Archive for ‘Misanthropy’

« Older Entries  |   Newer Entries »
June 25, 2008

Semantics

I stopped reading the Times columnists back when the website started charging for that content, and, since I didn’t miss them at all, I haven’t gone back to reading them.  So, granted, I haven’t read any of the columnists in quite some time, but based on my recollections of when I read them daily (before Kristol was hired, but then, I’m familiar with him), I mostly agree with this assessment:

Unlike David Brooks, another Times conservative, Kristol gives the reader nothing to chew over. Brooks is smart — and usually wrong. But he makes me think and sometimes he gets it just right much as George Will does. One of Kristol’s problems is that he clearly doesn’t believe half the things he writes. . . . He has to pretend he cares about choice and low taxes because he is playing at being a conservative. All that pretending produces seriously bad columns, inept columns. Krauthammer’s columns are crazy but his writing is fine because all the hate energizes him. He loves hating and it shows! Kristol isn’t even a good hater.

I can enjoy reading people with whom I entirely disagree, if they write well and with conviction.  I also adore a good, witty, ranting hater, even if he’s hating on the convictions I hold most dear.  (Incidentally, I have next to no patience for conspiracy theories of any kind, but the closest I come to actually holding one is I kind of think the Times hired Maureen Dowd on purpose to make women look stupid.  Really, is there any other explanation for her?  [And the conspicuous continuing absence of any other women on the Op-Ed page?])

–

Speaking of paying for content, I can’t access this New Criterion article without subscribing, but I want to quote the intro:

Sometimes I forget and ask for Tall, Grande, or Venti, but usually I ask, defiantly but with some embarrassment, for small, medium, or large, because I resent being forced into a greater intimacy than I desire with the Starbucks corporate culture. I want to be a customer, not a member of the Starbucks Club who validates his membership along with his entry on the premises by speaking the Starbucks idiolect.

I too resent and avoid the Starbucks pseudo-Italian nomenclature, because using it makes me feel like a tool.  I realize that blogging about my refusal to use it makes me even more of a tool, but I can’t help myself.  Seriously, I don’t understand the whole ‘foreign words sure are classy’ marketing trend to begin with.  Many Americans (including me) only speak English, which is embarrassing enough (especially because they then have the nerve to bitch like all Dickens when somebody else can’t speak it to them), but if that’s the case, we should all just fess up to it.  It’s stupid to try to sprinkle foreign terms we don’t understand and can’t pronounce into our commercial transactions, because the unfamiliar sounds expensive (or authentic, which means authentically expensive).

–

Vogue Italia has realized black women can objectify themselves and glamorize greed just as well as white women:

Having worked at one time with nearly all the models he chose for the black issue — Iman, [Naomi] Campbell, Tyra Banks, Jourdan Dunn, [Liya] Kebede, [Alek] Wek, Pat Cleveland, Karen Alexander — [photographer Steven] Meisel had his own feelings. “I thought, it’s ridiculous, this discrimination,” said Mr. Meisel, speaking by phone from his home in Los Angeles. “It’s so crazy to live in such a narrow, narrow place. Age, weight, sexuality, race — every kind of prejudice.”

(via Kottke)

Hooray for equality.  Meanwhile:

Over at Supreme Dicta there is an amusing, if disturbing, report by a grader for the Advanced Placement exam in US Government of some of the more comical statements made in response to an essay question about the 15th Amendment. . . . such as the statement that: “Strom Thurman [sic] was the first black man in Congress”. . .

Really, I think that’s how Strom ought to be remembered.

–

Yesterday President Bush told President Arroyo that her people sure make good kitchen workers:

I want to tell you how proud I am to be the President of a nation that — in which there’s a lot of Philippine-Americans. They love America and they love their heritage. And I reminded the President that I am reminded of the great talent of the — of our Philippine-Americans when I eat dinner at the White House. (Laughter.)

Meanwhile, Jim Comey explains why he wasn’t quite sure warrantless wiretapping wasn’t legal:

Well, I suppose there’s an argument — as I said, I’m not a presidential scholar — that because the head of the executive branch determined that it was appropriate to do, that that meant for purposes of those in the executive branch it was legal.

(both via Firedoglake)

On McCain’s foreign policy credibility, Representative Brad Miller writes that no President truly knows and understands another country, and what we really ought to evaluate is how willing a candidate is to listen to the people who do:

After World War II, governments that we thought were stable, governments headed by leaders we found impressive for their western qualities, repeatedly fell to revolutions or coups. To avoid unpleasant surprises, we developed expertise in the State Department and our intelligence agencies to understand other nations. We employed analysts who have lived in different nations and have friends who live there still, speak the language fluently, read the newspapers, watch the television, respect the religion, eat the food, and listen to the music. Our analysts stay in touch with the Americans at universities and in business who travel frequently in those countries and know people there.

With the exception of environmental scientists, no one in the federal government has had less to say about our government’s policies in the last seven years than those analysts. . . . The Bush Administration had open scorn for the analysts who argued that Iraq was an intensely nationalistic society that would resent a foreign army on their soil, and that it would be difficult to establish a government that Iraqis would accept as legitimate.

–

I don’t know why I’m suddenly interested in Amtrak:

The number of passengers traveling by train in the US rose significantly in May. Unfortunately, Amtrak is reaching full capacity with no real way to increase the number of trains or routes at its disposal for several years.

I guess just because I really think the age of the personal car is going to eventually end, and I’m curious about how our lives will change when that happens.  I have not had a car since college – I’ve lived in Chicago, and now New York, pretty much the only places in America where you can reasonably live without a vehicle – and honestly, the necessity of getting a car is one huge barrier to my moving elsewhere.  I don’t want to buy one, I don’t want to pay to gas and maintain it, and I don’t want the responsibility of driving.

I wonder:  if public transport becomes more widespread, will inexpensive storage-locker facilities suddenly spring up in all manner of places?  Because that would be good.

Posted in Advertising, Food, Misanthropy, People, Politics, Rants | Leave a Comment »

Tags: , , , , , , ,
June 16, 2008

I’m Back. It’s Monday. Shoot Me.

Did the world end while I was in the mountains?  I wouldn’t know.  I’m not sure I would much care.  At first glance, I see that Tim Russert died, everything is still expensive, and we’re all supposed to worry about tomatoes.

It blows coming back from a vacation, and it blows even more when what you’re coming back to is New York.  (Sorry, people who heart New York.)  But, I’m back to life and back to work, and back to posting at 6:00 a.m.  Speaking of…

On becoming a morning person:

At a get-together at a friend’s house that evening, I wandered around in a sleepy, self-conscious haze. I went home at about 10 and picked up a novel to read in bed. A half-hour later, the book was slipping from my lifeless hands. So this is what being a morning person is like, I thought. It’s like being 80 years old.

So true.  It took me years to realize and accept that I’m a morning person.  It’s so square.  But I love mornings.  My favorite thing all day is the time spent drinking coffee, eating breakfast and reading the news.  The day tanks after that.  At about noon, I completely crash, and the rest of the day is nothing but a long, awful, exhausting trudge toward my distant bed.

–

Apparently, Gallagher is still touring:

I suddenly felt sad for Gallagher. At 61 years old, the man knows that the best way for him to make money is to milk his waning nostalgic value. If I was making my money doing the same thing that I’ve done most nights for the last 25 years, I’d probably be angry at my audience, too.

The first time I ever heard of Gallagher was when the girl who’d tormented me all through sixth grade, until we bonded at summer day camp over making fun of my best friend’s stubbly legs (ah, junior high), invited me to spend the night at her house.  We watched Gallagher on TV, before falling asleep on a mattress on the floor, only to wake up again four hours later because my new friend had peed the bed.

She never teased me again.

–

Much like preteen girls, Japan thinks it’s fat:

When his turn came, Mr. Nogiri, the flower shop owner, entered a booth where he bared his midriff, exposing a flat stomach with barely discernible love handles. A nurse wrapped a tape measure around his waist across his belly button: 33.6 inches, or 0.1 inch over the limit.

