Superheroes Are Real

A few weekends ago I was walking along in Park Slope Bklyn. “What a beautiful little neighborhood,” I thought to myself, admiring the coffee shops, children’s clothing stores, and taco stands. Suddenly a storefront caught my eye like no other storefront has. The following is a true story. (Spoiler prevention alert: If you’ve already heard of this, then you are more hip than me, but it was still the most magical day of my life.)

The store said “Brooklyn Superhero Supply Co.” I felt like Harry Potter. Could other people see this? Was my life finally going to really begin? All the other things were just a preparation for this, my initiation into the world of superheroes. It was real. I knew it wasn’t real, but what if it was real? I didn’t want to risk not being included in the superhero world, just because of cynicism or “common sense.” As I walked in, eyes agape, I was fully prepared to find either a big joke, or a portal to The Real Sooz: Life Part 2.

The store was filled with Costumes, Bottles of Chaos, Speed of Light, Invisibility. There was a cage to test levels of evil. This is just the tip of the iceberg. My thoughts were going: “Gag gifts- for kids- Do they work?-joke store- mean joke- What-if-its real?” I stared. There was a guy working there. I said “is this?—I didn’t know there was one of….these stores.” I didn’t want him to think I was too green. Like in case it was real, I wanted to make sure I didn’t appear too human. Like if I had to, I could be like “yes, I’ll need some new heavyduty gloves and Globcatcher, oh and by the way, when is the next meeting again?”

“Is this the only one of these?” I stammered.

“Like, in the world?” He was smiling.

“Yeah. In the world.”

And he said “kind of.” !!!!!!!!!!

After many more confusing questions, he finally opened up a little more. He said “Do you want to see what we really do here? This is sort of a front.”

Um….YES.

And he motions for me to follow him to the back of the store, where he OPENS A REVOLVING BOOKCASE. Inside the back room is like a kids reading room. There are shelves of books, maps, globes. It is essentially an after-school tutoring program. The revenues from the superhero supplies go to fund this nonprofit. And this way the kids feel special about going into the superhero store and going through the secret bookcase. It turns out there are more of these (A pirate store, a monster’s den) and they were started by Dave Eggers and the McSweeney’s people. Oh Eggers, why do you have to be so good? You are dreamy! These are those drunken ideas normal people have and then they go “yeah right, that’ll never happen” but he MAKES IT HAPPEN.

So Dave, Mr. Eggers, here’s my idea: GRAPHIC NOVEL MURAL IN A HOUSE. Its like telling a visual story on the walls of a house. Kids do the painting and planning. Then you charge a little money for admission to it (like a museum) and the proceeds go to kids arts scholarships.

SUPERHEROES? I haven't felt so happy in a really long time. But I have to admit I was a little bit disappointed that it wasn't real. I mean I know science doesn't permit.....but.....doesn't it? couldn't it? We've got to find a way.....

I bought some stuff. And took the oath to always use my powers for good.

Goldie

Goldie is the name of the landlady at my new apartment. When I called I expected her to sound sort of like a grandma-who-cooks-for-you, but instead she's about 14. I didn't know 14 year-olds could sell apartments, but I guess they can.

Me and Sebastian made up a new game last night. Our old one "Strangers on the Train" is still very fun too. It involves pretending we're strangers sitting next to each other and then doing weird things that would scare a stranger, like meowing, acting like a zombie, or asking the stranger for some "Crack" in a very Grey-Poupon voice. The new game is "You're my boss," and its just practicing awful ways for a boss to greet a chipper employee in the morning. IE:

Me: Hello Rick!
Seb: (slowly turning his head, lowering eyebrows, shaking head, looking away.)

or~

Seb: Good Morning, Cheryl!
Me: (wiping tears away) What? What do you WANT?

Now I suppose some people would call these theater games, and those people would be right.

Note: that last link happens to be an illustration of a zombie fighter, which isn't exactly a zombie trainer, but is still impressive.

Strong Wind

Movie Preview

DEEP MALE VOICE
From the people who brought you…
Hard Rain! And Dark Water! Comes…
Strong Wind!

Visuals of broken, abandoned umbrellas strewn about the sidewalk, people battling the wind in NYC, their umbrellas bent. One man is not even walking, just bending forward, perfectly still.

SCENE:
Man enters with his coat in great disarray. His wife is waiting for him and he slams the door against the gale and holds her close.

MAN
(melodramatically)
That’s some really strong wind!

WIFE
(melodramatically)
I know. Its really blowing out there.


SCENE:
A man (MAN 2) outside in the wind is shouting into his walkie talkie

MAN 2
Branch Down! Branch Down!

Camera pulls away and we see that it is a branch the size of a golf club.

ETC.

Hooks

So. Remember that scene in Hook where Peter (Pan) and Grandma Wendy and Moira all get back from the Orphans Benefit Party to discover that Capt. James Hook has kidnapped the children and taken them off to Neverland? And they totally know it was Hook because the wall is all torn up with one long dragging rip, that could have only been made by a very sharp object with a lot of strength behind it?

Well that is exactly what my bedroom looks like. Last night I got home and was like WHAT THE F? Apparently our landlady hired some electricians to go into my room without telling me, spend several hours in there, and rip holes in the wall so they could move an outlet. The gash goes from one side of the room to the other, around a corner, etc.. I guess they didn't have time to finish the job, because there is a hole big enough for Pye to fit through, which she tried to do, which would have resulted in Dead or Trapped Cat if she hadn't been stopped. So we stuffed some pants in the hole. Then I hid my undearwear and diaries.

Also, once again, I shouldn't be allowed to dress myself. Today, instead of Office, I went for "1994 alternateen." And by that I mean pink corduroys, and long-sleeves-under-short-sleeves.

polygastress

Just to prove to myself and my roommates that we do not watch just any old thing on tv, last night we tuned in to an A&E special about Mormon Polygamists. Guess what? Although I don't approve of this as a lifestyle, and wouldn't be all "holy" about sharing my husband, I am not sure it should be illegal. The illegal aspect seems to be forcing the most cultlike families into secrecy so that all these other crimes (rape, incest, pedophilia) are falling under the umbrella of polygamy and going unprosecuted.

Also, they believe the state shouldn't tell them who they can and can't marry. Good argument! Just like the gays! Although I bet the mormons wouldn't see it that way.

However, the REAL reason I watched that program? For two hours? The clothes. Because those mormons do it like no others. Its a combination of braids, adult easter dresses, thick black tights, white robes, and the good old "nest of bangs." And you can't say, "Maybe their values are just different than yours! Maybe they don't care about something so shallow as fashion!" However, they obviously have made fashion choices. That kind of hairspraying and curling takes commitment! And its an agreed upon commmitment. So why? Why this? It is NOT the most simple choice. The most simple choice would be mumus or bodysuits. And THAT would make for excellent television.

I also like how the wives all look basically the same, like they're in a band. Which reminds me of "Palindromes," one of the best movies ever.

At one point the TV program was like "For many chilren, growing up in a plural family can be very special: Lots of children to play with, lots of care and attention." And I said "and then you turn fourteen and your uncle marries you."

However, in homage to my new pacifist heroine, Dr. Wafa Sultan, I am going to live and let live. I don't want to force my secularist views on people who want to have faith.

In case you haven't seen it yet:
http://www.memritv.org/search.asp?ACT=S9&P1=1050

bum cat with a bum leg

Last night as I walked and talked on the phone to Taylor, I saw something coming at me out of the bushes and promptly screamed. It was a black cat with a broken leg that it was dragging along behind it. It was trapped in the churchyard and I saw that it had an empty carrier cage nearby, so somebody had probably turned the cat over to the church.

I thought they only did that with babies. Anyway, it took me a long time to get over the spectacle of this poor thing dragging its leg around, and to realize there was nothing I could do for it that the Christians wouldn't do in the morning.

Later when I got home, I consulted Pye on my decision. She said, through her calm and somewhat frightening stare, that if I had taken that cat home, she would have packed her damn things and left because there's only enough room for one cat here, goddamnit.

Also, I think she forgave me for not calling the animal rescue # that I didn't have.

In honor of Churchyard Cat I am posting this cute link.

Real Lunch Conversations Part 1

Alla, Kerry, and Moi are watching TV in the conference room.

Alla: Who is this crazy woman who sleeps with her student...sick in the head!
Moi: Yeah thats crazy.
Kerry: I know.
Moi: Its a trend, a growing rash. Like school shootings.
Alla: No, its probably always been around but the stupid media makes it "oh now this is a big deal" but it was happening before!
Kerry: I don't know about that.
Alla: No I'm telling you! Its just like sharks!
(Kerry and Moi erupt in laughter, spitting out soda, etc.)
Moi: (catching breath) What?
Alla: No, really! There was statistics- statistics! that people were being bitten by sharks all the time! but the news blows it up!

Pampelmuse

I'm not one for adults with kids toys. Like people who collect "Taz" dolls, or get tattoos of Winnie the Pooh or the Roadrunner. I don't really appreciate seeing Disney stuffed animals in adult rooms. Even keychains are really pushing it.

However, when I was in high school I fell in love with one particular character. Remember that fat German caterpillar from "A Bug's Life" named Heimlich? He really brightened my days; thats all.

