January 18, 2012

but my friend is.

I haven’t really taken in the full implications of everything yet. Certain things are clearly different. I hate the mornings now even more than I previously did. If morning sickness equals ‘sick of the morning’ ”Really, really sick of the morning like hating it’ we definitely know who’s friend is pregnant.


Of course it’s early days still but I  have to say that I can’t believe how impolite and rude people have been. A couple of times I’ve actually HAD TO ASK people to get up in the subway so I could have a seat.

‘Sorry lady’ I’ll say to the old woman ‘but my friend is pregnant, so I think we both know what the right, and the American thing is to do. ‘

Then I’ll stand patiently yet firmly until she finally gets to her feet.

She has a cane after all.

I do find myself strangely emotional at times. Like recently when my mother called to find out how my book was going. I really surprised with my level of rage.

‘I’ll finish it when I finish it!’ I scream. ‘It’s only been a year after all!’

I calm down and call her back, the computer’s now cracked screen barely noticeable

‘Sorry’ I say, ‘but you know you’re going to have to be more sensitive to the fact that my friend is pregnant.’ ‘In a couple of months she’ll be a mother too. You have to respect that.’

I’m also emotional whenever I have to pay bills, the rent or dealing with Sallie Mae. Or going to gym.

The cravings have started early. I  find the need to eat all sorts of things; things like fried chicken, dark chocolate, french fries, brie cheese, sushi and steak tatare  even more than I used to. The good thing is that clearly my body is telling me that I need these things so I no longer have to feel guilty.

This helps when eating pad thai throughout the day.

Around 5:00-12:00 p.m I also begin craving red wine, whiskey and any cocktail that has egg whites in it. I drink these too.

Before you judge me realize that
a) America tends to be over zealous on this type of thing-‘it’s all a communist plot’
b)my pregnant friend’s body clearly needs me to drink them
c) look at the French, apart from having the bone structure of small birds and the tendency to overuse scarves, they usually turn out okay.

I have yet to be complimented on my glow but I know it’s only a matter of time.

Man am I hungry.


it’s because I’m extremely sensitive. Extremely, extremely sensitive. I know that I’m sensitive because my mother, my sister or father will not hesitate to inform me so every half an hour or on hour if I have forgotten for even a moment. I admit it, I am overly sensitive. I’m sensitive when my my sister turns off the light in the room while staring right at me, I’m sensitive while my mother yells at me to CALM DOWN or my father and I battle over bathroom towels. I’m so sensitive that I might just take a massive butcher knife before this holiday is over and show them what real sensitivity looks like.

pretty, so pretty and so red.

And it’s not just me, the weather is also sensitive.

(Don’t tell her I told you but actually the weather is being a number one (#1)bi-polar hobag)

It’s raining so we decide not to go to the beach and lurk at home, then it stops raining so fling on our swim suits, get creamed up (shut up not like that) leap into the car and then drive to the beach where it immediately begins to rain again then we drive home and my head begins to ache and my stomach hurts because I know what lies ahead.

Trapped by the rain and wild for something to do, my family makes me undergo the ultimate cruelty and unmitigated agony.

I scream that I’ll talk, tell them everything they need to know but it’s no use. I can hear the mesmerizing goose flesh crawling chinkety chink chink chink  noises coming closer as the foul little green bag is brought out , the thick dull pound of the board as it hits the table, the agonized squeak as plastic counters are forced whiningly across wood and suddenly  I am pushed into a chair the world begins to spin

‘No!’ I call out hoarsely ‘I beg you I’ll tell you anything!’ ‘NO FOR GOD’S SAKE HAVE MERCY, HAVE PITY ON MY SOUL PLEASE PLEASE I’LL DO ANYTHING YOU SAY!’

but it’s too late


Or as Mahatmah Gandhi liked to say ‘the shittiest game on the face of the planet’

I truly and utterly (ten points)deteste (eight points) scrabble (fourteen points) with every fibre (nine points) of my qi (nine hundred and thirty two points when placed on a triple word)

Although my scrabble playing sentiment would be best summed up by the following seven letters

so no lik

I try to put words down ‘screw’ and ‘evil’ and ‘frog’

I was told to save my ‘s’s-actually I’m told to save that quite often through life.

