected to die from cervical cancer. In 2003 about 73,000 people were infected with Hep-B, and every year about 6.2 million people get HPV. I see no reason why cities and schools shouldn’t make vaccinating for HPV as big a priority as they made vaccinating for Hep-B several years ago. But maybe they’re getting around to it. I hope so.

Posted in Advertising, Feminism, Health | 1 Comment »

Tags: fashion, Gardasil, general crankiness, HPV, women's magazines

January 29, 2008

A Brief Bit of Crowing

If I may brag on myself a little: I don’t know if any of you read Comics Curmudgeon, but I have read it pretty much daily for a long time now. I never commented until this past week, however, so imagine my surprise when my first ever comment was a runner-up for Comment of the Week! (Mine is the one attributed to Rizbon that mentions Papaya Dog.) See? If I could ever get a date, this wonderful thing never would have happened!

–

Also, here’s some long overdue bad news that will surprise nobody except the people it effects.

–

Also, click on this link and scroll down a bit to the part about the findings that happiness can be bad for you. Is it just me, or is this the most backward interpretation of cause-and-effect ever? People’s happiness level doesn’t (necessarily) determine their lifestyle – it’s the other way around. So, it seems to me that if the most extremely happy people earn less, have less education, and don’t live as long as moderately happy people, the simplest assumption (without really getting into the study) is that the lifestyles that cause the most extreme happiness are those that are bad for your wallet and your health. For example, a thrill-seeker is probably not really educated, always broke, and prone to premature death, but every day’s a freaking party. But here, the information is presented as if just being really joyful somehow causes you to earn less and die. Well, maybe that’s true, too. I don’t know.

Posted in Health, Humor, Science | 2 Comments »

Tags: I am hilarious., Pot causes cancer.

January 16, 2008

I Just Want to Come Clean About Something

I ate an entire gallon of ice cream in one day last week. I admit it to the world.

I put the empty container back in the freezer for four days before throwing it out, so that the roommates wouldn’t know it came and went on the same day.

There. I feel better now.

(It was mint chocolate chip.)

Posted in Food, Health | 1 Comment »

Tags: compulsive eating, diets, ice cream, shame, Yet I'm still thin ha ha ha ha HA!

January 3, 2008

How I Imagine Salary Negotiations on Ally McBeal Must Have Gone:

Calista: Well, so I’ve been talking to Peter, and I have to say, I think that my salary should be higher. Because-

Producer 1: –Calista, let me interrupt you right there. Listen, we need to talk about Ally’s weight.

Calista: Again?

Producer 1: Well, the problem is, Ally McBeal is the titular character. And as such, she needs to have the best body of anyone in the regular cast. And now Lucy Liu is a permanent cast member…

Calista: Oh. Well, I’ve been working out a lot, and I don’t-

Producer 2: –We’re not saying that you’re heavy, not at all.

Producer 1: No.

Producer 2: No, no. You’re just heavier than her.

Calista: Really?

Producer 1: Oh, yeah. So, we need to fix that.

Producer 2: Think of your salary as inversely proportional to your weight.

Producer 1: You know who’s really thin? Portia.

Producer 2: Oh, yeah. She’s really naturally quite thin.

Calista: You know what? I’m the title character! If I were to leave the show, you wouldn’t even-

Producer 1: –Have to worry about your weight gain anymore? That’s true. Let’s be honest, Calista: the title character is Ally McBeal, not Ally McDonald’s.

Producer 2: You know, when David initially conceived the show, he wanted Courtney in the lead role. But I went to bat for you, Calista. Don’t prove me wrong.

–

Gil: Did you review my demands?

Producer 1: Hell, yes, Gil! We’ll see your salary request, and raise you eighty billion!

Producer 2: You’re the man, Gil! We love you!

Producer 1: Would you like a butter-drenched Porterhouse steak and a bottle of single-malt Scotch?

Gil: Well, I’ve been putting on a few-

Producer 1: –Who the hell cares? You’re an actor, not a model!

Gil: You’re right! I am an awesome sexy God, with or without hair! Life is sweet!

All: Mwa-ha-ha-ha!

–

Producer 1: Listen, Portia. Before we talk turkey, we need to discuss the fact that you were seen eating a banana the other day.

Portia: Oh. Well, yeah. I was just really hungry. I ran an extra two hours before work, and I hadn’t really eaten in three days, and the banana was just sitting there, and-

Producer 2: –I understand. We can all be weak. However, it’s your job to maintain your figure, Portia. We need to really believe that Peter’s character would be interested in yours.

Portia: Well, Peter’s not exactly Brad Pitt.

