Re: Puer Aeternus.

I took my Macbook to the park today. Now that Hubbell is vacationing in New Hampshire, I can do these things. Unlike Hubbell, my Macbook behaves and stays obediently on my lap. I wrote a story, too...because I gots time to do so, yo...

Puer Aeternus: A Story About a Theatre Major...

Re: "Are You Mad at Me?"

These are the words of a fourteen-year-old girl...or a thirty-two year old lass with too much time on her hands...whenever she's feeling ignored.

I can't seem to understand that people can exist without me. I assume, if I haven't heard from you in days, that you're either a. dead, or b. mad at me. The simplicity of the matter being that you may have a job and responsibilities outside of me is a concept I'm not really understanding since I have so much time to over-analyze my relationships with everyone in my life.

My sister hasn't called me back in two days. Normally, if I were employed and actually had something to do with my time, the two days would be nothing; however, the two days is everything. I'm convinced she's hating on me, instead of the reality being that she's eight-months pregnant and has a toddler who's getting into everything and anything he can at all hours of the day and night.

It took my friend Thalika three days to text me back about Zach Galifianakis shaving his beard. This has nothing to do with the fact that she worked all weekend, and hasn't had a day off in over a month, but because she's mad at me. She's not, of course, but that's what crazytown over here is thinking. What's even sadder is the state I was put in by Zach shaving his beard in the first place.

This conclusion goes for every other poor soul who is foolish enough to keep me in their lives. It's starting to get annoying. So in an attempt to fill my days up with "stuff," because life is about stuff, I hear, especially the little stuff; I'm coming up with things to kill time and, ideally, make me a better person.

I've applied to volunteer at two different animal shelters here in the city. Unfortunately, I need to wait four to five weeks to hear back from them. I also bought a month long membership to a gym [insert mad bouts of laughter here]; however, just like the other two times in my life when I joined a gym, I knew even when I filled out the paper work, that the money would be better spent on books and beer. I signed up for a pottery class, too...thought it would be a good way to kill two hours a week; but I just missed the most recent session and have to wait until the end of April for my class to start.

Basically, despite my attempts to shelf my craziness and spare my friends, the plan has backfired. So I'm going to get up in the morning, drink my coffee, wander for a bit, send out resumes and gchat multiple friends who won't respond in a timely enough manner for me; so I'll assume we're in a fight, block them on gchat, unfriend them on Facebook and delete their number from my Blackberry...because that's what a fourteen-year old would do...or an unemployed thirty-two year old name Mandy.

Re: Rate Me.

I've been to two headhunters this week and to one call-back interview. The first headhunter was one that hires people for "real" jobs as they're called, and where I not only spent an hour rating myself in every PC application and program, but where I was also insulted for not owning a "corporate" suit...whatever that means.

The interview made me realize yet again, that I'm not very good at interviews...

The second headhunter, which was fashion based, also made me fill out paperwork regarding my ability, skills and tricky questions like "Do you help the customer or CEO first?" I was also insulted for dressing too "conservative" for the fashion world...I needed to take it up a "notch."

I'm just happy it's the weekend, so when I wake up tomorrow and don't look for a job, I won't feel guilty.

But I did once work at Gap, and according to my former boss there, leaving was the biggest mistake of my life...this week, I started thinking she might've been right...Pomegranate Seeds...

Re: Kick Me When I'm Down, Please.

Along with being raised on strict doses of Fleetwood Mac, Elton John (the good stuff), Harry Chapin, and F. Scott Fitzgerald (I was read The Great Gatsby for the first time at eight); I was also versed in the words of Maurice Sednak before I could speak. And despite all of his books, it will always be Where the Wild Things Are, that I will love most. Even as a kid, it was Max whom I always identified with most...and still do to this day.

So when the movie version came out, I was first in line. I cried throughout the entire movie because I knew the ending from the get-go...how can one not love the simple lines of: "Please don't go. We'll eat you up, we love you so..." If I love you, I utter these words to you...because they're imprinted on my mind like a gorgeous scar. And if I say them to you, you deserve them.

