Put Your Camera Away

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This is one of the lockers at the gym I go to. And this isn't in some ghetto gym. It's a decent gym in a nice neighborhood. The New York Stock Exchange is across the street.
When the banking system was falling off a cliff a couple years ago, I would watch Maria Bartiromo report from the steps of Federal Hall while I did sit-ups and silently prayed that some desperate banker might jump out a window before my eyes. All three endeavors were disappointing in their own way. Maria Bartiromo appeared to be kind of plump in person and not what I'd expect from someone nicknamed the "Money Honey". My sit-ups did little good. No bankers were even crying, let alone jumping.
Anyway, the locker room... It looked like someone went at the lock using a wrench, got 50% of the job done, and then just gave up. I wonder how the other people in the locker room at the time responded. I think they all pretended like nothing in the least bit unusual was occurring. The same way they do when some dude bends over, dries his butt crack with exaggeratedly dramatic sweeps of his towel, and then douses himself with perfume in a disgusting ritual of personal hygiene.
The question that lingers in my mind is why did I decide to use the adjacent locker to store my belongings?
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A couple weeks ago I received in the mail "The Most Important Gift Catalog In The World". I wish I had some way of contacting Dell, LL Bean, Victoria's Secret, and every other company that sends me catalogs on a weekly basis to let them know that Heifer International has unilaterally decided that Heifer International's catalog is the superior gift catalog.
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There are probably times when you wonder why my girlfriend is so much better than your girlfriend (or wife or boyfriend or partner or whatever). The answer is quite simple, really: mine found an albino squirrel today and yours didn't.
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I just returned from Copenhagen, and aside from the joy of being reunited with my beloved Kelley, the thing I'm most relieved to be reconnected with are two conveniences that I hardly believe deserve to be called conveniences: shower curtains and towels.
I'll be brief with the shower curtain thing, because it's something that I've experienced a few times in Europe. When you don't install shower curtains, your bathroom gets flooded - EVERY TIME. Even the biggest slobs I know prefer to avoid that sort of mess. Even in a country where modern office buildings have holes in the ground instead of flushing toilets, showers have curtains.
Now, the towels... this is not a European thing at all. This is the hotel I stayed at. And I don't have a problem with the hotel. It has a rustic cabin meets Nordic design feel to it that's pretty cool. The last time I stayed there I had a nice room, and a bathroom that was so large the shower was able to flood only half of it. I don't even remember the towels.
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Chinese might be an amusing language for English-speakers, with all of its "wangs", "wongs" and "dongs", but Danish is no slouch either. Consider the Danish word for "final sprint", which I noticed on the sign of a clothing store in Copenhagen.
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Larry Harmon, aka "Bozo the Clown", died a couple years ago, but before he ceased to exist he wrote a book documenting his exploits. It was finally published earlier this month.
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"I felt both jealous of their youth and scared for their future. In short, I felt paternal and aroused, which is not a good combination"
Super Sad True Love Story by Gary Shteyngart
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Kelley saw the video for "Kids" by MGMT the other night and knew I'd like it. As always, she was right.
It reminded me of this carnival poster that I had in my bedroom when I was a kid. The clowns in the poster always scared me. Years later I mentioned to my mom how the pictures frightened me. She said, "I know. That's why I put it there."
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Ice T's "tweet" made me momentarily reconsider every negative thing I've said or thought about Twitter.
http://twitter.com/FINALLEVEL/status/19009348558
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My neighborhood allows me to take advantage of all the hassles of life in New York City, and spares me most of its pleasures. There is one aspect of my neighborhood that I appreciate, however, and that is it's pretty bike-accessible.
This is due to Ocean Parkway. I was surprised recently to learn that the Ocean Parkway bike path was the first bike path created in the country, created in 1894.
The bike path follows the entire length of Ocean Parkway, meaning it goes from Prospect Park (Brooklyn's version of Central Park) to Coney Island (Brooklyn's version of Brooklyn). The distance between these landmarks is less than 6 miles, so it's not a long ride.
According to the signs that line the path, this is a dedicated bike path. In reality, it's mostly bikes, with enough pedestrians and dogs to provide a lonely rider with the companionship of annoyance while riding along. The frustrating part of this is that Ocean Parkway is lined with 6 wide pedestrian sidewalks and paths. And all 6 run the entire length of the parkway. One of the 6 is supposed to be used by bikes. That leaves 5 other perfectly suitable places for people to walk and for animals to roam. But the pedestrians use all 6.
Another biking-related surprise I experienced was that it takes me the same amount of time to get to Lower Manhattan riding my bike as it does taking the subway. I'm not a hardcore cyclist, and I don't ride particularly fast. The trains are slower than I realized.
Or are they? I discovered my last surprise after returning from a ride last night. My computer reported the maximum speed I'd achieved was 74.3 miles per hour. This is incredible, in the most literal sense.
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9:22 AM
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I've been meaning to write about what I think is funny for a while. Here are a few. I hope you like them as much as I do.
