March 12, 2007

Do Not Adjust Your Television Set

Right. So, um. Let’s see here. One foot in front of the other… no, that’s walking. Okay, um, get up on this seat and spin— no, bike riding. “Post to Blog”…I’ll click that!

Ooh! A blog post!! Yay me!

Not that it’s really like riding a bike; I’ve had the urge to write building in me for ages now, and finally, here it comes. Of course, this is not the thing that I thought I’d be writing about. A couple of weeks ago, you see, there was this woman in purple satin pants and a leopard-print coat. I had this whole thing about things you just don’t wear. And it was totally going to expand into this thing about things you just shouldn’t do generally, particularly in New York. But then, you see, it turned into nothing. And the idea sat there in my phone, waving to me forlornly, saying “Write me! Write me!”

Of course, that didn’t work. The idea was horrible. And without the full on visual (the pants were shiny! The coat was fur-y!), the thing really can’t be written. It definitely doesn’t write itself.

So…I’m going to try to be back. Not let it be such a big obligation, worry, etc. Just write, like I used to. Maybe there will be cool rockstar stories, if I actually get any.

At any rate, it’s been almost a year, and I suck. But… I can tell you that in the last month, my site’s been hacked twice, which made me try to reinstall Movable Type 3.34 (which I finally figured out by my lonesome, but damn was that hard), and I bought S a brand spanking new Hot Wife t-shirt from Dad Gone Mad (Sorry, Danny, but she doesn’t really want to take the picture. That’s just the way she is).

So, uh… that’s it for now. More soon…er than later. But no promises. Can’t do that.

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May 30, 2006

The Failure of Shameless Materialism

Dear Craigslist-- You're supposed to be the go-to in the clutch, the site that everyone told me that I should go to when trying to sell my couch. I believed in your prowess, enjoyed reading the Rants n' Raves section, and generally have heard great things about experiences. And I'll admit it--it was partly my fault--I tried to sell a couch on the Friday night before a long weekend, when lots of people aren't in front of their computers and those that are are probably never going to leave and therefore won't be looking at or carrying any couches any time soon. That said, Memorial Day is supposed to be this huge commercial holiday (though of course, it's got that somber tinge to it as well, and such memories should be kept and preserved), when people go out and think about entertaining their friends and family with flamethrower grilling and lawn darts and sprinklers and hot dogs and beer in the sun and...well, you get the idea. The point is, this is when people are often moving into and out of apartments, thinking about new furniture for entertaining, seeing what they can get and what they need. And here, I got a single offer from a person who offered me $100 for it and pick up a day after my must-move-by date and an expression of interest from someone who hasn't replied to my email and both of whose phones have been turned off. If you're telling me that capitalism isn't at least just a bit sick, I'm telling you to think again. Love, Shoe

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April 18, 2006

Ready or Not...

These days, it seems I can't ake more than about 4 steps out the door before someone--a co-worker, a store owner, the doormen, --the local lovable homeless guy--asks me, "So, are you nervous?" My mom asked me the other night--and she was hoping I'd up and ask S long before I actually did. We've got 11 days till S and I are mister-and-missus Shoe. I don't know if it's politeness, if that's just what you say when you hear or know someone's going to get married, like if someone's about to buy a home or sneezes their milk or something like that (you know, consequential), but it amazes me how many people ask that question. To me, it makes sense in the context of the old days where you courted each other before getting married. And yes, I know that that's a fanciful, sterilized vision of The Way Things Were™, but the fact is that I don't really know anyone who doesn't know their betrothed all that well. Nor, I suspect, do you. S and are among the last people who don't live together before they're married. That doesn't bother me at all, but if anything, I've got more reason to be worried. I'm not, though. It's this simple: I love her. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with her. I can't wait to celebrate it, and I sure as shooting can't wait to go on our honeymoon together and then move into our beautiful new home together. The only thing I'm worried about is whether I'll remember the wedding and reception, or if they'll shoot by like the last couple of birthdays I've had, whether all will go according to plan or if we'll find the band has gone to the other hotel. Either way, I'm not nervous. I just want to slow down time next Friday afternoon and never have it speed up so I can enjoy it all.

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March 24, 2006

Bleargh!

Tonight, I am going to have the first event in my life wherein a group of my friends will attempt to get me as drunk as possible and then roll right past that mark. I'm hesitant to call it a "bachelor party", since that word conjures up all sorts of images involving strippers and ping pong balls and waking up without any pants in a foreign country that isn't Canada or Mexico [often considered to be U.S. North and U.S. South]. However, I suspect that this is the best word to describe a whole bunch of men (including S's brother and Dr. Torrie, both of whom I expect will help mitigate any truly egregious behaviors, and Enigmatic Female's roommate, B, who I suspect will exacerbate them all, possibly all on his own.) I know there is going to be dinner, and there is going to be highfalutin' lounging, but part of me is super nervous about whatever "other" there might be. I would say "call the cops if you don't hear from me in a day or two", but I post so incredibly infrequently that I should revise that number upward. So....call me, or check back here in a month and a half.