“Strikeout,” he said, defeat spreading across his face.

I have never been to Japan, but from everything I’ve heard about it, I think I’d freaking love it there.  It seems to be a nation of silent, quick-walking, hard-working, skinny perfectionists, who have all agreed on a strict code of public etiquette and abide by it without fail.  If it only had a tropical climate, I’d be packing my bags.

–

The first chancellor of American University of Iraq, Owen Cargol, has resigned from his post because of, well, this:

In a subsequent e-mail to the employee, Cargol described himself as “a rub-your-belly, grab-your-balls, give-you-a-hug, slap-your-back, pull-your-dick, squeeze-your-hand, cheek-your-face, and pat-your-thigh kind of guy.”

(via TPM)

Aren’t we all, deep down?

–

Why is Amtrak mostly just in the Northeast?

Several interrelated causes. The primary underlying issue is that in places where Amtrak depends on using rail lines that are owned by freight rail companies, it’s difficult / impossible to provide frequent, reliable service. Also, clearly, in a place where the right-of-way is owned by a freight company, you’re not going to build track optimized to the needs of high-speed passenger rail. . . Giving passenger rail more priority over freight rail would be a good idea since timeliness is more important to passengers than it is to giant boxes. But ultimately if we want to move more stuff by rail, we need to build more — and more modern — track.

–

Twenty-one countries prefer Obama to McCain.  Dissenting:  Jordan and the U.S.

Posted in Health, Misanthropy, New York City, People, Politics | Leave a Comment »

Tags: , , , , , , ,
May 30, 2008

The Warm Weather Has Brought Them All Out

Two yards over from us, right outside my window, there’s a family with 24 children. Now that the weather’s nice, the children are let out of the house at about 9:00 a.m. and they remain outside until midnight…or even later. Now, I’m pretty outspoken about the fact that I don’t much care for children, but even if you think the little darlings are presh, you would probably agree with me that these particular children blow. I mean, they are just the worst freaking children ever. Imagine 24 little banshees setting up an inarticulate, piercing scream, and then maintaining that scream for fifteen hours a day, seven days a week, and you will begin to have some idea of the constant soundtrack that has accompanied my waking and would-be sleeping hours for the past several weeks.

And on top of that, the guys who live next door (in between us and the children) have also ventured out into their back yard. Which is fine. Except that they (and their friends) are of that breed of partiers who think the only way to enjoy socializing is to get drunk and scream. Back when I had a social life, I was in the ‘get drunk and lay around’ or ‘get drunk and vehemently discuss politics’ or ‘get drunk and laugh hysterically at everything everybody says’ social circles, and I have never understood the ‘get drunk and scream’ set. I mean, what are they even doing? What are they talking about? You know who I mean, right? Those who go “wooooooooooooooooooo!” over and over? What is that? If any wooers are reading this, seriously, explain to me why this happens, and why it is fun, and how it is even remotely tolerable for the people you are with. Why do woooooers have friends at all? They’re always surrounded by crowds. To me, the whole point of getting drunk in a backyard is to let it all go, to relax, to chill, to stare at each other and laugh at nothing, and let the wind blow through the chimes. I usually feel like screaming “wooooooooooooooooooooooo” when I’m at my most sober and parachuting from a plane. Not at 3 a.m., when I’ve had enough alcohol to knock out a horse.

Memorial Day eve, the guys next door at about 10 or so got out a guitar, and started screaming the lyrics to some songs. You’d expect drunk people to have a relatively short attention span for this kind of thing, right? No. They did the entire songs, and they kept it up, in unison and just screaming, for a full hour. And of course, since the kids were still outdoors, they started trying to scream over the drunk guys, and the drunk guys wouldn’t be upstaged by a bunch of children. Escalate, escalate. And the women attending the dude party crowed with forced laughter, trying to convince themselves they were included.

This is a bit of a tangent, but frankly, I just don’t comprehend the general jubilance that most people seem to be brimming over with at all times. It seems to take so little to make other people happy. One more damn, stupid Friday night with the same people drinking the same beer and talking about the same nonsense, and people go “woooooooo!!!!!” for sheer joy. I’ve never gotten that much joy out of a mere party, even if it was one of the (few) parties that actually turned out to be really fun. A party can be pleasant or it can be dull, but it’s rarely a portal to ecstasy (unless you’re on it). But most people are positively stoked all the time about nothing. These are the people who are so thrilled to be drinking and going “wooooooooooooo” that they will keep it up until the sun rises, and do it all over again the very next night. Even in my most hard-partying period, I either had to stir up some interesting shit (read: make out with somebody), or I was pretty much over it by 2:00.  The only times in my actual life that I’ve felt such joy I could have screamed “woooooooo” for hours were the times when someone had just given me an award.

Which explains a lot about me, and now that I write that, I guess it’s not that it takes so little to make other people happy, but rather, that it takes so much to make me happy. Perhaps I should examine that.

(On even more of a tangent, I have a theory that this is how potheads get started: they’re formerly active people who one day realized that if they just deadened enough brain cells, they’d actually become able to tolerate the crushing boredom of sitting around living rooms with their friends, watching a movie that everyone has already seen three times. Woooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Anyway, back to the subject at hand, I don’t actually mind the next-door guys as much as the children, because the guys next door so far (knock on wood) have gotten quiet once it hits 11:30 or so (also, a couple of them are attractive). But the kids are out there screaming all hours. Children are officially more obnoxious than drunk twenty-something hipsters.

Speaking of children ruining things for everybody else, I believe I’ve mentioned before that I find the increasingly crowded running track to be another drawback of summer. I usually run about 11:00 a.m. on weekdays, and it’s a pretty good time to go. Yesterday, however, there was a nursery school on the track. Some childcare workers had taken a whole gaggle of kindergarten-aged children onto the track, where of course, the kids were all over. I was running past, and a little girl waddled right into my path; I swerved to avoid her, and she somehow managed to leap over a whole lane and get in my way again, at which point, I pretty much knocked her over. “Hey! Hey!” I barked, trying to warn her, but she was in her own world. The childcare worker, to her credit, yelled at the little girl instead of me – what I don’t understand is, this track is right in between a giant, grassy park, and a big playground. Given those other, clearly more appropriate and desirable options, why the hell would they bring the kids onto the crowded running track?

The city’s got me feeling so hassled this week that I’m even feeling crowded in my own bedroom, what with all the backyard hoopla. I feel overrun – wherever I am standing, someone will undoubtedly suddenly need to be standing right there. If I find a deserted area, five minutes after I get there, four people will come sit on my damn lap. Hey, New York: why don’t you all let me know wherever it is that you’re not going to need to be, and I will go there?

And yes, I realize that the answer to this question is “anywhere else on the planet other than NYC.” Sigh.

Posted in Brooklyn, Humor, Misanthropy, New York City, Rants | 2 Comments »

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,
May 26, 2008

People Are Interesting/Annoying

Apparently, men who believe in evolutionary psychology may be predisposed to do so by their possession of the recessive luz-R gene:

[S]ome men may be genetically predisposed to believe in evolutionary psychology, a finding that may well suggest future methods of treatment of the psychological malady. Believers in evolutionary psychology maintain that feminism sets itself in opposition to millions of years of anthropoid evolution, and is thus futile and inhumane to men. Allegations made by believers include references to putative differences in math skills between men and women, a supposedly irresistible but entirely non-visually stimulated female attraction toward powerful and/or arrogant males, and the existence of a genetically preordained male right to multiple female sexual partners.

(via Economic Woman)

Related (but much longer and not funny), a history of how race (as a concept) was invented:

If one is an evolutionist, and accepts that there have been hundreds of thousands of years for different ethnic groups to emerge and to spread about the globe, the monogenetic hypothesis is not hard to maintain. The same is true if, conversely, one believes that the world is only a few thousand years old, but is operating with a geographical scope that does not extend much beyond one’s own region. But for creationists in the 17th century, monogenesis effectively required that the new anthropological data from around the globe be somehow rendered compatible with the view that all human beings be descended from two ancestors, presumed to have lived somewhere in the Near East roughly six thousand years before the era of the scientific revolution.