I have this group of actor and artist friends who, to pay the bills, are the people behind some of the trendiest (douchiest?) bars in town. This association sometimes allows me into places I'd never be allowed into otherwise...last night I was at one of these venues in Midtown, a neighborhood I would normally never frequent, but last night worlds collided.

At this particular bar, I saw Spike Jonze in the flesh. Not just that, but I sat next to him in this bar. I had been told by the hostess that Sean Penn was on his way...lies, I thought. Not really...he showed up twenty minutes later. If that weren't enough, I was then told that Karen O. was on her way, too. When I left at 315am, she had not yet arrived and I surmised she was on tour or doing something equally awesome.

But it was Spike Jonze I loved most. I've known about Spike Jonze for years...since his career in the music video scene (didn't we all love Sonic Youth's "100%" video?), and of course his films, and his failed marriage to Sophia Coppola. I'm rarely impressed by celebrities...we see them all the time in New York, and even more than that I never swoon (perhaps, five times in my life), but last night I swooned when Spike ordered the same beer as me (The Spotted Pig, cask style)...perhaps we have more in common than a love of Sednak...perhaps, we love the same beer? Oui, we're soulmates...it's been decided...

I had flirted with the idea of moving to Paris with a friend earlier in the day, but all that was put to bed with Spike Jonze. I wandered home with Karen O. and the Kids echoing in my ears and made a resolution:

I will not leave New York City until I've achieved everything that I planned to achieve when I moved here seven years ago.

It was just after four in the morning when I walked up the five flights of stairs to my apartment with a six pack of Diet Coke under my arm. It was almost 430am, when I pulled up my rewrite on which to work, and by the time I was finally exhausted enough to sleep, and my words had fallen flat, it was almost nine in the morning.

And yes, I have a call-back interview at 3pm today to be an Office Manager, but I've got something else:

Dear New York City...

Go ahead. I dare you to break this heart again...I beg you to do it. Bitch slap me again, please. Subtract from me the people I love most and on which I rely desperately; leave me feeling unlovable, raw and vulnerable on your angst-ridden streets. Go ahead and up my rent so it's now four times the mortgage of my sister's three-bedroom house in Boulder, and make me question my purpose here in life, please. Leave me at the door with a pack of razor blades and a box of faulty Band-Aids for the impending wounds. Kick me in the face when I'm already bloody and on the floor. Pigeon-hole me in mediocrity, reduce me to nothing with a single word and level me in a single glance. Please. Do it. Go ahead...I shall not retreat. And when all is said and done, we'll call it a truce...I promise.

"A great many people go after success simply for the shiny prizes it brings...and nowhere is it pursued more ardently than in the city of New York." - Stephen Birmingham.

xo.Mandy.

Re: Lil' Edie.

My days are so boring. If it were full-fledged spring or summer, then at least that would be something quite fantastic...but it's not. Granted, the weather is getting warmer, but still not enough for me to troll the streets with camera in hand and take in the city I love. In fact, I'm so hard up for human contact most days that I've actually started seeing my therapist again, just so I can have face to face contact during the day. I have three afternoon sessions with her this week...so I'm either that fucked up, or that hard-up for someone to listen to me ramble and laugh at my jokes.

Sure, I've got a slew of friends on gchat whom I can exchange witty, yet hardly meaningful banter with, but it's not enough for me...I require more. If that wasn't enough, I watched Grey Gardens last night with a friend for the hundredth time, and when it was over, we broke out the Sex and the City DVDs.

I have three major fears in life:

1. Not doing what I actually set out to do.

2. Ending up like Little Edie, chained to my mother's side with too many cats and fecal matter smeared on the walls.

3. Being Carrie Bradshaw.

I used to watch Sex and the City religiously ever Sunday night for the six years that it ran on HBO. However, now I just find Carrie annoying and pathetic. Even after the three martinis that my friend was kind enough to make for us, Carrie still sucks. Carrie makes it look okay to be a nasty, stupid, crazy girl...something I really don't need confirmed, because it just contributes to my own craziness. Really? Throwing a Big Mac at Big? At least throw something that's going to break, bitch.

