Too little time, too many choices, most of them wrong.
If you haven’t been to Cold Stone Creamery, you’re just not very cool. Not only do they have amazing marble slab ice cream with mix-ins, but they have incredible cake too.
Today they are giving out free slices of ice cream cake between 5 and 8pm to support the Make-A-Wish Foundation.
Gothamist: Free Cold Stone Creamery Cake Today @ 5PM
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Why is it that in crowds, people constantly stop me to ask me questions even though my ear canals are completely plugged with earbuds? There are plenty of other people around who know what train this is, or whether it’s going to Queens, or where the Empire State Building is. In fact, those other people are more likely to know the answers to these directional questions, but instead, without fail I am forced to pull out my earbuds to usually say “I don’t know… I’m sorry!”
Along the same lines, why is it that whenever I’m in a store, people constantly ask me if I work there? It doesn’t matter if I’m on my cellphone, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, looking for cough medicine. Without fail, even though I *never* look like I should work there, people still ask me. Sometimes I want to say yes, and then be extremely rude or give a strange response so that they will complain to the manager about the person who doesn’t wear the same uniform as the other employees who is giving bad advice. Here’s how I imagine that conversation would go:
* * * * *
Stranger: “Do you work here?”
Me: “Why yes, yes I do! I’m wearing the signature Target employee uniform: A pair of jeans with a hole in them and a blue button-down shirt with diagonal stripes! Can I help you?”
Stranger: “Where are the Lifesavers?”
Me: “I’m sorry, but they don’t make those anymore. Have you tried eBay?”
Stranger: “No, I saw them on a commercial just last week.”
Me: “I don’t know what to tell you… are you sure you weren’t watching an old episode of Dynasty on your VCR? There might have been a Lifesavers commercial on your tape.”
(Customer angrily storms away)
* * * * *
But alas, I normally just say, “I’m sorry, no” and politely walk away, leaving the stranger completely ignorant to the complex and witty dialogue that I’ve just had with myself.
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Or it might be your birthday too… who knows? But I don’t care! This is about me!
It’s been a really great day so far, with various IMs, phonecalls, a birthday hug, and a very nice lunch with a co-worker. Tonight I’m going to dinner, and then I’m going to go out and party my ass off!
And screw the gym! I was going to go today, but I’m not going now because it’s my birthday and lifting weights hurts. And God doesn’t want me to hurt on my birthday. I’ll repent by going to the gym on Sunday.
Please feel free to shower me with gifts, cake, and kisses, as suggested by my dear friend nicole, or just add some comments to my blog to let me know that you’re actually reading it. The registration will literally only take you a few seconds.
Also, if you decide to sing “Happy Birthday” to me, please remember that Time Warner currently owns the copyright to the song, and don’t forget to send royalties, or the RIAA might slap you with a lawsuit.
After my weekend of fun and excitement, I will be returning to the blogosphere (that’s a really stupid word, honestly) with full force. Until then, enjoy celebrating my existence, if only for one day!
In the words of Nicole, “YAYAYAAYAY IT”S MY BIRTHDAY WOOOOO”.
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Engadget reports that they now sell digital cameras, iPods, and cellphones in vending machines at San Francisco International Airport. I can only imagine my luck when purchasing an iPod — it would conveniently get stuck in the middle of the machine, and I would be getting nasty stares from passers-by as I attempt to kick the vending machine filled with thousands of dollars worth of valuable merchandise. I think I’ll get my toys in the old-fashioned way.
Selling iPods, cellphones, and digital cameras by vending machine - Engadget - www.engadget.com /
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I ride the lovely PATH (Port Authority Trans-Hudson) train to and from work each day. The train takes me from Jersey City to 33rd St. in Manhattan.
This isn’t just any calm little train ride, though. The leg of the ride that takes place underneath the Hudson River is a violent one — the train rocks back and forth knocking people who are standing from one side of the train to another if they are not holding on for dear life. Because of this, seats are premium and incredibly desired among commuters.
Each of the banks of seats has a sign that says “Won’t you please give this seat to the elderly or disabled,” and because of that, people seem to think that they don’t have to give up their seat to women who are clearly 9 months pregnant.
This pisses me off royally — primarily because the people who won’t give their seats up are not only men. Women are not eager to give up their seats either. You would think that a woman would understand that it’s not good for an expecting mother to be flung stomach-first from one side of a train to another. Premature labor, anyone?
I cringe every time I see this confusing phenomenon. Are commuters so incredibly lost in their own worlds that I don’t realize that they are riding with other people, and that occasionally these people need help? I always want to yell at someone and tell them that they should give up their seat, but how can I when the list of offenders is usually 10-15? Should I say, “Will one of you assholes please give your seat to the lady who is about to have a living person pop out of her at any moment?”
All I can do is stare at them with contempt for a little while, and then go back to playing Freecell on my Treo.
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Look, I know it’s hard to go to a sold-out show at a small venue like Irving Plaza. I know it’s going to be crowded. I know it’s going to be packed. But a little common decency goes a long way in a difficult situation. With that said, I have a few messages for my fellow concert-goers who attended the Erasure show last night.
Dear Overweight Fairy Man:
You may think that you are a dainty, prancy little fairy, but in reality you are a 250lb ogre. When we are all packed like sardines onto the tiny concert floor, you cannot sway back and forth like you have the entire place to yourself. And the Asian girl who you came to the show with is not your own personal stripper pole that you can swing around. How many times did I have to jab you in your fleshy side with my sharp elbow before you would realize that you were intruding on my personal space? I came to the show with a secret weapon — my own Asian girl — who I continually pushed into you so that you might feel her jabs as well, but you remained in your sweaty, oblivious fantasy world where you flutter from flower to flower sprinkling your fairy dust to welcome Spring to the forest. In reality, I was getting very tired of having your sweaty, hairy arm rubbing up against me.
Dear Arm-in-my-Back Man:
Why did you think that it would be okay for you to turn sideways and use the area between my shoulder blades as a special sling to rest your entire arm? How many times did I have to squirm around and push you back for you to realize that I wasn’t interested in making personal contact with you? How many times did I have to look over my shoulder with pure disgust in my eyes before you would realize that you were invading my space? I finally had to take my above-mentioned friend and place her behind me where she couldn’t see anything so that she could act as a buffer between my back and your wandering arm. I believe she elbowed you when you tried to do the same thing to her. I had hoped the concert would be a touching experience, but you were *certainly* not what I had in mind.
Dear Spilly McSlippyfingers:
I know it was hot in there. And I know that nothing is as refreshing as the watered-down taste of a quality can of Bud Light. However, when you order a drink, you should be more careful not to drop it on the floor. As much as I enjoyed constantly getting to kick your crushed beer can around and nearly tripping on it multiple times, and after your little accident finally dried, as exciting as it was for my feet to stick to the floor so that I had no hope of moving, had you not dropped your drink I think that my experience might have been improved just a *tiny* bit.
Dear Jolly Green Giant:
Why do you think that it’s okay for you to wander into a crowd of tiny Asian girls and stand in front of them? I moved into the area with my friend because she had no hope of seeing over most of the people in the audience, and just before the show started you decided to meander right in front of her. Just because God blessed you with growth hormones doesn’t mean you can be completely oblivious to your height. The fact that people were jumping up and down behind you so that they could see every other second of the show should have clued you in. Hell, you were so tall that you could have probably stood in the back and seen more than anybody else? I don’t know — maybe your head was in the clouds — but have some decency, Colossus.
Oh, and to the whole lot of you: Thanks for almost suffocating me. I’m so happy I had to move further back towards the exit in order to be able to breathe.
I’m sure I have more to say to more of my friends — Loud-Talking-During-Quiet-Times Girl, Mr. and Mrs. We-Deserve-to-Push-to-the-Front, and Lord Pizza-Beer-Burp — but I’m choosing to regulate my blood pressure by not continuing.
My review of the show itself is soon to come.
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Today I received this email from Flickr, which solidifies my long-term relationship with the best photo-sharing site in existence!
