Hi there. I’ve decided to take this blog in a new direction. Wedged in between my raves about music and art and life and love, you will now find some details about my personal life. Why? Because the personal is political and politics are as usual and usually I am more coherent than this. (I spent the day mainly watching cartoons and eating 50% off Valentine’s Day candy.)
With that in mind, I’d like to share with the five of you reading this that already know this information, the news that I moved back to Boston from NYC. (Like you all didn’t see that coming.) There are few people that helped make the move possible (not including fam) and I would now like to take the opportunity to thank them personally:
1. My obese co-teacher at the tutoring program I worked at who taught our third-graders that “Doña” in Spanish means “Donna” in English (it doesn’t) and “understandable” is a compound word (it isn’t). Thank you for giving me the opportunity to work in a classroom that was filled with the aroma of fried pork skins at least once a week. It was a truly a pleasure to watch you read out loud to our class, mispronouncing every seventh word while little bits of greasy egg roll flew out of your mouth and hit the children on their precious little heads. I honestly pray for their future. As for you, you’re a lost cause. I thought about getting a teaching degree just to come back to your school and get your ass fired.
2. Post-grad at the record label I worked at who didn’t know who Depeche Mode was. For a second I thought you were pulling some sick prank on me. When you said that they “totally ripped off the Faint (a band 10+ their junior) I knew you were for real. I walked out on your pathetic excuse for a label the next day. Be sure to thank your little PR bitch for sending me that email that called what I did “unprofesional”. Hey guys, profeSSional people use spell check. You might want to show her how to do that before heading out to that killer show tonight at Pianos.
3. All employees of that job in the Bronx that asked for my salary requirements, hired me, and then cut off all contact with me and stopped retuning my calls. I quit my other job for your organization, you know. I started looking for apartments near your office. I completely rearranged my life. You never called me back, you never returned my messages or emails. You were the last straw for me. I started planning my move the next week.
4. Dude I dated #1. You were 30 and you hated to read things without pictures, you threw plates and silverware in the trash instead of washing them and you had problems conjugating the verb “to lie” in your emails to me. For a weekend trip you wanted to go away to (drum roll, please) Six Flags Great Adventure. Hi, you’re 30? I started dating you because you *seemed* to pull off the “neo-hippie artist who listens to intelligent hip-hop” thing so well and you always had such funky, at times slightly leftist, t-shirts. Oh, and um, you were really hot. Shortly after the getting of on, I learned that your main goal in life was to photograph skinny white bitches in slinky dresses. Period, end of sentence, nothing else. Soon I noticed that my own funky shirts were missing, while you were continuously getting new ones and I put two and two together. Well, best of luck to you with your meaningful aspirations of “getting crazy paid and living on an island or some shit.” A warning to any girls out there reading this: Now he sports glasses (mine) too to add to his look.
5.Second dude I dated. You were closest (actually only) Brooklyn transplant I got to know. For some reason beyond me I actually had hope for you. Maybe because after Bachelor #1 you appeared to be so intelligent. You read books! And liked it! Then I learned you had a band. And a problem taking criticism. And racist tendencies. That time you told me on the phone that you “hated all Dominicans” was a real turn-on. Brooklyn must be so proud to have you. I hope your skinny white ass gets shot. Then you can write a song about it.
Um, wow. Sorry to unload all that onto you guys. I hope I didn’t scare you off. Don’t worry, future entries aren’t going to be so angsty.
(Actually, no promises. I think angst is my strong suit. Probably my only suit.)
P.S. An ugli fruit to the person who can correctly tell me what the title of this entry is referencing.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
for real. nice. i knew there was something lacking in the not kvetching about ones life in a blog. for godsakes, we're not Washington Insiders with the latest dirt on Ariana Huffington's preference for lace thongs. excellent. and my god, very sitcom-like boys you saw. you are Seinfeld, i have opined. the Faint are actually 18 years Depeche Mode's junior and that is very disgusting on Narnack's part. when they used the Ethiopian images to represent the band for the Fall's new record, it really spoke to their character. and when i saw the title of your post for a second i thought i was looking at my own blog. ADF! tho i gotta say they are really not good these days. really.
Post a Comment