Archive for February, 2006
Monday, February 27th, 2006
The clothes the clothes the clothes.
Oh the clothes. Time to get dramatic.
We’ve all heard the term “Corporate Dress.” We all need to look “professional” so that the “environment” is “conducive” to “work.” Appearances are everything.
There’s no other way of dressing that makes people look more like soulless shiftless drones (except maybe bee costumes- a whole office of people in bee costumes). The dull tones and sleek lines may sometimes by aesthetically pleasing, but the purpose is sinister. You look a little like a robot and act a little like a machine which is tragic since most people work long hours and spend so much time in those clothes. They spend the majority of their day in the fashion of a drone. That’s why it feels so good to take those clothes off. The wind down is very neccesary. You get to shake of that office jargon and constant attention to appearance and political correctness (which breeds passive aggresion) and put on whatever makes you feel like you and lounge around. To some people, it is an event. The shoes finally come off (tight dress shoe or heels), the tie comes undone (the little noose around your neck there as a reminder that at any moment the stool underneath you can be kicked away and you will die), maybe some music goes on, maybe the TV, maybe some ice cream…you get to decide and that’s the whole point you’re finally or your time, but it pales in comparison to how much you’re on their time.
Some people don’t wind down. They have to take work home or they’re always connected thanks to the various blackberries, treos, sidekicks and other knick knacks that make you constantly connected. You’re always reachable therefore you’re always still working. We’ve happily made our time into an extension of their time. Hey, we think its more convenient! That’s how they get you. We shouldn’t always be connected cuz then we make our own time expendable. Sleep especially. Some people treat sleep like its a timewasting nuisance. Um, its SLEEP!! But no, its ok. Just drink more coffee that’ll get you to 5 o clock.
We all know a person that works very hard and is very tightly wound. When that person parties or goes out, its usually a MESS. They try to cram an entire weeks worth nay an entire months worth of partying into one night and most of their friends end up having to take care of them for the rest of the night. Nice.
Corporate dress is the modern day equivalent to the brand. You can’t brand your slaves…I mean employees anymore, but you can make them all look the same. That means they are owned.
St Peter don’t ya call me cuz i can’t go/ i owe my soul to the company store.
Ah, nothing better than a messy essay. Can you tell I refused to write papers in high school and college?
Thursday, February 23rd, 2006
I didn’t write for a while because I liked that last post so much I had to let it sit.
Very few offices have restrooms that are easily accesible. I don’t know how many offices I’ve been to were I’m told “Oh yeah, go down this hall then take a left then another left then another left. Then you’ll see a portal. Jump into it. You’ll feel a slight popping sensation in your ears which is your body moving through the wormhole. Then you’ll see a giant mushroom field with a catepillar sitting on one smoking dope. He’ll ask you who you are, but just say you’re there to use the bathroom.”
Alright, that’s an exaggeration, but you know what I mean. Very rarey do you ever hear “Right outside.” Next time you get directions to the potty notice the sense of self the person telling you feels. You might feel a bit of vertigo while listening to them rattle off the various turns and landmarks you may have to pass. It makes you go “Huh? What? I’m so confused…walls spinning…lights flashing…indentity slipping away…” Next thing you know you work there. You’ve somehow been hornswaggled into working there for longer than you want for less than you’re worth.
The moment you know where the restroom is without having to think about it brings a sense of belonging. That’s how they get you. You tell someone else where the restroom is and all of a sudden you’re rattling off the things you once didn’t understand. They come out of you effortlessly and it feels like you’re outside of yourself watching yourself tell some ignorant visitor about the portal and the ear popping. Then you feel like you belong and you stay there for 10 years. That’s one of the ways the get you.
Monday, February 20th, 2006
Anyone that’s ever been to New York knows that there is a homeless problem. One of the most common places to see the homeless is on the subway. Once New Yorkers hear the phrase “scuse me ladies and gentlemen…” said in raspy drawn out manner, we know a show is about to start.
Cuz really, the homeless are as experienced as the many stars of Broadway. They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts. Since they are essentially performers, I get a little Simon Cowell if I feel like a homeless beggar isn’t reaching their full potential. “That was the worst peformance I’ve ever seen. You expect me to feel sorry for you? The only thing I feel sorry about is the fact I will never get back the time you’ve just wasted.” And Paula is like “Simon, he’s homeless. Have some compassion!”
There’s this one guy I used to see on the 6 train who came into the car with NO LEGS and said nothing. He let the legs to the talking. I stood up and applauded, “Wow! Now that is the devotion needed to become the Homeless Idol! I stand because you can not!! Congratulations! You are going to Hollywood! And by Hollywood I mean you are going to eat today!”