–

More on the immigration raids:

Most of all, it’s clear that the plant’s owners were in the business of seriously exploiting the illegal status of their workers — abusing them, underpaying them, exposing them to hazardous working conditions — and the raids actually had the effect of covering that up….

On the same blog is this discussion about the universality of inalienable rights:

My human rights law professor was Lung-chu Chen, a co-author along with Mac and Professor Laswell, of “Human Rights and World Public Order” which propounded the notion that Jeffersonian natural law and innate and inalienable rights belonged not just to US citizens, but to all people. They argued that providing human rights should be the policy of all nations and all organizations of nations (such as NATO, UN, etc.). . . . You see, there are some rights so fundamental that they come to us simply from being human; they are NOT “given” to us by the State.

–

We should all be this resourceful:

Unable to afford a proper camera crew and equipment, The Get Out Clause, an unsigned band from the city, decided to make use of the cameras seen all over British streets. . . . Afterwards they wrote to the companies or organisations involved and asked for the footage under the Freedom of Information Act.

–

On gawking at the Amish:

I usually enjoy playing the trespassing voyeur, but even at the heritage museum I could tell that in Amish Country, trespassing and vouyering were not going to bring me as much joy as they usually did.

–

Photos of “punk houses” (otherwise known as “apartments of people with whom I will never make eye contact, because they are too intimidatingly cool for me”).

Speaking of, here’s an article on how much the Millennial generation sucks:

One need look no further than the local newsstand to see the favoritism the Millennials have received. Whereas Generation X was routinely denigrated by the press, the Millennials have been compared to World War II’s Greatest Generation. In Robert Strauss and Neil Howe’s Millennials Rising: The Next Great Generation, the authors state authoritatively that “over the next decade, the Millennial Generation will entirely recast the image of youth from downbeat and alienated to upbeat and engaged.”

(via Unfogged)

I’m on the cusp – while I’m just one year shy of being an actual Millennial, I am a solipsist and I do blog. However, I take comfort in the fact that no one could ever, ever accuse me of being upbeat or engaged. The ’81 crop of babies must have been the last to be born “downbeat and alienated.”

–

Happy Memorial Day, y’all!  Hope everyone enjoys the holiday:  here, it’s a lovely day out, and we’re having friends over to christen our newly cleaned back yard.

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

Tags: , , , , , , ,
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.

–

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.

–

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

–

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.

–

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: , , , , , ,
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: , , , , ,
April 8, 2008

Rant: The Seething Hostility of Single Men in Their Mid-20s

When I talk to single men my own age, the vibe I continually get from them is one of inexplicable hostility, suspicion and overall wariness. Inevitably, these men will, when drawn into conversation with me, take a stance of entrenched skepticism: arms bracketed firmly across their chests, they will glare defensively at me from the corner of their eyes, and press their lips together stubbornly. If I venture to tell a small joke, they will consider it carefully for a couple of beats, and then (provided they don’t choose to ignore it all together) acknowledge it with a startling perfunctory ‘Ha!’ After which they will immediately break eye contact and resume their studied refusal to engage, lest I be overly encouraged by this small concession. Merely talking to a strange guy makes me feel predatory. They are so resistant to being drawn into small talk like a normal person that it’s as if they fear I might at any moment haul off and kick them in the balls, or perhaps leap up and wrap my legs around their neck.

When I encounter someone behaving like this in casual conversation, my instinct is to leave them the hell alone, as that seems to be what they overwhelmingly desire. But incredibly, this attitude from men does not necessarily signal hatred, or even disinterest. At one recent social gathering, I was left alone with a fellow who stared at me in fear and loathing for a good ten minutes, while I awkwardly floundered around for non-threatening subject matter and made sure to keep both my hands out in plain sight. I pitied this guy – he seemed certain that at any second, I would rip off my skin, revealing my true form as a giant screaming she-beast, and consume him whole. Imagine my surprise when a girlfriend later called to tell me this same young man had asked her for my number.

I don’t understand how other women manage to move these incredibly angry and resistant young men from their initial fury at being addressed to actual dating. But I know it happens. I went around for a time in Chicago with a pretty, vivacious, single woman who, in the face of just the sort of reception described above, would become ever more gregarious, joking, giggling, turning backflips and walking on her hands, while whatever fellow glared intensely at a spot just over her head. After the fellow eventually wheeled around and stalked off (always abruptly, and usually right in the middle of something she was saying), she would turn to me.

‘Do you think he’s interested in me?’ she’d ask.

‘I think he thoroughly despised every fiber of your being, and would like nothing so much as to see you ripped apart by a pack of wolves,’ I would reply. ‘Although I have no idea why.’

A week later, they’d be dating, and he would suddenly be a totally normal, friendly person in conversation. How does this happen?! I don’t know, but I’ve seen it time and time again.

People (usually guy friends) have explained to me that many men are just in an absolute stark terror when confronted with a woman. Apparently, they can’t get through a simple dull chat about the weather without pissing all over themselves, so, to make them feel better, you are supposed to project extreme availability and encouragement. You should essentially transform yourself into a small, gamboling kitten and lick everyone in the vicinity under the chin as often as possible. Well, far be it from me to be stern about shy behavior. I myself am terrified by other people just in general, and I’m not saying I’ve never skulked around a party with my bitchface on and then wondered why no one talked to me. But at the same time, I’ll be damned if I’m going to act like a coked-up four-year-old just to make some dude comfortable around a keg. If you seriously can’t man it up enough to politely participate in a casual conversation with another adult, then the hell with you.

Posted in Dating, Misanthropy, Rants | 5 Comments »

Tags: , , , , , , , ,
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.

–

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

–

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

–

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.

–

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

–

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.

–

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

–

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.

–

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.

–

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

–

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).

–

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

–

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.

–

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

–

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.

–

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

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

Posted in Health, Misanthropy, Science | 1 Comment »

Tags: , , , ,
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!’

–

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: , , , ,
March 12, 2008

Wow. A Blog Post in Which I Say Something Positive About Mankind? Is the World Ending?

As cynical and misanthropic as I am, I am always shocked by how many people rush, in the wake of a scandal such as this latest Spitzer one, to say that really, we must all be mature enough to admit that all people (especially men) are cheating shits in their private lives, but only the rich and powerful are caught.

Accuse me of being naive if you wish, but in my opinion, this type of reasoning is absolutely false, and totally ridiculous. Plenty of people are not shits. Plenty of people (note that I don’t say most people) are as decent and well-behaved as they can manage to be without giving themselves too much trouble. Many, many people at least manage (if for no more noble reason than lack of energy) not to actively abuse other people, either by betraying their loved ones, or by getting off on purchasing and/or otherwise degrading their fellow human beings.

Everybody is not a closet asshole. Only assholes are closet assholes.

And I would suggest that the reason so many rich and powerful men turn out to be outrageous, hypocritical sleazeballs is that only crappy people are (a) whacked enough to crave a lot of power, and (b) self-satisfied enough never to doubt that they deserve to wield it.

Personally, I go through a thousand agonies over whether or not I have the moral authority to write a blog post that only twenty people will likely read, and I’m an immense egoist. Imagine how narcissistic I’d have to be to think I ought to govern others! I’m rather amazed that anyone who attains significant power isn’t cruel or slightly insane.

So obviously, I also disagree with all the columnists who are now remarking on how us Americans expect our leaders to be above normal human temptation. First of all, what?! Who thinks that? Aren’t we rather all poised in the ready position, looking in every nook and cranny for evidence that they’ve screwed up?

And secondly, since when is visiting a prostitute – no less going through elaborate and vigorous work to obtain and pay for a $5,000-an-hour prostitute and hide where the money went – a normal human temptation?

Yeah, we all try really hard to resist, but I know I slipped up and paid $5,000 for a hooker just last week. What can I say? I’m human!

