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thought i was a donut, ya tried to glaze me

2.24.2008

Right, but like I was saying about myself...

Carrie Bradshaw\Car-rie Brad-shaw\verb
1. To find a way to bring the conversation's focus back on you and your problems/issues/ideas/narrative
2. To seem selfish or uninterested in what the other person has to say

EX:

FRIEND 1: What should I do about Pete?
FRIEND 2: Thinking about it makes me think of the way Billy used to treat me. Did I ever tell you about the time...
FRIEND 1: You totally just Carrie Bradshawed me!
FRIEND 2: Huh? You were talking?

2.23.2008

Made Of Honor

Recently Maxim Magazine got into a bit of trouble for reviewing the newest Black Crowes album without actually listening to it (Their response: "we could pretty much guess what it was going to sound like.") I actually thought of this idea a few weeks ago while watching movie previews, and I'd like some credit. Whatever.

Here's my recap of the film Made of Honor starring McDreamy and some chick. I won't say I won't go out and see it in the theaters because with my track record, who knows. But I will establish that I haven't seen it yet, and all of this is just guesstimating.






Tom has his guy friends. Tom has his girl friends. And then Tom has his best friend...

So Tom is this really hot successful ladies man. He works either on Wall Street or in some creative field--writer for a fictional newspaper/magazine, head honcho at an ad agency, etc. The movie starts with a montage of him being really busy at work. He's really charming. You want to run your fingers through Tom's hair, just like when he's playing McDreamy. He flirts with the secretaries.

Then he goes out that night to a club playing really obvious music, maybe something by Timberlake. He suavely moves to the bar and orders a drink. He flirts with the bartender, who smiles. He notices a really hot chick across the bar and buys her a drink too. He says something really charming, like Let's go have sex, or Hey I just bought you a drink you owe me sex. There's a jump cut to them making out in his Really Awesome Apartment, but it doesnt' get too graphic because it's a PG-13 movie as to appeal to a broader audience. Tom wakes up and the girl tells him she had a really great time; he smiles and says something really charming, like Get the hell out of my apartment. Then he goes to meet up with his ethnically-diverse buddies to play some ball. He's telling them all about his night. They're all like, Tom you're the man. The one schlubby white friend is all, How do you do it?. The black friend is like, Brother I know, I'm a ladies man too. Then that skinny nerdy guy who always plays a skinny nerdy guy shows up in something ridiculous and they mock him. But Tom does it kinda nicely because he's nice like that.

Then Tom goes to lunch to meet his Best Friend, Hannah. Hannah is pretty and cool and totally with it. Tom dishes to Hannah all about his night and she just laughs and is all, Oh Tom! What am I going to do with you? You'll never settle down! They're chemistry is obvious/the writers include obvious dialogue to make it seem they have total chemistry, by adding things in like,

HANNAH: I ordered you the Monte Cristo sandwich...
TOM: My favorite! What would I do without you?

Hannah and Tom go back and forth chatting and flirting but in a total Bromance way. Hannah doesn't pine after Tom but their connection is obvious/they say things like, "You're my best friend, we have such a strong connection." While watching it you turn to your friend sitting next to you and say, "What an idiot Tom is! He should get with Hannah." But then your friend turns to you and says, "No it would ruin their friendship." Then you lean back and think about how much you're in love with your best guy friend and those 10 times he used the ruining the friendship excuse when you drunkenly poured your heart to him. You almost start to cry but then there's that skinny nerdy guy again and you're happy. Wait, how'd he pop up in another scene?

There's a secondary plot line involving a mean boss who flirts with Tom, played by Jan from The Office. You remember when she played a mean boss in 27 Dresses and on The Office. You think she's an o-k actress and could probably expand her roles, but is probably just going to be play this sort of role forever. There are some more scenes involving Tom and his hot chicks/best friends/eccentric co-workers. Then Hannah calls Tom and she asks if he could meet her for dinner. This is when she tells him she's going to Scotland for work, since she is a writer/photographer/research assistant. Tom is like, What the fuck? You can't go! What will I do without you you're my best friend! She's like, Oh you'll be fine. Tom makes an ominous joke about not falling in love with a Scotsman. The audience tsks and some old lady behind you says, That's whats gonna happen! Idiot.