Producer 1: He doesn’t need to be. He’s funny.

Producer 2: Look, Portia, we need you to be a little more serious about your job. I know you’re new to acting.

Producer 1: You know who’s a consummate professional? Calista.

Producer 2: Oh, yeah. And – funny unrelated trivia – she’s so wee, she has to shop at The Children’s Place.

Producer 1: That’s true. She’s a very serious actress.

Portia: Yeah. She’s great.

Producer 2: You know what your goal for this year should be, Portia? Try to be more womanly. By which I mean, thinner. Try and look like you give a shit. You don’t want people thinking you’re a lesbian, do you?

Portia: I guess not.

Producer 1: Of course you don’t.

–

Greg: Hiya, fellows!

Producers 1 and 2: FISH! The Fish Man!

Producer 1: What do you want this year, Greg? Anything you like, it’s yours.

Producer 2: You’re a beautiful man, Greg! Your acne scars are even more loveable than Ray Liotta’s!

Producer 1: I second that! What are your demands, Greg?

Greg: I’d like a swimming pool filled with money, my own private army, and a stable full of catamites!

Producers: Done! Now come and dance with us!

All: La, la, la, la, la!!!

–

Courtney: So, I’m here for my-

Producer 1: –Jeez, fatty, you’ve got a lot of nerve.

Producer 2: If you want to keep your job, thunder thighs, you’d best start begging.

Courtney: Please! Give me one more shot! I’ll work for free! I’ll pay you!

Producer 1: Hmmm…well, we’ll think about it.

Courtney: Oh, thank you! You won’t be sorry. I-

Producer 1: Woops. She passed out again.

Producer 2: What a fool. I’ll pitch her out the door.

Producers: Rawr, har, har, har!

Posted in Health, Humor, Television | 1 Comment »

Tags: Ally McBeal, anorexia, Calista Flockhart, lawyers, majorly outdated bits, Portia DiRossi, TV shows

December 30, 2007

Amazing Real-Life Adventure: Nervous Breakdown on the G Train!

Friday evening, I was on my way home from temping in a midtown office, and, as is usual for me at the end of a long day of desk-sitting, I was cranky. I got on the G train in Queens, and just as I was getting on the train, the conductor slammed the doors shut prematurely, squashing the guy in front of me, and making everyone around me yell and shove, all of which made me crankier. Then, he reopened them and I went and stood in the nook by the other doors, and this little Polish guy with a horn and a speaker on a roly-cart came and stood right by me, and I wanted to scream at him, because I didn’t want to listen to him play his horn. Usually, I don’t mind train performers, but rush hour is not the time for them. The trains are packed and everyone is in a bad mood. So, you could tell this guy was an amateur just by how poorly he had timed his performance. I was not feeling charitably toward him at all.

As the train started up, the guy squared up his shoulders and proclaimed, ‘Alright, then, Happy New Year, everybody!’ in this very Dr. Nick way, and then he began to tootle Puttin’ on the Ritz, and march awkwardly up and down the train, pulling his little speaker, which was playing accompaniment, behind him. The performance was pitiably bad, and the guy was cringingly unsure of himself throughout, but the contrast between my seething rage and his cheerful, horrible horn playing tipped some sort of switch in me, and I suddenly burst into a full-out laughing fit – one of those spasmodic, heaving affairs that you just can’t stop or control in any way. It was really embarrassing, because the train was packed, and everyone turned to stare at me. But I could not stop! I looked down at the floor in dismay and shoved both fists against my mouth, but there was no helping it. I quaked from head to toe and absolutely screamed in laughter. This laughter was not fun. It was totally involuntary, and rather violent – the kind of laughter where your whole torso is sore afterwards. People stared. But the horn player kept prancing gamely past me, tootling along, and throwing out the occasional ‘Hey!’ in self-congratulation. At first, there were some teenage boys making fun of him, but they were soon upstaged by my hysterics, and they stopped hurling insults at the horn player to stare at me in concern. I think people thought I might collapse or something.

I laughed all the way to my stop, and then fled the train. I have actually sobbed uncontrollably on public transportation in the past (though I’m loathe to admit it). And while crying on the train is really terribly mortifying, shockingly, it turns out that uncontrollable laughter is worse. Because it is crazier.

Posted in Brooklyn, Health, New York City | Leave a Comment »

Tags: G train, horn, laughter, Puttin' on the Ritz, subways

December 21, 2007

For Christmas: Effortless Do-Gooding

This site is pretty much a win-win: it flatters your intelligence while donating rice to the Great Unfed. What could be better?