I was given Heimlich dolls as gifts. I hide them now, but I still have them. One particular gift was Heimlich the bike horn. I could have (but didn't) fastened it onto my bike handlebars, so that if I needed to warn someone that I was coming, I could just press Heimlich's butt and he would Germanically shout one of three things:

Heimlich here!
Excuse me, pardon me, coming through!
Places to go and things to eat!

This weekend I purchased some pink grapefruit Mentos. Not just out of curiousity and my love of chewy fruity candies, but because the German word for grapefruit is Pampelmuse. Pampelmuse!

I love it.

Shuffle Songs

I tried the old "shuffle ten songs on my iPod Nano trick." This is what I came up with. I've decided to not comment because there are a few (#4!) that are too embarrassing for words. They speak for themselves. And it says a lot.

1. You are the sunshine of my life- Stevie Wonder
2. You're going to need somebody on your bond- Taj Mahal
3. Unclear Channel- The Rachel's
4. Main Title- The Notebook
5. Trust in me- Etta James
6. MacArthur Park- Donna Summer
7. Mr. Brightside- The Killers
8. Area Codes- Ludacris
9. Boogie on Reggae Woman- Stevie Wonder
10. Hallelujah- k.d. lang

topics

My favorite ice dancing pair:
Watanabe and Kido

This was a tough one because I love them all. And those Italians pulled a close second. And by "second" I mean "overall in the book of Sooz", which is judged on three merits:

1. Costumes
2. Falls
3. Drama

The Italian duo didn't speak to each other for two days after he dropped her.
Link for full coverage. And by full coverage I don't mean flesh-toned body nylon.

My chocolates filled with Russian liquor arrived today. They're for the office.

Look at this cat!

1. This is Pye

2. She is so funny! Look at that cute face!

3. Her collar has bling on it.

Cloony or Cool

This morning one of my coworkers asked me to order her a new stapler. Now this has happened before. Her stapler gets jammed and she thinks its time for a new one. Last time when I removed the jammed staple and returned it to her I thought "they're not paper towels."

"Give it to me" I said, and she hesitated. She said "its really broken." I said "ok, lets see."

Sure enough it just has one staple jammed in it. But it is really jammed in there. So after 30 minutes of trying out different "tools" and considering calling facilities, I stood up and said "You know what this thing needs?" I said it like a pro. I held the stapler in my hand, raised it above my head, and slammed it against my desk. My hand was in there. It hurt a lot.

Here's the thing. A lot of people laughed at me. I didn't mean to be funny at all. So what exactly is the value of accidental comedy? Priceless, I guess.

And so today I give you Cloony the Clown: (when I first read this at age 8, I cried)

I'll tell you the story of Cloony the Clown
Who worked in a circus that came through town.
His shoes were too big and his hat was too small,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
He had a trombone to play loud silly tunes,
He had a green dog and a thousand balloons.
He was floppy and sloppy and skinny and tall,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
And every time he did a trick,
Everyone felt a little sick.
And every time he told a joke,
Folks sighed as if their hearts were broke.
And every time he lost a shoe,
Everyone looked awfully blue.
And every time he stood on his head,
Everyone screamed, "Go back to bed!"
And every time he made a leap,
Everybody fell asleep.
And every time he ate his tie,
Everyone began to cry.
And Cloony could not make any money
Simply because he was not funny.
One day he said, "I'll tell this town
How it feels to be an unfunny clown."
And he told them all why he looked so sad,
And he told them all why he felt so bad.
He told of Pain and Rain and Cold,
He told of Darkness in his soul,
And after he finished his tale of woe,
Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no,
They laughed until they shook the trees
With "Hah-Hah-Hahs" and "Hee-Hee-Hees."
They laughed with howls and yowls and shrieks,
They laughed all day, they laughed all week,
They laughed until they had a fit,
They laughed until their jackets split.
The laughter spread for miles around
To every city, every town,
Over mountains, 'cross the sea,
From Saint Tropez to Mun San Nee.
And soon the whole world rang with laughter,
Lasting till forever after,
While Cloony stood in the circus tent,
With his head drooped low and his shoulders bent.
And he said,"THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT -
I'M FUNNY JUST BY ACCIDENT."
And while the world laughed outside.
Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.

by Shel Silverstein

hehhhehehehe

Worker #1: Yeah, maybe he wasn't the best intern.
Worker #2: How was I supposed to know he'd go off his meds?
Worker #1: He sure did love opening mail, though.
Worker #2: Yeah. He sure did love opening mail.

things just keep getting better around here

A lady in my office just walked up to me and asked "What region are we?"

I just stared at her. She said "Is it New York? Its New York, isn't it?"

I said "I don't know what you're talking about."

And she said "Its New York." And walked away.

my new favorite blog

I have loved gofugyourself for a long time. Loved. But I am quite taken with this new blog:

overheardinnewyork

Here's a few favorites so far:

Drunk girl: I wanna like move to a faraway island with a mute sex slave and lots of indigenous pot...That's all I really need because I can talk to them and they can hear...But they can't respond...And they'll just express themselves through sex...Like when they're mad it will get rough...and when they arent mad it will be gentle like the motherfucking ocean.
--L train

Teen boy: I hope the new Xbox has a vagina.
--Toys R' Us, Times Square

Girl: The fuckin' R train is a motherfuckin' myth. I swear to god, it's the fuckin' unicorn: only fools and virgins can see it.
--Canal Street N/Q/R/W station

Drew's tatas

As of tonight's SNL: Barrymore? Bravo.

Liqueur

My landlady got out her liquor closet on Sunday night. We were sitting at her table trying rare liqeurs (John D. Taylor's White Falernum wins #1) and I noticed the table was a bit wobbly. I discovered it was being held up by a book. The book? Dr. Laura Schlessinger's "10 Stupid Things Women do to Mess Up Their Lives."

THIS IS NO GAME

THIS IS NO GAME
by JACK HANDEY
Issue of 2006-01-09Posted 2005-12-26

This is no game. You might think this is a game, but, trust me, this is no game.
This is not something where rock beats scissors or paper covers rock or rock wraps itself up in paper and gives itself as a present to scissors. This isn’t anything like that. Or where paper types something on itself and sues scissors.
This isn’t something where you yell “Bingo!” and then it turns out you don’t have bingo after all, and what are the rules again? This isn’t that, my friend.
This isn’t something where you roll the dice and move your battleship around a board and land on a hotel and act like your battleship is having sex with the hotel.
This isn’t tiddlywinks, where you flip your tiddly over another player’s tiddly and an old man winks at you because he thought it was a good move. This isn’t that at all.
This isn’t something where you sink a birdie or hit a badminton birdie or do anything at all with birdies. Look, just forget birdies, O.K.?
Maybe you think this is all one big joke, like the farmer with the beautiful but promiscuous daughter. But what they don’t tell you is the farmer became so depressed that he eventually took his own life.
This is not some brightly colored, sugarcoated piece of candy that you can brush the ants off of and pop in your mouth.
This is not playtime or make-believe. This is real. It’s as real as a beggar squatting by the side of the road, begging, and then you realize, Uh-oh, he’s not begging.
This is as real as a baby deer calling out for his mother. But his mother won’t be coming home anytime soon, because she is drunk in a bar somewhere.
It’s as real as a mummy who still thinks he’s inside a pyramid, but he’s actually in a museum in Ohio.
This is not something where you can dress your kid up like a hobo and send him out trick-or-treating, because, first of all, your kid’s twenty-three, and, secondly, he really is a hobo.
All of this probably sounds oldfashioned and “square” to you. But if loving your wife, your country, your cats, your girlfriend, your girlfriend’s sister, and your girlfriend’s sister’s cat is “square,” then so be it.
You go skipping and prancing through life, skipping through a field of dandelions. But what you don’t see is that on each dandelion is a bee, and on each bee is an ant, and the ant is biting the bee and the bee is biting the flower, and if that shocks you then I’m sorry.
You have never had to struggle to put food on the table, let alone put food on a plate and try to balance it on a spoon until it gets to your mouth.
You will never know what it’s like to work on a farm until your hands are raw, just so people can have fresh marijuana. Or what it’s like to go to a factory and put in eight long hours and then go home and realize that you went to the wrong factory.
I don’t hate you; I pity you. You will never appreciate the magnificent beauty of a double rainbow, or the plainness of a regular rainbow.
You will never grasp the quiet joy of holding your own baby, or the quiet comedy of handing him back to his “father.”
I used to be like you. I would put my napkin in my lap, instead of folding it into a little tent over my plate, like I do now, with a door for the fork to go in.
I would go to parties and laugh—and laugh and laugh—every time somebody said something, in case it was supposed to be funny. I would walk in someplace and slap down a five-dollar bill and say, “Give me all you got,” and not even know what they had there. And whenever I found two of anything I would hold them up to my head like antlers, and then pretend that one “antler” fell off.
I went waltzing along, not caring where I stepped or if the other person even wanted to waltz.
Food seemed to taste better back then. Potatoes were more potatoey, and turnips less turnippy.
But then something happened, something that would make me understand that this is no game. I was walking past a building and I saw a man standing high up on a ledge. “Jump! Jump!” I started yelling. What happened next would haunt me for the rest of my days: the man came down from the building and beat the living daylights out of me. Ever since then, I’ve realized that this is no game.
Maybe one day it will be a game again. Maybe you’ll be able to run up and kick a pumpkin without people asking why you did that and if you’re going to pay for it.
Perhaps one day the Indian will put down his tomahawk and the white man will put down his gun, and the white man will pick up his gun again because, Ha-ha, sucker.
One day we’ll just sit by the fire, chew some tobacky, toast some marshmackies, and maybe strum a tune on the ole guitacky.
And maybe one day we’ll tip our hats to the mockingbird, not out of fear but out of friendliness.
If there’s one single idea I’d like you to take away from this, it is: This is no game. The other thing I’d like you to think about is, could I borrow five hundred dollars?
(Author’s Note: Since finishing this article, I have been informed that this is, in fact, a game. I would like to apologize for everything I said above. But please think about the five hundred dollars.)
~From The New Yorker

My New Year's resolution is to buy myself more stuff.

jury duty

Yesterday I had jury duty. You can't really leave because if they call your name and you miss it, they embarrass you in front of everybody by treating you like an idiot.