Posted in Misanthropy, New York City, People, Politics | Leave a Comment »

Tags: , , , , ,
February 27, 2008

Maybe We Should Just Have a Monarchy

As the primaries roll on, I’ve noticed some good articles about how stupid we all are:

First of all, in last week’s New Yorker, Elizabeth Kolbert writes about studies that suggest much of our decision-making is entirely at the mercy of random suggestion.

Second, next Tuesday is National Grammar Day, which thoroughly disgusts actual linguists. Note that, in this particular instance, the poor grammar itself is not disgusting the linguists, but rather the fact that on NGD those of us who fancy ourselves well-spoken might go about rudely and pedantically correcting supposed transgressions that are often actually acceptable turns of phrase.

And finally, Slate bemoans the not-so-democratic editors of Wikipedia and other social-media sites. I completely disagree with this article’s premise that it would be a good thing to make Wikipedia and other sites more truly open to input by the general public: that’s only a good idea if you want Wikipedia to totally suck. For proof, try and research anything at all on Yahoo! Answers, which is trying to become a more truly democratic version of Wikipedia. I have ended up on Yahoo! Answers many times over the past month, and I have been amazed at how consistently moronic and out-and-out wrong is every, single last Yahoo! Answer. I mean, it’s just a giant, sprawling site of useless nonsense. Not only are the majority of user-supplied answers to each topic erroneous, but there is never even one single correct bit of information buried anywhere within their midst!

It’s not a bad thing that information sites tend to be controlled by a small group of experts, because experts know things, and everyone else really, really doesn’t. I myself would never edit a Wikipedia entry (unless I were creating one about myself), because, like most insufferable know-it-alls, I don’t actually know anything about anything, and while that sure won’t shut me up, at least I confine my uninformed effusions to my own personal blog. This here is presumably a humor blog, but I don’t even know much about humor: according to WordPress’s list of daily most popular blogs, the vast majority of the browsing public think that the funniest thing to be found online is an endless series of photos of cats, captioned with babyish gibberish. People think this is hilarious! Well, you won’t get that here, because just like Wikipedia, Accismus is not a democracy. This is my own tiny totalitarian bunker on the www, and I can do whatever I want in it.

I’m starting to revise my opinions about the Electoral College…perhaps the founders were right not to trust us.

Posted in Misanthropy, Politics, Technology | 1 Comment »

Tags: , , , , , ,
February 20, 2008

Welcome to Earth!

Welcome to Earth!

First of all, you will need some money.

Money is bits of paper that can be exchanged for goods and services: things that you, as a person, will need and/or want.

Where can the money be gotten? Generally, it is to be gotten in the bleakest places. Look for large, cold rooms filled with beige boxes. The beige boxes contain smaller, blinking beige boxes. If you put on a pair of black pants and black shoes, and a shirt with buttons down the front, and sit for seven hours in front of one of these blinking beige boxes, you should receive some money.

Once you have money, it is time to go to a crowded place and drink drinks. The drinks might make you giggle, or they might make you feel dead. It all depends. When you have drunk enough drinks, you will feel sleepy. You will need to sleep, because you’re running out of money! You will need to get up bright and early and drink other drinks that wake you, so that you can be wakeful at your beige box. In this way, you can get more money, so that you can go and drink more drinks to put you back to sleep.

Is this all to Earth, you ask?

Not quite.

After you sit at your beige box for five days, you should have enough money to spend two days buying things (you can also play sports in the park, if it is not cold). When you have bought many things, you can spread them all out on your bed and look at them.

Good. Now it is time to put the things away, because you are running out of money again! Wash your black pants and go to sleep.

Is this all to Earth, you ask again?

Not quite.

Look to your right and left. There are other people there, doing just as you do. It is unlikely that you will enjoy the people to your right and left in the room of beige boxes, but if you look to the right and left in the crowded places where you drink drinks, it is possible that you will find another person you would enjoy going along with from now on, for company.

You probably won’t find such a person, but you might!

If you do, you can have little people with this person, and for two days at the end of every five, you can watch these little people play sports in the park (if it is not cold), and you can buy the little people little things, and spread them out on their beds to look at. People who have done this say it is really the best thing to do.

Beware, though: little people need lots and lots and lots of money!

Is this all to Earth, you ask a third time?

Yes. This is all.

Do you think you will like it?

. . . If not, there is one other option. If you do not care enough about using your money to feel happy about sitting in the beige box each day, you can go to a place on Earth where they haven’t managed to set up such a system for making and spending money yet, and you can help them to get closer to instituting such a system for themselves.

This is called “Peace Corps.”

Is this all, you ask again?

More or less. Welcome, and enjoy!

Posted in Humor, Misanthropy, Work | 2 Comments »

Tags: , , , , ,
February 15, 2008

People I Am Sick of Hearing About

In last week’s New Yorker, there is a profile of the musician Nico Muhly. Muhly is apparently hip, young, ingenious and in demand. The profile goes on at length about everything from his culinary skills to his interesting childhood. Naturally, he is insanely productive and well-learned, and is constantly throwing out ideas in the jittery, hyped-up fashion common to such talents, but at the same time, he is casual and cool, a guy you could hang out with – cool enough not to think of himself as cool. In his picture, he has wide eyes and mussed hair. Long about the passage which begins, “At eighteen, Muhly enrolled in a joint program at Columbia, where he studied English, and Juilliard, where he got a master’s in composition,” and goes on to tell a story about how Muhly was trying to get through an exam to test out of his music-appreciation course at Juilliard in time to make a flight to London to work on the score for ‘The Hours’ with Phillip Glass, I suddenly managed to perfectly articulate what I had been thinking the entire time I had been reading this article about Nico Muhly, which was, in short:

“Fuck you, Nico Muhly!”

I don’t know about you, but I seem to have been reading a lot of articles about brilliant young people recently (this will happen to you if you subscribe to far more literary periodicals than you ought to have time to skim, and bookmark way too many blogs, all written by young folk who live in Brooklyn and spend all their time worshiping and promoting other young folk who live in Brooklyn [on a side note, isn't it funny that a surefire way to get published in Brooklyn-based lit mags is to write profiles of Brooklyn-based writers who in turn write profiles of Brooklyn-based writers and so forth, ad infinitum]), and I believe I have reached my saturation point. There are a number of people that I never want to hear about again, and more specifically, there are a number of things I never want to hear about anyone again, and these include:

  • I do not want to hear about all the open windows on anybody’s Mac desktop while they are at work. I do not want to hear that they work on their novel (for which they’ve received a record-breaking advance) in one window, while editing a small film in another window, while emailing the Hollywood writers of a new subversive satire with sample jokes for their possible collaboration in another window, while updating their popular political blog in another window, while bidding on an antique gramophone on ebay in another window, while watching a Fellini film on mute in another window, while putting together an itunes soundtrack to their show that’s about to go up in a SoHo garage space in another window, while booking tickets for their upcoming inspirational speaking tour of the Eastern bloc in another window, while IMing their eight million friends and admirers in another window, AND all the while doing push-ups and making bouillabaisse and learning Japanese and singing Nessun Dorma and dating a model and cutting their own hair. I’m glad some people are so productive before 10:00 a.m., but I don’t want to hear about it.
  • I do not want to hear about anybody who does anything in their 20s. If you are a 19-year-old who has already accomplished the things I’ve only been vaguely talking about maybe taking the first steps toward trying to do for the past seven years, then fan-freaking-tastic. Good for you, and now shut the hell up. In fact, I would only like to hear about the accomplishments of people who did things at five years older than whatever my current age is on an ongoing basis. I am 26 now, so I do not currently want to hear from anybody who did anything before the age of 31. Next year, that will rise to 32. And so forth.
  • I do not want to hear about people who audaciously pushed their way to the top, who subverted the system, shoved their foot in the door, knew they had a gift and made their own platform for it. If you have a story of how you were told you would have to wait three years to study with a certain Master In Your Field, but you waited outside his door every day for two weeks, and barraged him with samples of your brilliant work, until he finally agreed to take you on as his personal project, and so you walked away from it as the youngest whatever in the field of whatever…if this is your story, keep it to yourself! If, however, you have a story about how you were told you would have to wait three years to study with a certain Master In Your Field, but you waited outside his door every day for two weeks, and barraged him with samples of your brilliant (at least according to you) work, until he finally called the cops, shamed you, and blackballed you from the whatever community and now you will never work again. . .in that case, yes, I would love to hear your story, thank you.
  • I do not want to hear about complete unknowns who manage to become successful without knowing anyone or having any built-up reputation or buzz, who suddenly show up at an audition, or mail something in somewhere, or do an off-off-off performance in a loft space, and are immediately selected for fame and fortune based sheerly off their undeniable talent, vision, originality and insight. People, in short, who manage to pull off the impossible with no effort and little angst. I would, however, like to hear about people marketed as unknowns who were suddenly recognized by the public at large, but who, it turns out, were actually secretly Coppolas all along.
  • I do not want to hear about anyone who sleeps less than five hours a night and consumes less that 500 calories a day and runs over three miles every afternoon. If you read upwards of 30 books per week, please keep it to yourself. If you speak more than two languages fluently (and taught them to yourself), don’t ever mention it. I do not want to hear about anyone in any field who, rather than aggressively fighting for work, is fought over by numerous backers and/or employers.
  • I do not want to hear about people who, despite being eternally sober and well-behaved in all respects, were still more than welcome on the Super Cool Fun Rock Star Tour Bus Of the Moment, because they’re just naturally such a giant freaking blast to be around. And come to that, I don’t really want to hear about any person or group of persons that have a whole lot of fun all the time: if you’re blindingly attractive and spend all your time having high times all up and down the country with a ton of other blindingly attractive tattooed young kids – all shagging each other under palm trees, and leaping off of mountain crags while half-naked and covered in glitter – well, I don’t really need to hear from you, or see glossy photo spreads of you and your friends, which other people actually pay money to view hanging in galleries just so that they can vicariously gawk at all the toned, tanned young fun you’re continually having. To hell with you and yours, and I hope the good times kill you.
  • I do not want to hear about people who left home at the age of 2 and raised themselves in a dumpster, and stripped for a living before being picked up by a traveling circus, and saw the world, and scrapped and grifted and amateur boxed, and that is how they acquired the skills that make them such a successful 24-year-old CEO today. Likewise, I do not want to hear about the day you, as a three-year-old, toddled into your parents’ bedroom gripping a dog-eared copy of A Brief History of Time and announced that you believed you’d come up with a plausible universal theory. If you did anything in your babyhood other than spit up on yourself, or anything in your childhood other than sit around, bored and disaffected, in your upstairs bedroom that smelled of feet, I’m not interested in hearing about it, and anyway, I don’t believe you, you stupid liar.

In short, I do not want to hear from anyone who is successful, charismatic, easy-going, good-looking, charming, accomplished, brilliant, creative, ingenious, multi-tasking, prolific, groundbreaking, subversive, impassioned, irreverent, hilarious, young and/or visionary.

I only want to hear about unattractive, unpopular, cynical old people, who have achieved somewhat remarkable things by plugging away furiously over years and years, with no reward, and in spite of crippling self-doubt; who are damn near impossible to be around, and are thus utterly alone; who are impoverished, angry, diseased and misanthropic, but who are now, finally, at the end of their long, hideous lives, starting to be somewhat recognized for possibly having something insightful to say about the rest of us; although they will very likely die in obscurity anyway. These are the only people that I ever want to hear about, and they are also the only people that I ever want to be around. Less Nico Muhlys and more Harvey Pekars. Capiche, Believer Mag?

–

[Incidentally, and this is a total side-note, but if you are some stranger I have just met and you ask me about what I plan to do with my life (which is annoying in and of itself) and I give you some sort of answer, do NOT under any circumstances tell me all about your daughter, or son, or niece, or employee, or God-sister-in-law, who has had wild success doing exactly what I would like to do, and has worked with all the best people in all the best places, and who I will surely hear of soon if I haven't already. Honestly, why on Earth does everyone do this? Why would anyone think this would endear me (or anybody else) to them? Do you think that I will suddenly jump up and down, applauding, and ask you if your daughter has some sort of fan-wagon I can hitch my life to? No! I don't want to hear about how your daughter is famous, and anyway, she can't be that famous if I'm not already aware of who she's sleeping with. Probably by 'Mom, I'm starring in a major motion picture,' what your daughter really means is, 'Mom, I'm addicted to heroin and sleeping on a cot in the storeroom of a bar in Dubuque.' Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Maybe one day I'll have my own daughter, in which case, I might be able to get interested in her life; until that day, I am only interested in myself - and here's a tip from me to you for your future social interactions: the same is true of every person that you will ever talk to. You're welcome.]

Posted in Art, Books, Misanthropy, People, Rants, Writing | 1 Comment »

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,
January 14, 2008

Am I a Poor Listener, or Should You Just Shut Up?: A Primer for Party Conversation

If you speak to me at any length, know that I am trying, off and on, to listen to what you are saying, but understand that trying does not always lead to succeeding. If when next we meet, I have forgotten your name, your face and any and all details of our last conversation, you should not take this personally. Rather, attempt to understand what might be going on with me as you are talking. What the hell is my problem? Well, it could be a number of things:

1. I might be busy being thrilled with myself. I spend a great deal of time and energy being thrilled with myself. In fact, the amount of time I spend on self-congratulation is only matched by the amount of time I spend despising myself. It is difficult to focus when you are busy engaging in thunderous mental applause. If I am busy enjoying my own attributes, I will likely be blinking in and out of your conversation, but you should not be offended by this, because part of my self-enjoyment at that moment might have to do with you.

For example, I might be thinking: ‘Look at me engaging in witty, satisfying conversation with this fascinating and attractive person! I have certainly drawn the most interesting person at this party into a tete-a-tete and now he/she is entirely focused on communicating something to me! Well done, me! I think everyone else at the party is looking at the two of us now.’

2. I might be composing a hilarious adventure story based upon something you said a few minutes ago. There are certain key words that set off a ripple of creativity in me, and if you mention any of these in passing (sparrow, holiday, grassy, particularity, smoke signals, cynicism, Darrell Hannah, slushy, perestroika), I will be immediately transported to a place far, far away. You should not be offended by this, however, because I will be sure to share my flight of fancy with you as soon as you come to a stopping point.

3. There might be something wrong with your face. If you have strange hairs, or a mole, or a bit of food stuck somewhere, or a looming pimple, or one of your eyes is set lower than the other, or you bear a passing resemblance to someone I either knew or saw in a movie once but I can’t quite figure out who, then there is very little chance I am hearing anything you’re saying. But you shouldn’t be upset with me about this, because any listener would be similarly distracted, and you really should just focus on taking care of whatever it is that’s gone wrong with your face.

4. You might be a crashing bore. Most people are, so you are in good company. But don’t blame me.

5. I might be sleepy. Or hungry. Or holding an empty drink receptacle. Or pissed off about something that happened earlier. Or worried about something that’s about to happen in a few minutes. You are not the only person with stuff going on, you know.

6. You might be failing to mention me much, or failing to make me think that you are about to mention me. The best (and in fact only) way to keep my attention during a story is to make me think the story is about to be about me, even if it’s not.

For example, you might say: ‘Do I ever have a trade-last for you! (Insert your stupid, boring story here.) So, anyway, Anne said the other day that she thinks you seem like a nice person.’ I can guarantee you that if you have formatted your story in this way, I have listened with rapt attention to every word.

7. You might have pulled that trade-last trick with me once before. I am never fooled twice, so save it for something important.

8. There might be an attractive person standing behind you. If this is the case, I am striking poses instead of listening to you, but I cannot be blamed for this: at heart, we are really all just animals in the wild.

9. There might be a mirror behind you. In that case, I will not be offended if you ask me to switch places with you. It is, in fact, the only way to break the spell.

