Just Putting It Out There...

Book Reading!

2011-06-03T02:14:00.009-04:00

What: I'll be reading from my memoir My Year With Eleanor

Where: Barnes & Noble Tribeca, 97 Warren Street, 212-587-5389

When: 6 p.m. on Wednesday June 8th.

Here's the link to the event!

My Book Trailer is Here!

2011-05-04T11:07:00.004-04:00

This is what I was doing when I wasn't writing on this blog, which I promise to get back to soon. Meanwhile...hope you enjoy!

But Weren't They Always?

2010-01-14T20:03:00.004-05:00

Every Now And Then I Read Something That Makes Me Fall In Love With The World All Over Again

2010-01-14T19:16:00.007-05:00

Today that something was:

We've obtained a photo of what appears to be Jesse McCartney lying naked on a bed, clad in nothing but a "G-string" made of candy.

[NY Post]

I Need To Watch More Local News

2009-12-21T23:00:00.006-05:00

"A drunk 4-year-old is accused of stealing Christmas presents from his neighbors..."

And it really just goes from there. A story so rich that they don't even get to the cross-dressing angle until 50 seconds in.

News Channel 9

Today in Emailing With Jessica

2009-12-17T09:39:00.004-05:00

Me: Sometimes I'll be doing research for my book and randomly come across something that tickles me to the core. I was looking up something for my karaoke chapter this afternoon when I encountered this nugget from Wikipedia:

Both Salt and Pepa appeared on VH1's Hip Hop Honors in November 2004, as the trio were honorees. Spinderella did not attend.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salt-n-Pepa

Jessica: Oooh. Was there a falling out with Spin, yo?

Me: Seems like they just went their separate ways. Pepa married the guy from Naughty by Nature. Salt tried a solo career as a Christian rap artist. Spin is now a radio personality in L.A. and her daughter recently appeared on an episode of My Super Sweet Sixteen. Interestingly, she's not the original Spinderella. They started out with a different one, but she was replaced after the first album and they just called the second one Spinderella, as well.

Jessica: If you took this individual email as a standalone dispatch, not part of a conversation...well, it'd be regarded as one of the most awesome emails ever.

The Only Thing Scarier Than The 7-Foot Santa My Parents Put In The Foyer During The Holidays...

2009-12-02T11:09:00.006-05:00

...is the 7-foot Santa before they put on his head.

Actual Conversation Between Me and the Woman Who Takes Flower Orders At FTD

2009-11-04T17:34:00.001-05:00

Florist: What do you want the card to say?

Me: Let’s go with ‘Happy 30th birthday.’

Florist: Anything else?

Me: 'And sorry again for vomiting on the floor at your party.'

Florist: [Silence]

Sorry, Nothing to See Here.

2009-10-25T16:08:00.002-04:00

Every now and then someone says, "You never update your blog anymore!" and I feel all guilty and shit. Then I start to write a blog post and remember that I'm still not done with my book, which I'm actually being paid to write. Then I feel even more guilty, abandon the blog post and go back to working on the book. So it goes. But I'll be back eventually. Promise!

Look What You've Done

2009-09-20T17:23:00.019-04:00

Dunkin Donuts held a contest where people could vote on what kind of doughnut they'd like to see come to fruition. Introducing the Heath Bar-covered doughnut. Single-handedly saving you the trouble of opening a candy wrapper. Available for a limited time or until your heart explodes through your chest cavity. Putting that warning on the side was thoughtful, but I don't care how bad your nut allergy is -- the almonds are the least of your worries in this scenario.

I'm reminded of John Oliver's hilarious stand-up bit about the Dominos Oreo Pizza being the most patriotic of American foodstuffs, and how we should hang it from flagpoles:

"Because that is the biggest imaginable ‘fuck you’ you could possibly issue to terrorists. By hoisting the Oreo Pizza up a flagpole, what you’re essentially saying is, 'There is nothing you can do to us we are not already doing to ourselves.'"

Welcome to The Olds

2009-07-29T02:19:00.004-04:00

Five years ago, when my friend AJ Daulerio turned 30, a friend of his wrote him a letter on Blacktable titled HERE ARE 10 THINGS TO EXPECT AFTER YOU TURN 30. I remember reading it at the time and thinking, "Oh, ha! That's funny! But it doesn't relate to me!" Well. It's still funny, at least.

HERE ARE 10 THINGS TO EXPECT AFTER YOU TURN 30

AJ:

Somebody we know told me you're turning 30 tomorrow. I'd congratulate you, but frankly, I don't have a goddamn nice thing to say about it. I do, however, take perverse delight in telling you what you can expect or should keep in mind:

1. Lest you forget, everyone you know will remind you that you indeed are fucking old. They're not just giving you a hard time. This in fact is true. You are old.

2. You are now officially too old to be characterized in the press and in critical circles as a "rising star" of avant guard journalism or cultural commentary. That plaudit is for young guys -- guys in their 20s -- whose genius is so precocious they actually develop a sphere of influence all to themselves. College co-eds -- English majors and journalism students -- secretly doodle in their journals about fellating those guys just to be close to the genius. They also make notes in their journals about how guys like you creep them out. They wonder why you're not married.

3. On the upside, you needn't be too concerned about those co-eds anymore. As you progress from 30 to 31 and on to 32, your desire to actually sleep with them will drop precipitously. The healthy post-college-aged guy you once were -- cruising Manhattan any night of the week on booze-fueled sex junkets -- is now the cautious, chronically tired guy of Rolaids commercials and NPR call-in shows. I would tell you this change happens gradually, that you still have 18 months of Wednesday night beer specials and post-2 a.m. bong hits with Kelly and Christina, but in fact you should start feeling the effects by Tuesday.

4. 401K. These four characters were nothing more than unique keys on your Dell yesterday. Tomorrow they will take on a daunting significance that clouds your creativity like charcoal-grey cumulonimbi threatening the Merry Retirement Trailer Community in western Pennsylvania. Overnight, financial desparation switches from sexy artist cachet to a mark of blandness and failure. Is it true you don't yet own a condo?

5. You're only 5 years away from your first prostate exam. Let's get fired up!

6. Speaking of doctors, start scheduling more time for them in your Microsoft Outlook calendar. Organized sports are out of the question at your age, and yes, it's true, you really have been smoking for almost two decades now.

7. No, what you're hearing on that kid's radio in Washington Park is not some Outkast B-side. It's actually a whole new breed of hip hop/trance fusion that you had no idea exists. Yes, I agree, it does sound awfully loud.

8. Remember when you laughed your ass off at Chris Rock's "old guy in the club" bit? (No seriously, I'm asking you... do you remember that? I mean it was quite some time ago. Sometimes those things slip.)

9. Hangovers: they're more than just myth.

10. Starting in 24 hours, you are officially closer to 40 than to 20. How're they hanging now, kid?

Getting Carded

2009-07-29T01:23:00.002-04:00

Jess and Chris. For the record, they both look equally lovely in a two-piece.

My favorite birthday card of the day, sent to me by both Jessica and Chris completely independently of each other. These are my friends.

In Which I Add A 30th Ring To My Tree Trunk

2009-07-29T01:15:00.002-04:00

Is it just me or does the cake keep getting smaller and smaller?

He/She Is Right About The Relish, By The Way

2009-07-27T22:13:00.010-04:00

This is the most enthralling piece of commentary I’ve seen on the fast food industry in years. You got served, Eric Schlosser. I couldn't write anything more entertaining than this so I'm going to just transcribe part of this monologue on "bringing the fever" at Krispy Creme:

Then when we opened up the box, the bitch didn’t even have the order right as far as I’m concerned. Because, Bitch, ain’t nobody asked for all these jelly-filled donuts, Bitch. As far as I’m concerned, as far as I’m concerned. I didn’t ask for no JELLY-FILLED, Boo! I don’t like all this motherfuckin lubrication around my donuts. I don’t like the way it feels when I bite into a donut and there’s all this shit pouring into my mouth. I don’t too much care for that. I don’t too much care for all that jelly motherfuckin navigatin through my mouth like GP -motherfuckin -S, Bitch.

And that’s another thing. Speaking of, let’s just talk about this overall, in fast food in general. I can’t stand when someone gives me an attitude. Because some days I put up with it a little bit, you understand? Because I don’t want no spit or boogers or FECAL MATTER REMNANTS in my meal. And a lot of times, let’s say you get a Big Mac Meal, number one -- special sauce and shit on that ass -- with your fries and your drink, you don’t even too much know. There could be a booger in there, you know? Cuz they got that green little relish in that burger, so therefore you don’t really know if that’s a booger or if that’s relish. You just have to go on faith and hope that shit is relish that you’re looking at. So what I’m saying is you don’t want to take a chance. So you want to be nice and treat people the right way, which is what I do just by nature.

