A minor hobby of mine happens to be the study of the highly volatile inner workings of emotional tides, relationship currents and societal storm fronts. My studies are entirely casual, often corollary, and never without an obnoxious generalization derived from statistically irrelevant instances of observation.
That said:
To some, progress is the 3G network: A wide area cellular telephone network with the capacity to support video telephony and high-speed internet access that drastically overshadows the traditional IEEE 802.11 streaming-data-supporting networks of yesteryear. (thank you wikipedia.) But to me, progress is more easily marked in fumbling and faux-pas and the avoidance thereof. How many people did our parents date before settling down to roost? How many awkward encounters have they had to brave over the years as they dated within their social networks and, consequently, were forced to become un-acquainted with certain sects of 'friends' as their ex toll rose?
I may be unique in this respect, but I'm pretty sure there are only 1 or 2 names my siblings and I were predetermined to NOT be named whereas my own children, and I'm sure all the children of my peers, will have whole sections of the baby-naming book struck off-limits before the afterbirth ever hits the floor. For instance, for my kids, most of the K's are shot as are a hefty portion of the Jewish varietals. And at this development, I index-finger-point and shout, "We will prove progress! Progress, dammit!"
Social dynamics have changed! People no longer collide with force and stick forever in an ionic bond of commitment and complacency; they collide and dissociate and collide and dissociate - which may very well be due to the changing nature of the environment surrounding us. More energy to destroy the electron shell-sharing, more people to bounce off of, more chat rooms to explore, more travel, more psychedelic drug activity, more contraceptives, more internet pornography...
But in the course of a very animated and confusing discussion with two energetic conspirators, it became quite apparent that these new circumstances have led to a conundrum. How do we, under the stealthy cover of exaggerated whispering in the visible presence of aforementioned awkward encounters, relay to our bar-mates that we must relocate? (Immediately.)
After all, if you've dated enough, and your social playground is small enough, and your social network is big enough, and your high-energy collisions, whether sexual or not, often throw heat and light and sound and tears, then you probably often find yourself shouting to your bar-mates, with your hand up both to block the lip-readers and to alert the insecurities in all of us, that, yes, "She's friends with my Ex. Let's go."
Fear not, social instigators, as Sarah, Christine (aforementioned conspirators) and I finally resolved, you've merely stumbled on the frothy remnants of a torrid relationship. You've encountered the latte-layer that keeps the hate hot and yet obnoxiously, surreptitiously hidden. You've been to the party that washes your clothes while you're wearing them. You're in the summer of your lives, at the beach, and kinda grossed out by what's washing ashore from the storms at sea: you've encountered today's FOME (Friends Of My Enemy) or, more likely, FOMEX (Friends Of My EX), and that, my lovelies, the expansion of the lexicon to neutralize an urgent, emergent social development, is progress, progress, progress. Third generation network be damned, I'm holding out for trisomy marriages and just ONE word to describe a male slut, whore or hussy. PROGRESS!
Monday, October 27, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
"If I had a million dollars... I'd be (nowhere near) rich (enough to buy much of anything these days so, Tina Fey, please hire me)!"
Dear Tina Fey,
I'm pretty sure you need a homo-conspirator in your dwell-dom. I have copious qualities that qualify me as being nearly qualified to be be this aforementioned conspirator. For starters, I'm a Pisces. Secondly, I tend to go gay--and not just because I look like a boy, sleep with women, and haven't worn a skirt since boarding school-- no, it's because I actually enjoy lesbian leisure activities. Like screwing (wood together) to make stuff that I don't want. And red wine. At Home Depot happy hour. I'm not sure which is the pivotal quality here, but I think, together, they do a bang up job. And while I'm listing innate qualities over which I had absolutely no control, I'm just going to throw it out there that I'm of medium height, which, in social situations is very much like being Switzerland. And who wouldn't want to work with Switzerland? I don't know how up to date you are on neutral countries, but compared to the inebriated Irish, the scantily clad Costa Ricans, and the who the hell are Liechtenstein-ers, Switzerland is basically the David Beckham of neutrality.