First I watched a video starring people dressed like this. Because in the olden days, trials were decided by whether someone drowned or not. Those fools

So I had to get some coffee and they announced that the coffee machine was in the lounge. There was a line of 14 people when I got there. Most of the people were over sixty and had some real trouble with the machine. Everybody was gathering around and helping eachother:
"No, thats two sugars, thats the "milk" button." By the time I had helped four old ladies buy coffee, I knew how the machine worked and I knew what I was getting. No problem.

Mocha.
I knew how it was supposed to work.
Cup drops down, coffee fills, wait for the light, open the door.

Nope. I guess the machine was out of cups. Because all i saw was mocha stream. Mocha pissing into nothing. One dollar of mocha nothing.

And then, the mocha started to stream out of the machine, flooding the floor all around my feet. An innocent lady behind me, like a disney character, said "isn't a cup supposed to drop down?"

"Yes," I said. "Yes it is."

The machine was bleeding. The mocha approached my feet. A law clerk walked over and I said, "excuse me sir, this machine seems to be broken." He said "I'm not facilities." I said, "can you call facilities?" And he said (very annoyed) "I can when I reach a phone." Thank you sir. Thank you.

And when I went over in an hour, there was a sign that said "Out of Order." I'll say.

Abrasive tunes

While getting coffee this morning I was bombarded by THE WORST music I have ever heard. It sounded like somebody was trying to sing a bad song. Like when one of your friends is doing an impression of somebody who is always off key and they also don't particularly like the person, so they actually end up acting a bit like Rosie O'Donnell in "Riding the Bus With My Sister."
You know the part of the Jackson 5 Christmas song "Santa Claus is coming to town" where it sounds like a broken record because they just keep going "saaaaaaanta claus is comin to ta-oon" over and over again? You may associate it with the time you were shopping in K-Mart for Freesia scented shower gel because its your Michigan cousins' favorite scent. Every time you hear it you probably wonder if there is a problem with the CD. But thats just how the song goes. Regardless, it sounds WAY better in Michael's tiny little voice, and at that unusual quick pace. It still feels like getting beaten by a blunt object, but at least the beating is quick and accurate. In the case of this morning's remake, the voice was that of some male rocker. Don't know who. He is drawing out that Saaaaaanta part and (I DON'T KNOW!) Trying to riff? Like not just holding out one note (which was bad), but exploring the musical scale within that flat little a sound. And then scraping his voice, like he thought he was Tom Waits. He wasn't. This, as opposed to the quick blunt-object-beating of the Jacksons' version, felt like somebody was taking that same bat (I picture a splintered, bloody, wooden club) and grinding first my finger, than scraping my face, then deciding to wallop my booty, twisting into my nose until it breaks, and then giving the bloody wound a few splinters for good measure.
It reminded me of the new McDonalds commercial where they sing "I'm Ronald McDonald and I'm lov-ing-it!" And its all one note and they definitely focus on pronouncing "lovING" which is a curious departure from their previous "lovin' it." I can just picture the ad meeting.

Bill: But what about Ronald? I don't know why we ever let go of that.
(Miranda looks at Tim with eyes rolled. Bill never lets "Ronald" go)
Tim: Well, how do you propose we bring him back?
Miranda: I really don't want to lose the "I'm lovin' it." Its so "now."
Bill: We don't have to lose that! We just combine the two. My friend Jojo is a composer, I'll have him come in and work something up.
(Jojo enters in a flowery hat and a carry-keyboard and hits one key, over and over and over again, dancing like Rosie O'Donnell in Riding the Bus With my Sister.)

Bravo

This article says it all

Ever had a day where you felt a little bit like this?

I should be asleep

Every morning I set my alarm for 45 minutes before I absolutely have to wake up, because it takes me at least 6 presses of the snooze button to realize it is morning time. (I usually don't even know what is going on: Who am I, where am I, who are these munchkins, etc.) But this morning was different. I was totally aware that I had two options. They were: Get up and go to work, or stay in bed and find the answers to this dream. I weighed it in my head, like that time my Asian Theater Studies teacher asked me if there was something in the paper I would like to share with the class, since I had the Times spread out on my desk. I had to really think about it, because I knew that if everybody in that class read the article I was reading, they would learn more than what they might learn in her whole semester. I considered the Christian Slater route of rebellion but took the polite route, and folded my paper, apologizing.
This morning I thought to myself, “The information you are going to gather in this dream is way more important than getting to work on time.” And now I can't remember the dream. I think there was some answer I was after, and the characters had the answers, and if I could stay in their world a little longer, I would understand. I think it had something to do with a curiosity I’ve had in waking life, where I suddenly wonder why I experience the world through THIS life and THIS body and THIS point of view. And then I get a little sad and also a little alienated, because no matter what I do, I will only experience the world through THESE eyes. And then I inevitably go “who AM I, anyways?” I think THIS was the answer I was about to get in the dream. I woke up and turned off the alarm and got in the shower.
Then things really started to go wrong. All my nylons had runs in them. There were no empty seats on the train, which means starting the day standing in heels for forty minutes, rocking back and forth, and feeling the V8 juice and Nyquil sloshing around in my stomach. Then the train was delayed in Brooklyn for 15 minutes. I stood in my heels in front of three giant, overweight men who took up the whole 10-seat bench. When I got to work 15 minutes late, I headed downstairs for a coffee and bagel, only to return upstairs and find a glob of cream cheese right in the hole of the bagel that was supposed to have only butter on it. And now all of our computers are down. “Mayday, Mayday!” I shouted into the phone at my friend, laughing at this point. He informed me that everybody in his building thinks the computer trouble means they’re getting fired. And that the older woman in their office, who they call “Grandma” is stuffing her face with BBQ potato chips at 10 a.m.. Meanwhile, my neighbor, who talks LOUDLY all the time, took the opportunity to call his wife and WHISPER “I love you” and “shhh” to her. Of all the things to whisper! I was just shocked that he was whispering at all. This is the guy that SHOUTS “GOD BLESS YOU!” to a sneezer who sits 20 cubicles away.
So I’m convinced that I should have been asleep this whole time, finding the answers to life’s biggest questions. Who knows, if I were asleep, I might just be immortal by now. Like Duncan McLeod the Highlander. And then he could also be my boyfriend. FOREVER.

HAHAHAHAHA

Episode 2

When I posted about this article the first time, I spent a lot of time cutting and pasting...

I like parallel structure.

Pye is...my cat

Googlism

pye is now involved
pye is a fat little man
pye is available for holiday events
pye is convinced that people are basically good
pye is the best mystery story involving dogs ever to be written
pye is honored to have received the "keepers of the stars award" from the truly fascinating site of "diabella loves cats"
pye is certainly not him
pye is concerned— and an obvious extension
pye is immediate past president of the international commission on glass
pye is making five previous novels and three optioned movie scripts available to the public
pye is risking his reputation on a wonderfully bizarre hypothesis
pye is professor of the study of religions
pye is approached by the peter cook appreciation society to organise a tribute evening at their 2nd annual meeting
pye is all right
pye is a really tall wildflower that seeds itself freely
pye is past chair of the colchester regional hospital foundation and a board member of the general motors dealer training advisory board
pye is an accomplished carver
pye is an experienced carver
pye is making money selling content over the internet
pye is a scientist
pye is registered with coloured horse society chaps
pye is senior vice president of telemac corporation and has been involved with the prepaid cellular industry since its inception
pye is mine?" my parents nodded
pye is assisted in the classroom by anita honwinewa
pye is the director of career services at triton college
pye is an english member of the wilpf and actually finds that the campaign is having some success in her home country
pye is known all over town for her acts of brilliance
pye is one of the authors
pye is performing
pye is jerry's pet
pye is an outstanding garden plant
pye is an independent health care consultant
pye is cat and small animal friendly
pye is a principal consultant who has extensive experience in business and information technology roles
pye is part of a new wave of leadership in desert hot springs
pye is fitted
pye is entirely misleading if not utterly incorrect
pye is the school director for millie lewis models and talent agency
pye is one of ireland's leading religious artists
pye is professor of political science
pye is survived by another son
pye is a parameter
pye is fun and happy
pye is a unique creation individualized by the artist's touch
pye is a pale pinkish purple
pye is one of the leading american asianists of the twentieth century
pye is married to nancy pye
pye is a bit of a publicity hound
pye is successfully described by only one parameter
pye is one of those books that you have to judge by it's cover
pye is relieved to find he is still in lord flamborough's good books but becomes distracted by the annual village cricket
pye is a fine musician and kjeld brandt on clarinet played with a soft and beautiful vibrato
pye is working on ways in which involvement with schools work can be made less time consuming so that more people can become involved in this rewarding activity
pye is no longer commuting
pye is credited with being the discoverer of the district
pye is the author of "everything you know is wrong”
pye is a new york based renaissance music band
pye is the first cat
pye is a 8 year veteran of the canadian bobsleigh team having the positions of brakeman and or crewman
pye is the glory of the late summer garden
pye is taken from that work
pye is appointed business representative to replace tony from his old position
pye is more reserved
pye is the shooter
pye is a former military intelligence agent turned writer who in the late 1970’s became friends with john draper
pye is a composer
pye is a superb carver and teacher
pye is a strong junior noted for her pragmatism
pye is a writer in minneapolis

What I just did

While passing a conference room (in use) I noticed some very small figures playing on some very precarious scaffolding outside the window. Thinking them to be children (because they were very small!) 20 stories high, I rushed into the conference, saying "I don't think those kids should be playing on that!" as if I were about to dial 911. They all looked out the window.
"Those are adults."
"Are you sure?" I looked closer.
They were. They just looked small because they were far away. And they were hammering things. Workers.
"Oh. Carry on. My apologies," and I backed out of the room.

If I can escalate drama in my head that much, then I have a feeling this IS the perfect man for me. He is tender and morose! And doesn't care that I'm poor, okay?

All I gotta say is

I need a freaking vacation. That's it. Nothing hilarious. Nothing unbelievable.

You know how being unamazing can be so depressing? Like, "ok here I am on this subway. Again." And "wow, which flavor of coffee should I squirt into the mug today?"

Also, I am dissatisfied with myself for never having rioted. Ever.

And also I don't like the way certain orthodox Jewish males look at me. It is really not my fault. Whatever it is, could they stop looking at me like that? I know I have fake blonde hair and I wear pants, but I am really not so bad on the inside!

I would like to write a letter to Donald Trump asking him for one goddamn gold candlestick. Just one. I would melt it, make myself a toof, and give the rest to a charity.

I don't like the ads on the subway that make fun of us for having to stand. That is just mean. Courvoisier, those yellow phone books, Sex and the City DVD collection, and Manhattan Mini Storage. Its not cute. Its not funny. It just makes me hate their product.

When I was young, lots of doctors and nurses had to hold me down to give me the shots. Now I like to calmly watch the needle go in. Whats THAT all about?

Troubled Maker of Heart Devices May Lose Suitor

Original Article: NYTIMES

My edits (in italics) to fit the hintiness of the headline:

Bruce yesterday threatened to abandon his plan to acquire Samantha, a troubled heart, setting the stage for a dramatic and tearful confrontation between the two over the relationship.
The development is a stunning reversal for a deal that was applauded when it was announced in December as both a handsome payoff for Samantha and a way for Bruce to enter the fast-growing market of bachelors.
But along the way, Samantha, the nation's second-most-popular girl, found herself ensnared by safety issues and product recalls that appeared to spin out of control.
Samantha disclosed in late May, for example, that one of her previous boyfriends had repeatedly failed because of an electrical flaw. That led to regulatory scrutiny, a string of product recalls, and most recently, a Department of Justice investigation.
In a statement yesterday, Bruce, who is based in New Brunswick, N.J., said he believed that the recalls and federal investigations had materially affected Samantha's "short-term results and long-term outlook."
Samantha, based in Indianapolis, responded that any effect from the recalls would be short term, adding that Bruce was legally obligated to complete the deal by tomorrow, as originally negotiated.
Samantha's problems also grew more complex yesterday as Scott, an x, accused her of fraud in connection with sales of a heart that short-circuited in some cases. The lawsuit is seeking to force Samantha to disclose device-malfunction data and disgorge profits from sales of the heart.
The deal's breakdown could present a challenge to Bruce's strategy of growth by acquisition. Both Samantha and Bruce did not rule out continuing talks, but with the original deal valued at a lot, any new agreement would depend on the two sides seeing eye to eye on lower expectations. People involved in those talks described the latest moves by the couple as a high-stakes game of "chicken," with neither particularly interested in walking away just yet.
But these people suggested that a gap remained between the price Bruce was now willing to pay and the price Samantha was willing to accept.
"They are playing chicken, and right now it appears that Bruce has the upper hand," said Joanne, a friend of a friend.
The centerpiece of any future fight between the two will revolve around a single but complex issue - whether Samantha's product recalls and related events have had a materially negative impact on her future sales and profits. And not surprisingly, both people yesterday staked out their positions.
In his statement, Bruce, said he believed that developments had clouded Samantha's prospects. For her part, Samantha characterized those effects as "normal."
Courts have found that a significant negative impact must extend beyond the normal to qualify as grounds for terminating a contract. In 2001, a Delaware court ruled that Rick was not justified in terminating his merger deal with Christina, a beef processor, after Rick contended that undisclosed problems rendered the deal invalid.
"We believe that the fundamentals of Samantha are strong and she has attractive prospects for growth," Carrie, Samantha's best friend, said in a statement.

Bruce announced his plan to date Samantha in mid-December, with the deal representing his biggest acquisition by far. The move represented a decision by Bruce to move into the market for actively dating bachelors (ADB), a field that is rapidly growing because of an aging population.
Bachelors send out an electrical charge to disrupt a potentially fatal heart rhythm; datelessness controls a heart that is beating too fast or too slowly.
Until recently, the deal was on track with both sides anticipating that it would close in September or October. But in late May, Samantha disclosed that she had an electrical flaw that had caused her to short-circuit and fail in about two dozen cases.
Samantha's disclosure came as The New York Times published an article about her problems, which are known as bitterness, including its possible role in the death of a college student this year.
All people recall products or have product failures. But Samantha quickly found herself at the center of a broader debate over how and when problems should be disclosed. And rather than seeking to put the issue behind herself quickly, appeared to fumble.
"In retrospect, she clearly underestimated the intolerance for severe events no matter how rare they are," said Dr. Love, an industry analyst with Love.com. "That was her fundamental mistake."
After fixing the device in 2002, Samantha continued to obsess over older models out of her inventory.
"We would not permit this type of conduct in connection with the sale of cars or washing machines," said Bruce's mom. Late yesterday, a friend of Samantha's, Sarah, said Samantha's policy was not to comment on litigation. But Samantha has said repeatedly that she has done nothing wrong.
At a recent party, Samantha also said that she planned to release more detailed data to boyfriends, but she has declined to say when she will begin disclosing that data.

great moments in employment when I have thought to myself "How did I get here?"

The State Disability Clinic
When the 10-yr old "ADD" kid was kicking the glass door and screaming "No!" at me and his grandmother started to have an asthma attack so I called 911 for both of them. I called 911 twice a week on average, but this time was memorable.

Pre-K Tutor
When I found out that Marc-Anthony, who cried all the time, had glasses he should have been wearing all along. (I noticed because he was cutting his snowman shapes 1 inch from his eyes.) I asked him why he didn't wear the glasses and he said they were ugly and stupid. I asked him why he thought that. He cried some more. So I took him in the bathroom and we spent time in front of the mirror talking about how cool glasses are. I felt a lot like Marlo Thomas. I also will always remember the day four of them peed their pants in canon.

La Cocina
When the owner, George, performed Reiki on my bloody heel, after slapping a towel of tequila on it. Then he told me to look at the photograph on the wall of a group of people holding their hands up to the camera. "Reiki camp?" I thought. No. I was later informed that they were "The Force" and no further explanation was offered, simply the question "Do you believe?"

Drama Counselor at A Certain Orthodox Jewish Sports Camp
The whole thing. Perhaps most respectfully the moment when I dared to ask "Why can't Adelaide sit on Nathan Detroit's lap?" and the camp director came whizzing down the hill on his golfcart to reiterate some rules. (Second place goes to the time I flipped my lid b/c the spoiled brats wouldn't quiet down to play some theater games, so I marched back to my cabin to get "Franny and Zooey" and just started reading it to them through tears. They booed me.)

Ice Cream Cafe/Coffee Shop
This lady was like "Miss, there's no milk left in this pitcher." I said "Oh I just filled it; try loosening the lid." She thought I was getting fresh with her so she said "Oh really? You're telling me there is milk in here?" I said "Well, I just filled it, but if you want to hand it to me, I'll check it out." She refused and got this very sad face on. She took a sort of performative stance, with pitcher held high over her head, and repeated, "Are you telling me there is definitely milk in this pitcher?" I slowly said yeeeees, eyes wide. She turned the pitcher upside down and poured a gallon of milk all over the floor.