Religion 2.0

2009-07-27T01:09:00.034-04:00

I was flipping television channels just now and came across pastor Joel Osteen, who was delivering his weekly sermon to Lakewood Church (and the rest of us, via ABC Family). I’ve never seen his sermons before so I watched for a few minutes. It was pretty much what I expected until he started quoting Bible verses. Mind you, the theme of today’s sermon was “Don’t Have A Critical Spirit” so my hands are a little tied here, but I will say this: it’s been awhile since I’ve read Matthew, but I definitely missed the parts about telephone poles and boomerangs on the first read-through. I can only pray that next week Jesus will be referring to his disciples as his entourage. If you’re going to go for the update, really go for the update, you know?

And speaking of updates, after those riveting pull quotes, you better believe I went to joelosteen.com to see what else he had to offer. What I found is that this week's message is already available for online purchase. Impressive! But can it recommend other life lessons I might be interested in? And tell me in what order they're ranked in terms of popularity and allow me to debate their merits with other customers in a protected forum under a catchy pseudonym? If not, I may have to take my business elsewhere. I hear the Jews are pretty good with media.

If Only It Were True

2009-07-21T17:16:00.004-04:00

Reading between the lines outside Zaitzeff on Avenue A.

I've Peaked

2009-07-16T00:48:00.037-04:00

MORE PHOTOS FROM MT. KILIMANJARO...

Maundi Crater

Horombo Hut campgrounds -- Kilimanjaro in the background to the left (right? whatever) of my head

Zebra Rock

Above the clouds at 12,000 feet

A lot further than it looks

Sunrise on the peak of Kilimanjaro

"Y'all must've been trippin', climbing a mountain in the dark like that."

"Naw sun! We wore flashlights on our hades."

Posing with the totally random, unassuming sign on the top of Kili

Suck it, Everest

There's a Red Bull Commercial in Here Somewhere

2009-07-14T22:49:00.005-04:00

Me rambling on the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro at six in the morning. Note the excessive use of the word "awesome." I blame the altitude.

That the Red Bull didn't freeze in the minus 10-degree temperatures like the rest of the liquids we'd brought only further makes me question the beverage's ingredients.

It's Not Gay If It's Yourself, Right? Right???

2009-07-13T23:46:00.009-04:00

A friend of mine just completed a 300-question survey from some dating site called OkCupid.com. He emailed this to me with the subject line "Most interesting OkCupid question of the day." When I say "a friend of mine," I actually mean a friend of mine. I have a boyfriend. And if I were answering this question, obviously the answer would be yes.

Made It!

2009-07-06T11:44:00.005-04:00

Me just after reaching the summit of Kilimanjaro at sunrise.

Incidentally, after six hours of hiking my arms were the only parts of my body that I could still move.

More to come...

The Throws of Kilimanjaro

2009-06-24T14:00:00.001-04:00

It is upon me. I'm off to try to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. See you in 11 days! (hopefully)

xo,
noelle

Except, I Don't Like Racquetball

2009-06-18T23:02:00.008-04:00

Only six days left till I attempt to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. Dave Eggers wrote a short story called "Up the Mountain, Coming Down Slowly" about a woman who climbs Mt. Kilimanjaro. It was a fictionalization of his own experience scaling the mountain a few years ago. This passage perfectly encapsulates where my head is at right now:

She cannot recall the source of her motivation to spend four days hiking up this mountain, so blindingly white at the top -- a hike some had told her was brutalizing and often fatal and others had claimed was actually just a walk in the park. She was not sure she was fit enough, and was not sure she would not be bored to insanity. She was most concerned about the altitude sickness. The young were more susceptible, she’d heard, and at thirty-eight she was not sure she was that anymore -- young -- but she felt that for some reason she in particular was always susceptible and she would have to know when to turn back. If the pressure in her head became too great, she would have to turn back. The mountain was almost twenty thousand feet high and every month someone died of a cerebral edema and there were ways to prevent this. Breathing deeply would bring more oxygen into the blood, into the brain, and if that didn’t work and the pain persisted, there was Diamox, which thinned the blood and accomplished the same objective but more quickly. But she hated to take pills and had vowed not to use them, to simply go down in the pain grew intolerable -- but how would she know when to go down? What were the phases before death? She might at some point realize that it was time to turn and walk down the mountain, but what if it was already too late? It was possible that she would decide to leave, be ready to live at a lower level again, but by then the mountain would have had its way and there, on a path or in a tent, she would die. [...]

She has bought new boots, expensive, and has borrowed a backpack, huge, and a Therm-a-rest, and sleeping bag, and cup, and a dozen other things. Everything made of plastic and Gore-Tex. The items were light individually but together were heavy and all of it is packed in a large tall purple pack in the corner of the round hut and she doesn’t want to carry the pack and wonders why she’s come. She is not a mountain climber, and not an avid hiker, and not someone who needs to prove her fitness by hiking mountains and afterward casually mentioning it to friends and colleagues. She likes racquetball.

Today in Texting With Jessica: Mt. Kilimanjaro Edition

2009-06-18T22:47:00.007-04:00

Me: Was just reading the Wikipedia entry about Arusha, the city in Africa where I'll be staying before I hike Mt. Kilimanjaro. This line stood out:

Increasingly, tourists are being held up at machete point, even during the day.

Jessica: Omg, that's so authentic!

I Know I'm Late On This

2009-06-16T00:16:00.011-04:00

Dancers wearing Hammer Pants flash mob a trendy store and surprise hipsters shopping for skinny jeans.

This is the most impressive thing I've seen in quite some time. In particular, the white guy in the tie really owned it.

Today in Texting With Jessica

2009-06-03T13:05:00.003-04:00

Me: Is there any part of town more useless than Tribeca?

Jessica: Murray Hill.

Me: At least you can always get a cab in Murray Hill.

Jessica: True. You can always get a cab, and an STD.

You Would Never Guess I've Been Through Two Rounds of Media Training, Would You?

2009-06-01T01:50:00.007-04:00

I'm going to appear as a guest on Fox News' Red Eye tonight. Tomorrow. Tonight. Whatever. On Monday at 3 a.m. Eastern Standard Time. I promise to make lots of untoward faces again! (The above is from the last time I was on the show when I did an impression of myself driving a car while listening to Beyonce music.)

There is a good chance they will be airing footage from my recent skydiving endeavor. The straining expression on my face during the free fall is similar to the grimace people make while being anally penetrated against their will. Get your Tivo ready, Mom.

UPDATE: The skydiving footage isn't airing tonight. It will run in a few weeks. Sad face! :-(

Today in Texting With Jessica

2009-06-01T00:18:00.008-04:00

Jessica: 'Confessions of a Go-Go Girl' -- another Saturday night, destroyed by a Lifetime movie.

Me: I hear it's the Citizen Kane of tv movie presentations.

Jessica [four hours later]: Now I'm watching another Lifetime movie starring Stephan Jenkins. Of Third Eye Blind. Big night here.

Me: I'm watching my boyfriend pee with the bathroom door open so that he doesn't have to put 'Benjamin Button' on pause. Which is worse?

Jessica: Um, you win. But only by a hair.

Cute Overload

2009-05-28T22:49:00.030-04:00

My mom and little sister found this in a mall parking lot being attacked by mockingbirds. I kind of want to attack it, too. With kisses. Not just regular kisses, but tongue kisses because that's how cute she is and also because she is a kitty (when in Rome, right?). And is it just me, or does she look like the couch?

Hindsight 20/20

2009-05-22T16:34:00.004-04:00

In retrospect, this may not have been the best camera angle from which to capture my straddle whip on the trapeze.

ABC Telling It Like It Is

2009-05-19T23:22:00.014-04:00

I tried to watch free online episodes of Dancing With the Stars tonight on abc.com, but a message popped up telling me I needed to download their plug-in first. This was their sales pitch. And you know, I kind of love them for it.

More Skydiving Photos!

2009-05-12T23:32:00.020-04:00

With Bill Schulz, Chris Rovzar and Jessica Coen at Long Island Skydiving. We later reenacted this photo in the nude.

Bill, Jessica and I sign the "you die and it's your bad" release forms.

The reality of the situation hits Jessica while Bill remains blithely unaware of what is to come.

Death march.

Me.

Bill.

Landing.

Relieved.

I Survived

2009-05-11T21:56:00.002-04:00

The expression on my face really says it all.

It Should Come As No Surprise That I Don't Remember Taking 99% Of These Photos

2009-05-11T16:29:00.038-04:00

For my potential last night on earth, I gathered a few friends together for an ironic dinner at Olive Garden. After many bottles of Sutter Home were consumed, we sojourned to the Times Square Madame Tussauds wax museum to molest some statues. Joining me were my girl Sara and another friend who asked not to be identified because he (uh, or she. you never know. going on the clothes alone it could also be Ellen DeGeneres) takes care with how he portrays himself to the public. As you can see, this is not a concern of mine.

The best part of the museum is the American Idol section where they let you karaoke before a wax Simon Cowell and when you're done, the house deejay hits a button and one of Cowell's pre-recorded withering comments comes over the loudspeaker to crush your dreams. It is absolutely fantastic and I forgot about it entirely until I woke up the next day and found a card in my purse reading

WE'VE RECORDED YOUR AMERICAN IDOL PERFORMANCE OF:

(the blank filled in with handwriting) 'Midnight Train to Georgia'

Present this card to the host to purchase a custom DVD, complete with titles, them [sic] music and STARRING YOU!