Also on the topic of actual reasons for why you should let me hang around your office (or, possibly, farther down the hall, on a different floor, and right next to the bathroom (the MEN'S bathroom - woo!)), my lesser genetic though wildly ingrained qualities over which, in the vein of complacency, I wish I had less control, happen to be that I'm semi-articulate, enthusiastically sarcastic, hopelessly Romance-less, and willing to work for free. I'm also an ardent negotiator and if pushed, yes, I will actually pay you to let me work for you. (Which, in a sense, drastically undermines the employer-employee relationship in so much that there exists, then, a nonexistence of monetary struggle and over-utilization. But if YOU'RE ok with that, then so am I.)
The crux of the matter is that while watching varietals of comedic genocide, I typically lament that I'm not able to contribute to the preponderance of blatant mediocrity and massive failures that abound the television industry. I wish to rectify this. Even if it means fetching coffee to spill on a crotch in a dimly orchestrated live sketch wherein hot testicles become the fiery substitute for an actual punchline, which, if you ask me, is...
I've attached my CV (how that's short for resume is beYOND me) wherein my contact info is listed because, ultimately, with every ounce of sarcasm abated, I do hope to hear from you. Or, realistically, I hope to hear from that guy down the hall, some countless floors down, right next to the men's room, who probably screens and/or answers your emails. And that's why I pasted the contents of my CV below. If I were that guy, I sure as hell wouldn't open an attachment from a Pisces.
Best,
Casey
Resume for: Casey
Address: Recently relocated from UES to Park Slope, New York City Suburb, 3.46 miles SSE and 232 feet lower than Tina's Office. (I had to buy a stronger telescope.)
Education: Yes, but not at all what you're looking for.
Awards: I had a thing for Tina Fey since long before she became uber-famous. Like, back when she was only the weekend update chick and 30 Rock was just the name of a little known mid-life band out in Tulsa. I think that counts.
Work Experience: Only in every other industry than television.
Skills: Very solid Pisces. Born exactly at the peak of the sign. Also, kinda short BUT kinda tall, too. And gay. Mostly for the drink specials.
I'm pretty sure you need a homo-conspirator in your dwell-dom. I have copious qualities that qualify me as being nearly qualified to be be this aforementioned conspirator. For starters, I'm a Pisces. Secondly, I tend to go gay--and not just because I look like a boy, sleep with women, and haven't worn a skirt since boarding school-- no, it's because I actually enjoy lesbian leisure activities. Like screwing (wood together) to make stuff that I don't want. And red wine. At Home Depot happy hour. I'm not sure which is the pivotal quality here, but I think, together, they do a bang up job. And while I'm listing innate qualities over which I had absolutely no control, I'm just going to throw it out there that I'm of medium height, which, in social situations is very much like being Switzerland. And who wouldn't want to work with Switzerland? I don't know how up to date you are on neutral countries, but compared to the inebriated Irish, the scantily clad Costa Ricans, and the who the hell are Liechtenstein-ers, Switzerland is basically the David Beckham of neutrality.
Also on the topic of actual reasons for why you should let me hang around your office (or, possibly, farther down the hall, on a different floor, and right next to the bathroom (the MEN'S bathroom - woo!)), my lesser genetic though wildly ingrained qualities over which, in the vein of complacency, I wish I had less control, happen to be that I'm semi-articulate, enthusiastically sarcastic, hopelessly Romance-less, and willing to work for free. I'm also an ardent negotiator and if pushed, yes, I will actually pay you to let me work for you. (Which, in a sense, drastically undermines the employer-employee relationship in so much that there exists, then, a nonexistence of monetary struggle and over-utilization. But if YOU'RE ok with that, then so am I.)
The crux of the matter is that while watching varietals of comedic genocide, I typically lament that I'm not able to contribute to the preponderance of blatant mediocrity and massive failures that abound the television industry. I wish to rectify this. Even if it means fetching coffee to spill on a crotch in a dimly orchestrated live sketch wherein hot testicles become the fiery substitute for an actual punchline, which, if you ask me, is...