Tom has a miserable time without contact to his BFFFL Hannah. He calls her all the time even though she's super busy because he's selfish. He doesn't get the same enjoyment out of fucking mad broads anymore. Even his friends are concerned. The black friend says, Damn homie what's up with you?! Tom says, I don't know. There's this feeling in my heart and in my stomach that I've never felt before. The schlubby white friend says, You're in love with Hannah. Tom takes a shot but he misses. He says, OhmyGod I'm in love with Hannah. I have to tell her! Swoosh.

Lucky for him he figures this out right before she's about to come home. Over the phone she told him she has a surprise for him. He hopes it's a kilt. He shows up at the airport with flowers but then sees her with this ruggedly handsome Scottish guy. He falls down/acts stupid/gets nervous. Later that day they all go out to eat and she announces they're getting married mad soon. Tom knocks into the water/makes an ass of himself/does all that stuff you saw in the previews. Hannah says, And I want you to be my Maid of Honor! Tom makes an ass of himself again. The wedding's in Scotland. Cool.

All of Tom's bros tell him he has to pretend to like the handsome fiancee, to get an in. They say some funny stuff. This is when the movie starts resembling My Best Friend's Wedding. They all give him advice. Then Tom has to go to Scotland to get ready and stop the wedding. It looks pretty, even though it's probably just Vancouver This is when it all becomes very reminiscent of Three Men and a Little Lady. You wonder if the Scotsman wants to put little Mary in boarding school but then you remember Mary isn't in this movie. When everyone finds out Tom's the Maid of Honor there are a lot of Gay jokes and a gay guy and a priest makes a pass at Tom. He's really uncomfortable. There's a scene where Hannah's getting naked trying on her wedding dress (seriously, does she not have one female friend?) and Tom gets all uncomfortable. He finally sees that she's really hot and he's been such a fucking asshole this whole time but it's too late! You asshole! Hannah makes this even more uncomfortable by talking about lingerie and the wedding night. Tom and the Scottish guy go out for a night of male bonding. Comedy ensues.

Blah blah blah blah it's the wedding day. Tom's really conflicted because he starts to actually like the Scottish guy and he sees Hannah really loves him and she's happy. But Tom is still only thinking about himself so he gets mopey and there are at least 2 opportunities for him to say something but in order to build the climax up nothing happens. Right before he's finally about to confess his feelings he stops and starts thinking about someone other than himself for a second. So he doesn't tell Hannah and he wishes her well and he's genuinely happy for her. This is when you turn to your friend and say, "He IS really made of honor. I thought it might have just been a typo." At the wedding there are a few montage scenes of funny old people dancing, and of the gay guy dancing, but then there's a slow song by a contemporary female singer such as Norah Jones and you feel. Hannah dances with her hubby. Tom makes a toast and it's really sweet and you know people are going to be quoting it in their Facebooks pretty soon. He and Hannah dance to another slow song and you get sad again. He tells her he'll always love her and she thinks it's in the friend way, but we all know it's more.

I actually don't know where the movie's supposed to go after this. What a shitty ending!

The Forms + ME! @ Union Hall

2.22.2008

Sometime's Wishing's Just No Good...

ROBYN IS THE SHIT!



Be Mine

It's a good thing tears never show in the pouring rain
As if a good thing ever could make up for all the pain
There'll be no last chance to promise to never mess it up again
Just the sweet pain of watching your back as you walk
As I'm watching you walk away
And now you're gone, there's like an echo in my head
And I remember every word you said

It's a cruel thing you'll never know all the ways I tried
It's a hard thing, faking a smile when I feel
like I'm falling apart inside
And now you're gone, there's like an echo in my head
And I remember every word you said

But you never were, and you never will be mine
No, you never were, and you never will be mine

For the first time, there is no mercy in your eyes
And the cold wind is hitting my face and you're gone
And you're walking away (away)
And now you're helpless sometimes
Wishing's just no good
'Cause you don't see me like I wish you would