We were being filmed????? Hilarious. Sara informs me that TLC's "Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls" was also given its due. Go there, man.

Fauxbama

The next day I have the following conversation with my friend on the right...

Me: Who is that guy in the red shirt with us in the Hulk picture? Is he part of the display? I must have had more wine than I realized.

Friend: That I don’t remember him is also a red flag.

I'll be with you in a minute, Evander.

I have a suspicion the Victoria Beckham also freelances in the '80s wing as Michael J. Fox.

Apropos of nothing, gang signs with Julia Roberts

Motorboating fake Tyra Banks.

This Is The Last Photo I Want On My Blog In Case I Die Tomorrow

2009-05-08T12:24:00.009-04:00

Naked skydiving

Against my better judgment I'm going skydiving tomorrow afternoon. It's for my book, obviously. Why anybody would voluntarily engage in an activity that can make your breasts look like upside down cereal bowls is beyond me, so I'm amazed I convinced my friends Jessica Coen, Chris Rovzar and Bill Schulz to come along with me. In honor of our adventure I emailed the three of them this photo.

"Oh my god, WHAT IS GOING ON WITH THE BOOBS?" Jessica wrote back.

"That's what's going to happen to your boobs tomorrow, Coen," Chris replied. "Sometimes, they stay that way."

Thank God For Paris Hilton

2009-05-08T12:04:00.005-04:00

[via Usmagazine.com]

This may even be better than the time she told the court, "I meet so many people. I don't even know some of my friends' names." I can't decide. It's like making me choose which of my two mentally impaired babies I love more.

Today in Emailing With Jessica

2009-05-06T13:58:00.003-04:00

Jessica: Why does Kelly Ripa's navel look like a penis?
http://thesuperficial.com/2009/05/kelly_ripa_in_a_bikini.php?bfm_index=0&bfm_page=0

Me: THAT'S a penis? How many small children have you been fucking? Still, I see your point.

Jessica: Ha. A LOT OF SMALL CHILDREN. But seriously, it looks like it has a tiny little head on it.

Me: I think her belly button is just afraid of her abs (I know I am) and trying to make a break for it.

Jessica: I think her mother's obgyn should be shot.

Inappropriately-Named Food For Thought

2009-05-03T20:33:00.008-04:00

You know what, Clam Chowder? It’s time for you to -- as Dr. Phil would say –- get real with yourself, embrace your true identity and change your name to Potato Chowder. Nobody likes a poseur.

An Open Letter To The Person Who Keeps Leaving Comments On My Blog Asking If I've Stalked Him Through Usmagazine.com Comments:

2009-04-28T17:51:00.008-04:00

Yes, you’ve caught me. While employed at Usmagazine.com I took time out of my busy workday to comment repeatedly on my own blog posts, under my own name, even though employees were forbidden to leave comments. In addition to entrusting me to write 100-word blog posts about Britney Spears, this billion-dollar corporation with a scrupulous legal department granted me access to a confidential database full of our readers’ private information, which I illegally accessed for nefarious purposes. It is also true that while I have no earthly idea who you are, I have been relentlessly stalking you online for the last two years. And I occasionally send you messages through Labrador retrievers and David Letterman. I’m watching you right now, fyi. I liked your hair better the old way.

I’ll be seeing you. (Really.)

Hugs and Kisses,
Noelle

Things My Family Owns That I Don't Understand

2009-04-28T01:32:00.009-04:00

Every time I visit my parents, they have acquired a new completely baffling item of dubious origin. Last December this came in the form of a seven-foot tall Santa statue in the middle of our foyer. Then there was the "power tower" for chin-ups, dips and leg raises. This time it's battery-operated, oversized Incredible Hulk hands that growl when you set them forcefully down on the ground.

Good To Know

2009-04-24T01:02:00.008-04:00

Was just researching Mt. Kilimanjaro in preparation for my climb and came across the following decree:

Spitting and possession of pornographic material is illegal.

Thank god they said something. Trudging down from 20,000 feet in handcuffs, clutching my well-thumbed copies of Tenthouse and Canteens would've been one hell of an embarrassing perp walk.

Bright College Years

2009-04-15T11:57:00.006-04:00

Of all the Happy Easter emails I received last weekend, somehow this one from my college friend Sara was the most heartwarming:

I hope you are doing well. I was thinking about you a lot this weekend. I just kept remembering that Easter where we got so wasted and I threw my boyfriend's clothes at him in the hallway at our dorm. I think this is the same night that your boyfriend broke the kegerator and then you fell asleep in the hallway. I am so holy.

Happy Easter!

2009-04-12T15:40:00.000-04:00

In Which My Parakeets Melt My Cold Black Heart

2009-04-11T20:38:00.033-04:00

There are few tasks more challenging than administering medication to an unwilling pet. It's physically difficult because when you try to sneak it into their food, animals always -- always! -- sense its presence and eat around it. If you try to force feed them, they hold the medication in their mouths until you let go, at which point they shake their heads and more of it ends up on you than in their stomach. And it's hard emotionally because you can't explain to your pet that all this unpleasantness is for their own good.

Stuart the Parakeet has a respiratory infection going on right now. This I learned after dropping more money than I care to admit at the vet’s office this week. (I just hope the birds let me move into their cage with them once I’m evicted from my apartment for defaulting on my rent.) It’s now up to me to shove a plastic syringe full of unappetizing antibiotics down his beak for five consecutive days.

Last night I pulled him out of the cage and set him on my lap. Jesus the Parakeet began chirping angrily the way he always does when I separate the two of them. I clutched little Stu from behind, wrapping my fingers around his torso. Because he was hand-fed as a baby, Stu is incredibly sweet-natured and trusts humans implicitly. He never bites but last night he thought I was trying to crush him so he nipped hard at my fingers. His feet clawed at my palm. Using his shoulders, he shimmied upwards and climbed out of my clenched hand. Then, unsure where to go, he crouched on my fist and trembled.

I grabbed him with my other hand and started again, using a firmer grip, all the while terrified that I was going to injure his delicate body. He chirped in a high anxious pitch he’d never used before. When I pinched his head between my thumb and pointer finger to keep it steady, he stopped struggling. He gave up because he thought he was about to die.

(I’m getting teary just typing this.)

Jesus obviously thought Stuart was about to die as well. He was going out of his mind, squawking, flapping his wings and carrying on like never before. He even climbed out of the cage to come to Stuart’s aid. This was unprecedented because Jesus hates leaving the cage and bites the hell out of any fool who dares to pry him from his kingdom.

It brought to mind an op-ed I read last year written by Times columnist Nicholas Kristof. In it, he reflected on his boyhood growing up on a farm where they slaughtered geese once a month. It was Kristof’s job to hold them by their wings over the chopping block while his dad swung the ax. He wrote:

The 150 geese knew that something dreadful was happening and would cower in a far corner of the barn, and run away in terror as I approached. Then I would grab one and carry it away as it screeched and struggled in my arms. Very often, one goose would bravely step away from the panicked flock and walk tremulously toward me. It would be the mate of the one I had caught, male or female, and it would step right up to me, protesting pitifully. It would be frightened out of its wits, but still determined to stand with and comfort its lover.

Everyone likes to tell me that parakeets have pea-sized brains, that they aren’t real pets because they don’t “give back” the way dogs and cats do (my boyfriend, especially, likes to remind me of this after I’ve just dropped a load of money on vet bills). But last night was a sweet reminder that birds have a capacity for love that we don’t understand.

After I returned Stu to the cage, he didn’t move or make a sound for the rest of the evening, not even when Jesus toddled over and tried to strike up a conversation. Jesus fell silent after awhile and climbed onto the swing next to Stu. Then he reached down and spent a half hour preening Stuart’s feathers, smoothing them over and over until, at last, Stu felt safe enough to close his eyes and fall sleep.

(It’s not obvious at all that I’m PMSing, right?)

Things I'd Have Been Better Off Not Knowing

2009-04-08T17:31:00.001-04:00

"Eh. She doesn't look that hot."

I'm climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro this July (planning to climb, anyway -- less than 40% of hikers reach the summit). I was researching my trip last night when I stumbled across this heartening tidbit:

At 20,000 feet, Mount Kilimanjaro is Africa’s highest peak and also the world’s tallest volcano. And although classified as dormant, Kilimanjaro has begun to stir, and evidence suggests that a massive landslide could rip open the side of the mountain causing a cataclysmic flow of hot gases and rock, similar to Mount St. Helens.

At least I can finally rationalize having seen both Dante's Peak and Volcano, 1997's two-fold contribution to magma-themed cinema. In the theater, no less. But there's really no excusing Joe Versus the Volcano, is there?