I've attached my CV (how that's short for resume is beYOND me) wherein my contact info is listed because, ultimately, with every ounce of sarcasm abated, I do hope to hear from you. Or, realistically, I hope to hear from that guy down the hall, some countless floors down, right next to the men's room, who probably screens and/or answers your emails. And that's why I pasted the contents of my CV below. If I were that guy, I sure as hell wouldn't open an attachment from a Pisces.
Best,
Casey
Resume for: Casey
Address: Recently relocated from UES to Park Slope, New York City Suburb, 3.46 miles SSE and 232 feet lower than Tina's Office. (I had to buy a stronger telescope.)
Education: Yes, but not at all what you're looking for.
Awards: I had a thing for Tina Fey since long before she became uber-famous. Like, back when she was only the weekend update chick and 30 Rock was just the name of a little known mid-life band out in Tulsa. I think that counts.
Work Experience: Only in every other industry than television.
Skills: Very solid Pisces. Born exactly at the peak of the sign. Also, kinda short BUT kinda tall, too. And gay. Mostly for the drink specials.
Monday, October 20, 2008
On Youth, Age and Disparity: An epic of novella proportions
Monday morning posts - an affliction of the nostalgic. But today I don't mind slipping into that very wispy bucket. I spent this weekend tripping down the east coast. The multi-stop drive from brooklyn to baltimore was a short 3.5 hours of absolute determination and yet the way back was riddled with excuses to slow down. Apparently car trips lengthen with the magnitude of necessary reflection required therein. 7 hours worth of reflection. 200% of the reflection going down. It was empathy that led SUVs to take out pines trees and souped up sports cars, I swear.
In sum, I drove a combined 10.5 hours to spend 22 hours with some of my roommates from college. I learned a few things, I observed a few things, and I won't wax poetic about any of them. Promise.
LIAR. First off, baltimore is like anti-manhattan. Cute, laid back, star-studded (like, you can actually sees some stars. in the sky.) perfectly filled to that idyllic capacity wherein you definitely have to wait for a table at bars but you can surely find space at the actual bar to put your scorpion bowl down between ya'll...
Secondly: I MISS my friends! When did this happen? When did 9 people go off to live in 8 different places?? When did we enroll in 6 different grad schools? When did we leave our college boy/girlfriends, sell our college text books, and stop sporting our college sweatshirts? And why does it take 3 years, 4 months and 9 days to spend 22 hours getting it all back? (NOT the texts books, mind you.)
I'm reading a book right now called "God's Equation" and it's a biography on the general theory of relativity. I'm pretty damn sure I'm about to get to the part where Einstein sets a tensor to explain why time starts to speed up in the mid-twenties. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it has something to do with the expanding universe bending around black holes of collapsed sentimentalists, but don't quote me on that. I'm only half-way through the book.
But more to the point, I vow to keep closer tabs on the people who know me upside and down. I promise that Monday won't always be rife with whining and that Tuesday will, again, be pseudo politico rumblings. And I swear that I'll report back when I get to the part where Einstein discovers the secret to moving forward while standing still. But in the meantime, call your mother. Always a good idea.
In sum, I drove a combined 10.5 hours to spend 22 hours with some of my roommates from college. I learned a few things, I observed a few things, and I won't wax poetic about any of them. Promise.
LIAR. First off, baltimore is like anti-manhattan. Cute, laid back, star-studded (like, you can actually sees some stars. in the sky.) perfectly filled to that idyllic capacity wherein you definitely have to wait for a table at bars but you can surely find space at the actual bar to put your scorpion bowl down between ya'll...
Secondly: I MISS my friends! When did this happen? When did 9 people go off to live in 8 different places?? When did we enroll in 6 different grad schools? When did we leave our college boy/girlfriends, sell our college text books, and stop sporting our college sweatshirts? And why does it take 3 years, 4 months and 9 days to spend 22 hours getting it all back? (NOT the texts books, mind you.)
I'm reading a book right now called "God's Equation" and it's a biography on the general theory of relativity. I'm pretty damn sure I'm about to get to the part where Einstein sets a tensor to explain why time starts to speed up in the mid-twenties. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it has something to do with the expanding universe bending around black holes of collapsed sentimentalists, but don't quote me on that. I'm only half-way through the book.
But more to the point, I vow to keep closer tabs on the people who know me upside and down. I promise that Monday won't always be rife with whining and that Tuesday will, again, be pseudo politico rumblings. And I swear that I'll report back when I get to the part where Einstein discovers the secret to moving forward while standing still. But in the meantime, call your mother. Always a good idea.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Sugar and Spice
I'm doing it. I'm officially writing the 'What If' post. I'm so damn sick of sitting in a trendy little cafe full of trendy little tee-shirts sporting trendy little faux-hawk owners and downing stella by the gallon to wash away the looming despair as one by one the hot states of the country set fire to the whole damn map. So this year, in a spate of realism, I'm preparing myself for that reliable disappointment that marches around every 4th November 5th. Let's be honest, I've seen 17 years of republicanism in my 25 big ones. Fortifying against a post-election month awash in doom and gloom might not be all that bad...
So, let's start off with some slow pitch. If McCain gets elected, the first thing that we know we won't have to do is throw a bazillion parades. Thank goodness because parades suck. I don't know what ticker tape is but I'm pretty sure it's damn expensive. And what's more, mass produced cake-icing tastes like dirty sponges, euphoria is BOUND to give way to depression, 'freedom' bubbly has the carbon footprint of Mars, and isn't it a tad dangerous having all our firetrucks carousing about so far from the bell? Exactly. So if McCain gets elected, we'll avoid what we now know to be the fire hazard of a gazillion parades when we bring all the troops home. Sweet. I can definitely get on board with that float.
But there's more than smoke inhalation to avoid! If McCain gets elected, we'll be sure to get the very best that mathematics has to offer. I was recently at Yom Kippur services in Manhattan and, I'm no Jew, but I'm pretty sure money is one of those things that gets routinely rubbed in pork fat and therefore avoided on Jewish High Holy days, right? Regardless, the plea for donations was the best damn part of the service. They used a field of math I'd never seen before wherein the requested contributions as well as the semi-annual dues were quoted both by the individual and then the couple. So to join the synagogue, one would have to cough up $1,800 by one's lonesome or $3,600 if you're going tandem. Achem. Not having eaten all day brought my mind to a grinding halt at those figures. I broke out the little piggies before I finally resorted to the calculator on my phone. Good thing we were already in synagogue, repent little piggies, repent!
And then it dawned on me, they were beating me to the fortification by offering an easy transition to the field of mathematics that McCain uses: 'magical math'! Have you ever noticed that when he talks about tax rebates, everything starts to sparkle? Why not give a $5,000 tax rebate to couples and $2,500 tax rebates to individuals?? GENIUS! And while we're at it, we'll point out that Obama doesn't engage in this super duper magical math. LAME-O. In Obama's world, there won't be any tax hikes for couples making less than a mere $250K per annum whilst the similar notion holds true for any individual making less than $200K! See?!?
Uh oh. I think we just came to a draw on magical math...
Ok, moving on to our final feel-good on November 5th fact. If John McCain gets elected, at 72 years of age, he'll be exactly 4.8 years beyond the average life expectancy of men in America. If we tack on a couple of years to that average for military service (all that testing does a body good) and maybe 1.5 years for having married into a wealthy family and, finally, we'll give him a solid 12 months of credit for having most of his assests listed in his wife's name, then by the time he takes office in January, 2009 (God willing), he'll officially be just passing the 'adjusted' average life expectancy of an American man who was in the military and married rich and didn't fuss when his wife dealt with all their (her) assets. Amazing! This means CAKE and PARADES and TICKER TAPE every single day that he wakes up in office!!!
Because if we can't celebrate the end of an occupation or the transparent use of math or the fact that I went to synagogue... we might as well try the 'cholesterol, stampede, projectile surprise' impeachment approach. It just seems like a nicer, faster way to "Kill Kill Kill."
So, let's start off with some slow pitch. If McCain gets elected, the first thing that we know we won't have to do is throw a bazillion parades. Thank goodness because parades suck. I don't know what ticker tape is but I'm pretty sure it's damn expensive. And what's more, mass produced cake-icing tastes like dirty sponges, euphoria is BOUND to give way to depression, 'freedom' bubbly has the carbon footprint of Mars, and isn't it a tad dangerous having all our firetrucks carousing about so far from the bell? Exactly. So if McCain gets elected, we'll avoid what we now know to be the fire hazard of a gazillion parades when we bring all the troops home. Sweet. I can definitely get on board with that float.
But there's more than smoke inhalation to avoid! If McCain gets elected, we'll be sure to get the very best that mathematics has to offer. I was recently at Yom Kippur services in Manhattan and, I'm no Jew, but I'm pretty sure money is one of those things that gets routinely rubbed in pork fat and therefore avoided on Jewish High Holy days, right? Regardless, the plea for donations was the best damn part of the service. They used a field of math I'd never seen before wherein the requested contributions as well as the semi-annual dues were quoted both by the individual and then the couple. So to join the synagogue, one would have to cough up $1,800 by one's lonesome or $3,600 if you're going tandem. Achem. Not having eaten all day brought my mind to a grinding halt at those figures. I broke out the little piggies before I finally resorted to the calculator on my phone. Good thing we were already in synagogue, repent little piggies, repent!
And then it dawned on me, they were beating me to the fortification by offering an easy transition to the field of mathematics that McCain uses: 'magical math'! Have you ever noticed that when he talks about tax rebates, everything starts to sparkle? Why not give a $5,000 tax rebate to couples and $2,500 tax rebates to individuals?? GENIUS! And while we're at it, we'll point out that Obama doesn't engage in this super duper magical math. LAME-O. In Obama's world, there won't be any tax hikes for couples making less than a mere $250K per annum whilst the similar notion holds true for any individual making less than $200K! See?!?
Uh oh. I think we just came to a draw on magical math...
Ok, moving on to our final feel-good on November 5th fact. If John McCain gets elected, at 72 years of age, he'll be exactly 4.8 years beyond the average life expectancy of men in America. If we tack on a couple of years to that average for military service (all that testing does a body good) and maybe 1.5 years for having married into a wealthy family and, finally, we'll give him a solid 12 months of credit for having most of his assests listed in his wife's name, then by the time he takes office in January, 2009 (God willing), he'll officially be just passing the 'adjusted' average life expectancy of an American man who was in the military and married rich and didn't fuss when his wife dealt with all their (her) assets. Amazing! This means CAKE and PARADES and TICKER TAPE every single day that he wakes up in office!!!
Because if we can't celebrate the end of an occupation or the transparent use of math or the fact that I went to synagogue... we might as well try the 'cholesterol, stampede, projectile surprise' impeachment approach. It just seems like a nicer, faster way to "Kill Kill Kill."
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Baby Bristol Palin Pain
Ebay was originally designed as a virtual auction house for the kinds of items that didn't have a standard retail value (example: jesus images in moldy grilled cheese sandwiches) and/or an established online retail venue (example: autographed entertainment memorabilia).
Recently, however, Ebay has transitioned into more of an inspiration for brilliant solutions to a host of problems. As I used to recite in my previous life as a corporate peon, Ebay poses an efficient, implementable, multi-facetted solution to several disparate though related recent 'issues'. For starters, someone has to reimburse Hillary. If Hillary hadn't blown her millions running for President, McCain wouldn't have ever chosen such an incompetent VP candidate. And if McCain had actually tapped someone with a resume longer than what a can of alphabet soup could string together, Obama wouldn't have had a chance in hell. Election 2008 would have seen a semi-centered power ticket square off against similar though leftist liberal long shots. Hell, even I would have actually bothered to weigh out my vote before snipping the chad off on the Blue side. (If you've never met me, picture a slightly shorter Heather Poe or Jay Leno. With boobs and browner hair. Awesome. Identity established.) Ugh. I digress.