I guess what I'm getting at is why? Why are women always the crazy ones in the scenario? I have four friends who still check their ex-boyfriends' emails on a regular basis...and one of them has been broken up with her fella for almost three years...and I'm not even going to admit to how many glasses I've lost over the years, because I smash them in the sink when I'm having a shitty day. As a gender, we are flawed, and Carrie and Little Edie are perfect examples of craziness. So I'm throwing out my Sex and the City DVDs today, and Grey Gardens will be in that pile, too.

"It is human nature to think wisely and act in an absurd fashion." - Anatole France.

And now a tale about a former insecurity on Pomegranate Seeds...

Re: And Then He Whispered David Sedaris.

Sometimes I do these lil' reviews of shows here in New York. Having been a college DJ, I'm pretty douchy about what I'll review...I know bands and their record labels and everything in between...oui, I'm douchy about it.

So last night I covered Shout Out Louds, granted they put on a phenomenal show, but it was the aftermath I adored most. I took a cab back to Manhattan...my taxi driver was a Pakistani fella who was wondering what I was doing in Williamsburg, so I told him. He pulled over his cab on First Avenue to tell me how he dreams of going to college here in the States once he has the funds...he dreams of being a writer just like David Sedaris. Don't we all?

I've seen David read three times in my life, and the first time, I gushed to him: "When I grow up, I want to be a writer just like you." I trembled when I handed him his book to sign, and I rarely tremble...he wrote in my book, "Amanda, when you grow up, I can't wait to read the stories you have to write..." I'm sure I wasn't the first whom he wrote this to, but it's this book I keep on my desk as inspiration.

My cab driver had never seen David Sedaris read out loud. He'd only read "Naked" and I told him to read more, but there was something so magical in the moment. He looked at me over his shoulder and said: "You don't come to New York City, unless you have a dream to be something more than what you've always known..." And I fell in love...not with him, but his words, because it's so painfully true. His words are burned on my brain, not because of him, but because it's the same reason I came here also...

And if that wasn't enough, when I got out of the cab I went into the bodega on my block to get some bread, and the song on the radio was "New York City" by Jay-Z and Alicia Keys...normally this is not a genre in which I delve, but the bodega fella behind the register turned it up...and when I looked at him inquisitively, he said "I dream of being just like Jay-Z when I grow up." I was stunned, but humbled...

I live in the greatest city in all the world for dreams to come true, and even if we fail, at least we can still go home and say: "I went to New York City and I tried..."

That aside, I'll be Austin for South by Southwest to cover shows from March 15th to March 19th...so any readers out there in Austin or thereabouts...let's get drink, oui? My treat...I promise to be nice and civil and witty...well, the witty part, yes...

Re: "The Majority of People in Fashion Aren't Smart Enough to See the Facts..."

My oldest friend is Thalika. We've been friends since we were in fourth grade. Thalika is brilliant. Thalika also has the least amount of common sense of anyone I've ever met. She graduated top of our high school class and went onto Columbia to get her MBA. So when I need help with technical stuff, Thal is the girl to whom I go. Thalika was kind enough to put together my resume about a year ago and make it all fancy and stuff. I usually get rave reviews from employers about my resume, however, this morning, during a phone call with this fashion headhunter guy, I got a different type of review:

Headhunter: One thing we need to cover - what is up with this resume?

Me: What do you mean? I had it done professionally...

Headhunter: I mean it's great if you want to get a job with a hedge fund or in financial services, but the majority of people in fashion aren't smart enough to see the facts...we'll need to clean this resume up...

Me: Really?

Headhunter: Yep, I'm going to cut it down so it's easier to see your experience...cut this baby down by half, at least.

Me: Ok...