10. There might be a guy behind you that I went on a kind of pseudo date with once a long time ago, but then maybe it was just a friend thing, and I promised that I would call him, but I never did because I wasn’t really very interested, and then a few months after that, I ran into him randomly at a party, and he said that we should get together some time, so then I did call and then we sort of made tentative plans to go to a movie later, but I said something about bringing a friend along because she was in from out of town, and we left it pretty loose, and so then when it got to the day he was supposed to call and solidify the details, he didn’t call, which was fine, because by then I had rethought the whole thing anyway and decided that he was kind of a loser, and but then I wasn’t really sure if I should be offended that he didn’t call, or if it was okay because our plans weren’t that firm, and anyway maybe he took me mentioning my friend coming along as subtle rejection, and so far he has not made eye contact with me, and I don’t know if it’s because he just legitimately hasn’t seen me or if things are awkward between us now, which would be unfortunate, because he has lost some weight and cut his hair, too, I see, and then but maybe he’s with that girl, but maybe she’s just a friend, and I don’t know if I should say hi at this point, because it really kind of seems like he’s studiously avoiding eye contact, and anyway maybe he’s forgotten the whole thing, and anyway I’m not sure I really want to start something up with a guy who would wear jeans that tight, even if he does look pretty good in them. If this is the case, you should not be offended by my inattention, because I might very well ask you for your advice on all this, if you’ll ever just shut up about whatever nonsense you’re nattering on about.

–

If none of these ten reasons seem to apply, keep in mind that it is very difficult to listen to someone talk at the best of times. In today’s fast-paced, glimmering, spectacle-based social world, you can’t expect to just mildly burble along about whatever’s on your mind, and expect your conversational partner to listen. You have to really sell yourself. Make me see that, out of all of the utterances currently within earshot, yours is the one to focus up on! There are certain things that you can do to help your own cause, for example:

1. Scream key words. If there are essential nouns, verbs or adjectives, then verbally bold, italicize and underline them!

For example: ‘What about this weather lately? Awfully WARM for JANUARY!!!!!!!!!’

2. Help me out by mapping your story. I really only need to listen up at the topic sentences, climax, and the general resolution, so don’t be shy about announcing them.

For example:

-Announce your topic, right up front: ‘THIS IS A STORY ABOUT HOW I MET AMY SEDARIS IN MY BUILDING’S LAUNDRY ROOM.’

-Body of your story: (You go on for awhile about your building, and how you knew she lived there, but you never really saw her, etc., and then one day you were doing laundry. I am not listening to any of this.)

-Bring me back for the exciting climax: ‘HEY!!!! HERE’S THE CLIMAX!!! AMY SEDARIS CAME IN AND ASKED ME IF I WAS DONE WITH THE DRYER, AND I SAID YES!’

-Come to a period: (You trail on for longer than necessary about how much you like Amy Sedaris, and how you hope to see her again in the building sometime, and she was really nice and normal, and did not appear to be high. I am not listening to any of this, either.)

-Bring me back again for the only thing about this story that could conceivably interest me: ‘YES! I DO think that if AMY SEDARIS were to meet YOU, she WOULD IMMEDIATELY REALIZE THAT YOU ARE AWESOME AND THE TWO OF YOU WOULD BE BEST FRIENDS FOREVER!!!!!!!!’

See how that works? I guarantee you that the next time we meet, I’ll remember that you told me a story about how much Amy Sedaris wants to meet me.

3. Write your comments down and publish them in any major periodical to which I subscribe. Really, this is probably the best way to get my attention.

If none of the above tactics work for you, perhaps you should reconsider saying anything to me at all. Rather, ask me to tell you about something. I can wax expansive on many fascinating topics; for example: my childhood, my political views, my travels in Southeast Asia, how my continuing unemployment illustrates what’s really wrong with America today, etc.

You’re welcome for the tips, and I look forward to chatting with you at social functions in future!

Posted in Dating, Humor, Misanthropy | 6 Comments »

Tags: , , ,
December 19, 2007

The Neverending Wait

Oh, come on, coffee. Just brew already. Come on, come on, come on, come on. Drip! DRIP, I HAVE TO GO!

-

Oh, come on, train. Come on. Where’s the train? Let me see those headlights. Come on. JUST COME ON!

-

Go, you freaking train. Why have you stopped? Just go. Go. My stop’s right there. Go, damn it! Go, go, go, go, go.

-

Open the doors. Open the doors. Seriously, we’re in the station, we’re just sitting here, OPEN THE DOORS, I’M ABOUT TO FREAK OUT, I CAN’T BREATHE IN THIS FREAKING TRAIN! OPEN!!!!

-

Come on, people. Walk. Walk like you mean it, or get the hell out of my way. Seriously, have you never moved forward before in your life?? Is this some sort of novel concept to you? You’re here, you want to go there. So, just GO there. GET OUT OF MY WAY, DAMN IT! MOVE!

-

Come on, elevator. Oh, come on! Now, go! GO!

-

Come on, computer. Boot up. Boot up. Boot up, boot up, boot up, boot up, boot up, boot up. God!

-

Come on, coworker. Just tell me what you want me to DO, okay? Just spit it out. Yes, yes, yes, what do you want me to DO? Cut to the chase. Okay, okay, I get it now! I know what you want, so STOP TALKING. Shut up, go away, shut up, go away!

-

Come on, lady. You know I’m sitting in here waiting for you to leave. I can’t shit until this bathroom is empty. Your hair looks fine, wash your hands and get out! Just GO already, because I have to GO, and if you do not GO before someone else COMES, I cannot GO, so why don’t you GO??!!

-

Oh, come on, elevator.

-

Come on, people. Just hand the man a five. No, you don’t have exact change. Don’t hunt for it! Oh, fine. Okay, you’re done, you’re done, you’re done – don’t stand there fiddling with your purse, just take your freaking sandwich and blow!

-

Elevator. I hate you.

-

Come on, spreadsheet, download. DOWNLOAD!!! Okay, here we– No, no, NO! I didn’t mean to click that link, it was an accident, don’t refresh! Oh, my sweet Lord. Well, then refresh, dammit, hurry up.

-

Come on, five o’clock. Come. On. Already.

-

I despise you to the depths of my being, elevator.

-

MOVE IT, PEOPLE!

-

WHERE THE HELL’S THE TRAIN?

-

MOVE IT, YOU FREAKING TRAIN!

-

I’M GOING TO EXPLODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-

Come on, death. Just hurry up and get here.

Posted in Humor, Misanthropy, New York City, Rants, Work | 1 Comment »

Tags: , , , , , ,
November 30, 2007

Observations Made Today at My Temp Job

My ears are incredibly small. Almost freakishly so. They look like tiny organisms clinging to the sides of my head. Do everyone’s ears look this weird? Yes.

–

The beads of condensation on my coffee cup lid are intensely beautiful. They are tiny, and each one is separate, but perfectly round. On the rim, there is a single line of perfectly spaced beads of water, each one an equal distance from the one before. Such perfect symmetry. Does this mean there is meaning in the universe after all? No.

–

Maybe I have a text message. No.

–

I never really had an apeshit period. I was a well-behaved and quiet kid, a moderate and studious college student, and an ambitious and healthy young adult. I never slept in alleys, or hitchhiked across the country, or dropped acid and then jumped off a roof. I even somehow managed to backpack Southeast Asia in a mature, responsible manner. Now, I’m getting to the age where an apeshit period would be merely depressing to everyone who witnessed it. Youth is indeed wasted on the young. Maybe I will come to work drunk all next week. No.

–

Seriously, why am I even in New York? Perhaps I should move. But where to? And why? Maybe I’ll click through Google Maps with my eyes closed, and wherever I land, I’ll move there. …Kansas City. Oh, hell no.

–

The secretary next door just said, ‘Take the next two days off, will you?’ The next two days being the weekend. Everyone laughed hysterically. They laugh because they refuse to weep. They are all so brave.

–

Maybe I have a text message. No.

–

Maybe someone has put brownies in the breakroom. No.