So what have we learned so far? Hillary has a mountain of debt, probably bought by the Chinese, because she enabled what could be this monumental, historic, generation defining election to keep away from the slaughter-rule just by RUNNING! She proved that women care about women's issues! You. Go. Girl. Now, as McCain's popularity crests and falls with Palin's fashion scores, it's pretty obvious that Obama owes Hillary for tricking McCain into thinking the race was about cup size and therefore sabotaging his own sure-win!! Obama Brigade: Zero. McCain Train: Two. (cups) But, really, we all know it's about how many times you got felt up at customs! Trick-Y!
And why bring up the bailout? Because, seriously folks, my 401k can't GET any smaller!!!
So why throw all these nuts into the cracker? Because we can! But how???
Enlist the NAACP to impound the potential future VP grandchild to give to Hillary to be auctioned off on Ebay on the premise that Hillary finance the bailout. (After, of course, she repay the Chinese.)
Anyone? Anyone? That's what I call keeping it simple.
Recently, however, Ebay has transitioned into more of an inspiration for brilliant solutions to a host of problems. As I used to recite in my previous life as a corporate peon, Ebay poses an efficient, implementable, multi-facetted solution to several disparate though related recent 'issues'. For starters, someone has to reimburse Hillary. If Hillary hadn't blown her millions running for President, McCain wouldn't have ever chosen such an incompetent VP candidate. And if McCain had actually tapped someone with a resume longer than what a can of alphabet soup could string together, Obama wouldn't have had a chance in hell. Election 2008 would have seen a semi-centered power ticket square off against similar though leftist liberal long shots. Hell, even I would have actually bothered to weigh out my vote before snipping the chad off on the Blue side. (If you've never met me, picture a slightly shorter Heather Poe or Jay Leno. With boobs and browner hair. Awesome. Identity established.) Ugh. I digress.
So what have we learned so far? Hillary has a mountain of debt, probably bought by the Chinese, because she enabled what could be this monumental, historic, generation defining election to keep away from the slaughter-rule just by RUNNING! She proved that women care about women's issues! You. Go. Girl. Now, as McCain's popularity crests and falls with Palin's fashion scores, it's pretty obvious that Obama owes Hillary for tricking McCain into thinking the race was about cup size and therefore sabotaging his own sure-win!! Obama Brigade: Zero. McCain Train: Two. (cups) But, really, we all know it's about how many times you got felt up at customs! Trick-Y!
And why bring up the bailout? Because, seriously folks, my 401k can't GET any smaller!!!
So why throw all these nuts into the cracker? Because we can! But how???
Enlist the NAACP to impound the potential future VP grandchild to give to Hillary to be auctioned off on Ebay on the premise that Hillary finance the bailout. (After, of course, she repay the Chinese.)
Anyone? Anyone? That's what I call keeping it simple.
Initiation
As I watch my friends swarm the freedoms granted unto them by the funds un-vesting everywhere, I realize that I have yet to do my part to ensure that the world will not autocombust before my chillins have a chance to ship me off to a nursing home. That said, I've decided to be passive aggressive and start a blog. Maybe, in some sick virtual place inside of me, this will spark a love of routine and commitment. More likely, however, I'll make it through the inception concept, quickly flounder for inspiration, find a job that consumes me, and three years into the next regime stumble across my psuedo politico ponderings and pick up the sword once more for a final adieu to cyberspace. So, sticking to timeless analogies, as I'm sure any references to pop culture will shortly be sorely passe, with excitement previously reserved for potential run-ins with Lauren Conrad (lovingly known as LC) of The Hills, I embark on my very first quandry.
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