Merry Christmas (or Whatever), readers! We’ll meet again in the new year.

Posted in Do-Gooding, Food, Health | Leave a Comment »

Tags: Christmas, rice

August 22, 2007

I’b Sig

Today, I was sig. I feld so badly, I couldn’t stand id. I wog ub ad ten, ad I called into work. Then, I pud on by jacked and went to the corner store. I bod sub ice creab and sub beer. On by way home, I saw a hobless ban who I usually buy a StreedWise frob, bud I was too sig to deal with him. Why do people expecd so much frub be, all the tibe? I worg so hard, and I can’t be everybody’s hero. I tode hib I was sig and to fug off. When I god hobe, I feld so lonely and bad. By roobate was in bed studying her law boogs. I knogged on her door and she said to cub in, so I clibed into bed with her and pushed by head on her shoulder.

‘I’b sig,’ I said, miserably. ‘I’b so sig. I feel so bad. Pet be. Peeettt beeee.’

By roobate is a bitch; her resbonse was violent and rude. I was deposited in by own bed, and so I lay there, rubbing by feed along the walls and keenig, and longing for sympathy.

Finally, I pigged ub by cell phone, and I called by Bobby. She was at worg, at her office.

‘Bobby,’ I said. ‘I’b sig. I’b siiiiggg.’

‘Well, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t talk right now, though. Feel better baby.’

Bitch hug up on be. I went back to by roobate, but she had gone. I snuffled sadly into her pillow, and then I realized I was hungry. I went into the kitchen, bud there was nothing but sub Diet Coge that by roommate had. I drang sub oud of the bottle, and then I called to order a bizza.

While I waded for it – albost ad entire hour! – I sad id the tub ad cried. When da doorbell rang, I went downstairs and toog by bizza. The bizzaman said id was $20, bud I didn’t have any bore money after da corder store. I tode hib I’d go upsdairs and ged id, then I logged da door. Most dimes, I wud feel bad, bud I was sig! I laid id by roobate’s bed, eating bizza and drigging Diet Coge.

Sood, I was full, bud sad ad lonely. And sig. So, I called by frid, Dabid.

‘Dabid,’ I said. ‘I’b sig. You should cub over.’

‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’m kind of busy right now. I’ve got a term paper due tomorrow.’

‘Bud I’b sig, and I’b bored, and I feel so bad, and I bight cry.’

‘All right,’ he said.

I god into bed and fell asleeb, and when Dabid god ober, he rung the bell for a long tibe before I heard hib, so he was bad when he cabe in.

‘I’b sig,’ I said, gedding into bed. ‘Ged id bed and hode be.’

‘I don’t want to get sick,’ he said.

‘Dabid! Nobody loves be and I bight just die,’ I said, and I starded to cry. Dabid god indo bed and held be.

‘Dell be a story,’ I said.

‘The other day,’ said Dabid. ‘I was going to an–‘

‘Oh, I’b so sig!’ I said. ‘I’b so sig, and nobody loves me.’

‘Listen to my story,’ said Dabid. ‘I was saying something.’

I was too sig to pud ub with by friends’ needidess – dey always want subthig, bud as sood as I need theb, they have to go to a funeral, or they have a senior recidal or subthig. So I toog by self-defense weapod and I killed Dabid. He was doo selfish in by hour ob need.

I was too sig to clead ub the bess, so I called the cobs ad dey cabe over in ad hour or so.

‘Oh,’ I cried. ‘Clead ub by bed, I’b so sig, I can’t stand it.’

Dey tode be I wud have to go with them to the stadion, bud I was so sig! I hurted so buch! I tode dem to spood sub yogurd into by bouth.

‘Please,’ I whimbered. ‘Pud sub yogurd id by bouth. I’b so hugry and sig. Ad everybody exbects so buch of be. They all exbect be to be such a big girl, ad do everything for everybody, bud I ged so tired and nobody loves be, and I want to go hobe and curl ub wid by Bobby.’

The obbicer udderstood that and said he feld like that a lod. He said I was udder susbicion for a burder, bud if I was sig, it could wait a cubble of days. So, dey left with Dabid. I slebt in by roobate’s bed because of the bess. When she god hobe, she threw a fid, bud I swear, I bucking cand carry the world od by bag. I’b sig ad I need to sleeb.