–

I wonder if I got my book out, if anyone would notice or care. I wonder if I got out my book and my ipod, too, if that would really be pushing it. I wonder if I put in a Netflix DVD and watched it with earphones, if anyone would notice. I wonder if I did some push-ups in my cubicle, wearing my ipod and watching a Netflix DVD, if I would be fired.

–

How much do I stand to get from selling an egg? Could I bring myself to do such a thing? No. Or…maybe. Well, no.

–

I wonder if anyone else ever noticed the similarities between the cast of Wings and the cast of Chip ‘N Dale’s Rescue Rangers?

–

Maybe I have a text message. No.

–

Another hour closer to 5:00. Another hour closer to death. What have I ever done with my life? What have I ever done for anybody?

–

I wonder how much coffee I can chug in 30 minutes? Here goes!

–

I should really stop bitching, because this is my life to live and we create our own fate and it is my own job to make something happen to me if I want something to happen with my life, I have to make it happen, have to quit wasting time and quit thinking and procrastinating and worrying and I should just do it now and do it today, and even if I don’t know what ‘it’ is, well, that shouldn’t stop me, because you just have to strike out, you know what I’m saying, with energy and love for all and faith in yourself, and you have to wake up and plug in and GET INTO LIFE, and think of Einstein, think of Teddy Roosevelt, think of well I’m sure there’s someone who was both vibrant and female and I’ve got the will and the drive, and I’m going to do it now, I’m going to do it today because I can’t do anything until I MAKE myself do something! Anything!

–

Maybe I have a text message. No.

–

Oh, damn it! DAMN IT, DAMN IT, DAMN IT!!!! I just HATE this! I HATE THIS SOOOOO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!

Posted in Humor, Misanthropy, Work | 1 Comment »

Tags: , , , , , ,
November 12, 2007

Hello! I Live Underneath You!

Okay. For months, I have resisted saying anything, because I know that it is an old building, that there is no insulation, that you are not intentionally driving me out of my mind by causing as much noise as you possibly can, and that, if I ever were to say anything, no matter how politely I said it, I would still immediately be the cranky, insane bitch who lives downstairs. So, I have turned on fans, and turned up music, and had a drink, and reminded myself that at least I don’t live in Washington Heights, and thus am not constantly bombarded by explosive domestic fights, raging parties and, worst of all, relentlessly pounding Reggaeton from all sides. So, I have been trying to quietly abide.

But, OH MY GOD, what in the name of sweet, frolicsome Sam could you Possibly be doing up there, seriously????!!!!!

I mean, are you building large-scale art installations? Are you involved in constant relay-racing in an attempt to break some obscure world record? Do you suffer from a disease in which you must continually tap some part of your body on the floors or walls, or alternatively, continually push your furniture from one side of the room to the other, or you’ll simply have a nervous breakdown and have to be hospitalized? Are there actually fifteen of you living there, and not enough seating for all of you at once?

WHAT?

Because 99.99% of the time that I spend in my apartment, I am sitting on my ass. I may be sitting on it in front of the television, or I may be sitting on it in front of the computer, I may be sitting on it on the toilet, or lying on it in bed. But on it I am! You know what, (barring the occasional stocking-footed pad to the fridge or the bathroom) I am never on? MY FEET!

But you, on the other hand, are continually on the go. I don’t know what there is to do in an apartment that could possibly cause the type of athletic noises coming out of yours. When I picture entering your apartment, I can only picture Wonka ushering Charlie into the Chocolate Room. The door of your apartment cannot possibly lead into a normal Brooklyn domestic situation. It must be a portal into some sort of time-and-space-continuum-defying funhouse of mad rides, insane obstacle courses, and whimsical entertainments. Nothing else could possibly cause such a continual racket.

Which brings me to the other inexplicable thing about your constant noise: its very constancy. Seriously, you are ALWAYS home. And you are ALWAYS announcing it. At 2 in the morning, at 6 in the morning, at 4 in the afternoon: you are home, and you are on the move. I know this, because I am also always home, because I am (a) unemployed and (b) a total loser, but I tend to consider myself an oddity in that respect. Most people (and correct me if I’m wrong) tend to leave their apartments from time to time, yes? If for no other reason than to pay for them. Perhaps you are independently wealthy (which explains how you afford your drum sets and trampolines), but don’t you have friends? Don’t you have things to do? You’re obviously fond of sport – wouldn’t you like to try it out in the park?

Okay, I admit, I spend all day every day sitting at my desk, where I read, eat sandwiches, and stare at my knees. I call this “writing.” But the vast majority of people possess neither the endurance nor the desire to so fully dedicate themselves to such dull and unrewarding self-delusion, and I know that you are not dedicating yourself to it, because if you were, you would be QUIET! So, what, pray tell me, is your excuse?

….Alright, I’m going back downstairs now. I’m sure that my frothing diatribe will sufficiently inspire you in future to break your long-established habits, and spend all your time carefully attending to whatever effects your merest movements might be having on the neurotic, over-caffeinated, agoraphobic downstairs. So delighted to have met you, and we really must try to avoid ever running across each other again! Good day.

Posted in Brooklyn, Misanthropy, Rants, Writing | 2 Comments »

Tags: , , , , ,
October 23, 2007

James Watson Defends Himself Further

Look, I’ve gotten into a lot of hot water for my recent remarks, and I just want to say, I don’t get it. It really is political correctness gone mad. I mean, what was so bad about what I said? We’re all supposed to be honest, right? And clearly, everyone isn’t born with the same talents. All I said was that there’s probably a scientific explanation for the fact that white men have, throughout all of human existence, consistently been the smartest, most talented, and most successful members of the human race. I mean, is that really so awful?

Is it really so wrong to say that black people are innately stupider than white people? I mean, is that really so racist? Why is everyone so mad about that? I didn’t say all black people should be shot. I just said that there’s likely a scientific reason that they’re all so freaking poor. I didn’t even say their genetic inferiority is their fault – quite the contrary, they’re just born that way!

I mean, I guess we’re all just supposed to pretend that it’s an accident. Like, would it be wrong to say that women are genetically programmed to be submissive? I mean, you’ve seen a woman, right? They’re really small! If you punch one, she’ll fold right over. I’m not saying that men should beat up women; just that they clearly can. Have we gotten so politically correct that we can’t admit this to be the case?

Look, there has to be some reason that white men own everything, right? Some scientific reason. I’m sorry if it makes people mad that I say so, but if we can’t talk honestly about these things, then what are we doing here? Throughout human existence, white men have been the rulers, leaders, the best writers, musicians, innovators, scientists…oh man, everything! I could go on and on! There must be some reason that nobody else is any good at anything, right?

I mean, I suppose there are some members of other races that have been lauded in these areas, but everyone knows they’re not really good (I certainly don’t find their work interesting or valid); it’s just that politically correct, liberal government institutions feel the compulsion to honor everyone. Is it really wrong to point that out? I’m sorry. I’m just saying, what have black people ever contributed? Jazz? I hate jazz! What woman has ever really done anything groundbreaking? Jane Austen?! Can you say chick lit?

Look, I’m just saying that everyone who is not a white man is more than likely born intellectually inferior to white men. I don’t know when that suddenly became a controversial opinion. Honestly, I’m surprised that everyone has gotten so angry over my comments. It’s just like when that Harvard fellow caused a public outcry just by saying that there’s probably a genetic reason women can’t do math (or, excuse me, don’t choose to do math). I mean, everyone knows women suck at math! They’re also terrible at comedy and driving, but I’m not saying that’s their fault. Women and men are just different. What, I should pretend otherwise just so they won’t get all pissy?

I guess I should be shamed and silenced by all this outrage, but I am not going to be censored. If we lose the ability to speak the truth, then we lose everything. I will continue to say what I believe to be true, even if it upsets people. And I believe that white men are inherently more intelligent, more talented, and just generally better at life than everybody else, and that science will one day back me up on this. And if that makes me a racist, well, then I guess that’s what I am!

