Ok so remember yesterday how I promised a post filled with minutia and then I left you high and dry with some videos to watch but zero minutia? It was a classic bait-and-switch. I promised minutia and then tucked in my shingle, threw up some videos and called it a night. I dangled minutia in your face and then pulled up stakes, gave you some videos, and said sayonara. I baked you a minutia cake and then when you weren’t looking I replaced with a platter of crispy fried videos and also went to bed. I think you get what I’m saying. And what exactly does one do with a shingle? Remove a shingle? Put away a shingle? I’m perplexed.
So anyway, here’s the streamlined version of the ‘tia (that’s what I’ve decided I’m going to be calling minutia from here on out in this post). The minu’ (I’m such a liar!) being streamlined because it’s less fresh in my head than it would have been yesterday if I’d just blogged right when I got home as opposed to now when just the main details are sticking in my head. There’s an argurment that just the important parts are what will have stayed with me and in essence I’m doing you all a favor because I’m giving you a naturally edited version however I think that’s pure bunk. I think it’s malarkey. I think it’s baloney. And balogna. I think it’s hogwash on a shit shingle (shingle!). I think it’s crap and it’s drivel and it’s junk and it reeks to high heaven. I don’t really, I just felt like getting carried away and that seemed like as good a reason as any.
So here’s what happened, minus the rambling preamble which I would have attached yesterday but plus a different rambling preamble which I just wrote regarding shingles and things that are false.
So I’m walking home from the grocery store and I see a perfectly perforated pizza crust—I mean, it’s clear whoever ate this piece of pizza DID NOT WANT CRUST—just sitting in the middle of the street. My first thought is that I should take a photo and make a blog post and refer to it as “Street carbs!” which isn’t that funny however it was all happening so fast. But then a ways ahead sitting in a chair outside the laundromat was this guy whom I met a zillion years ago who probably has no idea who I am and also probably has no idea that not only do I know who he is but I know who his wife is and I know the publications they both work or worked for and I knew who they both were before they were married and from afar I watched them become one and have a baby and apparently they live in my neighborhood because I’ve been pretending I don’t see them every time I see them which is often. Because, see, they were further along in their respective writing careers than I was when I first moved to New York, which is roughly when I met them, separately, and so apparently that kind of thing has stuck with me which is why now, 8 years later when I’m well aware most everyone feels like a failure and like they didn’t live up to their promise and the irony is that the perception of me and where I am in my career is really the opposite, seeing as how I pose in glittery sweaters and am just all kinds of fancy (I am. I really am. I’m not going to deny it.) Uh-oh, that thing happened where I got lost in my own run-on sentence. I think I was saying that 8 years or something have passed but still I can’t be seen snapping a photo of pizza in the street in front of someone I’m pretending not to recognize who likely has no idea who I am or every idea who I am which, if all people are kind of the same, he does. Surely I can’t be the only media person in New York who knows who everyone else is. Possibly I’m the only one who finds this somehow inhibits taking photos of pizza though.
To be honest, I feel like I’ve become highly avoidant of interactions with real human beings. It’s too hot and immediate. Exhibit B? Today at the post office I saw someone who looked familiar and I couldn’t place him but I had a weird feeling, like this person was definitely not a neighborhood person and yet I definitely knew him somehow. So I stood there trying to place him, feeling like he was possibly going to spin around and see me and since I couldn’t figure out from where I knew him and if it was a good or bad knowing, and also because there was a line, I turned around and decided I’d come back later. A few steps away I realized he’d done my makeup before, and I liked him and liked his work, so I went back to the post office…. where I didn’t say hi to him.
I did, however, think to myself, “I should blog that.”
Having now done so, I’m wondering if that wasn’t a great idea.
In other news, I’m an incredibly confident person who isn’t bothered by little things like all of the above. I just made all that up so I would seem human and sort of flawed. Hope it worked!
I got lost around Zabars …
“Would be fitting if this was saved for April 1st. Couldn’t you have saved it for a couple of days? You have a very short delay of gratification…”
I got lost around Zabars …
Oh God, for a split second I thought you were going to say you were tempted to eat the pizza crust — just like how George Costanza once took a bite out of a discarded piece of food from his girlfriend’s trash can… and got caught!
I love the “Just Me or Everyone” site! I was surprised to find out that 9 out of the 19 people responding also read magazines from the back to the front like I do. Who are all you weirdos? I thought I was the only one!
I have a funny story about putting dirty dishes in the fridge. No, I don’t do that — I put them in the sink. But one evening a while ago I was sitting in my living room and started hearing a slight clanging sound from my kitchen. I walked in, turned on the light and saw a small mouse on a pan in the sink. The poor little guy must have been hungry. He was so cute…. especially the next morning when I found him in the mousetrap I put out. But anyway, you people who put the dishes in the fridge — you’re vindicated!
And then about hoping there’s a robbery on a bus so you have an excuse to talk to an attractive woman. No, I don’t do that either, but one time I was sitting in an airport waiting to board a flight and I spotted an absolutely georgous woman waiting for the same flight. I said a silent prayer that our assigned seats would be next to each other so the long flight would be a little more bearable. Well guess what — the stars were aligned that day and we did indeed sit next to each other! It was one of the more enjoyable flights I’ve taken.
It made up for the time I was on a 5 hour flight and there were two women sitting next to each other right behind me. They just met on the flight, but they talked continously (and loudly) for the ENTIRE 5 hours. I put on the headset and listened to music, but even that wasn’t enough to drown them out. I heard about their jobs, their boyfriends, their families, where they went to school, you name it.
Street Pizza, Out here that’s what we call the varmit somebody hit and half the county has driven over it. Eweuu, no I’ll never eat “Street Pizza”. Yuk..or was I missing the points?
I fail to see why all this fear of success. There it was, the Pulitzer prize winning Street Carbs photo staring you right in the face, or at least part of the ear, and you walk away, leaving it to someone else. Worse, now you’ll have to live the rest of your life with the knowledge that your Pulitzer belongs to a former pizza guy named Giuseppe, who decided to name it, “Pizza crust lying in street”.
Then there’s your former colleagues, who walked away saying, “Did you see that poor Alison Rosen?” “Yeah. I really thought she was going to eat that thing.” But you’re still one up on them. They didn’t even realize the prize winning potential of that discarded pizza.
I think what you need is a guy friend to escort you everywhere, who will stand guard in such situations and confront passing onlookers, “What? You got a staring problem??? You never seen somebody kneeling down on the sidewalk and examining the garbage before?”
You can instruct him to act as your fiance when you meet couples you know. Even better if you can get him to buy the engagement ring. It’s only right, because after all, if he doesn’t do that, just how committed to this is he? You can go on and on about all your wedding plans, and how it will be the best wedding ever, until they are so sickened that they leave feeling useless and miserable like their lives are over, while yours is just beginning.
Now satisfied with a hard days’ work, you can turn to him and say, “You go home now. We’re going to the supermarket on Thursday. Be here at noon.”
One half can for the puppy.
Oh God, for a split second I thought you were going to say you were tempted to eat the pizza crust — just like how George Costanza once took a bite out of a discarded piece of food from his girlfriend's trash can… and got caught!
I love the “Just Me or Everyone” site! I was surprised to find out that 9 out of the 19 people responding also read magazines from the back to the front like I do. Who are all you weirdos? I thought I was the only one!
I have a funny story about putting dirty dishes in the fridge. No, I don't do that — I put them in the sink. But one evening a while ago I was sitting in my living room and started hearing a slight clanging sound from my kitchen. I walked in, turned on the light and saw a small mouse on a pan in the sink. The poor little guy must have been hungry. He was so cute…. especially the next morning when I found him in the mousetrap I put out. But anyway, you people who put the dishes in the fridge — you're vindicated!
And then about hoping there's a robbery on a bus so you have an excuse to talk to an attractive woman. No, I don't do that either, but one time I was sitting in an airport waiting to board a flight and I spotted an absolutely georgous woman waiting for the same flight. I said a silent prayer that our assigned seats would be next to each other so the long flight would be a little more bearable. Well guess what — the stars were aligned that day and we did indeed sit next to each other! It was one of the more enjoyable flights I've taken.
It made up for the time I was on a 5 hour flight and there were two women sitting next to each other right behind me. They just met on the flight, but they talked continously (and loudly) for the ENTIRE 5 hours. I put on the headset and listened to music, but even that wasn't enough to drown them out. I heard about their jobs, their boyfriends, their families, where they went to school, you name it.
Street Pizza, Out here that's what we call the varmit somebody hit and half the county has driven over it. Eweuu, no I'll never eat “Street Pizza”. Yuk..or was I missing the points?
I fail to see why all this fear of success. There it was, the Pulitzer prize winning Street Carbs photo staring you right in the face, or at least part of the ear, and you walk away, leaving it to someone else. Worse, now you'll have to live the rest of your life with the knowledge that your Pulitzer belongs to a former pizza guy named Giuseppe, who decided to name it, “Pizza crust lying in street”.
Then there's your former colleagues, who walked away saying, “Did you see that poor Alison Rosen?” “Yeah. I really thought she was going to eat that thing.” But you're still one up on them. They didn't even realize the prize winning potential of that discarded pizza.
I think what you need is a guy friend to escort you everywhere, who will stand guard in such situations and confront passing onlookers, “What? You got a staring problem??? You never seen somebody kneeling down on the sidewalk and examining the garbage before?”
You can instruct him to act as your fiance when you meet couples you know. Even better if you can get him to buy the engagement ring. It's only right, because after all, if he doesn't do that, just how committed to this is he? You can go on and on about all your wedding plans, and how it will be the best wedding ever, until they are so sickened that they leave feeling useless and miserable like their lives are over, while yours is just beginning.
Now satisfied with a hard days' work, you can turn to him and say, “You go home now. We're going to the supermarket on Thursday. Be here at noon.”
Remember to feed kitty half can of food.
One half can for the puppy.
Remember to feed kitty half can of food.
This is hilarious, you should write a book about your day to day life in New York. It would be turned into a movie, or sit com. It would be called “Street Pizza”. The pizza crust could be a metaphor for what New York does to you. Eats all the good bits and discards the crust, ahhh in the street.
This is hilarious, you should write a book about your day to day life in New York. It would be turned into a movie, or sit com. It would be called “Street Pizza”. The pizza crust could be a metaphor for what New York does to you. Eats all the good bits and discards the crust, ahhh in the street.