The saddest part is the the  glowing and supportive praise I receive from my otherwise nonsensitive critical family which makes me realize how truly challenged I am by this game.

Oh look Sophie put down ‘frog’

‘Well done Sophie!’ beams my mother  a player  of ‘exile’ ‘luxury’ and ‘azure’

‘Frog is a good word!’

‘You play great!’  Says my sister inflictor of ‘genuflect’ ‘longue’ and ‘xenophobia’

Frog! Well done!’ adds my father who’s gentle use of obituary, arbitrary and zeal (on the triple word) can kick our s’s any day of the week.

Family at their finest.

Added to this I still basically have tuberculosis (self diagnosed and me with only a MFA) which is a blast to bring to a summer holiday at the the beach. Let me tell you nothing like a hot tan, sexy bikini and a wracking and endless cough for a light hearted and fun filled conversational starter. For best results cough heavily into the inquirer’s face. They’ll just eat that up.

But as Nietchze that famous party animal once said

‘Life’s a beach and then you DIE hahahahahaha!’

The point is for you to stop looking at me like that you judgemental jerk, or the next person I visit with the butcher knife is you, unfeeling schmuck.

After all, I’m sensitive.

that’s cause a) I’m a genius and b) I’ve cracked the code,
(see a) for further references)

Okay so  apart from being a sick,broke chick (which always ensues in romantic and comedic hilarity in a movie directed by John Hughes  but in real life it just means that you’re  a chick who’s sick and broke) I’m a sick, broke chick who HATES shopping. Yes, it’s true. I hate shopping so much that I don’t even like to shop FOR MYSELF. That’s how much I hate it.

At the same time I love good presents.

Getting them makes me feel good inside and out. Pleased with life and hopeful for humanity.  I’ve worked out through the years and also see reference a) that the best way to get good presents is to give good presents-which would be SHOPPING I know bummer and quandary right????

But listen up.

I have discovered that I can give the most kick ass presents without leaving my house!

Awesome right?

All I needed was whatever I found in my house and I think you’ll find the results are pretty flawless.

first option

all you need is

1. (one) 1 red onion
2. two (2) apples
3.  one (1) orange
4.  one (1)lemon
5. one (1) scotch tape
6. several sharpies

Then we have;


(give it to the friend you secretly suspect to be a freak, or a hero whatever)


(give this to your most whorish friend and tell them to look at him sitting on their dresser before they leave the apartment on a Saturday night)


She came here with a dream. She’s many layers, complicated, not getting any younger (don’t give this to your friend, let’s be honest, you know who this one is for…)


(give this one to your friend who needs a hug but is too unattractive to get one)


(give this one to friend who might still read or has aspirations to read or just sounds really really pretentious)

I’m not done yet!


You’ll need;

1) one(1) little burlap pouch
2) one (1) scotch tape
3) twenty (20) paperclips
4) half a clove of garlic that you found in your fridge
5) the sharpies you used before hand-love those sharpies

They might tell you they’re not into tru blood but you know that’s a damn lie. So let their lies be pretty. Pretty, pretty lies and garlic pouches. It doesn’t get better. Complete with paperclip chain and half a garlic clove
Okay it does get better. Because I bet you’re all thinking that’s a lot Sophie but not all of us friends are Christians! Well if you thought that, you thought wrong. Almost insultingly wrong.

Feast your eyes on


1. chinese noodles they give you with your soup
2. several (3-5) packets of soy and hot sauce

(Snacks for when you’re watching Woody Allen surrounded by fellow jewish sufferers. Give this to your friends who are converting to Judaism or secretly want to be Christian-it evens out)


1) empty ginger ale schweppes bottle
2) fake flower
It looks all ‘found art from Williamsburg but the best part is that I bought that in Astoria, Queens-extra irony!!!!