Every now and then (and this is one of my favorite things to see) two beggars will enter from opposite ends of a subway car and suddenly come face to face. Something interesting always happens. One time I saw two homeless men start foaming at the mouth and growling at each other. Then they touched hands and began to melt into each other. They tried to pull away, but it was too late they were becoming one. Bigger, badder, and even smellier. There was a flash of lightning and out of nowhere I heard a voice say “SUPER BEGGARTRON!” They had transformed!! And it was perfect cuz right at that moment a guy came onto the subway car with a gun and was like “This is a stick up!! Give me all your money!!” Super Beggartron turned around and said “Laser Stream of Pee!” and a green urination shot forth and cut the bandit in half and his body evaporated! Then Super Beggartron flew up and out of the train like a ghost. And the New Yorkiest thing of all is that NO ONE ever looked up from their newpapers or acknowledged that something happened outside of their iPods!! Well, I saw you Super Beggartron and on behalf of the people on the W train that day…thanks.
Saturday, February 18th, 2006
If you ever see a fly on a plane, train or bus, just realize they might be travelling too. Maybe they don’t mean to bug you (damn I’m good), they’re just anxious to get to Cancun.
Why do we say to people going on a plane ride “Have a good flight.” They don’t have any control over what happens on that plane. Just say what you mean. Say “Don’t die.” That has nothing to do with the plane. If it goes down, kick, scratch, swim, just don’t die. Find your way to a deserted island and put to use all the lessons you got from the movie Castaway.
I wonder how many people who were staff researchers lost their jobs due to google.
You ever have the occurence where it seems you see the same random actor a a lot on tv in different ways or you hear the same random song so many times in a short amount of time you think “Is it their birthday? Did they just die?” I’ve heard the song “Wishing Well” by Terence Trent D’arby too many times in the last 2 days for it to be a coincidence. Google told me his birthday isn’t until March 15th. What’s the deal???
Thursday, February 16th, 2006
I’m starting to think that “Too much noise” is the just the old man downstairs’s way of saying Hello and Goodbye
HIM: Too much noise.
ME: Too much noise to you too, sir. Its a beatiful day isn’t it.
HIM: Indeed it is. Well I’ll talk to you later. Too much noise.
ME: Too much noise.
Oh if only it were like that. The other say I said to him. “More Noise? No Problem.” Here’s the rub. Sarcasm only works if you speak the same language as the person you are sarcazing. I wouldn’t understand sarcasm in French nor would a Frenchman understand sarcasm in Chinese nor would a Chinaman understand sarcasm in Portuguese nor would a Portugalman understand sarcasm in English.
“You must speak the same speak” is actually the first principle of the philosophy of Sarcasm as established by the great Greek thinker Sarcasmocles who was known for sitting in groups with Aristotle going “Oh, that is sooooo smart. You really are soooo wise” after everything he said. As we all know, Sarcasmocles was the disciple of Insecureassholenes the other student of Socrates who traveled the countryside with Plato saying to him “You know what? Fuck you!! You think you’re better than me? I hate you!!”
Of course the debate still rages today over whether Passive Aggressive or Aggressive Aggressive is the best way to be a dick. Guess Old Man MeanyHead will be my subject.
Monday, February 13th, 2006
Some people say “oh you Negroes! Constantly harping on the fact that your people started out in this country as slaves and then were freed but were still unequal and how because of that today there’s a huge psychological scar that effects how you are a black man or woman in America! Get over it!” Those people I usually call Boss because they’re usually in positions of power.
I’ve devised a way to counteract the fact that reparations will never happen. I call it subtextual reparations. Every 40th white person I meet (40 for 40 acres and a mule) I go out of my way to make their lives around me a living hell. Anytime they’re around me its like they’re in the movie Grounhog Day always repeating their worst 3rd grade experience (depantsing every day followed by self urination). Here’s the extra kick, I’m ridiculously nice to everyone else around them. The closer a friend of theirs is to them, the nicer I am to that friend. That way they never have anyone to turn to.
THE MARK: Man, that Baron is a BITCH!! He is such an asshole, right guys?
FRIEND #1: Uh, actually I think he’s great. He helped me out with my July rent.
FRIEND #2: Yeah, he sang at my Mom’s funeral the most beautiful acoustic version of “More than a Feeling” that I’ve ever heard.
FRIEND #3: He gave me some bone marrow.
HAHA, NO ONE TO TURN TO!! And when they are frustrated, all alone, ripping out their hair confused as to why I treat that way, I will smile and speak softly to myself the word “Reparations.”
Monday, February 13th, 2006
Watched a brief scene from the movie Runaway Jury in which a character played by SNL’s Nora Dunn gets expelled from the jury. She is replaced by a young goth looking girl by the name of Lydia Deets. That is the name and costume of the character played by Winona Ryder in a little movie called “Beetlejuice”
Sunday, February 12th, 2006
I love my puns.