Long Time No Blog

2009-03-09T00:34:00.020-04:00

Sorry I've been an absentee blogger. I'm spending all my time writing the book these days. Actually, writing is a bit of an overstatement -- more like typing while simultaneously having a nervous breakdown and going into cardiac arrest. The final draft is due to my publisher exactly four months from today and I'm woefully behind; so I might not be 'round these parts too much until it's finished. (Did you see how I implemented the semicolon just then? Is that even correct punctuation? Don't you always feel unsure when you deploy the semicolon? Using semicolons is like writing your first book or folding fitted sheets. You never really know if you're doing it right.) Anyway, know that I am thinking about you and wishing you were here. Because then I would make you write the book for me while I lie on the couch and drink martinis.

Give Me a Hand. No, Really.

2009-03-02T18:26:00.014-05:00

Dupuytren's Disease

I went to an orthopedist today to have him look at what I thought was a run-of-the-mill ganglion cyst. It turns out that I have Dupuytren's Disease, also known as Dupuytren's Contracture. It’s a condition where lumps and thick cords form on your palm, eventually making it impossible to hold your hand flat and causing the fingers to curl in until you, quite literally, have a part-time claw on your hands. The condition is hereditary, most common in people of European descent. It usually occurs in men over 45 (it's ten times more likely to afflict men than women, cementing my long-held theory that I’m a guy that God accidentally put breasts on).

The doctor injected a load of cortisone into the lump on my left hand (which, let me tell you, hurts) in an effort to slow down the process. Then he examined my right palm. “Oh look!” he said, pointing to a thick cord that I’d mistaken for a tendon. “It’s already starting on the other hand, too.”

I got home and took to the internet thinking, “Surely this isn’t as serious as he’s making it out to be.” On various websites I was treated to such warnings as:

Over time, as the contracture develops, the fingers become clawed as they are pulled towards the palm.

The fingers are completely pulled against the palm.

Often, the skin of the palm is dimpled and puckered.

Ew, just ewww. And the really good news:

More severe disease often occurs with an earlier age of onset. (ie. Me)

“Are you going to have lobster claws?” Jess asked when I told her. “I really hope not, but they would help make you a cool-crazy old aunt someday.”

That would’ve been nice. I think I could’ve pulled off lobster claws. I’d have told people that it was a gang sign. “Yeah, that’s right. I run with The Crustaceans. What, you haven’t heard of us? We’re the new Latin Kings.”

But Dupuytren's tends to curl in the pinky and ring fingers more than the other digits. So it appears I’ll be spending my latter years looking like That Dude at the frat party perpetually shooting the finger guns at people. I’m going to grow up to look like a douchebag is what I am telling you. This, I think we can all agree, is decidedly less cool.

Many thanks to Kelley from Home in the Heights and Alana from blogs.com, who plugged my blog today. That was a happy little surprise after an utterly strange afternoon.

Gettin My Ash On

2009-02-27T19:10:00.005-05:00

On Ash Wednesday I ended up attending my church’s Spanish mass at noon because the English mass was at 8 a.m. (be serious). I sat there for an hour trying to follow along, wondering how it’s possible that I took Spanish for nine years and the only words I understood were Jesu Christo.

There were two priests doling out ashes that day. When I saw people in my line walking back with undefined round dots in their forehead, I jumped lines. That’s right. I’m a sacramental line-jumper. As the possessor of a fivehead, I have a substantial canvas to work with and the smaller the dot, the larger it looks. I needed someone with some spatial proportion consideration. Also, I have a pronounced forehead vein to contend with and Ash Wednesday is the only day that it gets to travel under the cover of darkness.

When I got home I looked at my cross in the mirror and saw that the priest had undercompensated on one side. Moreover, he didn’t really follow-through on the downstroke either. It looked like I had an “L” on my forehead, which is probably what I deserved. It could’ve been worse. At least I didn’t have to take my work ID photo on Ash Wednesday this time. But it certainly wasn’t the Immaculate Cross of 2008, the likes of which we will probably never see again. That year I had people stopping me on the street to compliment me on my cross. One fellow Catholic I walked past turned to their friend and said, “See, now that’s a cross.” For 12 hours that day, my forehead -- usually the subject of ridicule -- knew what it was to be special. I felt like one of those handicapped kids that gets one day to dress up in designer clothes, meet their favorite rock star and get a spa treatment at Elizabeth Arden.

But back to 2009: My forehead was a bit itchy (I forgot to moisturize that morning) but I was determined not to mess with God's work. Instead of scratching my forehead, I spent the afternoon stabbing at the itch with my longest fingernail. Then I realized my internet was down and wound up having a particularly harrowing phone conversation with Time Warner, during which I absentmindedly ran the back of my hand over my forehead several times. The results were not pretty. No longer content to remain confined in an "L", the ashes had pilgrimaged across my forehead in search of the Promised Land. This also happened to be the night of Jessica's birthday drinks. When my forehead and I arrived at the bar, the dim lights further confused matters.

“Oh my gosh, Noelle, is that a bruise?!” people exclaimed. “What happened to your head?”

After several hours and glasses of wine (I know, but if you factor in the Holy Trinity, I was drinking for four), I said my farewells. By the time I got home this is what my forehead was left with: the cloud monster from Lost. In case you were wondering where it’s been this season.

Time Warner Cable: The Power of You Rearranging Your Entire Day Around a 4-Hour Window of Home-Bound Time

2009-02-27T16:47:00.009-05:00

Me: I'm finally back online. My internet was being a little punkass so I had to have Time Warner come over here and get crunk on it.

Lateefah: So my wild imagination actually envisioned someone in a Time Warner uniform finger snapping and neck rolling, yellin' at the internet line "Aww, hell naw...yo' ass better work, dammit!"

Me: That's actually pretty much how it went.

--------------------------------------------------------------------
(In related news: I recently came across the website howcrunk.com which I enjoyed immensely, even if it took me awhile to figure out what "livin' with your paper" meant.)

There Will Be Binging

2009-02-27T16:45:00.019-05:00

This morning I received in the mail a package from my mother. “Oh fuck,” I whispered when I opened it. It was my belated Valentine’s Day present and it contained a huge box of Godiva chocolates (36 pieces strong) and two boxes of Girl Scout Cookies (Thin Mints, Peanut Butter Patties).

I guess I should mention that today is Friday and I haven’t eaten since Sunday. For the last five days I’ve been doing the Blueprint Cleanse, a fast where all you drink are six juices a day. And before you get all “that’s just unhealthy” on my ass, know that this ain’t your Beyonce’s maple-syrup-cayenne-pepper bullshit fast. The Blueprint juices add up to about 1200 calories a day so you’re not starving yourself. According to the site, the cleanse uses live juices to remove toxins and promote healing by supplying your blood with the vitamins, minerals and enzymes it needs to keep you going while you detox and reboot yourself from the inside out.

Whatever.

I just decided to try it because my friend Jessica did the three-day cleanse and swore she had more energy, was suddenly craving leafy greens and had no appetite for junk food anymore. She no longer even needed coffee. Another reason is because I’m writing a book about doing one thing every day that scares me for one year. And if the idea of going without food for five days doesn’t scare the shit out of you, then you must be on a juice cleanse like me and have nothing in your bowels.

(Believe me, the irony was not lost on me that I was paying not to eat for a week when millions of people go hungry every day. Paying a lot, for that matter. That’s America for you.)

I have to say, it’s been nothing short of a revelation. I’m a decently healthy eater but I’ve never felt so hale and hearty in my life as I did this week. Mind you, it wasn’t always easy. At the end of Day One I had a pounding headache. According to the Blueprint website, this was a symptom of withdrawal. I was also ready to slap somebody for a plate of ribs. This is also, I’m assuming, a symptom of withdrawal.

But that night, when I went to slather my lips in Carmex like I always do before bed, I realized I hadn’t applied Carmex all day. In and of itself, this was remarkable. I usually have to apply lip balm (no lie) at least 10 times a day. I’m never without a tube. If I happen to leave the house without lip balm, I have to stop at a drugstore and buy some. Otherwise, in a matter of hours my lips go all science fiction and bad things happen. A few days later I noticed that my skin was brighter. Apparently, I normally live in a state of perpetual dehydration.

I never understood what people were talking about when they said that certain foods made them feel sluggish and other foods gave them more energy. No matter what I ate, I always felt the same way – a little lethargic, foggy-headed. I thought that was just, you know, the way it is. I’ve never really felt the urge to go outside and do anything except maybe sit down. But for the last five days, I actually wanted to do things! I was clear-headed and focused like never before. I could work for hours without break. It was like caffeine without the heart palpitations, shaky hands and energy crash. However, it was the mood change that really sold me. I was in a fantastic mood every single minute of every single day. Even when that person on the subway sat down in the seat that I was so clearly making my way towards.

I can't say I've abolished my junk food cravings like Jessica. This much was clear when I opened that box today. It took everything in my power not to stick my head in and make face love to its contents. But I'm definitely not looking forward to the return-to-sugar fallout. Yesterday I ate a small piece of candy and the result was instantaneous. I felt as if I’d been hit over the head with a sledge hammer. A cloud settled around my brain, making it difficult to concentrate. If that’s in any way a preview of what I’m in for tomorrow after I tear into those cookies, I’m going to be needing a Girl Scout insulin patch. Because come breakfast time I’m stacking those bad boys in my mouth six deep and showing no mercy.

P.S. Thanks Mom!

Wait Till the Department of Defense Hears About This

2009-02-24T23:37:00.001-05:00

I'm totally late on this story. Meant to blog it last week but I had a deadline and deadlines wait for no weave. Many thanks to the anonymous reader who brought this to my attention. I love this story. It reads like a plot arc from the last season of Charm School.

Woman OK After Bullet Ends Up in Her Hair Weave

KANSAS CITY, Mo. – Other than having a bit of a headache, a Kansas City woman was uninjured after a bullet fired at her ended up tangled in her hair weave. Police said the 20-year-old woman was in a convenience store parking lot late Wednesday when a man flagged her down and told her that her ex-boyfriend still loved her.

She replied, "Well I don't love him," then heard gunshots. She said she looked behind the vehicle and saw her ex-boyfriend firing a handgun at her. She stomped her accelerator and fled, then turned into another parking lot and called police.

She told officers she recently had ended an eight-month relationship with the suspect.

Police arrested the ex-boyfriend and his friend in a car.

If those U.S. soldiers in Iraq buying their own body armor had only known, they could have saved money by switching to weaves. All we can hope is when Jessica Simpson launches a line of clip-on hair vests and follicular-themed tactical gear later this year, she has the foresight to use a repurposed poster from the straight-to-DVD marvel Private Valentine: Blonde & Dangerous

Has It Really Come To This?

2009-02-24T13:34:00.002-05:00

Seen last night in the candy aisle at the CVS drugstore on 14th St. and 1st Ave.

Happy Valentine's Day!

2009-02-13T17:48:00.004-05:00

Jesus and Stuart are wishing you all kinds of gay parakeet love this holiday weekend.

He Just Wasn't That Into Me

2009-02-13T11:47:00.022-05:00

When people find out I used to interview celebrities for a living, the question I’m asked most often is, “Did any of them ever hit on you?” The answer is no, although there was a time when I thought one of them did. A few years ago, Rolling Stone flew me out to L.A. to profile Bradley Cooper for their Hot List issue. Wedding Crashers had just come out and his forthcoming sitcom, Kitchen Confidential, was getting all kinds of buzz.

My friend Sara and I had been out late at some club in Hollywood the night before so I showed up to the interview wickedly hungover (I’m a professional). His publicist set up our lunch at the trendy Urth Café. The first words out of Bradley’s mouth after we introduced ourselves: “Do you really want to be here? C’mon, I’m going to take you to a place that’ll blow your mind.” We hopped in his jeep and he drove me to a great hole-in-the-wall Mexican food place where he knew everyone by name.

Dude was a sweetheart. He pointed out which smoothies he thought would best cure my headache. He asked permission to drink his latte when it arrived before the food. But the best part was the vibe between the two of us. I’d interviewed tons of people before, but this was the first time it felt like a date. We laughed, we shared stories, we flirted. All this and I’m not usually attracted to blondes (it would be like dating my brother). Yet for this guy, I made an exception.

“I’m actually going to be seeing you in two weeks,” I said coyly as the interview wrapped up. Kitchen Confidential was having a launch party in New York and I was scheduled to cover it.

“Oh great!” he replied eagerly. “I'm really looking forward to it!” Then he offered to drive me to the airport. I already had a ride but he asked several times, “Are you sure? Are you positive? It’s really no bother.” Clearly he was into me.

I spent the next two weeks fantasizing about what our life together was going to be like. I couldn’t believe I was about to be dating a celebrity. The paparazzi, I knew, would be annoying. They’d follow us down the street, photographing us shopping together and brunching. I figured I’d let them get a few shots in before taking charge. “Okay guys, that’s enough for today,” I’d say. “Let’s shut it down. Thanks!” Our wedding would be featured in InStyle magazine. They’d follow Bradley and me to the playground to photograph us pushing our herd of Aryan-looking babies on the swings. But we’d get through it – together.

The night of the party I arrived in my meticulously planned outfit -- camisole, cute blazer, stilettos, city shorts (it was 2005). I waited until he’d settled in with a drink and strode up to him casually and said, “Hey there!”

He looked at me quizzically. “Ummmm…” He had no idea who I was. After five horrendous seconds, and my prompting "Rolling Stone?", he said, “Oh wait! Now I remember you. How ya doin’?”

Yeah, that was uncomfortable.

The next day I tried to figure out where I had gone wrong. I went over our conversations, which was easy by virtue of the fact that the interview had been tape recorded. I spent hours (well, minutes) pouring over the details of what had happened that day we met. Was it my outfit? Maybe it was the hangover?

I recounted this embarrassing story to a friend of mine last week after we saw He’s Just Not That Into You. “Oh my god!” she said. “That’s amazing. You basically behaved like one of the characters in the movie to one of the characters in the movie. Only you did it in real life!”

It’s true. I'd completely projected a fantasy relationship onto a man who had forgotten me the instant I’d left his presence. The truth is, it was just an interview to him. Nothing more. Or maybe it was because I’d been dropped off for our interview by a guy driving a convertible, and when Bradley had asked, “Who was that?” I replied, “Oh, him? I met him last night.” Yeah, that could’ve been it, too.

Why I'm Going Out for Valentine's Day Tonight

2009-02-13T11:45:00.001-05:00

[via I Heart You]

Someone once told me that February 13 is the night that married men take their mistresses out for Valentine's Day. So Nick and I plan on playing the "Whore or Procrastinator?" game at dinner tonight while scoping out our fellow diners.

Quote of the Day

2009-02-10T13:44:00.009-05:00

"The Milk Mustache campaign is taking the allegations against Chris Brown very seriously," a company rep tells Usmagazine.com.

The Got Milk campaign is pulling Chris Brown's ads at the end of the week. Personally I think the situation could've been resolved with a little creative copy editing to make the ad more topical:

"Chris Brown feat Milk: How do I stay light on my feet? By drinking milk. The protein helps build muscle and strong bones that you can use to pummel your girlfriend when she starts getting mouthy. got milk? and a decent attorney?"

"So I Decided To Risk It All..."

2009-02-03T23:44:00.008-05:00

The vacant stares, the awkward voice-overs, the kicky music. Newsweek (I know, right???) has done a spoof of The City that's totally spot-on. Next week on The District: Barack walks into Rahm Emanuel's office and says, "You won't believe what happened to me today." And then Rahm's mouth drops and he says, "Oh. My. God. Seriously?"

[Via Daily Intel]

More Evidence I'd Never Make It As A Copy Editor

2009-02-03T17:53:00.010-05:00

I was rereading the Market Analysis section of my book proposal last night and came across this line: "This is a book my void can fill." I'm going to tell myself I was up late the night I wrote that.

Vindication at Last!

2009-01-29T23:06:00.006-05:00

Self-esteem remains intact.

Today in Texting With Jessica

2009-01-29T18:48:00.003-05:00

On location at a nearby tarmac...

Jessica: I am on the oldest, most ghetto plane I've ever been on. It's like it's taking its final flight. Even Spirit is more cleaned up than this.

Me: Oh noooooo! That's bad. On my way to the airport once, my cabbie asked what airline I was flying and when I told him Spirit, he started laughing.

Jessica: That cabbie should burn in hell. Nobody laughs at you when you get on a plane. Nobody.

My Sistah

2009-01-28T00:26:00.012-05:00

(Note: I did not look anything like this when I was 14. Around that time, I misjudged the thickness of my hair and cut it up to my shoulders, where it elected to become a blonde afro. And there was an eyebrow situation. There was ugliness there, is what I am saying)

How concerned should I be that my 14-year-old sister ignored my Facebook friend request? Or that I am placing my entire sense of self-worth in the hands of an eighth grader?

The Secret Of My Relationship Success

2009-01-27T17:11:00.001-05:00

Nick: What are our plans for the Super Bowl? Do we have any?

Me: When is it?

Nick: Sunday.

Me: If you offered me a million dollars, I couldn't even tell you who's playing.

Nick: Me neither. We are a pair.

Getting Lasik: Part II

2009-01-26T17:46:00.010-05:00

I hadn’t brought anyone with me to the doctor's office because I felt bad asking a friend to leave work on a weekday afternoon. Besides, everyone assured me it was painless and the receptionist said that as long as I wasn’t driving, I’d be okay getting home alone in a taxi. But since I could barely open my eyes after the surgery, a receptionist had to walk me down to the lobby and help me hail a cab. He slipped me a Vicodin on the way out.

“You realize I just had a Vicodin a half hour ago, right?” I said. “And two Xanax before that?”

“Yes, the doctor said it’s fine.”

Once inside the cab, I called my boyfriend and sobbed, “Oh god, it burns! It burns! They don’t tell you how much it burns!” Then I called Jessica and sounded like such a raving lunatic that she put me on speaker phone so that our friend Chris, who was sitting next to her, could fully experience my hysteria.

As soon as I walked into my apartment I cut the lights and lay down on my bed. I wasn’t supposed to open my eyes for two hours so I turned on my Tivo’d episodes of West Wing and just listened. The entire show takes place in the White House, so all I needed was the dialogue to follow what was going on.

For three hours it felt like my eyes were being irrigated with Tabasco sauce. Then the pain stopped abruptly, as if someone had flipped a switch. I was fine and already able to read the clock on my cable box across the room. Floating in my pharmaceutical haze, it occurred to me that I’d never be as sedated as I was at that very moment. If I was ever going to get the second eye done, this was the time. I called the doctor’s office and asked if they could do my other eye that night. It was already 6 p.m. but they agreed.

When I arrived at the Lasik center, they handed me another Vicodin. For those of you keeping score at home, this means that in the course of five hours, I’d taken two Xanax and three Vicodin. But they insisted and I was hardly in a state to argue. I was hardly in a state to do anything, frankly. As you can imagine, the second surgery was much less traumatic, what with me being practically unconscious. I didn’t even need the services of Damien.

When I woke up the next morning, I could see 20/20. My vision was even better than it had ever been with glasses or contacts. Colors were brighter, lines were sharper. The world was crisp, as if I were seeing in HD. It’s been over eight weeks and the only side effect I’ve experienced is mild sensitivity to light, which should go away in a few months.

A few weeks ago I returned to the office for a checkup appointment. Everything was normal. On the way out, I stopped in the bathroom to pee. There were two other women in there -- one of whom was there for a checkup like me, and a girl who was just about to go into surgery.

“So you can see perfectly now?” the pre-Lasik girl squeaked excitedly. We nodded in unison and she scampered out.

As she was drying off her hands, the other woman gave me a knowing look and said, “I’m glad she didn’t ask me if it was painful. I wouldn’t have had it in me to lie to the girl.”

I Think It’s Time I Wrote About Getting Lasik: Part I

2009-01-22T15:09:00.014-05:00

They say that you don’t truly recover from a traumatic experience until you can think about it without reliving it. That’s why it’s taken me until now to write about getting Lasik. I needed time to gather myself and stop having 'Nam-like flashbacks. I’d like to begin by saying that no one else I know had a bad experience getting Lasik. It's possible I'm just a wussy because every one of my Lasiked friends swears their surgery was painless. The worst part was a bit of pressure on their eyeball. As for me…

I booked my surgery on a Friday so I’d have the weekend to recover. When I arrived the doctor’s assistant handed me half of a Xanax.

“Oh honey,” I laughed, “let’s be serious. That’s not going to get it done.” She gave the rest of the Xanax.

I sat in the waiting room for about a half hour before they called my name and led me into the operating room. As I walked in they gave me a stuffed monkey named Damien to hold onto during the surgery. I lay down in a reclining chair and they placed some numbing drops into my eyes. (Okay, nevermind. I’m totally reliving this right now. My eyes are watering just writing this.) The doctor came in and placed a monocle-esque device over my left eyeball, which prevented my eyelids from closing. He instructed me to stare up at the round red laser beam over my head and told me to keep my eyeball perfectly still. This was the moment I began to regret how heavily I’d researched this surgery. Because I’d read so much about it before coming in, I knew exactly what he was doing every step of the way. I knew that this device (known as a microkeratome) had an oscillating metal blade and that when the red laser beam overhead began to blur, this meant that the top layer of my cornea was being sliced open, Un Chien Andalou-style. After he finished cutting open the left eye, he methodically moved on to the right.

The doctor sensed that I was uncomfortable (perhaps it was the whimpering?) and asked if I needed to take a break before the laser portion of the surgery. I did. He left the room and an assistant asked if I needed another Xanax.

“Please,” I whispered.

She placed it under my tongue. I hoped that if I waited awhile the pain would regress, but it only worsened. I thought about a story my brother told me when I was a kid. In ancient times, he swore, they punished people in the desert by burying them in the sand up to their necks and cutting off their eyelids. The person couldn’t shield their eyes from the desert sun with their hands, nor could they blink when the sweat and sand particles trickled in.

By the time the doctor resumed the surgery, I was in agony. He pried open one eyelid. I couldn’t stop squinting because of the bright spotlight shining in my face. (My eyes were starring in their own snuff film.) He peeled back my cornea flap and the red laser beam went blurry again. The machine made a loud clacking sound, the laser crackled and the room filled with the smell of burning flesh.

“Noelle, it is imperative that you open your eye as much as possible!” the doctor said. “I’ve reduced the light as much as I can to make you comfortable but I can’t see what I’m doing. I’m operating on instinct now.”

Of all the things I don’t want to hear from someone who’s performing surgery on me, “I can’t see what I’m doing” ranks pretty high. I would’ve told him to stop, but I’d been instructed not to talk because even the tiniest movement could be dangerous. Finally the crackling ceased. The doctor unfurled my cornea flap. He spent several minutes smoothing it into place, running a tiny paintbrush over my eyeball while I fantasized about being able to blink. When he finally took the device off my eye and let me close it, I knew I couldn't go through that again any time soon. Even if my right cornea was already filleted open and ready to rumble.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I can’t do the other eye today. I just can't. I’m going to have to come back on Monday or something.” The assistant asked if I wanted a Vicodin.

“Why not?” I said, although I'd have preferred something a little stronger, like death.

I sat in a dark recovery room with several other patients for a half hour. Each of us had a pair of goggles taped to the sides of our heads, the white eye pieces perforated with tiny holes so that we could see. Altogether we resembled a refugee camp for albino flies.

One guy whispered to another, “Hey dude, did you hold on to Damien?”

“Yeah, man. You?”

“Totally.”

To be continued...

In Which Tracy Morgan Tells Me About The Tattoo On His Peen

2009-01-22T14:56:00.000-05:00

I have an interview with Tracy Morgan in the February issue of Maxim. A sneak peek at my hard-nosed journalism skills at work:

“I have a tattoo on the side of my penis that says stove top,” Morgan tells me proudly, referring to the instant stuffing mix. “I’m pretty well-endowed. A girl told me to get that because I stuffed her up like a turkey. She said, ‘You should call that Stove Top!’”

It’s about 10 minutes into our interview on a day off from shooting, and Morgan wants to talk tattoos. He starts ticking them off: a peace sign, a happy and sad face, a cross bearing the names of his ex-wife and three sons, the name of a friend he played football with in high school who was murdered. He lifts up his shirt, revealing his doughy torso as he displays the words ME, MYSELF, & I on his back. And then there’s STOVE TOP.

CNN Article That Should Have Been An 'Onion' Article

2009-01-21T18:45:00.013-05:00

(CNN) -- The moment I saw that guinea pig's corpse, I made up my mind. I would not tell my son Checkers was dead ... at least not that night. Drew had five tests within the next two days. I wasn't going to let grief jeopardize his grades.

[via Balk and TopherChris]

When I first read this I thought the kid's name was Checkers, which elevated the story to an entirely different level. But I'm still blogging it since my mother totally did this after she accidentally backed over my cat, Man, during finals my freshman year of high school. Meanwhile, here’s an Onion headline from this week that should be a real article:

'Happiness Riding On Strength Of Wireless Connection'

Uncle.

2009-01-21T18:14:00.005-05:00

Celebrity Sightings: Flight 1549 Edition

2009-01-16T15:49:00.006-05:00

Lorena: My boyfriend Max just saw The Plane from outside. I'm jealous!

Me: Haha. The US Airways plane is the new "it" celebrity in NYC.

Lorena: I heard it gives quite the ride. Even better than Kate Hudson.

Me: Hey-o!

After only 24 hours in the spotlight, The Plane has already reveled in the much vaunted Hero Phase and played to the public's sympathies in the Martyr Phase. Now begins the Accusations of Sluttiness Phase braved by so many celebrities before it. Expect sightings of the plane stumbling shit-faced out of 1Oak this weekend, one wing flung around the shoulder of Ed Westwick. Brace yourself for next week's Us Weekly cover ("Flight 1549's Downward Spiral") and an accompanying article about an airbus that was simply brought along too soon.

Fergies I Have Loved

2009-01-15T19:06:00.005-05:00

Us Weekly reports:

After their traditional Catholic ceremony, the party really got started. The bride's first words to her crowd? "She said, 'I'm married, bitches!'"

[Via I Heart You]

Up in the Sky! It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's...Oh, Wait.

2009-01-15T18:52:00.004-05:00

Friend: This bird plane shit is insane.

Me: Um HELLO. I JUST emailed Nick, saying, "See, THIS is why I'm afraid to fly. A BIRD brought down a fucking plane?"

Friend: UGHH. I've always hated birds.

Me: Noooo, I love my babies! I keep thinking about the poor bird that landed in the engine. Yikes.

Friend: Pet birds are different. I used to really want a blue jay as a pet.

Me: Blue jays are assholes. Really mean, supposedly.

Friend: Yeah, figures. I always love the assholes.

Somewhere Alfred Hitchcock is Laughing

2009-01-15T18:12:00.011-05:00

Reports the New York Post:

A US Airways plane that had just departed from La Guardia Airport with 156 people aboard made an astonishing controlled crash landing into the freezing Hudson River after hitting a flock of geese that disabled two of the aircraft's engines, authorities said.

I'm guessing going down those fun-looking crash landing slides is slightly less fun when you're sliding into a river and it's 20 Degrees outside.

Only in New York, Kids: Part II

2009-01-15T02:01:00.008-05:00

The scene: Chris and I have just been let into the Soho bar, which is so trendy it doesn't actually have a name

Me (looking around the room): "You know, I've been here before. But that was two bars ago. Back when it was called Table 50."

Chris: "Yeah, I once had a man rub butter on me when I was here. But that was back when it was a gay bar called Mr. Black."

Only in New York, Kids

2009-01-15T01:32:00.005-05:00

The Scene: Chris and I walk into a bar in Soho and are immediately stopped by a bouncer

Bouncer: "Excuse me? Do you have the password?"

Me: "Seriously?"

Bouncer: "Yes."

Chris: "Tacos."

Bouncer: "Thank you. You can go in."

Me (looking at Chris): "Tacos? Seriously?"

Be Afraid

2009-01-08T18:11:00.002-05:00

I know I always am when I do TV. I'll be on Fox News' Red Eye tonight/tomorrow/whatever at 3 a.m.

I'm a Published Author!

2009-01-07T15:11:00.009-05:00

Sort of! My six-word memoir was selected for the book Six-Word Memoirs on Love & Heartbreak: By Writers Famous and Obscure, which goes on sale this week. (I'm assuming I fall on the "obscure" end of this spectrum.) The description reads:

From the heart's high moments ("She kissed me and said yes") to its lowest ("Never should have bought that ring"); with both piercing big-picture insights ("Found true love; married someone else") and peculiar daily realities ("Married Russian. Brush teeth with vodka.") you've proven a lot can be said about love in just a half-dozen well-chosen words.

My contribution, naturally, was the somewhat less moving "Don't trust a man who waxes." Because "Don't trust a man who shaves his balls" was too long. It's in the promotional video -- 40 seconds in -- after Erica Jong's (!!!). I have no idea who the girl is in the picture that accompanies my memoir, but she does a solid frowny face.

Openly Discriminating Against Friends Who Live Above 20th Street On Account Of My Own Laziness

2009-01-05T17:13:00.013-05:00

Manish (who lives in Murray Hill): Want to check out my new apartment?

Me: Not unless it can suddenly materialize downtown.

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This is why I have approximately four friends.

Give Dick a Rest

2009-01-04T21:41:00.008-05:00

Mark: What did you wind up doing on New Year's Eve? Did Nick make it back in time so you could watch Strokey Dick Clark slur his way through the final seconds of 08 together?

Me: Yes. He sounded like a ventriloquist doll sitting on the knee of Mongo from the Heathcliff cartoons. In fact, I'm pretty sure I saw him just outside of the frame.

----------------------------------------------------

I hate change in general, so it was always comforting having an ageless Dick Clark usher me into the new year. But enough's enough, ABC. Let's not force the 79-year-old stroke victim stay up past midnight to converse with Ryan Seacrest, m'kay?

Beware This Squadron Of Geeks

2009-01-04T13:50:00.000-05:00

I hit a new low today. I threatened someone with my blog. I know, I know. Totally shameful. But I was at a loss for what to do. It all started when some ghastly FakeAlert virus took possession of my laptop (who I have named Murray). Knowing that the worst thing you can do is let a virus percolate, I immediately rushed Murray to the Best Buy Geek Squad, which charged me $300 to remove the virus. I picked up the computer a few days later, took it home and the virus was still there! I called them up and explained that they hadn’t solved the problem, and they told me to bring it back the next day. But when I woke up the following morning, I discovered that Murray had slipped away during the night. The black screen of death. Wouldn’t start at all. The computer had crashed and taken with it my 100-page book proposal, which was due to my agent that very day.

I hurried back to Best Buy. Without even looking Murray over, the head Geek said that the only option was reformatting my hard drive, returning my computer to the state in which it was bought. But, of course, in order to do that, they had to retrieve all of my files first. Most importantly, the book proposal I’d been working on 14 hours a day for the last few weeks. This, they informed me, would cost another $100.

Since the proposal was due in a matter of hours, I didn’t have time to go to someone else or comparison shop. They had me by the balls. As I handed over my credit card, I argued that it wasn’t fair of them to charge me a second time, and they gave me the number to their complaint line where I could dispute the $100 charge.

I called today and went at it with a beleaguered Indian guy who had the misfortune of answering the phone.

“But, but,” I sputtered, “if you’d fixed the problem in the first place, the computer wouldn’t have crashed.”

“It does not matter. We still performed a service and our employees must be compensated.”

“But you wouldn’t have had to perform the service if you’d done the job correctly the first time.” This went on for more than 45 minutes.

So basically I paid to help train their employees so that they could better learn how to do their job. And according to a Geek Squad defector, this is standard operating procedure.

“You’re seriously quibbling with me over this?” I said. “Is it really worth that $100 to lose my business forever?”

“That is your decision.”

“Well. Maybe I should just write about this experience on my blog and the couple of hundred people who read it each day will know to go somewhere else the next time their computer craps out.”

“I do not read the blogs or the internets,” he retorted.

“I’ll bet a lot of your customers do.”

So yeah, I threatened someone with my blog. The same blog on which I post videos of dog-on-duck sexual assault, and write at length about the Billy Ocean song “Get Out of My Dreams, Get Into My Car.” We hung up a few minutes later, both of us convinced the other person was a shyster trying to make a quick buck.

Of course, he has his opinion and I have mine. But my advice to you is this: Don’t be taken in by this squadron of Geeks. They’re the sketchy car mechanics of the computer repair industry.

Today in Texting With Jessica: New Year's Eve Edition

2009-01-02T00:55:00.009-05:00

Jessica: There's something peaceful about doing makeup after u started drinking. You know? It's, like, when real art happens.

Me: Haha. This will be blogged.

Jessica: That's fine, bc me and my eyeshadow making magic right now, and nothing else matters.

-----------------------------------------------------

I'm just glad one of us made it out on New Year's Eve. I spent the evening (and all of today) watching The Twilight Zone marathon on the Sci-Fi Channel, undermining my resolution to be less of a tool in 2009.

Except For That Last One

2009-01-01T23:59:00.000-05:00

Just Asking...

2008-12-29T02:21:00.001-05:00

The water in my apartment building was shut off and I've been washing my face and brushing my teeth with Poland Spring. Is this what they mean by "an embarrassment of riches"?

Six Degrees of Separation in the Suburbs

2008-12-29T01:56:00.004-05:00

For some reason my parents have six remote controls for one TV, none of which seem to work.

My New Favorite Bar

2008-12-28T00:56:00.015-05:00

I’m in Houston for the holidays. A few nights ago my girl Skyler and I went to a bar which is going to be our go-to drinking establishment from now on. It was so behind in the times that it had a cigarette machine and no smoking section because the entire bar was the smoking section. Yet there were no ashtrays so everyone just ashed their cigarettes on the beige industrial carpeting. At one point, a woman came up to us and tried to sell us a rose. From our seats we watched two middle-aged women grinding each other on an otherwise empty dance floor to the song “My Girl.”

“Please tell me you’re seeing this,” I said.

“Laugh all you want but that’s so going to be us in a few years,” Skyler replied.

When we ordered our drinks the strung-out looking bartender narrowed her eyes at us and asked, “Do you ladies have some identification?” We handed over our licenses that proved we’re pushing 30.

“Wow, you ladies sure do look good for your age,” she said. “What’s y’alls’ beauty secret?”

“It’s called ‘not doing meth’,” Skyler said after she'd left. “Look into it.”

But what really sold me on this place was the ladies' room. The above advertisements were on the back of the bathroom stall door. Oh, how I’d love to be there a few years down the line when the parents explain to their child why he/she doesn’t look like Mommy: “Well, you see, Mommy and Daddy loved each other very much but couldn’t have a baby of our own. So we placed an ad in a bar where we thought there might be some women looking to sell their eggs for drug money.”

Skyler repeated aloud the last line of the ad, saying, “Must be 20 to 30 years old, a non-smoker, drug/disease free and height/weight proportionate.” Then she turned to me and asked, “Do you think they'd settle for one out of four?”

I’m no copywriter but if they were really trying to reach their target audience on that second ad, they’d have had better luck with: Unplanned pregnancy? Which possibly occurred in this very bathroom stall? Consider adoption! Fetal Alcohol Syndrome a plus!

Happy Kwanzaa!...

2008-12-26T21:17:00.031-05:00

...and a merry Christmas from me, my brother and sister. I thought I'd post a few holiday pictures just for grins. This year I finally went to SantaCon, a city-wide pub crawl where thousands of New Yorkers dress like Santa and go bar hopping. Instead of wearing a Santa costume, I decided to dress as a nutcracker. It seemed more me. And of all the holiday-themed costumes at Ricky's, it had the longest skirt and came with a bag labeled NUTS, which I filled with cashews and carried around all day. Any costume for which food is an accessory will find a fan in me.

At the College Humor party with Nick. Santa and I discussed rosacea remedies.

At the College Humor party with Jessica as I pretended to touch Santa inappropriately.

SantaCon 2008

Behold the santarchy

The Santas make an unscheduled pitstop at Carl's Cheesesteak

Making another unscheduled pitstop at a South Street Seaport hotel bar after Pizzeria Uno management locked us out of their establishment

My hangover kicked in while I was still drinking so I deployed anti-hangover defense measures and stopped at a pizza place on the way home. The man behind the counter insisted on taking my picture and I was drunk enough to let him.

Attempting to salute but looking more like I'm pantomiming a brontosaurus.

Christmas List

2008-12-25T02:44:00.001-05:00

Actually this year I asked for pots and pans and one of those air purifiers that sucks the dust out of the room, which must mean I'm getting old.

Presents I Won't Be Getting My 14-Year-Old Sister For Christmas

2008-12-24T17:30:00.000-05:00

Me: What does Jordan want for Christmas?

Mom: She asked for a Ralph Lauren perfume called "Hot."

Me: Okay, that's horrifying.

Last Nine Months Of Unemployment Not A Complete Waste Of Time

2008-12-23T18:21:00.010-05:00

The reason I haven't been writing so much on the blog lately: I've been working on a book, which was just picked up by HarperCollins! Definitely the best Christmas present I've ever received. Slated for publication in spring 2010. Yayness!

Last-Minute Christmas Shopping

2008-12-23T18:20:00.000-05:00

Bloomingdale's should have a room where customers can take a break and go cry.

Once in a Lifetime Television Event Surprisingly Derivative

2008-12-23T01:17:00.014-05:00

The following is a real promo I saw on Lifetime tonight as I was watching The American President. It was an ad for a made-for-television movie called The Governor's Wife and it ran pretty much every commercial break until I eventually memorized it.

An ominous voice begins, “She fell in love with the governor’s son...”

There’s a shot of a young man -- ostensibly the aforementioned governor’s son -- slipping an engagement ring onto a young woman’s finger, chirping, “I guess this makes it official!”

The voiceover continues, “...and into the trap of...the governor's wife.”

The next scene shows a glowering Marilu Henner saying, “You will never fit in!”

The young girl is seen running through a field at night looking panicked. Then Marilu Henner is climbing up some stairs calling, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” The young girl is trapped in a room, banging on the door sobbing.

The voiceover intones, “Tomorrow at 8 p.m...”

I am so Tivo-ing this.

Revenge of the Underclass

2008-12-22T22:05:00.004-05:00

Nick: So Revenge of the Nerds is really kind of an amazing movie. In the sense that it's the original movie of all movies in which a put-upon minority group gets back at everyone else. They really set the formula.

Me: I've always said that Booger was very misunderstood.

Nick: "Times are changing, Betty. These nerds are a threat to our way of life." So bad its good.

Christmas New York Style

2008-12-22T20:13:00.003-05:00

No decorated tree, no roaring fire, just a stocking with two clip-on parakeets (one of them missing a head) hung over the radiator by a window blind cord. Wouldn't have it any other way!

Graffiti Spoiler Alerts: In Which Subway Vandals Ruin 'Marley & Me'

2008-12-22T18:00:00.021-05:00

Seen in the 14th St. and 6th Ave. subway station

Today in Texting with Jessica

2008-12-06T15:08:00.006-05:00

Me: I’m on a BUS right now. Going to the LIBRARY. Can you imagine? It’s bizarro New York!

Jessica: Why?! The big library?

Me: Naw, the one all the way up at Lincoln Center. Only branch that has the book I need.

One bus ride, one subway transfer and one hour later…

Me: PROOF OF ADDRESS??? Proof of goddamn address to check out a library book???? After coming all the way up here?!

Jessica: What does that even mean? Like a ConEd bill? Your subway card and your rage should be enough proof that you live here.

Area Woman Finally Figures Out Where The Onion Finds Its Photo Subjects

2008-12-04T22:13:00.007-05:00

I was reading The Onion last week and was surprised to find the face of my friend Jack staring back at me from under the headline God Help Him, But Area Man Loves That Crazy Bitch. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised considering he works there, but I sent him an email nonetheless.

Me: Nice headshot in The Onion this week!

Jack: Thank you. They needed someone who looked about 30 and sad. I was flattered that they thought of me first.

Britney Spears On Her Intellectual Pursuits

2008-12-01T00:53:00.009-05:00

This year I'm thankful that, despite all of the unforseen Spearsean antics of 2007 and 2008, 2009 is proving to be slightly more predictable. In the January issue of Glamour, Britney reveals:
"I love my home and staying in bed and watching 'Dancing With the Stars' or reading a Danielle Steel novel."

Because if she had said "I love my home and staying in bed and watching a good Ken Burns documentary or reading Nabokov," I'd have thought, that's it, she's too far gone.

I'm Always Thankful For The Lopsided Genitalia Of Demi-Celebrities

2008-12-01T00:16:00.020-05:00

(image via Lisanti)

What does it say about the life I lead that the first thing I thought when I saw this Frank TV ad was, "Wow, that turkey gobble looks just like Cisco Adler's balls" ?

I'm sure there's some sort of Frank and beans joke here if my mind wasn't still in the throes of a tryptophan hangover.

Today in Texting with Jessica

2008-11-29T13:30:00.009-05:00

One of these days I'm just going to change the name of my blog to Reblogging Jessica. Her misery is my material.

Jessica: My return flight features Lily, a toddler so misbehaved (autistic?) that she rolled around on the floor of the boarding ramp, despite being on a leash. She’s two rows behind me and it looks to be a good time! I’m not for over-medicating kids, but at least do it for flights.

Me: I'm all for treating your kid like an animal if they behave like an animal. But why not just go all the way with it and put them in a carrier and check them with your luggage? At least then you'll have your hands free for some mid-flight cocktails. I'm going to be a wonderful mother.

Random Thoughts I Thought At The Airport Today

2008-11-25T17:02:00.012-05:00

“Do not accept packages from strangers that you do not know well.” Does anybody copy edit these announcements before they go out or are they just winging it back there?

Has anyone ever gone to the airport chapel? Do we even have those in New York airports? If so, how long until we turn it into a nightclub?

My carry-on bag is always too heavy to hang on the hook on the bathroom stall door in the airport, so I end up having to put my bag on the floor. This makes me think of this statistic I once read stating that over 60% of purses have fecal matter on them from people placing them on the floor in bathrooms. When I repeated this stat to my friend Lindsey, she replied, “My question is -- who are all these people shitting on the floor?”

I have to say, I’m not a fan of the automatic toilet flush. I always get really stressed out trying to keep both butt cheeks on the seat while I’m wiping. Because if one of them lifts off you get the pre-emptive flush, which not only splatters your butt with used toilet water, but then you end up having to flush twice, so everyone thinks you just did some really nasty business that merited the double-flush. I’d rather return to a simpler time when I flushed the handle with my foot.

Why does “courtesy boarding” permit parents with children under age five to board the plane first? Shouldn’t they have to board the plane last as a courtesy to everyone else? Or preferably, not at all?

Every time my parents pick me up from the airport I have to ask, “What color is this year’s SUV?”

Today in Texting with Jessica

2008-11-23T17:08:00.014-05:00

Jessica: You know you're fat and out of shape when you pull a hamstring cleaning out your closet.

Noelle: I pulled a hamstring the other day while sitting down.

Jessica: I'm in serious pain, had to take a cleaning time-out.

* * * * *
On a related note, you know you're getting old when all of your friends who signed up to run a marathon this year had to drop out after suffering some kind of body ailment during training. See this is why I don't bother doing things anymore. You spend five months getting up at 7 a.m. every weekend to go on some painfully long run only to be sidelined at the last minute by a stress fracture. I also don't trust any form of "exercise" that comes with a high probability of my toenails falling out and me spontaneously crapping my pants. That is my line in the sand.

In Which I Take The Bait

2008-11-18T18:01:00.010-05:00

The moron over at OOOOOh Indie Kid asks, "What kind of superficial twat doesn’t want her picture taken just because she isn’t wearing eye make-up? Jesus."

Answer: The superficial twat who knows there are individuals in the world who run websites dedicated to ripping on the way people look in photographs. Douche.

As Economy Worsens, So Does Our Taste In Movies

2008-11-16T13:54:00.013-05:00

P.S. Why does Theodore look like Turtle from Entourage?

Jessica texts me the other night, “Uh, Alvin and the Chipmunks movie? I can’t look away.”

I know how she feels. In desperate times such as these, we have to make sacrifices which, for me, meant cutting all of my premium channels earlier this year. Now the movies I watch are dictated by whatever happens to be on TNT, USA and TBS. (Regarding TBS: Why do their commercials always seem to come back to Tyler Perry? If I hear that man's name again, I'm going to start seizing. I'm serious about this.)

Just a few of the movies I am embarrassed to admit that I've seen in the last month:

Final Destination, 1, 2 and 3
The Ring (This is actually a good movie. The problem is that I watched it three times – in one weekend.)
Iron-Jawed Angels
Conspiracy Theory
The Wedding Date

Saving Silverman can only be next.