1. A bunch (3-5) of hotel stolen shampoos, conditioners and bath foam, ziplock sandwich bags ribbon

For the friend who smells a little stinky sometimes because they’re always traveling and saving countries and have no time to wash


1. One(1)  cool packaged salad dressings-tasty but with a low caloric count

For a friend who might have some eating issues…or not.

finally, but I could go on and on and I know you want me to but I’m sick geez okay


1.One (1) a toilet roll!
2. Five (5) ancient candy canes

everyone is going to love this present and I have to say that it’s also really useful when you’re forced to shop for lame unthoughtful presents and they never have enough toilet paper in the starbucks.

Don’t worry about thanking me, just give me something great.

or so help me I’m sending them after you

ho, ho, ho.

going to text you tonight

December 8, 2011

but I wish I could.

Tonight it’s raining. I don’t know if it’s raining where you are. I know it’s raining because I can hear the drops on my air conditioner and sometimes against my window and finally against the ground.

I also know it’s been raining because I had to walk in the rain. I had to walk to pick up some egg drop soup which comforts and depresses me at the same time. Like family.

I’ve been sick and have  spent this week at home, mostly in bed and I think it’s shredded apart what shreds of sanity I have left.

I can’t seem to get past chapter 13 and if I can’t get past chapter 13 then I can’t go on to chapter 14, and then 15, then 16 all the way up to chapter 30. And if I can’t rewrite the book to be as phenomenal as the first seventy pages then I can’t meet the agent  and if I can’t meet the agent then how will he immediately sign me up and offer me a huge advance and start getting twitchy about the movie rights and how will they manage to sell it to a publishing house who will put all other projects aside a ‘stop the presses!’ if you will and immediately use all their attention and determination to make the book the biggest, hairiest hugest best seller ever.

If this doesn’t happen then what will my publicists have to work with? The public must not be denied! How will I be able give a phenomenal interview for Vanity Fair (while still posing sexily)? I’m open and lovely and witty  but  despite this I still possess a certain aura of mystique (not like the X MEN  Mystique jesus you nut) no I mean a certain  je ne sais quoi if you will, which I manage to cling on to and  manage to clamber up  into becoming the newest, lastest, craziest writing superstar…..who doesn’t live in Brooklyn.

Within my phenomenally charming revenge interview everyone in my life whoever mistreated me whether it was in 4th grade or last week (with that evil subway bitch) will be brought to justice. They will pretend not to care  but will long and long to be in my good graces once again.

Ironically all I will long for is for a single reconciliation.

So we will both go through our different lives, and I can only hope to run into you one day, when you are happy or at least near enough and I am happy or at least near enough. Enough to exchange smiles and wish each other well and be the polite civilized human beings so that nothing gets too crazy and then we’ll walk on.

and we’ll pretend how I never wanted to text you tonight

we were always good that way.

a raging alcoholic

December 7, 2011

but I could kill for a glass of wine right now.

(Shakes fist) If only it weren’t for these pesky antibiotics that is, dogarn it!

okay everyone, okay

You know what else would be good? You know what would feel just about perfect, what with winter on its snowy way and the holidays jingling around the corner?

Why, a  job!
(Shakes fist) If only it weren’t for this pesky downward spiraling economy that’s gone to  pure sheer unadulterated heck, that is!

And since we’re on this chipper trail, you know what else? You know what else would taste mighty good around now?

Why, chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream!

If only that shit didn’t make you fat.


And now down to business.

I know that many of you were concerned by Jeff Eugenides’s seemingly cold and distant treatment of me. Even in the face of my lovely and non stalkery emails, his only answer came back loudly and clearly ..silence.

Concern poured in from as far as wherever people were sitting when writing to me via facebook and twitter. I’m guessing pretty far.

Some friends asked me warm natured questions such as ‘how’s Jeff?’ Some showed their support by ‘thumbs upping’ my link or sharing a powerful capslock statements of admiration such as YEAH JEFF EUGENIDES! AWESOME!