Party Down
I'm not a fan of quirkiness. A couple years back Michael Hirschorn wrote an article titled Quirked Around about quirkiness in The Atlantic. Even though I do like a couple of the examples he offers - This American Life and Miranda July, which I only mention lest someone think I liked a moment of Garden State - I didn't enjoy most of the examples he listed. I can't stomach shows like Desperate Housewives or Glee.
Party Down features a cast of mostly quirky characters. It is definitely at the edge of what is, to me, an acceptable level of quirkiness.
But when Roman explains how Jesus was clearly "African-American" I almost spit out my drink. This is a great series. Maybe I'm the last one to figure this out. If you have Netflix you can stream it.
Terry Crew
There's something about this guy that cracks me up. I was at work when I first watched the euro training video. I couldn't stop laughing. It actually rendered me useless for the rest of the day. Now's he's starring in these bizarre Old Spice commercials.
Parks and Recreation
Yes, I can accept the argument that this is a ripoff of The Office. But as soon as a camera focuses on the character April and her weird scowl, I always lose it.
Absurdistan
This is not a new book unless you consider something written in 2006 to be new, but this novel about a wannabe American was laugh-out-loud funny.
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At the end of October I bought a Roku HD box. This device allowed us to watch streaming movies from Netflix. It worked great, but after connecting it to the television we quickly realized that the effort required to press the various buttons on the various remote controls in order to actually watch streaming movies greatly exceeded the effort we were willing to devote to the endeavor. As a result, we rarely used the Roku box.
In early May, in a moment of great frustration and dissatisfaction with Cablevision, I decided to replace our Cablevision-provided DVR with a Tivo. After accepting a final insult served up by Cablevision (their insistance that I schedule - and pay for - a technician to come over and install the Tivo), we were freed of Cablevision's horrible DVR.
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According to the U.S. Census Bureau, on July 1, 2008 there were approximately 304 million residents in the United States. 94 million of those were at least 50 years old. This is the population AARP lobbies for.
In today's mail I was surprised to find an AARP membership card with my name on it. Are they not powerful enough by representing more than 30% of the population? If they reduce the minimum age for their membership to 35, they will represent 179 million people (or almost 60% of the population).
Is this an epic power grab by AARP? Did they decide that 50 is entirely too high an age to be considered a retired person?
I might enroll so I can get Kelley a discount on the cruise she's planning. If anyone out there wants to get some discounted orthopedic shoes or anything, just let me know.
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"Dick Cavett" and "awesomeness", appearing together for what I believe to be the first time ever in a commentary on the New York Times website. Technically I guess that's three words. No matter.
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Talhotblond is now available for your home viewing pleasure - including from Netflix. I strongly recommend you rent it. And I even more strongly recommend you NOT read any reviews of it. Except mine, because I don't spoil the ending.
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Is our cat contemplating vegetarianism? I hope not, because cats eat other animals. That's what they do.
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Kelley's sister sent me these all natural sleeping pills. Immediately, Kelley noticed something slightly off about them.
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Being in New York means being in a state of constant curiosity. According to the city's count, nearly 170 languages are spoken here. I'm always wondering: what are those two shriveled old men laughing about? What is the headline of the newspaper story featuring W wearing his trademarked confused monkey expression while surrounded by beautiful women? What does that sign mean?
Signs are everywhere. Hand scrawled sign. Nicely printed signs featuring major American celebrities who (apparently) endorse stoop sales in Chinatown. And - my personal favorite - signs created using the method preferred by kidnappers and other nefarious schemers: meticulously cutting individual letters from various newspapers and magazines.
It is not unusual to see a sign in English and another language. It is unusual, however, to see a sign that clearly says one thing in English and something else in another language. That is what I noticed this morning as I passed a laundromat on my way to the train.
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It's been a while since anything on Facebook made me laugh out loud. But last night something did.
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Last weekend's hassle was 20 inches of snow. This weekend's honor belongs to our local street fair. This poor guy didn't get the memo. Talk about adding insult to injury!
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I'm not sure where this guy is finding $4 bottles of beer in New York, but he has written a good article expressing the frustration some people feel over being expected to tip everyone and everything in New York: Hey, Waiter! Just How Much Extra Do You Really Expect?
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I'm in Copenhagen for the week, staying at a hotel that I was warned is in the red-light district. There is a strip club across the street, but it has thus far showed no signs of life.
On my walk back to my hotel this evening I passed a small person all bundled up like an Eskimo. I could tell that someone was coming towards me, but I didn't look up. The sidewalk was a sheet of ice and I was trying not to slip.
Just as the person was about to pass me I hear a woman's voice say hello in the unnaturally friendly tone of someone about to ask for something. I assumed she was about to ask me for directions.
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In the fall Kelley took a Spanish class that required an incredibly overpriced workbook. Instead of buying the book at the college bookstore, we bought it on Amazon.