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March 2, 2006

This Message Brought to You...

...by AWW, the Awfully Worried Weatherpeople: Holy shit!!!! SNOW!!!!! SNOW EVERYWHERE!!!! It will drown you alive, hide your babies for a week, eat your car and make you wish you were born a polar bear! It will cover every living thing and everything that every living thing has ever created! It will be white and thick and it will be unlike anything you've ever seen before! It will be AWFUL. It will prevent you from being able to work, to play, to eat, to drink, to sleep, to wake, to do anything except bemoan the awful, awful whiteness that has befallen the Earth in this time of God's forsaking us! Run for your lives! It's SNOW!!!!

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December 22, 2005

Commercial Break

Thanks to comments in Defective Yeti's most recent post, I've discovered my favorite online kitsch-boutique. I'm thinking S won't go for the Wedding Slinger for the post-nuptial celebrations.

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September 21, 2005

Yeah, Well, Your Comeback Sucks

I've never been good in high-pressure situations when it comes to witty banter. It's true, I've gotten quite good at the snarky retort, usually when someone else really puts their foot in it, but I wouldn't say that I just whip out the funny stuff every time I try. In fact, given that I like to think I'm amusing from time to time, my jokes are ever-more-likely to fail than to succeed. This is probably in high correlation with the fact that they are situationally driven, and not everyone sees the humor in the situation the way I do. "What happened to excuse me?" said the grumpy high-schooler as my bag brushed past her on the crowded subway the other day. A valid question, probably, and certainly one I've thought, if not verbalized in quite the same way. But it wasn't really such a big deal, and it was early in the morning. And, quite frankly, I've just turned 28, and I'm not going to take crap from anyone who is at best 10 years my junior, and more than likely half my age. So how does one respond? I turned around slowly and looked down on this girl from intellectual, indignant, moral, and self-perceived heights, as well as from actual height, and looked her in the eye. I delivered my withering blow. "What happened to being nice?" I replied coolly. Being nice? Where did that come from? Why not just say "Your Mama!"?? Now, to be fair, S thought the response was pretty good, speedily delivered, and to the point, defusing this moppet's poor attitude, but there were so many better things to say, not to mention one that immediately bedeviled me upon about 10 seconds' thought: "What happened to moving all the way into the car? What happened to not blocking the door? What happened to decency? What happened to understanding? What happened to your face?' As you can tell, I'm very good at coming back...slowly. But if you make fun of me for it, I'm ready for you. Your Mama!

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August 10, 2005

Knives Out

One of the hazards of my profession is that you rarely get a normal meal. One is constantly eating in or eating out. Food is almost always eaten at a desk or a conference table. But somehow today, I discovered that I have about a gross of utensils, and only one fork. I have enough knives to arm a third of China, but nothing to put the food into my mouth. Tragedy.

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July 13, 2005

Unintended Side Afflecks

Has anyone else ever wondered about Matt Damon and Ben Affleck? Of course they have...but I mean what really sets them apart. I mean, here they are--these two guys who grew up together, worked together, and for several years, continuously appeared in movies together. Then bang! they're suddenly movie stars because they wrote Good Will Hunting.#[will] [will]: On that note, was anyone else horribly misled by the title? I expected something completely different--much like when I thought that the Spin Doctors, by their name alone, had to be death-metal. And the more bizarre part is that one seems to have made more good movies on his own, while the other has turned out to be the actors' shining example of what not to do with one's career.#[jen] [jen]: well, except for that Jennifer Garner thing--everyone seems to be in agreement that it was the single smartest thing (only smartest thing?) he's done. That said, you have to wonder if they planned it that way, or karma got in the way--maybe one of them made a deal with the Devil. My theory is that they found a genie in a lamp who granted them each one wish. One wished they would be famous. And the other wished that he would be not-Affleck.