Another  friend took it to the next level by asking me if Jeff Eugenides was perhaps a metaphor for something else I was missing in my life.

Deep, Kevin. Deep.

Well, Jeff is fine, and not in a metaphorical way. I know this because  he texted me today. 

Yes my little friends, while yours truly (me)was humbly sitting in her ophthalmological  appointment patiently waiting while for her pupils to dilate (and if that doesn’t sound sexy then I don’t know what does) she received his heavenly communication.

I would tell you what it said…..

but that’s between Jeff and myself.

Go and get your own Pulitzer Prize winning writer to text you.

I was much relieved. Jeff still cares….about my mind.

Frankly I needed the lift. I’ve been ill (hence the antibiotics) coughing in a way that guarantees me a seat on the subway and feeling bleak in general. Even my post was sick which is why I had to take it down before it infected other posts with its lameness. Though two friends were kind enough to say that they dug it. Thank you guys, I would hug you but you would be sorry if I did.

I don’t have much more to say other than this update and the fact that I’m missing all my friends, booze, ice cream, a job, even people….

Being sick sucks balls.

butter balls, geez guys, whaddaya  think I meant?!

He wants me for my mind.

And that’s all he wants, because he has a family and some lovely poodles of his own.

Let’s get this clear I met the author Jeff Eugenides (author of Middlesex, Virgin Suicides and that other book he just wrote? Oh yes The Marriage Plot) at some or other conference called the BLAH (alright it was called BEA Book Expo America who cares) which means that I got to sit almost all the way at the back, chew on a stale bagel and listen to him, Diane Keaton, Charlaine Harris and Mindy Something (she’s on the Office) talk about their new up and coming books.

Afterwards I went up to Jeff (people who have had a fourteen(14) email interchanges with him get to call him Jeff )he was kind of standing back to  let the Charlaine Harris’ fans who were bending down on the copies of the latest True Blood to kiss her pinky toes) and told him I admired his work.
Which I do.

Jeff Eugenides’s work is disturbing, arousing and melecholic,and life changing. Like riding the 7 train back to Queens at two in the morning.

some special times were had in here

We chatted for a little bit and then I went on my way. Later I got an email and here I want to make this clear and shall use capslock for emphasis and not craziness


He said it was the FIRST TIME he had written to a website.

Please note that not only are there no sexy pics on my website, apart from me wearing a starwars shirt (which admittedly drives nerds insane). Instead of hot and lavacious pics are MY VARIOUS WRITING SAMPLES.

which you can read if you bother to visit my website too. cough cough.

Jeff Eugenides wrote as only a Pulitzer Prize winning writer can write.

Hello. please write

He also wrote Nice meeting you. Hope to keep in touch.

don’t you dare try to find other meanings to that or I’ll hunt you down.

Anyway I wrote back in ecstasy (he is one of my favorite writers) and then he replied and we were going to meet for either a drink or dinner or a lunch and talk about the writing process (WHICH IS NOT A EUPHAMISM) He had even suggested a restaurant but fate in the form of a previous invitation I had for honoring my cousin (Hey Ruthie, I know you’ll be reading this) and him trying to find various book covers, de slime pools and going over proofs set us apart.

Jeff said he was very disappointed and said we’d plan to meet later after his trip to Europe and various book tours.

Today a journalist (I won’t mention names, you know who you are Evan Hughes) who had interviewed him for an article made a quip insinuating that Jeff Euginedes wrote to me and wanted to meet merely because of my luscious lusciousness

it’s just a kitchen curtain I swear it.

To which I respond

Bitter much Mr Journalist?

Let me say that the Jeff I got to know over those fourteen(14) email exchanges (including one phone text )would never abandon his family and poodles so callously  He’s a good guy. He’s got class.  And is it so completely crazy to assume that I actually might have something to offer literary wise other than my beautiful smile?

it makes the very atmosphere go quaky but still…

I don’t often take offense at lame sexist cracks made at hot blondes but cereal people? That’s like totes sexist.