Current Corporation
When somebody said the amount $800 million in all seriousness in a meeting. And I looked out the window of the 38th floor at the giant 'W' billboard with all of Manhattan "at my feet" and I was like "whaaaaaat?"

googlism.com

sooz is....

sooz is a gentle and vigorous soul
sooz is a website for individually hand created products
sooz is an art & craft gallery based in sidmouth devon and specialises in unique individual art pieces which it supplies to individuals like you
sooz is touring to british columbia in september
sooz is your host and moderator
sooz is a wife and mother of two beautiful daughters as well as a stay at home mom
sooz is neat
sooz is ever easy
sooz is increasingly in demand for performances across the country
sooz is 58 wah wah
sooz is saving up for the white jeweled suit with added foam paunch
sooz is not pregnant
sooz is shocked to get a taste of her own medicine when she finds out seb is in hospital
sooz is the large room itself
sooz is the connecting force between people and ideas
sooz is the one who scrares sasha and nicki because shes different
sooz is the 'odd ball' of the group
sooz is increasingly in demand for performances at schools
sooz is depressed and goes to her place to check she is okay ? she tells him she is okay and he promises her that he will always be there for her
sooz is mad that jamie keeps on lying to her about seeing gabi
sooz is not into it
sooz is cool
sooz is a bit ?other?
sooz is touring to the vancouver fringe
sooz is the pen name of soozi urang
sooz is leaving
sooz is our queen on dt
sooz is here to honestly help you
sooz is that person waddling??
sooz is a wallaby? nandi is a panda emma
sooz is probably the only
sooz is on
sooz is from nebraska and they always crush everyone
sooz is now serving trick
sooz is on form and fragging fluently
sooz is beginning to compile recipes for her "fiat brunch" cookbook for the auction
sooz is a bitch
sooz is creating
sooz is complaining
sooz is a one
sooz is friends with aretha franklin's back
sooz is definitely ready for a nap
sooz is already talking about our decorating masks of our own faces at that time
sooz is the #1 thin handsome smoker backer
sooz is in 1983 deel uit gaan maken van het integraal kankercentrum zuid
sooz is the entrance to the medina

BRAAAAAAINS

What do we want? Brains!
When do we want 'em? Brains!

uh oh, is she ILL?

Then last night Pye rushed into the bathroom ahead of me and sat on the seat, peeing away. I waited until she finished to take my turn, even if she is a nasty line-cutter, but when she finished she just sat there rigidly, almost meditatively. I asked her politely to move. When she didn't I went to pick her up and she emitted a low growl. She thinks the toilet is the seat of power. And is she wrong?

Very Good News

Why am I so happy this morning?

Last night, as I was leaning over the sink, examining my skin, I heard Pye come into the bathroom behind me. She sat on the toilet seat, as she often does. I said "HELLO MY BABY" and got up in her grill for a second. But then I returned to my mirror, unfettered.

Then, in the silence of the night, I heard a slight, yet definite trickle. At first I didn't believe what I was hearing. Then my mouth slowly dropped open, imploring my wide-eyed reflection to be the secondary witness to what was surely happening behind me.

I slowly turned, afraid- so afraid!- that this moment would prove to be unreal. But no. Pye was sitting on the toilet seat, her back to me, facing the wall, peeing into the toilet.

I started weeping and hyperventilating at the same time. When she was finished, I congratulated her, hugging her and laughing with sheer disbelief and joy.

Did her previous owner train her to do this? Or (and I really hope this is the explanation)..... DID SHE TEACH HERSELF FROM HUMAN OBSERVATION?

(fyi- if there is anybody out there who doesn't read this blog regularly, PYE IS MY CAT.)

memo: implementation

I would like to implement "watercooler" as a verb. Please advise re: future implementation possibilities. I have included an assortment of current applications:

1. Let's watercooler this later. (replacing "roundtable" and "powwow")
2. I'm gonna have to watercooler with my team. ("consult")
3. I'll watercooler it to you. ("send")
4. Let's watercooler. ("have sex")

As a noun:

1. Can we get a watercooler on that report? ("estimate" or "timeframe")
2. Whose watercooler? Our watercooler! ("streets")

And as an adjective:

1. How very watercooler of you. ("kind" or "presumptuous")
2. This joint is watercooler! ("bumpin'")
3. I want to lick Dermot Mulroney's watercooler lips. ("luscious")

I was just sitting here thinking how true it is that "The world is a vampire."

The smartest man alive

There is so much here, I don't know where to begin.

For Starters: "To Conserve Gas, President Calls for Less Driving"

------Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?
A) I don't even see how driving and gas are RELATED, Mr. President
B) I really hope he came up with this policy himself.
C) I hope when he said this, he had that proud face on that said "Its that simple, people. Thats all we have to do and this big bad nightmare will go away. Doubters use gas. Period."

A little further into the article he says, "if Americans are able to avoid going on a trip that's not essential, that would be helpful."
----Hmmmmmm. A trip thats not essential. I can't think of anybody who may have been doing that recently. Not anybody.

Followed by another GREAT idea:
"to continue relaxing environmental and transportation rules in an effort to get more gasoline flowing."
----Yeah I think we could use an oil spill. Not enough disasters to deal with quite yet.

I know this blog entry has basically been me taking the easiest, most sarcastic shots at the most obvious holes in this baleful, pathetic appeal. But does he really think we live in the kind of non-nuclear, WWII era where Tin-Can-Conservation is going to actually make a difference in our public welfare and economic stability?

I do wonder if those military planes in Iraq use any gas. I wonder.

Ode to Hook

This movie slays me. Tears. Tears down the sides of my face. From the moment the music starts and then they go to London and Toodles has lost his marbles. And then don't even get me started on Grandma Wendy standing on the stairs: "Hello, boy."
And did I mention the music? If tears SOUNDED like something it would be that theme that plays throughout the whole movie.

Oh Jeezus, here are just a few other highlights:
1. Tinkerbell admitting she's been in love with Peter all along.
2. "You ARE the Pan!" with that freaking adorable smile.
3. Why am I still attracted to Rufio?
4. "That was a great game"
5. "You need a mommy very very badly!"
6. That scene where Jack is smashing all the clocks and crying.
7. Maggie singing the lullaby and all the pirates crying.
8. When Peter finds his happy thawt and its being a daddy.
9. That scene where the mermaids french-kiss Peter.

Next week? Either "Father of the Bride" or "Muppets Christmas Carol"

Fulla

Fulla
I love when it seems like a whole social analysis could be based on the wishes and desires of a bunch of little girls. I'm being serious. It isn't that parents are weak. It isn't that little girls are spoiled. It is only that there is something in the nature of a certain age of girl, something that gets exploited and turned into consumerism. But before it is about having possessions, it is this sort of insistence and hunger. They shamelessly become the most powerful voice in the family. And the way they conglomerate and agree with each other! If I needed militants for a revolution, I would definitely start with 9 year-old-girls.

I don't know about you all, but a major part of having a Barbie and Ken was making them have sex. And I'm not just talking about mashing their bodies together. I'm talking about using that slightly cupped palm of hers on his little orange bump. I'm talking about different positions, ya'll. Slow and romantic.

So...if I had a Fulla, it would just up the anty. I would be all "how does Ken get Fulla to raise her ankle-length abaya?" Or, "If they were having tea together, discussing respectable values, and she leaned slightly over him, and her head scarf fell off a little bit, and he saw some of her jet-black hair, and he reached out to touch it, but stopped his hand when he caught her looking at his orange nub..." etc.

Hey Lady

Yeah you. The one who was just in the stall next to me: DO NOT WHISPER IN THE BATHROOM. Perhaps you were on your cell phone. I know you were alone in there, but perhaps you were on your cell phone. Either way, I don't care, because THAT SHIT FREAKED ME OUT.

I don't like hearing whispering echoing in an empty bathroom. If you really need to have a private whisper conversation with somebody, can't you go somewhere else besides the horror-movie-inspired, neon-lit, placidly quiet bathroom?

Poem for the Bloody Hearts

The walls around my heart
like the most porous walls
ever.

The cuts are slowly deepening
until there will be no heart left
either.

The blood rains on the plains.

No more the river.

Just Cute

>NAIROBI (AFP) - A baby hippopotamus that survived the tsunami waves on the Kenyan coast has formed a strong bond with a giant male century-old tortoise, in an animal facility in the port city of Mombassa, officials said.
The hippopotamus, nicknamed Owen and weighing about 300 kilograms (650 pounds), was swept down Sabaki River into the Indian Ocean, then forced back to shore when tsunami waves struck the Kenyan coast on December 26, before wildlife rangers rescued him.
"It is incredible. A-less-than-a-year-old hippo has adopted a male tortoise, about a century old, and the tortoise seems to be very happy with being a 'mother'," ecologist Paula Kahumbu, who is in charge of Lafarge Park, told AFP. "After it was swept and lost its mother, the hippo was traumatized. It had to look for something to be a surrogate mother. Fortunately, it landed on the tortoise and established a strong bond. They swim, eat and sleep together," the ecologist added. "The hippo follows the tortoise exactly the way it follows its mother. If somebody approaches the tortoise, the hippo becomes aggressive, as if protecting its biological mother," Kahumbu added. "The hippo is a young baby, he was left at a very tender age and by nature, hippos are social animals that like to stay with their mothers for four years," he explained.

MJ

Here's something unrelated to the picture at my left. Why do I get home drunk and suddenly decide its "beauty parlor time"? Last night at 12:30 a.m. I did a pedicure, face mask, and put curlers in my hair. Whaaaaat?

Damn

I guess she beat me to the punch

Comedy upon comedy upon comedy makes for sad sad sad

Profjokes. Thats what his email short name was. Its a small world, comedy, so there's an iddy biddy chance someone who reads this will know him.

He "taught" me "comedy writing" at NYU. He came to class on the first day and told us we had to look at the world through "comedy colored" glasses. I suddenly knew what he meant. Because comedy is not a color and everybody knows that.

Then he announced that he would be missing the next class because he was going in for surgery. What kind of surgery? Chin tuck and nose job, thats all.

When he came back from surgery, it happened to be on the very day that a photographer from the Daily News was coming to take a picture of him for an article they were writing on "Comedy after 9/11." (By the way, Comedy after 9/11 soon became everybody's favorite topic in New York, and guess what? It is the least funny topic of conversation EVAR.)