'Cause you never were, and you never will be mine
No, you never were, and you never will be mine

There's a moment to seize every time that we meet
But you always keep passing me by

No, you never were, and you never will be mine

(I saw you at the station,
You had your arm around what's-her-name
She had on that scarf I gave you
And you got down to tie her laces)

'Cause you never were, and you never will be mine
(You looked happy, and that's great)
No, you never were, and you never will be mine
(I just miss you, that's all)

'Cause you never were, and you never will be mine
No, you never were, and you never will be mine

There's a moment to seize everytime that we meet (hey, yeah)
But you always keep passing me by

No, you never were, and you never will be mine
'Cause you never were, and you never will be mine
(You never were, and you never will)
You never were and you never will be mine

There's a moment to seize everytime that we meet
But you always keep passing me by

No, you never were, and you never will be mine

2.21.2008

enjoy it kids

Singing This Song For You
Fiction

I wrote this for my Sly Fox Writers'Group, and just made some changes based on their suggestions. Please leave only praise and admiration in the comments box.



I know it was just a coincidence that Uncle Buddy’s funeral fell on a Karaoke Saturday ,but I still like to think that he planned it. Like he set it all up to die Thursday morning and have the wake on Friday, so we’d all end up here, at the Belmont Steaks, just hours after we buried him, singing our hearts out for him. It’s messed up that I even think that a 44 year old would ever plan to die on a specific day; he was healthy, and the whole thing came out of nowhere. Just went to sleep one day and didn’t wake up the next day. But still--if it had to happen it was nice for it to work out that way.

Uncle Buddy was my favorite uncle, which wasn’t that much of a compliment if you knew my Uncle Jimmy. But he was funny, and called me “sweetie” and was always ready to give me money even when I didn’t ask. He was well liked by everyone in the neighborhood—people used to call him “The King of Glendale” because he knew everybody. He was younger than my parents by a decade, and the age difference always made him seem more like me than one of them. For most of his life he lived with my grandparents, but at 40 he finally moved out into an apartment around the corner. Buddy always hung around with the same group of guys—Smith, Tommy, O’Hara, Pulkoski; and when I was younger he had a rotating list of women—Diana, Mary, Diana again--that he’d bring around to family parties. He called them his “girl”, never girlfriend, and the idea of him ever calling anyone a wife seemed crazy to me. They brought me presents and signed my birthday card, just like if they were actually married. I thought Uncle Buddy was too happy with the life he had to ever change things. It made sense to me that he was a perennial bachelor, and the older I got the more I respected him for that; nothing ever seemed to drag him down. Why love only one person when there are so many people loving you?

Buddy’d been going to the Belmont Steaks his whole life (“even back when it wasn’t called that”, he used to say) and you could find him there almost every night at the bar. For the King, that place was his castle. But the one Saturday a month they hosted karaoke was his favorite day. I don’t know if it was his necessarily his lifelong wish to be a singer, or just a way to relax after laying bricks all day, but when he got on the mic—something I’d only ever seen him do in person a few times—he was a natural. He took it seriously, just like all the other Karaoke regulars did. His favorite singers were the soul guys-- Sam Cooke, Donny Hathaway, Pendergrass. He loved the ballads, the slow jams, the real heart-wringing songs, and he was great at them because of his fervor and passion on the mic. He had a way of making it seem like he felt every word, like he wrote every line, like every song was his.


Another Saturday night and I ain't got nobody
I've got some money 'cause I just got paid
Now, how I wish I had someone to talk to
I'm in an awful way


We were stuck in traffic for most of the ride back from St. Charles Cemetery. The entire family was squeezed in one limo--my parents and brother Joseph, my Aunt Janie and Uncle Jimmy, my cousins Peter, Chris, and Jen. I sat with my face leaned up against the limo window, as the trees on the curved roads of the Jackie Robinson went by me. It was just getting dark and I looked below at half of Queens lit up below me. There was too many people in that stupid limo, but my Aunt Janie didn’t want to get a second one, and insisted we couldn’t take our own cars, so by the time we reach Myrtle Avenue we were all relieved to get out.

“You all ready?” Peter said as we stood in front of the green and white building. He sighed, and we all sighed, too. I hadn’t been inside in years. The steaks were mediocre and the portions too small, and all of us kids were old enough now to not have to sneak into the bar for a few beers. We’d moved on bigger and better dive bars, and besides, the Belmont Steaks was always Uncle Buddy’s.

Inside was full of people we’d seen hours before at the funeral, still dressed in black, with a few ties loosened and suit jackets draped over drunk old ladies’ shoulders. There was Espo, big and fat with more hair on his chest than on his head. The top three buttons of his black silk shirt were unbuttoned, and his gold crucifix looked tangled in the hair. He had his arm around tan and bleach blonde Janice, even though she was not his wife. And she had her hand on his knee, even though I was pretty sure she was still married to the principal of my junior high school. But that’s just how it was.

“Look who finally made it!” Espo called out. “Isn’t it funny how it worked out like this? What better way to celebrate Buddy’s life, huh? Who needs drinks?”

I heard some people cheer from the other end of the bar; O’Hara, Tommy, Smith and this guy we used to call No Brain because of the way his forehead sloped in and because we were pretty sure he didn’t have one. They called us over and shook hands and gave hugs and said all the things you say when something like this happens.

“How ya doing, kid?” O’Hara asked me. I told him I was fine.

“Well you let me know if you’re ever not fine, ok?”

We sat at the largest table they had, in the back by the bathrooms. My mom and my aunt invited some of Buddy’s friends over to join us but they all told us we needed our time together as a family. As overprotective big sisters who always seemed to hate Buddy’s friends, they appreciated the respectful gesture. I wasn’t hungry but I ordered a steak and as I waited for it Joseph leaned into me.

“Carolyn?” he said, whispering.

“Yes?”

“Did you know Uncle Buddy’s real name before you saw it listed at the wake?”

I laughed. I laughed really loud. It was a ridiculous question, but the more I thought about it, the less I laughed. I got quiet. Shit. I don’t think I remembered his real name, but I didn’t want to look like an asshole in front of my younger brother so I lied.

“Of course I knew his name!”

“Well, I knew his name too, at some point. But I guess...I guess I’d forgotten about it until I saw it again.”

I paused.

“George.”

“What an ugly name.”

“No wonder they called him Buddy.”


Karaoke starts exactly at 9. There is an unspoken understanding that the regulars—now only Espo, Gina, Fat Tony, and Janice—sing first. By that time their requests are in and they all wait at the front for their songs to cue up. They invited our family to sit up front, and before the first song Fat Tony asked the crowd to be quiet.

“I just wanna say a few words before I start. As you all know, we buried a dear friend today. He was a regular right here at this very special section of the bar, and wowed us once a month with his amazing ability to sing some of the greatest songs of our time. Buddy Diefendorf was a real gem, a one-of-a-kind guy, and tonight we have his beloved family with us, who I’m sure will sing a few songs when we are finished here. But before we sing, I want us all to raise a glass, raise a Bud, to our dear one—“

“To Buddy!”

“Yeah, to Buddy!”

I lifted my Amaretto Sour in the air right as the opening bars of “Fly Me To The Moon” began. Fat Tony kept his sunglasses on at all times and used them as a prop as he sang—lifting them higher and lower on his face, taking them off and putting them back on.

“In other words, hold my haaand...in other words, kiss me...”

The first person to sing from my family was my mom, who was the drunkest I’d ever seen her. With a glass in one hand and the mic in the other she screamed her way through “We Are Family”, dedicating it to all of us sitting in front of her and to Buddy, who she said knew was watching over us. Espo sang after her, another song dedicated to Buddy. “Unchained Melody.” I hated the song so I got up to use the bathroom.

Both stalls were in use so I waited by the sink. I could still hear the faint lines from outside—I need your love, I need your love, God send your love to me—as I fixed my hair in front of the mirror. I could hear two women talking between the stalls; I could make out what they were saying, one side of the conversation in muffled sobs, the other in a calm, direct tone.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t blame yourself.”

“How can I not?”

“You did what you could, hun. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t change how he felt...”

“I could have changed how I felt...”

“Hun, come on, you can’t take back time. It was all in God’s plan, ok? Lets go back out, let’s clean you up, you need another drink?”


My back was turned away from them as both doors to the stalls swung open.

“Carolyn?”

She looked older than I remembered from the parties. Her mascara dripped down her cheeks and her voice sounded weak.

“Diana?” I said, surprised I could remember her name.

“You remembered! And you look so much older! You look beautiful! How old are you now?

“I’m 21.”

“Your uncle was so proud...”

She started crying again before she could even finish her sentence; tears coming down her face faster than she could wipe them off. I handed her some paper towels from the sink counter at the same time another woman came out of the other stall.

“Diana, stop.”

She kept saying, “I’m sorry”, and I looked at both of the women, confused.

“Don’t do this to her, D. She’s just a kid.”

“Are you ok?” I asked, which sounded stupid to ask her, right now, she stood in front of me sobbing. But something else seemed to be bothering her.

“If I could take things back, I would. If I could go back in time....”

“Diana, stop,” the woman said. “Come on, don’t do this now.”

“I never meant to hurt him. He was so happy most of the time, but then sometimes he’d get so lonely. I wanted to help him. I wanted to help him.”

All I could say was “ok.”

“I wish I could have loved him like he loved me.”

With that the other woman put her arm around Diana and whisked her out. She mouthed “I’m sorry” to me as she turned her head over her shoulder. I walked out of the bathroom with a paper towel in my hand. I’d forgotten to pee.

Joseph was on the mic when I came back. He drank more than he should have, which I knew would be a problem later, but it was worth it to see him slur his way through Jay-Z’s version of “Hard Knock Life”, with Peter on backing vocals. O’Hara and Pulkoski were now sitting at our table, slapping the faux-wood to better illustrate a story.

“Yo, yo,” Joseph yelled into the mic, as the track was finishing. “Big ups to Uncle Buddy!”

And the entire bar cheered, and laughed, and the old men and old women all pretended to know what big ups meant. Janice tenderly rubbed the back of Espo’s head. O’Hara reached across the table to squeeze my mother’s hand. And somewhere at the bar, Diana was getting another drink, maybe clapping and smiling and keeping it all together for my favorite Uncle.


“Hey Carolyn,” my brother said, handing me the mic. “You’re up.”

2.19.2008

Elections






I voted for Hillary Clinton on Super Tuesday. The reason I'm writing about this is because I've been getting an unusually-high negative reaction from people when I tell them this--and not just from people I'd expect to hear it from, like my dad, but all different people. The reaction is usually something like this:

"Eww, you voted for her? Why? What's wrong with you? I hate her. I, like, totally love Obama."

I'm not going to make this an anti-Obama post because I do also admire Barack Obama, and from the way things are looking I'll be casting my vote for him come November. I was just sort of surprised from the intense feelings people have for Senator Clinton, beyond what I think is reasonable. People tell me, "Don't you think she's insincere? Doesn't she seem so fake?", but honestly, I don't see it. She's a politician--of course she's fake. Of course she'll do things that don't seem 100% genuine. But I just don't see her as being any more of these things than Barack. He's an inspiring speaker, and an inspiring candidate, but I think Hillary is, too. Maybe I'm supposed to like him over her because Will.I.Am told me so, or because ScarJo's all weepy on the mic about him (actually, that video made me like him less). I find it very in vogue to be a Barack supporter, especially by people who don't know the facts. And again, I'm not saying this makes him less qualified of a candidate just because he's cool (as you can see I'm covering my tracks with this a lot), I'm just saying that I've noticed that people who had never take an interest in politics now talking about how great Obama is. Which, duh, is one of the reasons he's so inspiring--he's getting people to give a shit, or at least pretend to. And that's been lacking lately, and we need it.

And maybe it is because she's a woman. Is it so wrong of me to look up to and gain inspiration from a woman doing big things? Say what you want--say she's in a loveless marriage kept together only for political gain, say she's a 'wench' or a 'bitch' or any of the other countless things I've heard real people say to me when I tell them who I voted for. What I see is a woman doing what was impossible not even 100 years ago, something I see with both of the candidates but again, I still find myself back with Hillary.

When I saw the video of her crying, I didn't think less of her. But you know what I did do? I cried too. I cried for all the times I thought it was hard, and I'm just a 22 year old looking for a job, not running for President. I cried because more often than not I find myself wondering if I'll ever be able to do all it is I say I want to do. I cried for every time I worried not about what I was going to say in an interview, but what I was going to wear. For all the times I thought it would be easier if I was cuter or sweeter or more beautiful or less ambitious; for all the times I looked in the mirror and wished I was somebody else. As strong as I think I am, it happens. And as strong of a woman I strive to be, I know there's always going to be a backlash, a double standard, comments from people who think I should stay home and iron their shirts instead. Or just shutup and be pretty.

There are so many woman in my life that I admire, for their strength and ambition and ability to seemingly do it all with a smile. How do they do it? I'll be trying to figure that out forever. After years of just being a girl, I''m finally embracing being a woman. And it's a big deal understanding what it means, even today, in 2008. So that's why I voted for Hillary Clinton.


But aw shucks, maybe it was just because of this:

Wisdom

So much has happened since I last really posted. For one, I figured out why I had a persistent, painful open sore on the inside of my left cheek--and no, it was not a symptom of AIDs or Herpes like I had originally thought. It turns out my upper wisdom teeth--oh remember that, Dr. Unnamed Dentist, the wisdom teeth you told me I 'didn't have' and 'wouldn't get'??--had been cutting the inside of my mouth. They were also creating a shelf in the top of my mouth that acted as a trap for food, something I'd noticed about 8 months ago and mentioned to my dentist. His response? "Oh, it's common for food to get caught in your teeth."

My oral surgeon explained all of this to me after I was referred to him by the aforementioned dentist. He also showed me a video that dramatized the whole Wisdom Teeth removal process, which was meant to make me more comfortable in the surgery but really just made me more scared. I could have guessed that 'death' was a rare, yet present side effect of the invasive surgery--you're messing with anesthesia, maybe even a drill--but seeing it on the shiny flat screen (most likely paid for by the removal of many a wisdom tooth) was unsettling. It's like life. You'd be a fool to not recognize that at any moment, at the beginning of every day, there is a possibility of you dying. But how would you feel if at the start of every day some actor popped out from behind your breakfast table and said "Hey, just thought I'd remind you. You might not make it through the day today. Later."

The morning of the surgery I was a mess. My sister had a terrible experience with her wisdom teeth removal and kindly reminded me of this fact by recounting to me just how painful it was. I remembered her yelling from the living room for my dad to hurry up with the Codeine, and I didn't need her refreshing that for me. My surgery was at noon, and like a true adult I hid in my bed until right before I had to leave. I even tried to pull that thing little kids pull by holding on to my headboard and throwing some sort of tantrum when my mom came to get me up. It didnt' work that well because I'm so much larger than my bed, but still, the point was there--I was pwetty scwared. Wah.

once I finally left my house, I was seated almost immediately in the surgery room. I was given laughing gas soon after that, and the nurses' description-- "You're gonna feel a little drunk"--was spot on. Holy shit was I feeling good. I didn't know I was 'drunk' until I started talking really intensely with the nurse about Buffalo wings, which is usually a sure sign that I'm twisted. While I droned on about Atomic Wings I was given the anesthesia, which was supposed to knock me out but I just kept talking. My Doctor came in, tan and joking like most Doctors are. He slowly pried my mouth open and in what seemed like a few seconds, my right wisdom tooth was out. A few seconds later, the left one was gone, and my teeth were handed to me in a surgical envelope, still bloody.

"That it?" I asked.

"Unless you know something you don't know!" the surgeon said. I was escorted to the patients waiting area, were I sat down with an ice pack but quickly got bored. I walked out into the waiting room where my parents were. I picked up Conde Nast Traveler and you would have thought I just didn't have invasive, insanely expensive surgery.

The only real side effect I had, besides the slight bleeding the day of and the inability to eat solid foods, was jaw pain. But that's a common problem most any Monday morning after a weekend of work. Oh snap! I just dissed myself!

Lesson learned: Sometimes the things you're most scared of turn out to be not all that scary. I still don't know if this applies to sharks and grizzly bears, but I'm willing to give it a shot.

2.18.2008

This is what I would tell young girls: life is big. It's volcanic. It's excruciating. It's all you have, and then you're dead. Dead! Forever! I mean, maybe you'll fail. But failure should be big too. I despise — I spit on — this acceptance of a nearsighted life! I'd tell her: Don't listen to anyone. You are a god. And gods are, at certain angles, terrible things to be. Don't ever let anyone tell you you're not terrible. Don't be cute. It's not enough. You're better than that — better, and worse.
~Lisa Carver

2.10.2008

Because I Believe in Karma

Earlier tonight I went out to a birthday party on the Lower East Side. I left the bar around 1:15 with three friends and we walked a few blocks up Ave. B to E. Houston get a cab. We took that cab to Bleecker St. in Ridgewood, where one of my friends lived and where I left my car. The cab driver was a good driver, pleasant, and even settled a dispute I had with one of my friends regarding the protocol for taxis taking drivers outside of NYC. It started when he told me his plans to move to Jersey City, a plan I naturally made fun of since, you know, I still live at home with my parents.

"Hey, hey guys..." I said, doing my best high-pitched nerd voice, "I gotta leave and make that last PATH train. It's already 12:15!"

"What are you talking about? I'll just take a cab."

I told my friend that cab drivers are only obligated to take drivers in and around NYC; beyond the five boroughs the ride and flat rate is up to the driver's discretion. He didn't believe me until the cab driver clearly explained it all to him as we drove over the Williamsburg Bridge.

The cab let us off in front of the apartment and I handed my friend sitting shotty (who had no cash on him) what I thought was a twenty and a ten. The fare was $17.50. I thing I'm a good tipper, and pride myself on this fact. My friend looked at me funny, which I assumed was because of the unusually high tip. He asked me if I had a few singles--which I assumed would be given as tip when he received change--but I just said, nah, don't worry about it. Before I got out of the cab the driver turned around and looked at me. I just smiled and said, "Keep it."

I didn't find out until I was upstairs that what I gave the cab driver was actually two tens. A $3.50 tip.

Keep It.


All the way down Metropolitan, down Cypress Ave, through the backroads of Queens when he coulda been making a few quick bucks in Manhattan.

Keep It.

I felt really shitty when I found this out so when I got home I changed into pajamas and called 311.

"Hi.

I was just wondering...I don't know if you can help me out with this but, I just took a cab. And I wanted to know if I could track the driver down, you know, like if I gave you the time and the pick up location and the drop off location. I didnt lose anything in the cab."

"Why would you need to track down the driver?"

"Look. Alright. It's gonna sound sort of retarded but..."

I told her what happened. I ended with, "I'm sorry. I know it sounds really stupid, but I just believe in karma and I didn't mean to stiff him."

"I understand," she said, and searched. Nothing came up in the search; I thanked her for her help. She made me feel better by reminding me that I did tip him, sort of.

And I'm writing this post now because it's on my mind and I'd like to think that I'm putting it out into the universe. So to that cabdriver, I'm really not an asshole. I meant to give you more than what I did, and I'm really, really sorry. So, since I can't find you in that sea of yellow cabs, traveling through this big city, here's my apology.

You can keep it.

2.09.2008

Stop Already!





The above is an egregious abuse of the new-ish Facebook applications, taken from a real person's page. Just because some asshole invites you to join "What Gossip Girl Character Are You?", it doesn't mean you have to click "yes." It makes it difficult for people to get to the important stuff on your page, like your wall and your interests and list of favorites...assuming you have any interests, you applications sheep!

I wonder if my writing has even improved?