I was deeply disturbed by this ‘joke’

A joke you say? Made by a male writer?  Ha ha ha!

and went to write another email to Jeff.

and now we must wait and pray to the feminist goddess Diana to have my back on this one.


Oy vey.

sure what happened

November 29, 2011

but I think I missed Thanksgiving.

Seriously though I woke up yesterday (November the 28th, 2011) bright and bouncy, and filled with joy of life and potential squatting maneuvers  (my personal training likes it like that so shut up) then I faced the day ready for turkey and gratitude, extra gratitude for I had a glorious week to plan.

‘Hey!’ I said brightly on the phone with my sister, ‘let’s plan this in advance for once! What time do you want me over for Thanksgiving and what do you need me to bring? How long should I stay?’

‘What?’ asked my sister

‘Seriously’ I said ‘snap out of ‘it’ (because ‘it’ is her career and it’s top secret and I’m not allowed to talk about it so there) ‘let’s do this right this time.’

‘What the *^&% are you talking about?’ she repeated. This time with those little funny signs that mean a person is swearing at you but in an adorable way.

‘Thanksgiving!’ I bellowed merrily into the phone. ‘What did you think I was talking about?’

But only the dial toned embraced my boisterous cry

I second time I called  I found myself ‘monologuing’ which is a totally lame and hamlet like maneuver  rather than ‘dialoguing’ which is what true, beautiful and pure americans strive for.

lame right?

She listened (or pretended to listen while she did ten other top secret things) and then uttered the four words destined to blow my tiny mind.

We Had Thanksgiving Already.

I was gob smacked

‘No we didn’t’ I insisted. ‘I just happened to take a train to hang out your place and cook up a turkey-the size of a large Ethiopian child , red cabbage salad. roasted potatoes with an extra tablespoon of the Italian flour semolina in very hot olive oil, lightly roasted brussel sprouts with lemon juice salt and pepper and a created a kind of insane stuffing gruel complete with apples, white bread crumbles, chopped onions, parboiled raisins, a garlic clove, mace, sage, nutmeg, closves and parsley and loads and loads of melted butter

but that’s all-jeez

As for the ensemble it consisted of she, me and he (one of her friends) sitting in front of the tv and watching the Committments ( a good film I think you’ll agree if you try a little tenderness)

Then because my sister is OCDC and extremely anal retentive-we weren’t (unfortunately) allowed to clean up at all.

That’s not the Thanksgiving way.

Okay we did all that on a  Thursday, a thing I thought was weird at the time but…..

‘But that’s not Thanksgiving’ I said. Thanksgivining the time when you’re forced to speak earnestly with earnest relatives about things that neither of you care about while small children run shriekingly around  and you long and long to worry the bone in your teeth like the beast you are, then kill yourself.

Me Thanksgiving 2009

Apparently though our walks, talks and long sits in the dog park to watch a bulldog named Buddah refusing to give Doodles the puppy his inflatable bowl apparently counted as the Thanksgiving experience.

‘Bullshit’ I said. ‘I wasn’t stressed, bored or ready to tear my eyes out at any stage. It CAN’T have been Thanksgiving.

Me, Thanksgiving 2010

Anyway during this totally “faux” ‘thanksgiving weekend’ I slept late and and went to the shake shack, worked out some meaning things regarding my book and watch Four Wedding and a Funeral for the 87th time and realized yet again  Andy MacDowell does NOT grow on you

God I hate this bitch

Read the rest of this entry »

it’s nice not to worry.
Most I do.
See I just wrote most instead of mostly and immediately went back to correct it and thought NO

No, Sophie let it be, let it stay there.

Most. Rhymes with toast. Most.

The problem is I bet you’re all thinking (all 51 of you plus the new blogger imonthebandwagonguy) who pressed the like button! Thank you I’monthebandwagonguy! You rock unlike my so called friends who have yet to show this loyalty. Sniff.