Headhunter: And you're definitely going to want to attach a photo of yourself for any job I send you to...

Me: But I'm looking to be an Office Manager not a model...

Headhunter: That's fine, but even the lowest end fashion companies don't want some fatty with an acne problem and K-Mart wardrobe.

Me: I've never been to K-Mart...

Headhunter: You know what I mean...

Me: I don't think I do.

Headhunter: Let me see what I can do with this resume and I'll call you later.

Me: Ok, thanks?

It feels like spring in New York, so in celebration, I've been listening to "Springtime In New York" by Jonathan Richman...even if you don't live in New York, it will make you feel giddy, because it's kinda silly, but kinda awesome.

Re: Truffle Shuffle.

New York City is covered in what I like to call a shit ton of snow...not nearly a blizzard but enough white stuff to make traipsing through the streets a wee bit difficult. The weather is making me glum, and if that weren't enough I've been overdosing on Post Secret, and I watched Terms of Endearment during breakfast. Ugh. Really? Is this what unemployment has done to me? At this rate, I fully expect to be watching Sleepless in Seattle by noon, and eating cheap Hershey's bon-bons.

What I really need to take this day up a notch is a lil' Truffle Shuffle action. That's right, I need me The Goonies...and stat.

At least the weekend is pretty much here so I'll finally have playmates with whom to roam these wonky streets, drink adult beverages, and ideally, eat pizza. I think I hate Mondays now more than I did when I was employed...

This just in: Swede put up another awesome playlist today...granted, I'm only on song three, but he rarely fails...and he's even got his beloved Zooey doing her lil' thing with M. Ward for song number four...le sigh.

xo.

Mandy.

Re: Now This Is What We Call a "Meet n' Greet"

I own one grown-up outfit that I only wear for interviews. I've never had a job that required me to dress like an adult, so I never saw the reason to buy adult type clothes, or "business casual" as it's called in that world. My token interview outfit consists of a button down, black, dress shirt type deal and a dark, cotton pencil skirt that is both conservative in its look and length...a far cry from the skirts I usually wear. Both of these items I got at the Gap a few years ago, and both of these items I keep in the back of my closet like a dirty secret.

I had to breakout this outfit for an interview yesterday in Soho. Yes, I had an interview to be an Office Manager in Soho, because I figured holding such a title in such a location at my last two jobs just wasn't enough for one lifetime...I wanted to go for a third time. In fact, this company was in the building right next door to my most recent job...so, of course, my brain immediately went to the possibility of Balthazar Fridays making a comeback in my life.

I scurried along Houston in my beat-up Chucks and tossed on my heels when I got to Broadway. I took a packed elevator up to the fourth floor, and met the girl whom I would be replacing, should they be smart (desperate?) enough to hire me. I was there for less than ten minutes.

The interviewer, let's call her Jessica...yes, Jessica explained to me as she showed me a pile of resumes that was similar in page count to that of War and Peace, that this was just merely a "meet and greet, so we can put a face to all these resumes, you know?" I tried not to furrow. Before I knew it, I was back on Broadway putting on my Chucks and heading to Balthazar.

I'm not sure how I came off during the "meet and greet." I was told the age of the company, where the other offices were and how the New York office was made up of twenty-five girls - no boys. I was asked if I'd ever used Microsoft Word, if I knew what "troubleshoot" meant, and if I'd had experience answering phones...and that was it. I was complimented on my coat and told that she, Jessica, had the same one in grey. Then it was over.

As I walked home with my coffee and croissant in hand, I started to get a lil' miffed. I had broken out my one grown-up outfit for seven minutes, and what this meant is if I made it to round two of interviews, I'd have to buy another grown-up outfit...another plain shirt and equally plain skirt to hide in the back of my closet. Ugh.

So I headed directly to the Gap, because there's nothing quite like jinxing yourself and wasting money on clothes that you'll probably never need...and I'm a big fan of their knee socks.

xo.

Mandy.

My neighbor Jerry looks Then Penguin and is a Nobel Laureate on Pomegranate Seeds...

Re: Almost Famous.

I couldn't sleep last night. When I can't sleep and I don't have the attention span to read, I get online and look up nonsense. My recent obsession with The Hangover, had me looking up the director, Todd Phillips; which led me to his first documentary Hated: GG Allin and The Murder Junkies, and how this GG Allin guy was born in New Hampshire. After I read everything I possibly could on GG Allin and was sufficiently disturbed, I looked up what other people came from New Hampshire and achieved some sort of fame or infamy in their lives. The list wasn't very impressive and consisted of people like Adam Sandler, Pam Smart and Mandy Moore. Sure, we've got Robert Frost, too, and yeah, JD Salinger died there, but it's not like either one of these talents were raised in New Hampshire, so I don't think they count.

I then got on Facebook and started looking up people from my past. Granted, these are people I do not want to know again, but Facebook satiates the slight voyeur in me and allows me to take a glimpse into the lives of others, then move onto someone else when I'm bored. As I do, from time to time, I tried to find my sophomore roommate, Jada. Jada is someone who crosses my mind every few months or so, and when she does, she sort of lingers on my brain for days. Because I couldn't get her out of my head, and she invaded my dreams last night, I was forced to write a lil' somethin' about her today...

xo.Mandy.

Re: Sabotage.

On Saturday I got one of those mass responses from a company in regards to a job I applied to on Thursday. The company claimed to have received over 1000 applicants (lies!) and that I, (yes, me of all people) had made the cut to the final twenty. I've been alive long enough to know that I don't make final cuts...even if they said I was in the top twenty out of thirty, I'd still be skeptical. Along with their claim of being overwhelmed with SO many applicants, they included three questions for me to answer. Supposedly, it was the answers to these questions that would determine whether or not I qualified for "personal interview" status. The questions were as followed:

1. The boss’ dog poops in the office, an important customer is in reception looking for the Sales Director who has been in the ladies room on the floor below without her cell phone for the last 15 minutes, and the head of Operations has just called you for immediate assistance to get some urgent packages out the door for the FedEx pick up in 10 minutes. What do you do?

2. You have been asked to organize the Owners’ busy travel schedules and to prepare a summary of it for them to follow. What are some of the things you will have to do to fulfill this request? What software/websites/documents might you use to do this?

3. The company needs to cut 5% of its expenses and has asked for your recommendations. What are 3 of your ideas?

Having found these questions to be insulting, degrading and an overall waste of my time, I called in an expert to answer them. I racked my brain as to who could not only answer these questions honestly, but also be brazen enough to email those answers back and not make me feel bad about perhaps throwing away a possible job opportunity. You don't send a boy to do a man's job, you send Swede instead:

1. None of the above, I will read Gawker. Poop, really?

2. I will print the itinery for the dude. Using safari.

3. Let the Gawker reading Office Manager go. Stop buying tp for the employees. Hire scrooge as consultant.

Ps. I know you didn't get 1000 applications and that I wasn't one of 20 selected.

Good luck finding a poop picker!

Lots of love

Amanda

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Needless to say, my job search continues...

"Self-sabotaging is the smartest thing you can do, if you're sabotaging a self that is not really you." - Armand Demele.

Re: The Professional Protester.

I've always wondered exactly what protesters do for a living. Like do they have jobs that actually allow them to sneak out at 2pm and march up and down the street with a sign? And if so, do they get to make that sign at work in the morning? I mean, those signs are usually on pretty big sheets of paper...is that paper that they swiped from the office supply closet? Or do avid protesters just have a stock of gigantic paper under their bed?

While protesting is definitely something for college students (I participated in two in college: pro-choice and pro-civil rights for my beloved gays), I never cease to be surprised by the fact that all those really big fancy protests on the lawn of the White House are usually made up of people who are twenty-five and older. So it makes me go back to my original thought: how the hell do these people have time to protest and have a job? Then it came to me: they're unemployed! They are those douchebags in the coffee shop! They're the crazy PETA woman!