You may have heard on the grapevine that we planned to
reward our dear Flickr members who bought a Pro Account in
the early days. Well, it’s true! And since you’re one of
those lovely people, here’s a little something to say YOU
ROCK!
1. Double what you paid for!
Your original 1 year pro account has been doubled to
2 years, and your new expiry date is Jan 25, 2007.
2. More capacity!
Now you can upload 2 GB per month.
3. 2 free Pro Accounts to give away to your friends!
This won’t be activated for a day or two, but when it
is, you’ll see a note on your home page telling you
what to do.
Thank you so much for putting your money where your mouth
is and supporting us, even while we’re in beta. Your
generosity and cold, hard cash helped us get where we are
today.
Kind regards,
The Flickreenies.
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Tonight I’m going to Irving Plaza in NYC to see one of my favorite bands of all time — Erasure! In case you have no idea who the hell I’m talking about, they brought us 80s synthpop hits like “Oh L’amour”, “Sometimes”, and “A Little Respect”. Believe it or not, Erasure, like a lot of other 80s acts, also has had a lot of great music in the last 10 years that has remained on the fringe and really only seems to have been followed by die-hard fans.
Their new album, Nightbird, is being billed as a return to the pop style that made them famous in the 80s, but I personally think that the sound is a lot richer and more layered than the earlier stuff, which mainly consisted of a lot of bleeps and blips. I definitely recommend checking out the new album. My favorite tracks from the new album are “Here I Go Impossible Again” and “All This Time Still Falling Out of Love”.
I’m sure tonight will be a little crazy, a little campy, but I’m sure it’s going to be lots of fun.
Erasure Information Service - The Official Erasure Site
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To the creepy guy at the gym with the cross tattooed on his back:
I don’t know what you think you’re doing sitting around in a towel for hours on end, taking a shower, wandering from one bench to another, taking another shower, wandering to another bench, staring at me, staring at the person next to me, taking another shower, putting on lotion, sitting on a different bench, taking yet another shower… but YOU NEED TO STOP.
There are many places in this world for you to pick someone up — truck stops, parks, bars, the Mormon temple — please let those of us who are going to the gym (and HATE it ALREADY) have a peaceful, non-threatening experience. In other words, don’t make an already uncomfortable experience all the more irritating.
Oh, and since you have a massive cross tattooed on your back, shouldn’t you be mourning the Pope? How would the Holy Father feel if he knew you were looking for ass when he’s barely even settled into his catacomb for his eternal rest?
Shame on you.
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When I first moved to New Jersey, I lived in this really old, tiny house that resembled the Blair Witch house. It had a dank, creepy basement, creaky floors, and sat on the side of a highway at the base of the Watchung mountains. One night, I was lying alone in my bedroom watching the original Amityville Horror, and it scared the living crap out of me. It was subtle, mysterious, and made me realize that God only knows what might have happened in the house that I was conveniently living in.
This past Friday, curiosity led me to the movies to see the MGM remake of Amityville because I found the original to be so enthralling. What I ended up seeing was a completely different movie.
The familiar plotline was there. Ronald “Buck” DeFeo kills his entire family while they are sleeping and claims that Satan made him do it. A year later, the Lutz family buys the house, and terror ensues. That’s really where the similarity ends.
The remake of the movie takes a lot of creative liberty in retelling the story. For instance, in the original we never see the ghosts of the family that was killed. In the remake, they play an active role in scaring the crap out of everyone. The storyline in the new movie revolves around a reverend who tortured and killed a bunch of natives in the basement of the house — and it only gets weirder.
I found the remake to be pretty damned scary (*much* scarier than The Ring 2), but what didn’t impress me was how hard they had to try to deliver those jolting moments. The original was scary purely in nuance and was almost completely devoid of any special effects. Perhaps the glitzy gore and special effects in the retold version of Amityville is a sad testament to how hard it is to impress audiences today, and should remind us that once upon a time, we didn’t need fast-moving corpses having seizures to become truly frightened.
My rating: B+
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