So since he knew he was going to be photographed he covered his surgery bruises in ORANGE make-up. He came up to me before class and, since our "assignment" had been to "look for" comedy (where oh WHERE would I find it?), he asked me, "So...did you see anything funny recently?"

I paused because, try as I might, not a single funny thing was happening to me. Not a thing. Certainly not the unblended orange face with purple undertones in front of me, asking me for funny things. I just stared at him and said "no."

This class soon became the most depressing class I ever took. More depressing than Criminology or The Search for Peace in the Nuclear Age or even Radical Street Performance. Because this class was supposed to be fun and funny and everybody in it, including the teacher, was supposed to be funny and interesting and creative, and just HILARIOUS. But they weren't. They were all just trying to crack these jokes. And trying to convince the teacher they were the funniest. And some of them had gotten special permission to take the class for over 3 semesters. The same exact class.

I would trudge through the snow to my "comedy class" in the most depressed mood. One time one of our classmates did stand-up at a club and the whole class went to watch. The funniest thing about it was the way he was dressed. I will let your imagination run wild.

For my "final project" which I got an "A" on (please don't ask why because I really don't know), I wrote ONE POEM, a limerick really, loosely following the "Night Before Christmas" poem, about a drunk person who thinks they are seeing Santa Claus' rosie cheeks and nose, but it is revealed that it is a hallucination of "Kurt Cobain's ghostly ass." So I really progressed as a writer there.

P.S. You know those days where no matter what you do, the air smells like bile? What IS that SMELL?

Hot Dogs

Gold; dust; pools

I discovered last night that I own The Notebook DVD. I made the huge mistake of popping it in even though I have my damn monthly visitor right now.
And then I tried to sew this damn gold dress which somehow SHRANK and now doesn't fit over my shoulders. So I sat there, STUCK in gold fabric. Because although it doesn't fit OVER my shoulders, it fits nice and SNUGLY around them. So I was jumping up and down and crying, and then eventually RIPPING SEAMS.
This after a night of cleaning the whole apartment only to find that the SPONGE ITSELF was the thing that reeked so badly of geriatric breath.
The last time my roommate and I cleaned the apartment we ended up throwing out the whole trash can because the bottom was a maggot nest. So we wrapped the whole thing in garbage bags and put it in the dumpster.
Well our landlady, who has a psychological problem with throwing things away (her house is like an antique funhouse) apparently had other plans for our maggot-can. When I returned from work, it stood, RESCUED, on our front steps. She had WASHED IT OUT.
I don't understand. Does she think we didn't actually MEAN to throw it away? Like we accidentally rigged up the bags AROUND it? Or is this a statement? Is this her way of saying "you do not have the right to throw things away without my permission"? Or is this her saying "This is Phewy. Phewy has a name because he is a person just like you or I. He has feelings and he doesn't deserve to be just THROWN AWAY like that."
In any case, I haven't touched Phewy since his rescue, but I've noticed that since he appeared on our doorstep, he has been placed further and further inside. First the porch, then the stairs up to our part of the house, and then the landing outside our door.

Also, this is the second time I've had a dream about a magic swimming pool that, with a touch of a button, turns into an erotic swimming pool, and everybody in it gets all hot for each other. Then you press the button and it goes back to a normal fun volleyball pool.

I hate Bob Zeltman, Jet Blue, and Launchcast

My coworker and I are regular listeners of free radio at Yahoo Launchcast. We recently spent a little bit of time and energy composing the following complaint e-mail and sent it to the folks at Yahoo....

We accept the terms of LaunchCast being free. However we feel that your marketing of LaunchCast Plus greatly reduces the quality of the free music we so enjoy. In particular, we take personal offense to the jarring and painfully annoying commercial for JetBlue. What happened to the one with the pirate singing and raving about LaunchCast Plus being "3 bucks-a-month, 3 bucks-a-month?" .....and the one that asks us if we like to bang on our drum all day and jump around? We really enjoyed the comforting sound of "Three Blind Mice" and we don't at all enjoy the sound of "Bob Zeltman."
We have also noticed that your "advertising" has now become even more forceful. You inform us that we are over our monthly limit and you are going to lower the quality of our listening if we don't start paying for LaunchCast Plus. Just as an experiment, a good friend of ours signed up for free LaunchCast and was IMMEDIATELY told that they had reached their monthly limit. This is only possible if the "monthly limit" is a lie you've created to try to force people into paying for Plus.

In conclusion, we do respect your efforts to make a profit from your musical services and we can also accept the fact that you have companies paying you to play those ads between songs but honestly, ask yourself this question, is it really necessary for Bob Zeltman to call that girl four straight times to let her know that he applied for an American Express Jet Blue card? Seriously, is it?

Evidence:
(Ring)
Girl: Hello?
Bob: Hi! Its Bob!
Girl: Bob?
Bob: Bob Zeltman, from JetBlue seat 114!
Girl: oh. (incredulously)
Bob: I just called to say I was approved for an American Express Jet Blue card! You helped me fill out an application!
Girl: Ok, Great!
Bob: See you next time I fly Jet Blue!
Girl: See you next time Sooz gathers all the people she wants to murder by razor!

Pye Love Me

Pye love me

She can’t help it. She’s trying to be all “Cat” on me, but then I’m all Holly Golightly on her. And she’s all “fine, then I’ll just keep clawing at this rug over here” and I’m all “Do what you like. I’m going to bed.” And she’s all “Okay…but you know whats coming at 5 a.m.” and I’m all “yeah, about that- what is WRONG with you?” And she’s all “What? I just like running around like crazy and knocking things down and just generally expressing myself in loud ways at 5 a.m.” And I’m all “I’m gonna put you downstairs then” And she’s all “But look at me. I’m so cute and little. Don’t you think you should feed me more?” and I’m all “but look, you have food in your dish” and she’s all “not FRESH food. Besides I like clawing up this rug right here, I’m not hungry.

THEN, I’m all “I’ve got an idea. C’mere Pye! (holding nail clippers behind my back) and she’s all “What? Fun times in bed? Wheee!” and that’s when I’m all “Yeah, lets cuddle. What beautiful paws you have. Can I just hold one for a little while?” And she's all “sure whatever” and we did a really good job with the back legs. But the FRONT legs came along and she was all “rrrrrrrr (like it started in hell)rrrRRRRRrrawRRRooooo” and I was all “that’s ok baby, we’re gonna get through this together” and she was all “I don’t THINK so” and she started kicking and squirming but I held fast.

And that’s when I stooped to a whole new level and started singing “Ol’ Man River” because she likes when I sing to her. And I am not fucking with you, it WORKED! For a second. We got through almost all of them until….

She bit my nipple. Its not nice, you guys. Every chick likes a little nibble, but not a full on fang in the tit. That is just not nice. So I sort of threw her a little bit. And she was all “ooooo look at me! I land on all four feet! I have nine lives!” And I was all, “yeah yeah thank me later.” And she was all, “probably I WON’T and I will still wake up at 5 a.m. and act out Vietnam for you in the living room” and she left my bedroom. And then I was like “Pyyyyyyye. Pyyyyyyyye” and she didn’t come. I was sad but guess what, ya’ll?

This morning there was no rampage. See, I think she really did need her claws clipped, and she just didn’t know how to tell me. And then guess what she DID do this morning? I woke up and she was sleeping on my neck. Now that is just cute.

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Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

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2
Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

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voila

voila
Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

Yes, thats a big wooden gun.

My favorite moment on the Daily Show last night

Ed Helms was interviewing a Bass fish about bass fishing.

Bass: I don't care so much about the fisherman taunting me. I just don't like the hook.

Helms: Let's talk more about taunting.

Bass: No, lets talk more about the hook- in my FACE!


Now for another subject. I'm going to be making a dress soon. I've never made one, I don't know how to use a sewing machine, and it involves GOLDEN fabric. I can't wait. Hilarity (and possibly tears of frustration) are bound to ensue.