It's not really my style to be an activist, my passions don't lie in politics, but rather in more artsy fartsy type stuff. However, although painfully difficult, I've made a list of things that I feel I could actively get behind and protest while I have the time to do so:

1. The Jersey Shore. I've never seen it, but I've read enough about it to know it's an abomination.

2. Dan Brown; yes the writer. I've never read him, but I've already decided The Davinci Code was the worst book ever in the history of the world.

3. Cats. I've never owned one, or even spent any quality time with one, but on principle, I do not like them.

4. West Virginia. I've never been, but I've seen enough television to know that West Virginia is a bad place...unless of course, you like to have sex with your brother and worship snakes on Sunday.

5. Escargot. I've never eaten it, but after living in Newmarket, New Hampshire for a year during college, and having a front porch covered in snails after every rainstorm, devouring a relative of any of them seems wrong. I named the fattest snail "Buddy." I'm pretty positive he was the only one who truly understood me most days.

6. Stamps you have to lick. I'm not even sure they make these anymore, but if they do, I'm against them...unless of course, they could make them in strawberry flavor.

7. People who use the word "tatt" for "tattoo." I don't know any of them personally, but I'm pretty sure I would hate them. I'm also pretty sure they're the same people who rock tribal armbands and can relate to the characters on The Jersey Shore.

8. The names Donald and Ronald. In my opinion, these are the two worst names ever in all of mankind's existence. They should be abolished immediately so as to prevent any further generations of them.

It took well over three hours to come up with that list, but at least I have a direction to start my protesting. All I need now is some really huge paper and ideally, sparkles...I firmly believe sparkles will really add a lil' somthin' to my convictions...

xo.Mandy.

Don't fuck with my grammar...or else...

Mandy vs. The Crazy PETA Woman.

Since living in the East Village I've had three run-ins with the crazy neighborhood PETA woman. The first one happened a few years ago when I was in the Tompkins Square Park Dog Run with Hubbell and my friend's Italian Greyhound; the crazy woman proceeded to lecture me about what a horrible person I am for not having adopted a shelter dog. The second time was last spring when she came up to ask me if the milk in my iced-coffee was soy, and why soy was better for the sake of animals. Despite her aggressiveness and a furry upper lip that would make Swede and any pre-pubescent boy jealous, I've always been civil. However, I was not in the mood for her shit today:

Crazy PETA Woman: Can I interest you in becoming a vegetarian? (as she was standing on the snowy corner of 1st Avenue with pamphlets)

Mandy: Nope.

Crazy PETA Woman: Do you enjoy eating animals?

Mandy: I love it. (I walk away)

Ten minutes later after picking up my coffee.

Crazy PETA Woman: Can I interest you in becoming a vegetarian?

Mandy: Again, no.

Crazy PETA Woman: You think it's acceptable to eat rabbits and baby cows?

Mandy: Why yes I do.

Crazy PETA Woman: But can I at least give you some pamphlets on how eating animals is murder? It would be like if someone ate you!

Mandy: I should be so lucky. Can I ask you something? Don't you have better things to do with your time than stand out here in the cold harassing strangers with your beliefs?

Crazy PETA Woman: I want to save all the animals and not let people like you eat them!

Mandy: So that's why PETA murdered over twenty thousand animals that could've been placed in homes? That makes a lot of sense....

Crazy PETA Woman: That's not true! Those rumors have not be substantiated! God will not forgive you for eating one of his creatures!

Mandy: Oh, Jesus...

Crazy PETA Woman: We speak for those who can't! We speak for the abused and mistreated animals who don't have a voice! Every single one of God's children is important!

I started to walk away, but couldn't, so I spun around and said one more thing...

Mandy: I'd love to continue this chat, but I've gotta go buy a new fur coat and leather boots online.

Crazy PETA Woman: You will not be forgiven! You will not be forgiven! God will not forgive your heartless behavior!

