Seasons Beatings, Dear Readers. Is the sending of Christmas / Holiday cards something you enjoy doing? I generally do. I don’t think I’ve missed a year of mailing out dozens of cards to friends and family since I moved to NYC 32 years ago. But this year it’s been difficult to rustle-up the energy to get the card-sending thing together. Confession: that’s mostly due to my lack of a printer for creating the address labels, and the fact that my hands don’t work quite as well as they used to for holding a pen for hours on end. Just being serious! And it is an unfortunate truth that I have had to cancel my annual December trip to see my family due to the Covid, and the sad knowledge that Cali is locked down tight anyway, so there’s isn’t all that much to do out there anyway. Sadness. So, I’ve resolved to write a few cards each day to save my hand, and to make that extra effort to keep in touch with loved ones in a year where we were forced to be apart. You have ten more day to get your cards to their destinations. Don’t put it off.
On occasion, there will be an article in the paper or on the web about a person who inadvertently falls down an open manhole or (and this is especially fun if there is Video Documentation) who trips and stumbles into a fountain in the middle of a busy shopping mall, because he or she is so enraptured with gazing dreamily at his or her smart phone that they forget to watch where they are going. Hilarious! When I read these articles or see these videos, I am filled with an overwhelming feeling of schadenfreude. Because it is my pleasure to see you injured because you are too brain dead to put your phone down and pay attention to where you’re walking.
Just this past weekend, I was exiting the L Train at 14th street and First Avenue when a women ascending the stairs in front of me decided that the smartest choice to make at the moment was open her phone and hold everyone up so she could check her FaceBook/ Texts/ Instagram/ Twitter/ Email before she got above ground, instead of making it her priority to get the fuck out of the subway, like a normal person. While I’ll admit to entertaining brief fantasies of her tripping and smashing her stupid face on the concrete, as I stepped over her fallen body while she spit out mouthfuls of blood and teeth, that didn’t happen. And that’s probably fortunate, because it would have been a real tragedy if she had taken out an innocent bystander on her way to the ground.
Cheap Scrunchies Rule, OK
I realize that wearing a scrunchie in the hair is verboten in accepted fashion circles. But fuck that: I have very long hair that needs to be tied up on my daily commute through the PATH train wind tunnels, or if I am in any kind of breeze at all, otherwise I’ve got my hair flying all over the place and sticking to my lipstick and all kinds of unacceptableness. So the scrunchie is pretty much a part of my daily accessorizing ritual, as it keeps the hair tied back neatly while adding a little splash of color to whatever outfit I am wearing. Generally, I like to get my supply of scrunchies at NYC’s many summer weekend street fairs, where they can be purchased in colors and fabrics too numerous to mention, for about $1 to $2 each, or occasionally something like 10 scrunchies for $8 – what a bargain! But the scrunchie only lasts so long before it’s all stretched out and needs to be tossed, so I was pretty excited when I found out that American Apparel now sells nylon tricot scrunchies online, in so many rad fluorescent colors it would make your eyes bleed. My excitement quickly turned to horror, however, when I saw that they are trying to sell what is basically a few inches of fabric sewn around an elastic band for the outrageous price of $6 per scrunchie, plus shipping! WTF? Did anyone tell these guys that we are in a RECESSION? The price comes down to $10.00 for package of two scrunchies if you are willing settle for a color selection restricted to black and white only. Ghetto! Scrunchie Fail, American Apparel. Scrunchie Fail!
Baggage (mis)handlers at various airports across the country have finally managed to totally fuck the locks on my very expensive suitcase due to the constant re-opening and incorrect re-closing of my bag, necessitated by the endless “Security checks” that go on when you travel these days and have to check luggage. It was especially exciting when all of my shit fell out onto the rain-soaked pavement as I got into my cab at LaGuardia. Thanks, assholes.
Are you one of those people who calls in sick to work so you can watch crap-ass Daytime TV? If so, maybe you have seen a talk show called The Doctors, featuring former The Bachelor contestant, Dr. Travis Stork. Long story short, it’s got a panel of “Medical Experts” trying to keep a straight face while discussing “Hot Button” medical topics. I’ve never really watched the show, because I work for a living, but I’ve seen clips of it on You Tube, and here’s my diagnosis: The Doctors is retarded.
These ‘doctors’ are complete quacks. A week or so ago, they were trying to convince anyone who’s stupid enough to take this show seriously that it is not only actually happening but even possible that women are rampantly inserting tampons soaked with VODKA into their snatch for kicks. Not only is this idea absurd to the point of bordering on urban legend but it’s honestly impossible to do. I mean, unless you’re into fisting yourself or there’s some kind of tiny “tampon shoe horn” type device you’d be using, no way.
Today I saw clip on one of the blogs I read regularly where The Doctors are showing you how to properly wipe your ass. I wish I was making this up. What I want to know is who blew a goat to get this show on the air?