Posted in Health, Humor | 2 Comments »

Tags: bad days, murder, needig your bobby, roommates, signess, yogurt

July 5, 2007

Dangers Inherent in Writing

Sometimes, a writer will be very absorbed in what she is writing, so she will ignore the need to urinate until the absolute last minute. But, many times, she will have been sitting cross-legged in her chair, so that when she begins to stand up to walk to the bathroom, she will realize she cannot support herself, because her entire left leg is asleep from ankle to thigh. But because she has waited until the last minute (and the last minute is very pressing indeed, because she has had at least three giant cups of coffee), she cannot wait for her leg to wake itself up, and so must make an immediate and crucial decision: should she drag herself along the floor to the bathroom, or should she pee in her chair? What do you think?

Posted in Health, Writing | 2 Comments »

Tags: being visited by the muse, coffee, dangers, urination

May 26, 2007

Insomnia (or Why this Post Makes No Sense)

I have a date tonight. I have a date with sleep, and I’m going to keep it. I’m going to sleep. I have to sleep. I am going to get there. I am going to lie here, stock still, and I am going to empty my mind of all thoughts and I am going to picture something unchanging and boring, like a flower, and I am going to do this until I am asleep.

Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. …This is it, I’m going, I’m nearly there, I can feel it, sleep! Sleeeep!

It’s gone. It’s my fault. I know better. When you feel it coming, you can’t look directly at it, or think about it explicitly, because that will scare it away. You have to court it, tease it, pretend you don’t really want it. You must never, never think about the fact that you are falling into sleep, or you will wake up immediately.

Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower…I feel it– don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t—DAMN IT!

It ran away again. I CAN’T not think about it, I need it so badly. I have to sleep. I can’t do anything, I feel nothing, I can’t think anymore. I just sit in the park and stare at the people and their dogs through a dull, hallucinogenic haze. And they seem like dream-people and dream-dogs, but I know they’re not, because I never dream, because I cannot sleep.

It’s been two hours. I haven’t moved or thought. I’m still awake. I feel panicky.

Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Vicodin.

I have Vicodin. Big old bag of Vicodin right there on the windowsill. I could take one of those, and I would be out cold in thirty minutes tops. But then, I’d sleep through the alarm. I wouldn’t be able to get up in…six hours, I’ve got now. I’d planned for nine. I should have taken the Vicodin four hours ago. Anyway, I don’t want to be dependent on pills to get to sleep. Although, come to that, why is that such a bad thing? Dependency on drugs gets such a bad rap, but it’s far more workable to depend on drugs than, say, people. Drugs behave predictably, and you can make them show up whenever you need them. Unlike sleep.

Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. mmmmmmmm–[Thump, thud.]

I’M GOING TO KILL MY UPSTAIRS NEIGHBOR!!!!!!!! DAMN that girl! I had it, I had it, it was right there, I was asleep, I was asleep and it felt great. I’m going to go upstairs and I am going to punch her right in her fat, noisy face. I hate that girl, I hate her.

Earplugs. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flowerflowerflowerflower–argh, this isn’t working.

I need to pee, I need to eat, I need to blow my nose, I forgot to deposit my paycheck, I think I left the back door unlocked.

You know, I was successful at this in the past. Sleep and I, we used to rush at each other and crash into the bed like honeymooners, at all times of the day, and early each night. I actually had trouble getting out from under sleep. I’d cancel engagements to stay home and sleep. I slept anywhere, at any time. I used to sleep standing up – full-out dream-sleep while clutching a subway pole. I’d pass out on my desk. I’d drop the book I was holding. I had to place multiple alarm clocks around my room.

Maybe I wore it out. I used up all my sleep in my early years, and now I’m burnt out. I’ll never sleep again. I can’t do it anymore, I’ve lost the touch. I can reach the threshold over and over, but I can’t quite cross it. Maybe I pissed sleep off when I took up with insomnia.

Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Flower. Hour. Tower. Wower. Bauer.

Is it morning yet?

Posted in Health | Leave a Comment »

Tags: flower, insomnia, nonsense, sleep, Vicodin

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The End of People, Movements, the World

The Beefcake Has Landed

Give Me Transit, Or Give Me Death

Things Change

I Have What the People Want

Of Martinis, Dignity and Flying Penises

Some Interesting Things

Spring Is Here: A Runner’s Lament

Old Wives’ Tales Every Bit as Accurate as Those People Actually Do Believe

Rant: Alternative Medicines

Complaint Letters I Might Write If I Were a Complainer

When Will the HPV Vaccine Be Fashionable?

A Brief Bit of Crowing

I Just Want to Come Clean About Something

How I Imagine Salary Negotiations on Ally McBeal Must Have Gone:

Amazing Real-Life Adventure: Nervous Breakdown on the G Train!

For Christmas: Effortless Do-Gooding

I’b Sig

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