Mandy: Now, all I need is to run into the lone pro-lifer who stands outside the abortion clinic on Bleecker to make this day perfect...(I mutter under my breath)

Re: Sittin' at a Coffee Shop Impressing Strangers.

There was some extensive screaming going on in the apartment next to mine this morning at 6am. So when it was clear that sleep wasn't going to happen, I pulled myself from my cozy bed and headed to the yoga spot on 6th street. After the class, I went to the coffee shop on 1st Avenue to get some coffee and read my book. I knew I'd be cooped up in my apartment for the rest of the day sending out resumes, and really wanted to just sort of have a moment's peace. I wanted to overdose on Americanos, read my pretentious Anaïs Nin book and breathe. However, peace at coffee shops is difficult to find.

Even at 9am, the unemployed douches of the world were out and clogging up the coffee shop with their Macbooks and self-inflated egos. It's amazing that once you define yourself as an artist and drop out of society's conventions, what it does to your self-esteem...it obviously robs you of any, hence the reason you need to sit in a coffee shop in the East Village on a Tuesday commenting out loud about how you're working on your novel, photoshopping your photography or doing whatever else that falls under the creative category.

While part of me respects the need to be in utter denial of your ability and success, another part of me was so turned off by the majority of the clientele that I briefly considered going back to school and getting my MBA in finance...but then I remembered I can't even balance my checkbook, let along anything else.

In the words of Joe Strummer: "I succeeded because I was cocky enough to believe I could." There is a huge difference between cocky and shear denial...I guess one needs to get over the denial and embrace the cocky perhaps? Maybe there are steps to success, kinda like their are seven steps in grieving?

Either way, I'll be at the coffee shop tomorrow afternoon telling strangers I'm working on my novel. I'll also be wearing a homemade t-shirt that simply says "WRITER" across the bust...yes, that's what I'll do...because I'd like to succeed and now I just need to be cocky enough to believe I can.

xo.Mandy.

Speaking of self-inflated egos...

Re: Like a Kid in a Candy Shop.

Mayor Bloomberg has been on television all afternoon declaring a state of emergency and the snow hasn't even started yet. Every time I see him on television, I re-realize that he must be the shortest mayor in the history of the world. Every public school in the five boroughs is already closed for this impeding storm tomorrow, and I've got my snow gear out and ready to go.

The most entertaining part about a snowstorm that supposed to be SO BIG, is how people in the suburbs react; they freak out as if this were Florida and not the north east who has seen its fair share of snow. Of course, if that wasn't enough, each television station puts some dim-witted correspondent in every grocery store or Home Depot within fifty miles to ask questions like: "How are you getting ready for the storm?" to people who are buying large bags of salt or have a cart full of gallons of water. It should be noted that there is no Wonder Bread left on any shelf in all of New Jersey...yes, this is what the news is reporting. Damn, I should really get out there and buy some before we run out in NYC, too!

I loved snow days as a kid: waking up to see the snow all over the ground, and running downstairs in the hopes of seeing whether or not you were lucky enough to get a school cancellation, or at the very least, a considerable delay. I'm not sure why companies don't practice this whole closing down policy in the snow, but they really should. Think about how happy your employees would be if the mere potential of a snow day existed?!

The last really big snowstorm was the second year I lived in New York, and the one before that was way back in college. The snow drifts were so deep that we couldn't open the door to our apartment, so we made some pancakes, got dressed up in snow pants, crawled out our window and ate our pancakes on the porch, our asses slowly getting numb from the snow. The campus shut down for three days during that storm, and it would be five days before we could open the door...why shovel the snow that was kind enough to barricade us inside for days? Because we were drunk on Smuttynose and pancakes for days, that's why...oh, and we didn't have a shovel.

I'm secretly hoping that someone's company will lose power tomorrow so I can have a playmate for the snowstorm. Yeah, that's kinda selfish, but I've never said I wasn't...and they say admitting it is half the battle...or something...

Waiting for snowstorms makes me write about clowns, of all things...