Posted in Misanthropy, People, Politics, Science | Leave a Comment »

Tags: , , , , ,
October 1, 2007

Various Nightly Conversations at My Restaurant Job That Disprove the Following Stephen Hawking Quote:

Speech has allowed the communication of ideas, enabling human beings to work together to build the impossible. Mankind’s greatest achievements have come about by talking, and its greatest failures by not talking. It doesn’t have to be like this. Our greatest hopes could become reality in the future. . . . All we need to do is make sure we keep talking.

—–

Manager: Okay, guys, we need to talk about what went wrong last night, because clearly something did, and I know you guys work hard, and I want to hear from you suggestions of what the problem is and ways we can fix it-

Server #1: –Well, I think what happened was-

Manager: –Because it’s all about communication here, and you know, guys, I can tell you and tell you and tell you, but at the end of the day it’s about communication and communication is a two way street-

Server #2: –the problem was that the kitchen didn’t-

Manager: –And let me know these things, because I’m not going to yell at you, I know you work hard, and we all have the same goals here, so I just need suggestions, because if you suggest something, I will implement that suggestion, okay, guys, because nothing is written in stone-

Server #3: –I think what would fix the problem-

Manager: –Okay, guys, right now, though, we need to get these napkins folded, and get on the floor because we’ve got a 6:00 curtain at the Met, and they’re piling up in the door, okay? On the floor, guys. Now.

—–

Server #1: Where’s the ticket for table 57?

Sous chef: What table?

Server #1: 57. Table 57!! I fired their food twenty-five minutes ago, where is it?

Sous chef: I don’t see no ticket. Did you ring it in?

Server #1: Of course I rang it in! Did you lose the ticket?

Sous chef: I don’t see it. You should always check your tickets.

Server #1: Oh, my sweet Christ. You lost the damn ticket. Oh, shit, they had a steak mid-well and a lasagna! They’ve been waiting thirty minutes, this is a disaster!

Sous chef: If I don’t have no ticket, I don’t know I’m supposed to do anything.

Server #1: You lost the ticket!

Sous chef: You should always check.

Server #1: I should always check to make sure you haven’t lost the ticket?

Sous chef: Sure.

Server #1: Oh, fuck you, man!

Sous chef: I’ll help you out this time, but next time, you should check the ticket.

Server #1: What do you mean, help me out? It was your mistake!

Sous chef: Your mistake.

Server #1: Your mistake!

Sous chef: You!

Server #1: You!

—–

Customer: Could you do the stuffed salmon with no spinach in the stuffing?

Server #3: No, I’m sorry, the salmon stuffing is pre-made. You can have a plain grilled salmon filet.

Customer: But I’d like the scallops, just not the spinach. Could you just stuff the salmon with scallops?

Server #3: No.

Customer: Why not?

Server #3: Because we don’t have a stuffing with only scallops.

Customer: Could you take some plain scallops and put them in the salmon?

Server #3: No. We could do a plain grilled salmon with a side of scallops from the antipasti bar, how about that?

Customer: Hmmm. I really, I tell you what I’d love is a salmon stuffed with like a scallop and cornbread stuffing. Could you do anything like that?

Server #3: No.

Customer: Could you ask the chef?

Server #3: He’ll say no. We can’t do that, I’m sorry. Because, you see, the stuffing, it comes with spinach and scallops. We can’t create a new stuffing and stuff a salmon with it, especially not pre-theatre.

Customer: It’s just, I’m allergic to spinach. Allergic.

Server #3: So get the plain grilled salmon, side of scallops. I think you’ll love it!

Customer: It’s just, I’d so love it to be stuffed inside the salmon, you know? Maybe if you talk to the chef.

Server #3: Tell you what, I’m going to give you a minute to think about it, while I go take orders for these nine other tables I just got.

Customer: Well, hang on, hang on, we’re ready to order. So, could I have the stuffed salmon, only without the spinach?

Server #3: No!

—–

Coffee guy: Eh! Eh!

Server #1: Sorry, Miguel, I know you don’t like me in your station, but I don’t have time to explain to you-

Coffee guy: -eh, eh, eh! What? What?

Server #1: –what I need, and so I’m just going to – out of my way, man! I’m just going to grab it myself real fast-

Coffee guy: What you want? What you want? Eh! EH!

Server #1: One minute, uno momento, I will be out of your way, muy hurry, hurry, no tiempo-

Coffee guy: Eh?

Server #1: Just need to grab a cup here, and some milk, milk, uh, leche-

Coffee guy: Cago en tu leche.

Server #1: Very good, bueno, gracias. You’re my main man, Miguel!

Posted in Food, Humor, Misanthropy, New York City, Work | 3 Comments »

Tags: , , , , , , ,
August 8, 2007

NYC Despises Summer

I had always heard that New Yorkers prefer to leave the city in the summer, and as my first summer here approached, various friends of mine (musicians, as it happens) began worrying about not getting into some festival somewhere far away for the season, which they seemed to think was like not getting a date to prom. I had assumed that this was because all the rich and fabulous “summer” elsewhere, leaving only the unwashed masses behind to melt on the pavement. But as this blistering August grinds on, I now realize that everyone’s so frantic to bail because summer drives New Yorkers (a population teetering on the brink of sanity at the best of times) completely stark, staring mad.

I love summer, and heat makes me happy, and while it’s undoubtedly relentlessly hot and sweaty here, and while the subways are certainly far from pleasant at this time of year, and while it’s impossible to make any money at all waiting tables at Lincoln Center when all the theatres are dark. . .still, with the pretty, shiny sunshine everywhere, and the pretty, floaty sundresses I am able to wear every day without so much as toting a hoodie, I am far, far happier and more even-tempered than in other seasons.

Not so everyone else. Everyone else is freaking pissed. Everyone else is sweaty and angry and spoiling for a fight. Here is the story of my day so far:

I left the apartment. I walked to the subway. The train came right as I came down the stairs, and so I ran onto it, behind a woman who glared at me for pushing in behind her even though she’d just pushed on behind someone else, and in front of a man who snorted at me for not getting out of his way as he tried to push on behind me. Every single passenger in the car was sweaty, smelly and had a huge puss on his or her face. The train started up. The train stopped. And stood there for a long time. The woman who’d glared at me earlier shouted something at me about the train being stopped. I couldn’t hear her because I had my headphones on (if it weren’t for my ipod, I don’t think I could live here), so she threw up her hands and scowled. The train finally started up again and stopped at 1st Ave. A kid held the doors open for his friends. Some MTA workers on the train yelled at him for it. He yelled back that he wasn’t going to wait in a boiling hot tunnel for 10 more minutes. They got into a full-out brawl. The train stopped again. And stood there for a long time. The brawl continued. I turned up my ipod. Everyone around me directed their anger my way. I turned it down. The train stood there. The conductor came out of the booth and everyone glared at her. She asked the MTA workers what to do, because the tunnel signals weren’t working, and they stopped screaming at the kid long enough to tell her just to go ahead anyway. Everyone glared at her harder. The train started up again and stopped at 3rd Ave, where I exited.

I tried to return some shoes at DSW. I dealt with a clerk, who wanted to kill me, and then with a manager, who wanted to kill the clerk and me, but not before torturing the crap out of both of us. The clerk felt the same way about the manager. I left them clenching their fists at each other, and I still have the shoes.

I bought a salad at Whole Foods. The cashier hated me. I bought a banana from a fruit vendor. He really, really hated me.

I walked past a homeless person, who stared pointedly at my chest and screamed (and I quote), ‘Oh, give me a fucking break!’

And now I’m indoors once again. I’m afraid to go back out. I’m not a mild and patient person – in fact, I frequently go around in a constant state of low-boiling rage – but New York at plus-90 degrees is too aggressive even for me. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be somewhere where people can handle sunshine, where they realize that oppressive heat is supposed to lull you, to make you mellow and placid, to knock you flat into your hammock, where you will lounge until the sun sets, too blissed out to bother with feeding yourself, much less coming to blows over trifles.

I want to go back to Southeast Asia.

Posted in Misanthropy, New York City, People | Leave a Comment »

Tags: , , , , , ,
« Older Entries  |   Newer Entries »
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 41 other followers