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thought i was a donut, ya tried to glaze me



This past week I had two separate dreams featuring Neil Young. Help me figure out what they mean.

In this dream I was sitting in a bar that during the dream was understood as the Crocodile Lounge, but upon further thought I'm realizing that it looked more like everybody's favorite ocean-front bar, The Sandbar (maybe it's my subconscious wishing one was the other). So I'm sitting at a table and I see Neil Young about to walk out the door. I grab his shoulder and casually say, "Hey Neil, great show Saturday night", because although I haven't seen Neil Young in concert, in real-life or even in my dream life, I had recently spoken to Teeny about his show last Saturday and figured I'd sound cool telling him that. Neil turns around and seems as though he knows me from somewhere; he takes a seat at my table and starts talking to me. He starts talking about Rockaway St. Paddy's Day and how he's thinking of coming down again this year and hanging out. He asks me where I'll be and I tell him Roger's Irish House (seriously) and he's like, wow, cool. And then HE suggests he show up there this year and play a few songs! Then he mentions something about having to do rehearsal and leaves.

So if my dream is right--Neil Young performing LIVE this Rockaway St. Paddy's Day at Roger's Irish House

Neil Young didn't appear until the end of this dream, in an unfortunate turn of events. I'm sitting on my beach, but it's around dusk. There are a whole bunch of people around that I don't know and we're watching boats out in the ocean. I get up and begin to walk towards the boardwalk, when I hear a loud explosion. I don't turn around but someone says, "Oh, a submarine just exploded!" (I recently read a book where there was a submarine explosion, so that can explain that). I still don't turn around until someone goes, "Oh, and it's really sad...Neil Young was on that sub." I turn around and see a submarine at the top of the ocean, smoking.



oops, a Spears has done it again

I'm mad at myself. I'm usually on top of these things, but today while reading the Daily News I found the story on page 3 announcing Jamie-Lynn Spear's pregnancy. I've been slacking on the Dlisted and the Perez, where I usually would have read this long before it made it into the paper.

Was I surprised that Brit's kid sister got knocked up? Of course not. As my sister says, money can't buy class, and the entire Spears family is just a bunch of hillbillies dressed up in designer clothes. I find the media's reaction to this accident completely ridiculous. Take a look at the main page of CNN.com:

Really, that's the top story? With a picture? Glance over to the "LATEST NEWS": Torture chamber, mass graves found in Iraq. An amputee boy walking again, stating that he's got his life back. That's CNN news right there--important stuff involving important topics, not some dumb bitch probably jealous of all the attention her big sis is getting. Nobody died. This doesn't negatively effect anybody other than JL Spears, really, considering the baby-daddy will probably luck out financially just as Kevin Federline did.

And of course they keep making a big deal about what parents should tell their kids. Is this really a national issue? Is this seriously on some 9-11 level, with children being so "confused" and "traumatized" that it would be news on how to talk to your kids?

Aw, z00ey 101 is gonna have a baby, mommy? I want one, too!

First off--CNN should mind their business. Also, if you're turning to CNN.com for help on what to say to your children you're probably no better than Lynn Spears is as a parent (Jesus, it's not Planned Parenthood). But if you are that hard up on what to say to your tween, how's this : Keep your damn legs closed. And if you find it so hard to do that, the least you can do is wrap it up.

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

I heard the end of this song on the radio the other day, while driving home from Philly. Clare was sitting shotty, while Beth and Eric were sitting in the back. Turning the song down a bit I snorted and commented, "This song is so fucked up. His mom's such a whore; what if the dad woke up and saw this?"

Everybody was quiet, but I kept going.

"What a depressing Christmas song. Hey kid, why don't you witness your mom's infidelity with the guy who's bringing you presents."

Still, there was silence. Eric was the first to speak up.

"Well, the dad IS Santa Claus."

I tried turning around, but I had to keep my eyes on the road. What was he talking about?

"What are you talking about?"

"Yea, the kid sees what he thinks is Santa but it's just his dad dressed up," Clare responded, which made this song, which I've probably heard hundreds of time throughout my life, take on a whole other meaning. Some kinky-ass shit, if you ask me, but it also means I've entirely missed the point of this song. "It's implied that the kid still believes in Santa, therefore he sees 'mommy' kissing Santa Claus..."

"But Santa isn't real, Katie, so it's just his dad."

I asked Catherine what she thought, and obviously I'm the only asshole still with the mind of a child :

me: so in the song 'i saw mommy kissing santa claus'
what's your impression of the premise

cg:umm little kid sneaks downstairs and sees "santa claus" (the father) and the mother getting frisky


cg:its quite disturbing

me:this whole time
i thought the mom was cheating on the dad with santa claus
this shit is bugging me out
i can't believe i missed it the entire time

cg:well thats what the kid thinks
but since santa isnt real we infer that it is dad dressed as santa

me: god damn't!

So if that's the case--who's really the Santa in "Christmas in Hollis"?


you are, my fire

Here's something I've had to come to terms with lately while living in New York: I'm never, ever moving out of my house.

Now this isn't completely true. But after perusing the real estate section of Craigslist (new york times real esta--wha?) and almost starting to cry, I've started to see my living at home as a long term, rather than a short term, situation. I'd love to move out, get a studio somewhere and go balls out without mom or dad around, but let's be real--New York City is expensive. And I don't have a job. But I'm thankful to be a third-generation New Yorker; thankful that my grand & great parents, after getting off their respective boats from their respective parts of Europe, looked around Ellis Island and all that was in front of them and said, "Ah, this will do." They didn't have to go further west or south; they saw people talking just like them, saw a church and a pub or a salumeria and a Pastosa and decided that New York City had everything they would ever need. And years later their ancestor (angrily wondering why her great-grandparents decided to move their family out to Bensonhurst from the tenament on Chrystie St.--didn't they'd know how much a place like that would go for now?) believes the same thing--that this city has everything she'll ever want and need. And therefore will be sleeping in the same bed she's had since she was 5 for a very long time.

But that's not exactly why I'm writing. Since I've come to terms with my living situation, I've decided to better it by doing some remodeling. I tried cleaning my room and getting rid of things but it's like a Museum in there, amounting to what would be the world's most boring exhibition (and probably the only one featuring not one, not two, not three, but FOUR posters starring Sting). And I can't bear to throw these things away.

One of these relics was hidden behind my bedroom door, entitled "KATIE AND CLARE'S HOTTIE COLLAGE." Judging from who we cutout of TeenPeople, I'd say we made this in the Winter of 1999. There are two large photos, one of Freddie Prinze Jr. and Ryan Phillippe. The rest are medium to tiny pictures of people like Prince William, Jonathan Schaech, some Olympic swimmer who's name I can't think of, and my personal fav, Howie D. of the Backstreet Boys. I loved Howie in spite of everyone telling me he was gay (who's laughing now, all you Lance Bass fans?), and ignored the flat-ironing of his hair, thinking it wasn't "homo", as everyone said, but "progressively stylish" (this was before the term "metrosexual" was invented). I said I liked Howie because he was nice, reserved, not as flashy as the rest, did a good job with the two-part harmonies, but clearly I loved Howie D. the most because he was kinda Hispanic (note: AJ McClean is also half Puerto-Rican, but I wasn't a big fan of his retarded-looking glasses). It's also why I loved Freddie Prinze Jr. while Clare loved Ryan & Prince William.

Where am I going with this? I don't know. I think I kinda just wanted to talk about how much I loved Howie D. and have an excuse to post a picture of this "Latin Lover."


My Family Holiday Letter

To All Our Family & Friends--

I can't believe another year is over! It seems like only yesterday I was typing up our 2006 letter. In so many ways, our family has been blessed this year, and I hope you all have been as well. We started things off with our blocks annual Polar Bear Dip, where some (not all) of us run into the frigid Atlantic to "baptize" the new year. Of course, little Stella usually doesn't enjoy watching us from the cold sand, but she's too chicken to go into the water after us!

Speaking of Stella--this year she turned 3 (21 in dog years)! We celebrated her big day with her usual favorite dinner (roast beef), a beer, a shot of Jameson's (she's a St. Paddy's Day baby, after all!) and Vanilla Soft Serve from Carvel. We can't believe how much she's grown. Every time we look at her we still see the bouncy little pup jumping around on the table at North Shore Animal League, although that little puppy has grown to 80+ pounds (all muscle, not fat, she's just big boned). The joy she's brought into our lives is indescribable.

Mike and I went on our annual vacation, this time to London and Paris. We had an amazing time and saw lots of the attractions, but it was hard leaving Stella for so long. We wished we could have brought her, but the traveling is too much. I think next year we're planning on a dog-friendly trip, like to the dog park in Dyker Heights we always drive by or maybe to a different beach other than the one we always go to. Stella likes the beach.

We had a few sad things happen this year, though. Stella's best friend and neighbor, Maggie the Wolfhound, moved away. Stella was sad for weeks, which made us extremely sad. It was so sad. But then Stella forgot about it when she made friends with Duke the Black Lab and Guinness the Purebred Poodle, so we were happy again.

Recently, Stella had to undergo some invasive surgery to help fix a problem we feel is too disgusting to discuss in a cheery holiday letter. Suffice it to say we have been on edge since she went under and although we are thankful that the surgery went well, our nerves have yet to subside.

That has pretty much been our year. I hope you all are as lucky as we have been and I wish you all the best in 2008.

All the Best--
Fran Honan

p.s-Katie graduated college & Roseanne started student teaching.

p.p.s-Oh, Stella learned how to fetch!!!


da Animal

I don't ride the A train very often--when I worked regularly in Manhattan I usually bummed a ride to the B in Sheepshead, or took the Q35 to the 2, or if I was lucky, scored a ride to the E at 71st-Continental.

Follow the link and watch the video of some guy getting beat up by a bunch of little hoodrats. There seems to be no provocation, no reason for the attack. Just ghetto bitches having nothing better to do, I guess.


The GE website--which controls all of the NBC, Bravo, USA, etc. job listings--has this interesting tool when you upload your resume that pulls out keywords and fills in some fields for you. I have the word "escort" (pronounced "e-scort", like to bring someone up) on my resume, so they listed it under jobs (pronounced "es-cort", like the high-class whore). Interesting. I guffawed when I saw it, and then thought about how much more money I'd have if I actually was an escort and didnt' just escort people.

I wonder if my writing has even improved?