Since Kelley needed the workbook quickly so she could do her assignments, I decided to order from someone local. I found a seller who advertised that the book would be shipped "next day" and that he was located in New Jersey.
Neither claim was true. The book could not have been shipped the next day (though it did arrive inside of the dates promised by Amazon). It was shipped from California. That's fine. The problem is that the workbook had a bunch of pages ripped out. Not just any pages, either. Gone were those pages containing the assignments a student would submit. The "work" pages from the workbook were missing.
On December 14 I wrote the seller to explain that the book he sent me was worthless to me:
The book I ordered from you is a workbook used in a Spanish class. Pages with the exercises on them were ripped out. These pages are essential because they are our homework assignments. As a result, the book you sent me is worthless. I am writing to request a full refund, including shipping charges. thank you.
MAIL ME THE BOOK BACK IMMEDIATELY AS STATED BY A2Z CONTRACT; BY JANUARY 28th.
YOU HAVE UNTIL JANUARY 28th TO HAVE THE BOOK REDELIVERED BEFORE I TAKE YOU TO SMALL CLAIMS COURT. YOU WILL RECEIVE AN OFFICIAL NOTICE OF BEING SERVED ON FEBRUARY 4th CERTIFIED AND SIGNATURE REQUIRED BY THE STATE OF CALIFORNIA. YOU'LL HAVE 30 DAYS BEFORE YOU HAVE TO SHOW UP FOR THE COURT APPEARANCE IN THE ORANGE COUNTY COURT HOUSE.
p.s. YOU'RE A FUCKING DOUCHEBAG :-)
According to Amazon I am not required to return the defective item you sent me. http://www.amazon.com//gp/help/customer/display.html? nodeId=13832201#noreturn
But you didn't provide a return address so that I could return the item if I wanted to. What is your mailing address and phone number.
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Words may not be needed, but they help.
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7:15 PM
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I don't mind going to see small theater productions featuring friends. With one memorable exception in Harlem that involved a homeless woman interrupting a performance, I seldom feel the need to encourage other people to attend. But last night Kelley and I attended a performance put on by The Complete Theater Company that I really enjoyed.
Bob Brown is a friend and former coworker of Kelley's. She describes him as one of the nicest people she's ever met. At one point Bob confided in Kelley that he had a dream of trying acting. Kelley made her living as an actor and comedian for many years, so she was hoping that he would follow his dream.
Through a series of events that she ascribes to fate - and that I think was just dumb luck - Kelley learned Bob was going to be performing this weekend. So on a cold Saturday night we set out to the Richmond Shepard Theatre to watch The Original One-Act Festival.
The performance was a collection of 6 one-act plays, all of which were surprising creative, interesting, well written. Despite the fact that each play was only one act, the characters were all developed to the point that I cared as much about them as any character who is developed over the course of 2 hours. The dialog was smart and funny. My favorites were "Run. Run. Stop." and "Compass Rose".
And the acting was equally good. Bob did a great job, as did pretty much every actor. There was very little of the over-acting or under-acting that I expect when seeing from small productions.
I'm not a theater connoisour by any stretch, but last night was every bit as entertaining as most of the Broadway plays and musicals I've seen, with a fraction of the expense and hassle. Unfortunately the last performance of The Original One-Act Festival is happening as I write this, so you won't be able to see it for yourself. I hope the show was successful. The people who put it on deserve to be very proud of their work.
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Some people out there would have you believe that, prior to being adopted by me, that my cat was abused by a sex offender in Oregon. Not just abused, but sexually abused. There is no evidence whatsoever to support this claim.
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I take back every disparaging word I've muttered under my breath and every time I rolled my eyes at Kelley as she watched what seemed to be an endless variety of true crime stories on an equally endless variety of basic cable channels. I was misguided. Now I understand that. She was, as usual, right.
What I didn't get is pretty simple really. When you're drilling for oil you probably end up with a lot of empty holes. That doesn't mean there isn't oil under there somewhere. Most of the time there isn't, but you might just hit black gold. And that's just what happened last night with Talhotblond.
In my own defense, I must say that a lot of the shows she watches are pretty bad. For example, before we were rewarded with Talhotblond we endured Held Hostage, a Lifetime dramatization of a true story that, despite featuring dynamite and its possible application to a child as a form of punishment, still managed to thoroughly disappoint.
Kelley just stumbled upon a documentary titled Talhotblond on MSNBC last night. She settled on it as soon as she realized it involved murder. I started paying attention because of the strange way the story of a murder was being told. It almost seemed like the narrator was mocking individuals involved in the story. He kept explaining that someone ends up dead, but his delivery style was incongruous with this sad ending.
Here's how the documentary describes itself:
Talhotblond is the true story (and screen name) of a beautiful teenage vixen who uses Internet game rooms to lure men into her cyberspace web.
When she discovers she's been double crossed and lied to by one of her victims, she wants revenge, and unleashes a fantasy on line that escalates into real life murder... all because of a girl no one ever met in person.
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