A futuristic dream I had in May

I lived in the future, which was apparent because there were moving conveyor belts for sidewalks. I was walking and suddenly I stopped and grabbed this tiny old woman (I think she was Chinese?) and started running with her towards “the edge.” The people of this land had a very fast, very beautiful sunrise, and not everybody got to see it all the time. Only if you were close enough to the edge, did you get to see it. So there was always this mad rush. The edge was just the edge of land. But the sunrise happened at the end of the water, which we thought was the end of the world. Also, it was never really dark. There was all this artificial light and the sun would just rise and set really fast. It was always a grayish daylight. I had grabbed the old woman because she was so slow, I figured she never got to see the sunrise. I thought I was doing her this huge favor by running her over to it. But we were too late. I decided, really quickly, that I wasn’t giving up, and I wanted this old woman to see a sunrise before she died, so I ran down the cliff and stole a boat and started paddling furiously towards the horizon; tracking the sunrise down. All the people on shore were shouting and making this huge deal, because it was very illegal and unheard of and dangerous to leave the land. Then we weren’t in a boat anymore, but just swimming. I was trying to keep all my stuff afloat (two big plastic bags full of stuff) while I helped this old woman swim. The water was getting very stormy and it started raining. She was really scared and weak, and she couldn’t swim. Suddenly we “heard” that there was a tornado heading our way. I told her that was propaganda. She said no it wasn’t, so to make her feel better, I started swimming back towards the land. But we were really far out and I couldn’t see the land anymore. Then I saw the tornado, coming from the direction of the land. It was really thick and dangerous looking. We started swimming away from it. Then there was a new small island ahead of us. We pulled ourselves on shore and started looking for shelter from the storm, really desperately. This was all happening very fast. As soon as we were on the island, the old woman became younger and a different person, but I don’t know who. We were ducking the wind, running under rock ledges, and trying to find places that were low and covered. The other person ran ahead of me down a hill and I called out to him. (Now it was a him.) I saw that there were hundreds of these very sick, leper-like refugees at the bottom of the hill. They looked like zombies and were all huddled underneath this cement boardwalk (A little like the Brooklyn Promenade) that reached over the whole beach, all the way around the island. The idea was you couldn’t touch the refugees, and my friend touched them as soon as he got down the hill. He was dead immediately and disappeared from the dream. I huddled somewhere alone until the storm passed. Then the dream "cut" to months later. I had set up residence on this island. It was a leper island. I was the only person who didn’t have leprosy on the island. The reason nobody else came there is because the lepers were all on the beach; the first thing you saw. So everybody approached the beach and then thought “woop, leper beach!” and turned around. Somebody had banished them to the outer reaches of the island and they had never wandered back in. I had set up this sort of “medicine woman” station for myself. I wasn’t touching them still, but I coaxed them back onto the rest of the island, and we had a whole community. I was just treating the pain from the leprosy, but wasn’t able to actually cure it. Then I discovered that the leprosy was getting worse and it was starting to kill children. Suddenly this real medicine woman (dressed like a pioneer with flasks and such) arrived on the island, and found a miracle cure. The cure was she simply staunched the original “wound” by cutting it off and burning the cut-off ends.

Titles for my One Woman Show

I Ain't Hard but I Ain't Easy Either
Crying in the Workplace
To Wrong You, Thanks For Everything, Truly NewNow
World Peace and Boy Crushes
Drowning in my own sarcasm
Sarcasmic! The Musical
Get off my stage!
Hello World!
Moon River
Princess in a castle: The fairytale myth and its perpetuation in modern cosmopolitan lifestyles.
Zits: I have them
Beckett and Me
Sooz 2005!
The cat came back the very next day
And the streets were full of hotties
Crrrrrash and Burrrrn
Time: Essential (a dance piece)
H & M? Yes, Please!
Cheap, Shallow and Lovin' it!
Witness: A Quaker Testimonial
Little Bottles of Crazy Strewn About the House
These Dirty Razors, They Tell no Lies
I'm the actress/I'm the chicken: Kostya
This morning on the subway...

There is a facilities guy emptying water from the ceiling in one of the conference rooms. Its sort of a biweekly thing, where he has to get on a ladder and pour buckets full of water out into a big tub. I'm sure there's a nautical term for when you have to do that to a boat. Or even a chanty about it? In any case, I think its funny that this is their way of dealing with what is obviously a building repair issue.

Here is what Holiday Mathis says to everyone today (not specifically Capricorns):
"Venus, the planet of love and beauty, is pulling as far away from Uranus as her orbit will allow. Or is it Uranus that escapes the seduction of Venus by fleeing? It's as though Uranus knows something we don't about the nature of romance and chooses to observe the interaction from afar. You might do the same and come to a key realization."

Hehe. Uranus. Venus must be pulling away from Uranus for some reason. Did you have beans for lunch? HAHAHAHAHAHA! Holiday Mathis always his different colored eyes in that picture.

This is a still from the classic film "short circuit." Please note that the open car trunk in the background says "Babies" on it. I thought it was a bit meta, like warning the viewer, "what will happen when robots have babies?" or "this is what Johnny 5 is subconsciously hungry for." But T James proposed that the decision went something like this:


"I think someone was like, how do we make this a scary neighborhood? And some dood was like let's put babies on the trunk so they think that's where babies go."

Kat's guest post

Today just a little something from the famous filmmaker, Kat Parker. Who also happens to be my buddy-bud from high school:

i was at starbucks the other day, and this mini-woman cut ahead of me and Elizabeth and so Elizabeth was like "um, excuse me, we were in line here." The short little indian woman whipped around and stared up at us and said in an angry voice: "someone is very sick, and I need a frappuccino right away." And i was thinking to myself- were those two seperate statements? like "there are children starving in Africa, and i need an iced mocha"? or was she actually suggesting that there are medicinal properties in starbucks' frappuccino? either way, we laughed in her face, then Elizabeth was like "well i need my decaf, get in line." and the lady got all huffy. we wanted to trail her to see if the frappuccino was actually for someone else, or if she took sips off it, but we lost her in the crowd. arg!

Katie, Katie, Katie

I love you for this sort of thing. In a W magazine interview, Katie said...

"Tom is the most incredible man in the world."

So, I've compiled a list of other men in the world who apparently fall just short of the mark....

The Dalai Lama
Nelson Mandela
Lance Armstrong
My dad
Jimmy Carter
Xi Shun
The Pope
Firemen
Kofi Annan

....and I'm sure you can think of a few more. Unless that's it. There's probably only a few who are more incredible than Tom Cruise. I've stuck to the living ones, for all our sakes.

Where the pigeons go to die

My workpal and I spent a good half hour of our lunch discussing why we never see dead pigeons. Finally, Jeeves and the very realistic T. James of the Jolly Roger Orchestra informed me that the dying pigeons crawl under things to die and get eaten by rats and other grossies very quickly. However, Workpal and I decided it was much more fun to imagine the following...

1. Pigeons bury their dead and hold little funerals
2. Pigeons tie weights to their ankles and jump off cliffs into the East River when its time to go.
3. Pigeon cremation, duh
4. Pigeons march down into subway tunnels in straight lines and Karenina themselves onto the tracks.

Vogue Italia's Anna Piaggi

Officially a secretary

I bought a plant for my desk.

KALANCHOE BLOSSFELDIANA ENTRETIEN.

aka Prudence.

printer baby

I am sad and scared right now. A coworker's treatment of a "broken" printer is akin to someone being too rough with my pet.

I have to sit right next to the poor machine as she "assesses" (hits) the machine and announces to everybody that the "toner's low" even though it isn't. I can't step in and save the thing, because it would be a clear indication of how little trust I have in her "fixing" skills.

However, the more she gets her fingers in there, opening doors and talking to herself, the more work I will have to do to actually fix the damn thing.

I have to wait though. I send messages to the printer through telekinesis, whispering things like "I know, I know. It's just a paper jam. I'll be there soon."

I can almost assess what is wrong with it by her mutterings anyway, and I know in a couple of minutes she'll be standing behind me at my cubicle asking me to call "facilities" to fix the printer. Because she obviously thinks that if she can't fix it, we need to bring in the professionals. ("Facilities," by the way, fixes electricity and plumbing; not printers).

Recently, on an airplane back from the midwest, a baby was crying really really loud for at least 45 minutes. Instead of cooing, gently bouncing, singing softly, or FEEDING the child, its mother chose smothering and slapping.

Coworker, and Airplane Medea, here are some bits of advice....

1. The machine/baby is not your enemy
2. It is not trying to humiliate you.
3. The world and all its other people can help you with your "problem"
4. Consider the fragility of what you are working with
5. Ask yourself, "what is this thing made of?"
6. Understand that, just like you, the baby/machine needs help and attention.
7. The world only disapproves of what you are doing, not of the fact that the baby/machine is crying/broken.

Highlights

1. Due to the current "water scare," there's a sign on the office bathroom with warnings and guidelines. But the most specific, and the one that JUMPED off the page at me, was....

"Avoid sexual practices that may result in exposure to feces."

2. I was walking towards a stationary pigeon who decided he/she was ready to get up and fly away. It started flapping off the ground. I assumed it had experience doing this since it was a pigeon, so I just kept walking towards it. "That bird will soon realize it needs to move aside," I told myself. But instead the bird just flipped out. The poor thing just panicked and start flapping mid air, right in front of me. Then it was trying to pick a direction and changing its mind, so essentially it was staying in the same place. I FELT the bird's panic. But I still kept walking towards it because I thought "things like this happen in New York all the time. I just have to stay the course. I have just as much right to be here as the pigeon, and I even have to go to work, while the pigeon just has to perch somewhere, make a white doodie, and consider eating more garbage." I felt the windstorm generated from its beating wings. And then it was gone.

3. I swear to Gah I saw a Nazi on the train this morning. It was only a glimpse because he was in a subway car alone and the train rushed past the platform without stopping. But he was seriously dressed in a dark green wool uniform circa 1940 and was carrying a riding whip! I was starting to feel like I was in "Master and Margarita" and evidence of the devil was appearing all over the city. Then I thought, "maybe I'm just developing schizophrenia," and oddly enough, that wasn't a comforting thought. When you're already tired, depressed, and angry and then you get the notion that you're also going insane, it doesn't improve the mood.

Interns, Dress codes, and Stares OH MY!

We have three interns for the summer so there's hardly anything for me to do. I am BORED.

The only thing going on in the office is this big scandalous hubbub because one of the managers put copies of the dress code on some desks but not others.

Then the manager left the office because she is hiding from the flack that is flying.

I am keeping my head below-cubicle so as to avoid eye-contact that might be taken for an allegiance with either side. I'm secretly so relieved that I didn't receive a dress code reminder.