ANYWAY. the only way I’m going to gain control of myself before I crash into bed is to suddenly use CAPSLOCKS. Why? BECAUSE  THEY’RE SCAREY, AND LOUD but then they GROW BORING.

like old people who yell on the subway

Should I go as a capslock for Halloween? It’s that or an occupy, occupy wallstreet chick (but so done) or my original conception as going as
I am Not a on a poster.

aren’t those mormons precious?????? makes me want to get married again, and again and again….oh wait, only my husband gets to do that.



I don’t ask a lot from my coutume. Just one that starts a meaningful and intriguingly often political conversation yet one which I remain hot in at all times.

Meaningful Thoughts?

It’s interesting. (everyone immediately runs and hides because that’s a key word signifying self pontification) but like let’s be cereal guys. I’m horrified when I’m not terrified. and I should be terrified.

“How the hell am I going to finish this book. What am I going to do? Will I be a failure if no one reads it or likes it-at all and who does that make me as a PERSON????”

I put inverted quotes around that because I asked all these deep questions to a great friend, a wise and wistful friend, a loyal, loving friend and then when my wail had died down to squeakish moan then waited for her loving reassuring answer that would get me through

but the phone was dead.

now I’m a little more worried.

keep breathing. Keep repeating Most. Toast. Most. Toast. Toast. Toast.
Worried and hungry.

Occupying Wall Street. Yet.

October 13, 2011

that’s because I just finished occupying my kitchen.
And it’s evil.

There’s a TOTAL misuse of marinaded mushroom, and an excessive excess of prosciutto. It’s not even domestic prosciutto but IMPORTED prosciutto. And it was eaten by bourgoise fingers.

Fingers that haven’t had a manicure in a while, but look like maybe, just maybe they could again.

What the hell is happening here?

Why? How? Who would have the kind of greed and immorality to sit down and snarfle up these frivilous yet delicious deli goods meant to be snarfled only at lunch time in prepared salads for which Tupperware which were specifically bought?

Anger. Disillusionment. Impotent Fury.

I shall move away from this occupancy and proceed undaunted.

Instead of not occupying Wall Street and I stumble through to occupy my living room instead where I’m faced with even more discrepencies.

It starts off okay.

One(1) somewhat cracked and filthy out of date Mac book in which to gain and send information to the people? Check

One(1) highly aware uber goldfish named Pedro already occupying his tank (long before it was cool) and one(1) fish follower? (That guy is total poser) Check

One(1) bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon to ease the writing process?…..



No! that is not okay or acceptable. Where are my meaningfully named garden brewed beers, where are the stranger’s lovingly passed water and/ or gnawed on coffee cup specially donated to me by the assistant to the special assistant of Susan Sarandon?

Now I’ll have to drink the entire bottle of wine in order to angrily recycle it. Oh the fury of occupancy!

I’m now stumbling off to occupy my bathroom as opposed to Wall Street. But because of my lack of twitter and facebook skills I find myself alone. Alone! In the bathroom! And we were doing so well. I send a text to myself to send a text about it. This is exactly the kind of thing that could trip us up if we’re not ready for it. Next time I enter my bathroom I expect to see a plethora of determined yet relived people.

Or at least a twitchy determinedly good humored line of people who have yet to be relived.

Finally I intend to occupy my bedroom instead of Wall Street. Once again I’m…well, let’s not say annoyed or angered but rather gently disappointed. And by gentle disappointment I mean I break an ugly but meaningful vase that was given by a relative.

That’s because I care.

What’s the use of occupying my place if I can’t get at least one meaningful liberal yet delightful celebrity in my bed talking about meaning? Aren’t I the 1%? who need to be convinced, preferably by hot nakedness?

Since I know how many of the occupiers will be reading this tonight on their anti-government ipads under their extra heavy sleeping bags (lined by the hands of small Asian children) I have the following phrase for you to shout out and then repeat the next day to one another (oh yes I know how your sound system works) I will shout it out now in my occupied apartment and hopefully you’ll hear it from where you lie on the cold flagstones of Wall Street.


He must answer the call. It is the call of the people. It is his destiny. Right?