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December 7, 2004

Laughter is the Best Medicine

There is a man in my life. He's a former client, but I also think of him as a friend. He's also a quasi-celebrity and a tremendously talented artist of whom I am totally in awe. His music floors me, his poetry is excellent, and frankly, he has a whole hipster thing going on that has absolutely nothing to do with those chowderheads in the trucker hats and the vintage 80s t-shirts. He's damn cool, and I feel like such a kneebiter for actually claiming him as a friend, as though I'm namechecking at the very time I'm hoping it's true. The biggest problem though, is that Mike's very funny, just in passing, and funny when he's on stage. And it came up when I first met him, having known of him for a number of years. You see, he's publicly known for being an oddball, when in reality, he's just a big clown. As I say, though, this causes problems. Because of course, you see, you want to impress the quasi-famous, and you want to make your friends laugh the way you do. So you string together phrases like two cans on a string and hope that the joke connects better than a crappy cell phone from the 1980s. And you also want to work on your timing, so that a) he knows it's a joke and b) you can keep going if the joke bombs. And bomb it will--you can never compete with an honest to goodness funnyman. Even if your S will laugh at your jokes, you will find that 1 out of every 6 jokes dies with her. And even if your parents and you already share a different sense of humor from most human beings (let alone most normal human beings), even jokes in front of them will be less funny. Particularly when you're not swearing in front of them. Because hey, swearing makes everything funnier. Yes, yes, I'm five. At any rate, the biggest problem I have with my friend Mike is that he makes me realize that although I think I'm funny--see also: I am a blogger--I can never be as funny as him. And I hate him for that.

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November 11, 2004

Permitted Activities

Now that irony is dead--l'ironique est mort, vive l'ironique blah blah--a quick list of permitted activities: * Standing up straight, losing the slouch * You can hate your parents again * You no longer have to work for The Man * Knowing Things * Being naturally pretentious * Grungewear is again allowed * You may hate The Strokes, The Darkness, Britney Spears, Jessica Simpson, Ashlee Simpson, and Ashton Kutcher with abandon * You don't have to like your squalor * Ideals are okay, but you can't make me like yours * Also okay: aspirations * Ambition: not just for breakfast * Suits: for formal occasions or if The Man says so * Cocaine: just a drug, no party involved * Irony does not need to be trifled with if you are an untrained civilian (non-comedians, non-serious writers, Alanis Morissette) * Breast implants: porn stars and mastectomy patients * Be self-effacing, ya big dork

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November 1, 2004

Meta

You know what I think would make a really interesting film, if slightly too abstract and only good for a single viewing? Filming people walking past a New York film shoot, trying to look like they're not looking for the stars.

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October 18, 2004

Public Service Announcement

As it turns out, this Shoe happens to be very good friends with La Petite Dame Suzanne Sonnen-Schein. She has a bone to pick with the world, at this moment, so I thought it best to turn the floor over to her. Without further adieu, Mesdames et Messieurs, La Petite Dame herself:

Good Evening. I’m here tonight to correct some misconceptions of my character, misconceptions that I believe have contributed grossly to my lack of success in the business world. Well, once and for all, I would like to clear the air regarding myself, the individual you have come to know as “Little Miss Susie Sunshine”.

I’ll have you know that I’ve once had six root beers in only a couple of hours. Six! Let me tell you, that was one crazy night.

I’ve even kissed two boys. On the same week! The scandal!

And you know, once I was having a nice frosty Coca-Cola, and my friend Nancy made me laugh. I laughed so hard that I snorted Coke! I don’t know what the big deal is—it didn’t really do all that much for me. It actually kinda burned. But the laughter, that I’m addicted to.

So let this be a lesson to you; just because someone is called “Little Miss Susie Sunshine”, it doesn’t mean she can’t have a wild time.

Thank you, and have an amazingly pleasant day!

Susie

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October 17, 2004

Upsicle

I misread a word that is probably “upside” and decided that this was a mission from the powers that be, or at least the powers that be infiltrating my mind: to introduce the word “upsicle” into the vernacular.

This brings with it a pretty weighty responsibility. A couple, really. The first: What does it mean? Because honestly, you don’t want to go mouthing off about how great a word is about to be and what changes it will wreak upon the face of the mother tongue. Is it a caffeinated treat for those who can’t stand their coffee hot or their beverage the tiniest bit warmed? Is it just the opposite of a standard icicle? Is it simply “the state of being up?” For that matter, is it a noun, an adjective, a subjunctive tense change?

Assuming, however, that upsicle is a noun, and that it simply means “a word, phrase, or event that makes you feel good”, you realize you’re not that much closer to being a trendsetter if you can’t figure out how to convince others to use this bon mot. However, I’ve got vocabulary on my side: everyone loves Schadenfreude. And you know you need the opposite of something to fully appreciate the something.

And as much as I would like to believe that this blog can do it, I must beg you to start using “upsicle” in your everyday speech. It is much to much to ask of a simple Shoe to change the world. But you, Internet, you can do so much!

After all, “upsicle” is, in fact, its own upsicle.

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