One girl just emailed me saying that she hopes the manager gets hit by a truck.

untitled

untitled
Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

Taking the "freedom to poo" a little far

Well, its one thing to do it in the bathroom at the office and not be ashamed.

It is another thing entirely to recount the details to a coworker. "Val" just treated me to a very full account of her stomach flu and its ups and downs. On and on and on, penning me into my cubicle.

If you have trouble spotting me...

I'm the one in the tomato red shirt, coral-colored necklace, and peeling skin.

You may see me and ask "who dressed that poor thing?"

It just doesn't match, folks.

Also my shoes are too big so the backs stick out like when little girls play dress up with their mom's shoes.

Complete with wobbling around.

Best Birthday Card

This one makes me chuckle.

The front says, "Did you know the first birthday cards were written on stone tablets?"

And the inside says, "Its easy to know things when you make them up."

I understand this sentiment so very well. I make a lot of things up.

I love when fashion goes in this kind of direction.

Chanel
Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

No really. I am not being sarcastic. I know its ugly but there is something so exciting about it. It's really sick and twisted and has this whole story.

For more creepy Chanel

It's all about the eyebrows.

Aquatic

Last night

I got off the subway

I started walking

A Chinese man was dumping

what looked like

water

on the sidewalk

I walked on it

It was fish guts

The guts squished into all the little spaces in my shoe's

Soul

I was mad

real nice

real nice
Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

'Bloody chainsaw' man enters US

A man carrying a home-made sword and what looked like a blood-stained chainsaw was allowed into the US from Canada, the Associated Press reports.
The news agency says Gregory Despres' weapons were confiscated, before US custom officials in Calais, Maine, let him cross the border on 25 April.
The next day he became a murder suspect after bodies of his two neighbours were found in his hometown in Canada.
Mr Despres, 22, was arrested on 27 April and is now awaiting extradition.

The bodies of Mr Despres' neighbours were discovered in the town of Minto, New Brunswick.
The decapitated body of Frederick Fulton was found on the kitchen floor in his house. The man's head was under a kitchen table.
His common-law wife was discovered stabbed in a bedroom.

'Nobody asked'
AP quoted Bill Anthony, a spokesman for US Customs and Border Protection, as saying the Canadian-born Mr Despres was questioned for about two hours before being allowed to enter the country.
Mr Anthony said Mr Despres could not be detained because he was a naturalised US citizen and was not wanted on any criminal charges on the day in question.
"Nobody asked us to detain him," the spokesman said. "Being bizarre is not a reason to keep somebody out of this country or lock them up... We are governed by laws and regulations, and he did not violate any regulations". Mr Anthony added that officials in Calais did not have a forensic laboratory.
"They can't look at a chainsaw and decide if it's blood or rust or red paint," he said.
Mr Despres was detained, after police spotted him wandering down a motorway in a sweat shirt with red and brown stains.

Christian Surfers

The competition - the Lokomaika'i, or good will, Surf Contest - was co-sponsored by the Hawaiian Islands' Surf Ministries and Christian Surfers Hawaii, and was intended to raise money for a mission to Sri Lanka. At the start of the meet, a native Hawaiian kahu, or preacher, clad in a tropical print sarong and a kukui-nut lei, held a Bible in one hand and a microphone in the other as tanned and toned surfers gathered around him in prayer.
He blessed the ocean and the contest, and told the athletes that while most of them were there to win a prize, the real prize was finding God.
"The world is getting gnarlier and gnarlier," said a spectator, Neil Tsutsui, 38, who is part of a surfers' Bible study group on the North Shore of Oahu. "You get drawn into God with surfing. Surfing is a selfish sport: my wave, my ride. But this teaches selflessness."

From the NY Times

My crazy night

I used to be a world-famous crimefighter. I lived on an island with many confusing and intertwining roads. I drove a beat-up old purple junker of a car, sort of hooptie style, and instead of getting to the crime scenes on time, I mostly drove around getting lost. Everything in the city was very old and reminiscent of a mining town that’s seen many industries boom through it. There was a Submarine system for mass transit below all the canals and rivers. The submarines were very old and made from yellow-painted aluminum. There were abandoned carwashes with big, rusty, cartoon characters everywhere. I was always getting caught on one-ways and having to try to turn around in the parking lots of abandoned motels, etc. The whole time I would be talking to something like a camera or an interviewer about my lifestyle. Then, I realized I had to get home to relieve the babysitter. I have a couple of daughters or one daughter who is always having a slumber party. I don't know.
I live on the top of a mountain in a top-secret location with a lot of security. Or rather, its “supposed” to be really high security but its actually a rickety gate with one guard. Apparently there are a lot of guards but all they do is mill about. So last night, when I got home, I told the camera and interviewer, who is always following me around, that the first thing I do when I get home is inspect the evidence again. The current crime I’m working on has something to do with a Discman. So one of my guards handed me this beat-up old Discman with a CD in it. “This is the killer’s Discman,” I said, “and it contains clues about where his next victim is going to be.” So we listened to the CD. It was a young teenage boy’s voice. He was clearly crazy; it was a ramble of thoughts that sounded schizophrenic. But I sat there trying to decipher all the meanings in it for a really long time. I don’t remember much of the specifics but it was stuff like “The toast is buttery…My friend Rob is a simulation machine…grand staircase….orange eye.” And then I sat there and went “Rob is to orange as buttery is to machine” and tried to make sense of all that. It went on for a long time.
Then I went to my apartment in the city. I am a babysitter for the spookiest family. They have all these rules about where lights can be on in the house, and what kind of activities their baby can do, especially when she’s around electricity. Their house has all these hidden nooks and hallways, and they actually change. Like you’ll walk down a hall towards a door and then you’ll get there, and instead of the door, the little girl is sitting on the floor in front of you. She’s blonde and adorable but has a really creepy smile. I get the feeling that sometimes she is the little girl and sometimes the parents have found a way to watch me from inside of her. At one point I had to go to the bathroom, so I said, “I can’t leave you on the couch alone, you have to wait for me right outside the bathroom door." When I entered the bathroom the lights were on but suddenly she was sitting on the toilet behind me and the lights had turned out. I got a little scared and moved out of the bathroom. I looked back really quickly and she was reaching out for me with her hand like a claw. It happened in a blink of an eye and then things were suddenly normal and she was chatting to me about something very childlike and innocent. Then I found myself back in the bathroom, even though I thought I had left. And the lights were back on. She didn't have a claw anymore. At one point she was watching TV on the couch, and she had to sit very close to the TV. I walked behind the TV into the other room and she flipped out on me, screaming and throwing a tantrum. When I looked at the room I was about to enter, I saw that it was dark and there were shapes of people moving about in the darkness. Soon I discovered a really fun game that became her favorite. It was basically to pretend like we were being electrocuted. We lay on the floor and convulsed our bodies. I found it to be very pleasurable because the hyper-activity caused my body to be very warm. For the same reason, the little girl liked the game. We spent like fifteen minutes convulsing on the brightly lit kitchen floor. I started to feel like such a successful babysitter.

Earring

Earring
Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

Dr. All Cock

Are these two people x-lovers? I love that he didn't read her book:

"Dr. Lloyd said there was no doubt in her mind that the clitoris was an evolutionary adaptation, selected to create excitement, leading to sexual intercourse and then reproduction.

But, "without a link to fertility or reproduction," Dr. Lloyd said, "orgasm cannot be an adaptation."

Not everyone agrees. For example, Dr. John Alcock, a professor of biology at Arizona State University, criticized an earlier version of Dr. Lloyd's thesis, discussed in in a 1987 article by Stephen Jay Gould in the magazine Natural History.

In a phone interview, Dr. Alcock said that he had not read her new book, but that he still maintained the hypothesis that the fact that "orgasm doesn't occur every time a woman has intercourse is not evidence that it's not adaptive."

"I'm flabbergasted by the notion that orgasm has to happen every time to be adaptive," he added.

Dr. Alcock theorized that a woman might use orgasm "as an unconscious way to evaluate the quality of the male," his genetic fitness and, thus, how suitable he would be as a father for her offspring.

"Under those circumstances, you wouldn't expect her to have it every time," Dr. Alcock said."

From the NY Times...full article

Oh God No

Pye

Taking a clue from Dave at ETD, I would like to devote this entire post to my darling cat, Pye. Two nights ago I couldn't find her when I crawled into bed. I couldn't sleep, imagining her out there getting raped and beaten by really mean "alley cats" or skinned by serial-killers-to-be. I don't think some cats should be "outdoor cats", especially not this one because she is a gentle little pacifist who only likes cuddling and gently pawing at my stomach. After a restless, nightmare-ridden sleep, I woke up and got ready for work. Sure enough, when I opened the front door, Pye was on the porch mewing away. Then she limped past me and up the stairs to my bed. Her little paw was swollen and bleeding! Our landlady's car was towed yesterday so she couldn't take Pye to the vet, so when I got home, Pye was still a sleepy little invalid in a lot of pain. My roommate had set her up on a pillow with her food and water next to her. She had been sleeping all day, probably worn out from running for her life. Her little paw is still swollen to twice the size. Last night it was so nice to have her back in my bed. She sleeps curled up right next to my belly, with her head all buried in her front paws. She is just so damn cute. Not as crazy as Dave's cats, I presume, but I love her so much. I can't stop worrying about her.

fyi

This morning, coming out of the subway, I saw...

A seagull wing. Intact and Unattached. With the bloody bone sticking out.