Its snowing in New York. Finally. I was getting nervous there.
I was in a cab the other night on my way back to queens. It was friday night so of course the cabs were out in full force looking like a flock of misshapen yellow birds. Its black history month or as I like to call it “the month I can get a cab” -out of respect for my peoples struggle (even though 3 cabs looked at me and kept going before I got into this one). Anyhoo, I was in this cab headed home when I see a cab next to us with PHAT rims. Rims? Rims!! Ahem, why does a cab have really nice rims? I kept trying to look at them through the mild frost of the window. My driver seemed a little concerned about what I was trying to look at (does he have some maps and schematics he didn’t want me to see? If you laughed at that it means you assumed he was Arabic you racist! Some terrorists are Greek you racist you.) I badly wanted to know what kind of cab driver would put rims on their cab and finally we pulled up right next to him and it was a Sikh complete was turban and beard. AND he had a gold chain around his neck. Yes a GOLD CHAIN. Holy shit.
Second verse same as the first.
I was at Best Buy the other day buying some very neccesary equipment for world domination…uh…I mean my computer and for some reason I was having Phlatulence. Phlatulence is Phat Flatulence: gas that’s hilarious. You’re not embarrased. Its just funny. My theory about my gas is that it might have to do with me mouthwashing with saltwater lately. Maybe the small amount i’ve been swallowing has given me the poot poots (I’m a kindergarten teacher). Anybay, I was looking at some plutonium…uh…disks and I let one go. There are the farts that you feel coming: the knock at the door farts. “Hello? Somebody there?” And then there are the ones who sneak up on you likea burglar. You don’t realize their presence until they are suffocating you in your sleep (that’s a drak comparison). This was a burglar. Before I knew it, I had let go a nasty full bodied aroma that is the closest a person could come to knowing the smell of a zombie. And I do mean “let go” like loosing control of the reigns of the Pharty Phoenix. The moment I walked away from the crime scene an unlucky Best Buy employee walked into this fog and exclaimed the very apt “DAMN!” In the black people way “DAYYYAMN!” I laughed. There was nothing else I could do. I tunred the corner and looked back in time to see the man eyes explode. My bad.
Friday, February 10th, 2006
One day I’ll be a great comedian. I’m a good comedian right now. This is a quote from someone that is great.
“Just once I’d like to see a movie that gets relationships. I rented that movie Monster’s Ball the other day and it was supposed to show you that love can triumph over racism which is a great message, but the casting was ridiculous. You got Billy Bob Thornton playing a racist corrections officer who somehow manages to overcome his racism enough to have sex with Halle Berry. Wow! Good to see people rise above the hate like that, huh? Its HALLE BERRY. I’m pretty sure even the Grand Wizard of the KKK could’ve walked across that bridge. If they wanted to make a big statement, it shoud’ve been Brad Pitt and Whoopi Goldberg.”
– Greg Giraldo (http://www NULL.greggiraldo NULL.com/)
Wednesday, February 8th, 2006
Everybody has had a dream about their profession. I wouldn’t even say that, just whatever job they have (not necessarily a profession). I’ve dreamt about the office when I worked at one. I dreamt about CompUSA when I worked there; dreams about 3 headed customers coming in asking for things that don’t exist then breathing fire and asking for a manager when I could not assist them (not far from the truth).
Many comics will attest to the fact the we not only dream about performing, but we dream jokes. I had this one dream where I was doing stand up at the church I grew up going to and there were some unruly audience members. I decided to “handle” them at the top of my set and the whole audience walked out on me except one middle aged blonde woman who put her back to me.
The other night I dreamt a joke I thought I might actually be able to use. Its a different sort than I usually dream which are absurd non sequitors (once I dreamt jokes about being a goat farmer that consisted of inside jokes about goat behavior)
Here’s a joke I dreamt the other night….
I…uh…I was talking to a friend the other day trying to make some plans and I asked what he was doing that night and he said “oh you know, i’m probably gonna stay in, smoke a joint, read a book.” And that made my head almost explode. Smoke a joint and THEN read a book? Are you sure thats the right order to do that? I’m sorry, I never saw the research papers about weed being a education enhancer…oh wait, THEY DON’T EXIST. I can’t imagine that situation. Sitting down with a bong and a book. Smoking up and then ripping into Dostoevsky. “Wow, I think I finally understand what he trying to say here. He saying…wait…I’m losing me high (smoke smoke) ah yes I see it again.” That’s not what happens! You’d be sitting there scared the Brother’s Karamazov are gonna jump out of the book, put you in a sleeper hold, and eat the rest of your Doritos. That, my friends, is tragedy.