All this occupancy is making me sleepy. I’m off to plan further plans about where to occupy. I’m thinking something retro, something that will really shake them up and get things going….


You may ask

‘what does your lack of saturated carbohydrates, sex and the death of one of America’s greatest innovators ever to live have in common?

Oh so you did have to ask huh? Couldn’t trust me. Typical.

It’s a loss, okay? A loss. Three kind of happiness are gone;

1. instant gratification…(fries)
2. delayed (but hopefully not too much delayed because it can be even better that like right, right) gratification …. (work with me here)

3. no gratification. Got it? A dead screen. A DEAD SCREEN.

it was Steve Jobs who made it possible, possible to have meaningful discussions and debates backed by the finest graphics concerning fries and other visionaries choices in choosing fries. If he had done just this much my people would have said

DIANU (which means enough) but

but these conversation might even led to some of these sad yet brilliant nerdles who had previously spoken to each other online about fries now able to meet and maybe even be able have sex in the first place… WITH EACH OTHER.


and then getting together and collaborating (which they do after sex-they call it their ‘after-play)  oh yes collaborating on fry based projects in order to create the newest ”IPET’ or whatever


but then we all want to buy an ipet and we do and we love it and we wonder how we could have lived without it and it’s different new colors which are coming out in November and we line up for days and eventually buy one


but then it breaks and we have to take it and then we have the most overwhelming and beautiful heavenly experience of actually speaking to a bonofide GENIUS.


Steve, how could you leave us?

Now on a more serious note. I know there are plenty more things that Steve Jobs did and was in connection with that had nothing to do with fries. Or getting laid.

but I prefer not to focus on them.
Still too soon

All that’s important is a demonstration. A demonstration that will make the Wall Street Demonstration wish that they could lick our demonstrations manly balls.

so listen up

One(1) faction must rise and
a) grab your house keys
b) put on your dressing gown or old t-shirt or whatever no one’s judging (much)
c)head over the the 24/7 Mac Store on 5th ave near Central Park.  NOTE THE PLACE because you can easily miss it as it’s very subtle

There that faction will stand and sway in line  till finally aided by various geniuses, allowing this group to purchasing anything and everything that Steve Jobs even scratched his brilliant bootooty on? ipads, iphones, ipods, icomps, and everything else starting with ‘i’

THEN we run out of the store and meet our other faction.


They’re the soldiers who have so bravely marched their slippered and bootied footies down to the lower east side to obtain as many Beljum fries as inhumanely possibe in sacks if you will PLUS two sauces of our choosing and to meet their comrades back at the park.
Please take a moment to smell these sauces.

Together these two camps must meet, those of the fries and those of the ‘i’s and after an initial growling and sniffing and swipping introduction. The entire group all say 750,000 of us silently march to the park. Then there is distribution a sharing of information if you will until. One ipads clutched in one hand and a fistful of greasy fries grace the other one, till all can experience that joy of tech and heaven.

Then the entire group should all be lying flat on our backs, the sheer insane amount of our gadretry illuminating the sky and in one great voice (though muffled by alarming amounts of fries) we must all cry out



somewhere very faint with all of the 750,000 holding their breath we can hear him

Hey guys

even the breath freezes, if only Steve deliver his final message, again his voice

If there is one thing…you should know….it is that-

Then Silence. Thanks A T & T Thanks a lot.

At this stage the animalism  and nerdtastic instincts and sheer consumerism and fury and grief  all becomes a rolling swirling roar of  ipads and Vitenames Pineapple Mayo and Pomegranate Chili and pods and Honey Mustard Mayo and head phones Sweet Ketchup and tiny teeny speakers and raw onions and we are and become but a weeping, sticky, fizzing conglomeration, an overlogged underloved generation mourning together for our fallen leader. Weeping and rolling and feeding and logging in and texting and tweeting and bleeting and eating and everything that apple and Steve Jobs meant to you.

I wish you well. I’ll be in my apartment, still not getting laid.

%d bloggers like this: