"We Want Fair Trade!…No More Free Trade!"

As I was drinking my coffee and smoking my cigarette outside my job today I suddenly realized that I was witnessing history in the making. A sea of people swarmed the streets of the Financial District in New York protesting against Wall Street, which I guess means that in a way they were protesting against me as well.
...All in all, the crowd of 11 people was very frightening, and the effect they had on the various Wall Street people surrounding me was monumental...I can see now that a change on how things work down here in Wall Street is imminent and unavoidable...(see below)

The Ideal Greek Body

No it does not look like the above picture. In fact, after Greek women reach their 30’s their bodies are meant to deteriorate rapidly, very, very rapidly-like mine is doing now. You see, we do not eat oatmeal for breakfast, no, our breakfast consists of large amounts of nicotine and caffeine and if we find that these two things are not enough, we will choose to eat a bacon sandwich for example- but never, I repeat, never oatmeal or fruits-or egg white sandwiches. If you ever happen to throw away the yolk of an egg in front of a Greek they will most probably pass out from the shock of what they had witnessed. So now that everything in my body is overcome by the physics of gravity, I have decided- and mind you that I am the first generation of women to ever do this in my family- to go to the gym. What is this experience like for my vegetarian gym partner that accompanies me on a daily basis? It is purgatory-its one of the circles of hell that Dante kept a secret. You see, the entire hour of us exercising consists of him delegating what I should do and me repeating one question “WHY? WHYYYYYYYYYY DO I HAVE TO DO THIS?” So today after a week of asking this question to my gym partner, I woke up in the morning at 6 am and addressed that same question to myself. And there, as I was in my gym clothes standing in front of my bed, I crawled back in it, with my gym clothes still on and slept for another 2 hours.

"When I grow up I want to be..."

When I was 14 years of age, my father, who looks like he came right out of a Tennessee Williams play, took me on a stroll and sat down with me in a small café by a fine-looking lake that surrounded the city we then lived in. As I was drinking my orange soda he looked at me straight in the eyes and asked me the following question: “Norma, what is your dream, everyone has a dream, everyone must have a dream! So I ask you what is your dream?” So, being 14 and despite my ignorance, my instinct told me that this was a question that had to be answered with the utmost seriousness “An actress dad. I have decided that I will be an actress.” “Good Norma, I have forgotten to tell you that does not count as a dream”, he then proceeded to tell me. “Alright then” I answered him “I will be the first person in my country to open the most extraordinary coffee shop-it will be a coffee shop where people will be allowed to smoke marijuana. And because I have figured out that even by that time people will still be ashamed of being seen entering a coffee shop like that, I will have secret doors and tunnels where people could come in and out of without being seen. But! But! What will make my coffee shop SUPER special is that it will have more than 30 rooms, all with different designs in it. For example, there will be a jungle room, a playground room for adults, a modern art room, a cave room and all kinds of rooms and all of them private, so people can go sit in them with their friends and smoke their marijuana. On top of all this, every room will have it’s own private waitress, and all the waitresses will sign confidentiality agreements so if a famous person comes in they wont tell anyone. I think it’s a good business idea, but we might need a lot of money in order to succeed. Do you think by then marijuana will be legalized?” I don’t remember much else from that day other than my father informing me that perhaps being an actress might count as a dream after all.

RandomThoughts During a Serious Office Meeting

"...I want a bed so huge Paul Banyan could do cart wheels on it even though he's a giant. The bed will be so enormous a whole forest could grow on it and Paul Banyan can take his Blue Ox with him for long walks because my bed is so damn gargantuan that it would be possible for a giant and his ox to do exactly that...my snores...my snores will be so thunderous and so deafening that it’ll be like Thor the Viking God of thunder rode over my bed with his mighty chariot and unleashed all his fury onto it..."

...Vegas

Flash Fiction Story #5 -The Various Numerical Assesments of Hans and Artur

Perhaps if a passerby happened to glimpse through the window of the house that stood in the far end of the walled enclave that was Fuggerei, he would think that the two figures sitting by the kitchen table with their heads hunched over it in complete absorption were doing nothing else but praying for the soul of Jacob Fugger the Rich and his honored family members. This of course was the most straightforward assumption one would make, especially in Fuggerei. The fortunate inhabitants of this citadel had no other obligation other than to pray three times a day for the souls of the Fugger family and in exchange their rent was kept to only one Rheinischer Gulden per year, a ludicrous amount no matter what century one lived in.
Artur Ebestark and Hans Petersen did of course nothing of the sort. In their forty three years of friendship they had agreed to only one thing and that was that there was nothing more morally depraved than to be so selective in ones prayers. According to them a simple heartfelt thank you when the gates of Fuggerei had first opened for them had sufficed. Sitting by the old wooden kitchen table they each held a large rolled up cigarette that rested between their now aged fingers. Their hair was as white as the snow that covered the narrow streets outside their house. With their heads hunched over the table they were absorbed in concluding what was for them a sort of numerical assessment of their lives. Amongst the many papers that laid on the kitchen table one could find for example the number of afternoon teas the two friends had shared throughout their lives, which was fourteen thousand nine hundred and thirty four teas each, a number that seemed even larger when written out in words instead of numbers. There was as well an estimation of personal favors they had granted to each other. Out of the total four hundred and eighty three favors they were happy to find that one hundred and ninety six were granted by Artur, a surprisingly balanced number given his difficult character. And so on this day their various estimations, three hundred and sixty two to be exact, had concluded and the papers were being carefully organized by the two.
In the lives of these two friends there was only one shared realization that had astonished both and that was that hey had each reached contentment. Perhaps it was their desire to unravel this rather unusual sentiment that had led them to all their various estimations. Some days after, they found Hans Petersen and Artur Ebestark laying opposite each other on the kitchen floor with a bullet in each of their hearts and a gun by each of their spread out hands. On the kitchen table by the stack of neatly organized papers they found a paper that listed the number of ammunition each had used in their lives, two in total, one by Hans and one by Artur, a surprisingly balanced number given his difficult character the neighbors thought.

Before I leave for Vegas tomorrow I would like to say the following...

-

1) That my skirt split open today, right in the middle of where my behind is, revealing the dreadful granny panties I chose to wear this morning. I realized this after walking around the office like that for more than an hour.

2) That everything that could go wrong today in terms of work, did go wrong, thus my boss threatened to fire me, and also threatened to punish me by sending me to work in the reception area of our new office which is the equivalent of being exiled, just like they do to dictators.

3) That whenever I fuck up royally, which is a lot, it goes unnoticed. Whenever I actually do a good job I get punished.

4) That because of all this, I was forced to go shopping in Century 21 while holding my skirt together with my one hand and my cell phone in the other hand, frantically dialing my aunts phone number so I can break into tears in front of hundreds of tourists who were witnessing the meltdown while shopping for I Love New York t-shirts.

5) That in light of the recent events I hope our plane doesnt crash tomorrow

The many different ways an airplane could crash...

As I was lying in bed flipping through the channels the other night Dita called me to talk about our Vegas trip. What did I immediately do? I put my TV on mute and put my remote control down so I can focus on our discussion. And there, as Dita was going on about one thing or the other, my eyes wondered towards the TV screen and I saw a wonderful program in 3D animation showing me the many different ways an airplane could crash. The scene that has particularly stuck in my mind is the one where the roof of a plane becomes detached mid-flight and dozens of 3D animation characters are shown sitting in their seats with their belts still on and no roof over their heads. Yes a wonderful program designed for people like me, hypochondriac neurotics who fear death in any shape or form and are known to have massive panic attacks that manifest themselves in crying marathons as they're boarding an airplane.

Flash Fiction Story #4-The Wall in Ostrovany

For the Roma Gypsies in Ostrovany, Slovakia
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/03/world/europe/03roma.html

Nicolai listened to his neighbors bickering about the Gypsies stealing their vegetables and their fruits. ‘A wall! We must build a wall! My tomatoes are not for the Gypsies to steal and eat!’ screamed the old man. ‘Yes a wall!’ screamed the strong woman while she tightened the red scarf around her round head ‘My oranges, my beautiful oranges are all gone now, and what shall I offer to my visitors when they enter my house?’. ‘Yes, a wall! A wall!’ were the words that were coming out of their maws, and Nicolai stood up and walked out of the small brick church knowing that their wicked hands would soon build this wall.
He stood now in his garden looking at all the trees he had planted for the Gypsy girl and could not understand the fury of his neighbors. He had never spoken to the girl, and had never shown his face to her, but sometimes he would wake up before the sun would rise in order to see her slip quietly into his garden so she can steal the apples and oranges from his trees.
The girl had caught Nicolai looking at her many times through his window but she had never spoken to him. She only knew how to sing so she would sometimes sit under his trees and would sing softly for that was her only way to thank him.
Nicolai understood that soon he would no longer be able to see his friend and was sad because of this. For days he could not eat and he stopped waiting for the girl, for tears would fall from his eyes to easily now. One day the strong woman with the red scarf around her round head knocked and knocked on Nicolai’s door for she had some of her oranges to give him, but as she looked around she understood that the house was empty and abandoned now. None of Nicolai’s neighbors knew what had become of him.
Many years had passed and during a beautiful spring, behind the wall where all the Gypsies lived, hundreds of trees had grown full bloom bearing all kinds of fruits. Neither side of the wall never understood how that had happened. It is said though that the Gypsy girl would sometimes see a man slip into her garden and steal the fruit from her trees. Although she would never speak to him or show her face to him, she would sometimes sit by her window and listen to the man sing while he would sit under her trees.

Herculean acts during a drunken night...

Yesterday, I exited a bar after having consumed many, many sake bombs. Do I say this with pride? No. There is no pride involved when one spends an entire night trying to puke everything but their brains out. As I entered the taxi, I glimpsed at the driver and I saw an expression of horror on his face. He knew. He just knew, and I just knew that nothing good can come of this ride and because of this, for the next half an hour, there was a twisted sense of camaraderie between the two of us. As he was driving the following dialogue took place:

Driver: You ok? You feeling ok? Don’t throw up in the taxi, ok?! Here is a bag-here take it, if you want to throw up, just do it in there-ok?!

Norma: ….ok…I don’t think I’m gonna make it…

Driver: Where are you from?

Norma: Greece, I’m from Greece…oh my God… I wanna puke my life out…

Driver: Ohhhhhhhhhhh Greece! Hercules was from Greece, no?

Norma: …Hercules? Are we actually talking about Hercules?

Driver: He was braaaaaave! You are braaaaave too! You are not going to throw up! Come on! Be like Hercules!

Norma: I really don’t feel like Hercules right at this moment…can we please stop the car..oh God my stomach…

Driver: No, no, no, no, no ,no! You’re gonna make it I tell you! Don’t throw up, keep it in. Look I’m going to go even faster—we’re almost there!

And what happened? We made it. I kept it in.I was as brave as Hercules. And now I will make the following statement:
This was, and will be my one and only entirely selfless, noble, self-sacrificing act in my whole entire life. I say this now and mean it, that just because it involved huge amounts of alcohol, a demented taxi driver, and lots of talk of throwing up it does not in any way take anything away from it.

Flash Fiction Story #3-The Man from Hong Kong

"Behold, I have a Herculean chore.
How shall I manage to compose a theme?"

E.E Cummings


The two new lovers sat on the small doorstep of their small house in the old Brooklyn neighborhood. Quietly they watched the man from Hong Kong walk down their neighborhood carrying a colossal umbrella, and as he was walking by them they heard him humming ‘...Oh Susanna, don’t you cry for me….I come from Alabama with my banjo on my knee….’ .We do not know this mans name, but with a white T-shirt and a pair of light blue jeans -loose fitting and short -and a cigarette in his mouth, the girl baptized him O’Hara for reasons unknown to the boy.
We follow this O’ Hara down the street –He passes Joes pizza place, otherwise known as the place of the ‘felonious cocksucker with the intent to swallow’, he passes the two new lovers who are frightened of love, say’s hello to two old lovers, and glances at the Italian soccer players cursing at each other on the wet field. Under that colossal umbrella of his, he must have thought the day to be fine-looking, with the rain making all that brick and cement shimmer a little.
Tossing his cigarette and humming the last lyrics of his song, he decides to go up the narrow stairs of a friend’s house. We will baptize this friend Neruda. Neruda’s stomach was in charge of greeting all the guests, as it was always there first to welcome them in. Swinging his cane back and forth towards and away from his stomach, he contemplated the importance of punctuality when it came to a man’s death and was grateful when he saw O’Hara emerge out of that dim, narrow staircase on time. He invited him in, and offered him some tea, and laid before him three guns from which he could choose from. O’Hara chose the third one, and he must have thought it to be fine looking, with the sun making all that steel and wood shimmer a little. Neruda thanked him for choosing such a fine looking gun and took it amongst his plump fingers, pointed it amongst O’Hara’s eyes, and slowly pulled the trigger. Thinking of Alabama and how Susanna must have looked, and how her sugary tears must have tasted, O’Hara died with a smile.

"Alter Ipse Amicus" -A Friend is Another Self...(The Scatological Studies of My Best Mate)

On March 30th, 2010 while I was studying for my continuing education test during work hours, while I wanted to bash my own head against all of the walls that were surrounding me, I received the following message from my best mate:

4:09 pm
“I had cream of spinach and now am taking quite the mean dump”

Let the above be recorded in history, may it survive forever.

Flash Fiction Story #2-Death By Boredome

In this small room sat a man with wild grey hair and green eyes that rarely blinked and almost always stared into the blank space. When he would shut his eyes he would squeeze both of them tightly for 2-3 seconds and then they would suddenly both open as if an electrical current had just passed through them. His metal desk faced a small dusted window about the size of his head, and we must note here that this man did not particularly have a very big head. The dust on this window had been accumulating for more than 17 years. Perhaps if the window could speak it would have provided us with an explanation of why it stopped being a window and looked more and more like a piece of the grey walls surrounding it.
This man who went by the name of Thelonious Nile had won the lottery at the age of 28. Knowing that his coworkers would laugh if he did not quit his job as a clerk right there and then, and thinking that he did not have much choice in the matter, he left his job the very next day. Not having any specific dreams or aspirations, a friend or a lover to care for, Thelonious took all of his prize money and bought an office that very same day in a high rise building in the middle of Manhattan.
The office seemed to come with everything but a purpose, so Thelonious decided that until he would come up with a plan he would have to preoccupy himself with something else. Being accustomed from his previous job to order copy paper, and blue ballpoint pens on a weekly basis he picked up the phone and ordered ten boxes of copy paper along with ten boxes of blue ball point pens. When the supplies arrived, he opened the very first box of copy paper and laid a stack of fifty clean, white, blank papers on his desk. He also took a pen out of one of the boxes and sat himself down and his glance ricocheted from the paper under his palms to the window facing his desk. He closed his eyes for 2-3 seconds and suddenly opened them both as if an electrical current had passed through them. He grasped the pen even tighter and decisively wrote down the number 1 and than the number 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and went on writing the numbers in ascending order till the fifty clean white and blank papers were no longer clean, white and blank. It was well past 5 o’clock when he had finished but he thought that since he was self employed, and he was the boss of this office as well as the owner of it, the long hours of work did not really bother him.
17 years later they found Thelonious Niles lifeless body in the chair in an office of a high rise building in Manhattan. The office just had boxes and boxes of papers with numbers written on them. In front of him was also a piece of paper with the number 315,619,200 followed by 315,619,201 315,619,202 with the last number written on that page being 315,619,238. His green eyes were wide open facing something that must have been a window at one time.

The Sound of Chewing

The Achilles heel of my mother’s side of the family…it’s kryptonite, the one chink in it’s armor, is nothing else but the sound of chewing. Go and sit next to my aunt and bite into an apple and you will see a very terrifying and alarming transformation. Her eyebrows will suddenly rise, her eyes will widen and they will look as if they are ready to pop out of her eye sockets, her mouth will clench, and all this to such an extent, that you will consider it to be one of the most nerve racking spectacles that you have ever had to witness. It used to be a mystery to me, when people suddenly would stop attending our Christmas or Thanksgiving dinners, and up until a couple years ago I thought that they must have not liked our food or the way we had set it up. It never entered my mind that we could have possibly stopped inviting them over because they had made the mistake of chewing sunflowers seeds while my aunt was 3 feet away.
My mother is a different story, she will simply get up as if insulted and walk away from anyone that accidentally slurps the soup, or will smack their lips as a sign of some kind of satisfaction regarding the food they were served. This apparently will cause an even greater confusion to our guest, when in the middle of a conversation my mother will leave them hanging as if they were a complete stranger.
So, as I grew older, I began to see early signs of this mental instability developing in me as well. For example there will be times when Shoshanna will be chewing on her bubble gum and I will turn to her and say “You have to spit that out now” at which point the gum will literally come flying out of her mouth and into the garbage can that stands next to her. Other times I will be sitting next to Dita, and I will be the one chewing on potato chips, and I will suddenly turn to ask her in a very urgent manner “Can you hear that, can you hear me chewing on the potato chips?” Of course now I try to battle this horrific ailment as best as I can. Lately for example, when I hear someone chewing on a gum, I talk to my self and try to convince my self that everything is alright, that the sound of someone smacking their gum is a good thing, someone is enjoying themselves, so I should be happy for them, that the world is a great place because of bubble gums, and sunflower seeds, and green and red apples and delicious soups, and that it would really be a sad world if it was completely devoid of the sounds that all these delicious things make. This lasts for a minute or two at which point in time I will most probably get up from my seat and distance my self as far as possible from that person and their bubble gum.

The Way the Cookie Crumbled

You know that kind of week where by the end of it you look into the mirror and realize you have a whole new stack of white hair added on you as an extra bonus? Well yes, it was a week like that.
After our building caught on fire on Sunday, after setting up an entire office within 2 days, 16 hour work shifts, setting up the new office in a construction site, booking invoices while sitting on a box with construction workers installing wires above my head, sticking my head into a garbage can so I can throw up in it on St. Patty’s day, tripping on wires and falling on my face several times, finding out that while we were moving stuff out from the old building we might have also been inhaling asbestos, having several anxiety attacks in the ladies bathroom trying to keep my self from breaking into tears in front of all my coworkers, witnessing the hysterical fits of Shosanna concerning her uterus and the dangers of inhaling asbestos, well after a week like that…my aunt finds my hidden pack of cigarettes. You might think that the universe, while it’s arranging and coordinating this fiasco of a life that I have this week would have spared me that. No in fact it didn’t. Because if it had, I would not have woken up to my aunt standing by my bed, having to listen to her deliver a 30 minute lecture on the dangers of smoking and addiction

We'd like some cables please...

Absolutely simple request. Never mind that Shosanna and I are on the 3 floor of a J& R facing a wall of 50 different kinds of cables. It’s like going to CVS and asking for medicine…no we don’t know exactly what kind of medicine, just hand us some kind of medicine, any kind will do. The man… this poor salesman. If I would have walked up to him and smashed a drum on each side of his head he would have looked less flabbergasted. You know how I know this? By the first question he asked us. He didn’t ask “What kind of cables?” for example. No. The man hit us with the most appropriate question imaginable. The man asked “Who sent you here?” as in “Who wants to fuck my life to such an extent that he would send both of you over here… at the same time… to shop together for hardware?” . Then as I look over to Shosanna she has an air about her, an air of pride and confidence, because lo and behold she informs the salesman that she is in possession of a piece of paper that contains all the necessary information that will make his life easier. A shopping list, the girl had a shopping list which apparently got swallowed by the black hole disguised as the bag she held in her hands. So after desperately looking for a piece of paper for about 20 minutes we failed to find it but came up with another brilliant idea. We can use our memory. Yes, just our memory will be enough. Our mouths started forming words like ethernet, strips, cords, words unfamiliar two us, making us look more and more retarded as the seconds would go by. This was failing. In fact for the next two hours, two hours of my life spent in J&R mind you, everything was failing. Even when we asked him to kind of wing it, just wing it, that failed too, the man simply refused to do that.I was thinking to myself how many other things I would rather do. I would rather sell my body in exchange for a dollar value McDonalds meal for example, maybe even swallow razors or torch my self while watching repeats of Little House on the Prairie.The man…this poor salesman. I knelt down on the floor for the first time in my life, I knelt down on a J&R floor and I saw tears come out of my eyes, tears caused by an uncontrollable laughter. What was going on here? What was happening? Who in their right mind would send us here? How much crack do my bosses take and how often? All these questions were racing through my brain in an uncontrollable speed. And that was it.

21st Century Telegram

Today, since it is Sunday, I did something especially moronic. I left my cell phone turned off till 4pm, at which point in time, my brain finally warmed up, and it’s stone age wheels started turning, and I figured that since I do actually have a phone, I should turn it on and see what the Lord and his marvelously sick sense of humor had in store for me on this magnificent Sunday afternoon in the greatest of all Islands. So as I turned it on, I stared at it for a few moments and heard the hypnotizing sound of a message alert. And there it was, in all its glory…“Office building was on fire, come early tomorrow.”
I don’t know how many people have ever received a message the likes of this one, and I really don’t know how a normal, logical person would react to a message like this, as I have enough clarity of mind to admit to being highly illogical, and definitely abnormal. After breaking into a cold sweat, I started dialing my friends number, and after letting it ring a dozen times with no answer, my brain, right there and then, collapsed. You see, I remembered the heater that is under my desk, and I remembered how I never remember to shut this heater off. In addition to this, I also pictured the piles of papers on my desk and under my desk, and my brain kept on playing this one image, over and over again: One of my papers being too close to the heater, and it slowly catching fire, and the fire spreading quickly, and the whole office being destroyed by the fire, and all my coworkers and my boss standing outside, looking at the entire building, their entire life and work, slowly and painfully go up and smoke. The torment of what my brain was doing to me this Sunday afternoon did not stop there though. No, after imagining all this, I pictured my boss and my coworkers looking around them, and realizing that I was missing from this horrific spectacle, and I pictured them remembering me, and my heater, and my supreme idiocy, and after piecing it all together, I imagined my boss turning to all my coworkers, with the ashes of all their work falling like little snow flakes on them, and saying “Where is Norma?”
When I finally received a phone call from my friend, I was leaning on one of the walls of my house, with both my hands clutching my head in desperation. My friend explained that not only was our office fine, but that the fire began in the basement of our building and the only thing that it had affected was the power in it. And that was it. For some reason my brain right there and then made a quick turn, and suddenly I thought of all the people that would receive various telegrams back in the 1800's, and the utter confusion, and the incredible anxiety they must have felt when they would read " Uncle Ed is shot. Come right away" or "Our cattle has disappeared. Where are you?" or " I am angry. We will talk later." And so on and so on.

My Unbearable Burden of Futile Ideas

This is a short revision or small note to the below blog post. It might be fun and interesting to express business ideas or opinions but I have come to appreciate dialogue and conversation regarding any business opinions or business ideas. It is important not be reckless about money. It gives a chance for clarification and lessens the chance of misunderstanding. It also acknowledges the fact that I am not a genius and most probably you are not one either. We can not account for everything. As a just in case, any idea or opinion going forward (from 12/16/17)  will not be considered as a blessing (in case anyone misunderstood the self sarcastic comment in the below post). Be aware of any business opinion/idea/criticism, (going forward from 12/16/17) like the disposable motel sheets below :)  that isn't accompanied by a disclaimer by me. It is just an effort towards more reason and progress for anything expressed in the future and just being aware that the internet and technology of things can create a lot of misunderstandings. Anything up until now (12/16/17) was and is free to use of course. The past is the past.

I have always had a hard time stopping my brain coming up with ideas that are entirely futile and ineffectual to me, and to the whole world for that matter. This has been going on ever since I can remember, and aside from it being mildly entertaining,it is,as a matter of fact, an unbearable burden. I suppose one could easily argue that a disorder involving a relentless rush of useless ideas does not really disrupt a life that is many ways useless, but imagine a day in my life where as I sit at my desk during work, the idea of creating a multi-flavored packed dental floss suddenly pops up, and not only does it pop up but it stays there lingering, for about an hour or two, until my brain can complete the task of thinking through all the logistics of creating this multi-flavored packed dental floss.This involves interrupting the otherwise exciting and fulfilling task of creating a needed excel spreadsheet for one of our many customers, and begin googling pattens of dental floss, manufacturers of dental floss, distributors of dental floss, and finally marketing agencies that would make my dental floss famous. But the tragedy of the situation lies in the fact that after my brain has spent hours thinking and laboring for this brilliantly useless idea, it will suddenly stop there and disappear as suddenly as it appeared. Apparently God has given me this ingenious talent but has forsaken the need for things such as, I don't know, I think the word motivation pops up in my head. So there might be people out there sitting at their desks trying desperately to get in touch with their entrepreneurial spirit or dreaming of a self starting career that will involve millions of dollars or utter and complete failure and bankruptcy. So this is for these hypothetical masses of people that can’t seem to come up with idiotic, reckless ideas of their own. I’ll just post one more now and bless you with the others later.

A) Disposable Soft Sheets for Motel Beds .
I don’t know how many people are out there that still go to seedy motels to have sex in but imagine this: Your walking into a motel that most probably reeks of leftover bodily fluids from people that you would most probably would only run into at a 7/11, in the middle of a trucker stop, somewhere in a God forsaken town in the the middle of nowhere. You go to check in and suddenly your male or female mate taps you on the shoulder and says, “Hey look, it’s a disposable soft cover sheet for the beautiful motel bed and it only costs 4 dollars! I don’t know, you think we should get it and save ourselves from rolling on sheets that could possibly give me crabs, you think we could do that?"

'Au Revoir,Shosanna!'

My friend M.M, aka Shosanna: The only Jewish girl that would let me quote a movie character that hunted Jews for a living, over and over again, during a boring Monday morning at work. Sitting next to each other every day, we sometimes begin our mornings by talking about our plans of breaking free from Corporate America, although we could also easily have an intellectual conversation about Josh Brolin, his body, and his talent for licking armpits without grossing women out in movies like “Flirting with Disaster.” Aside from this we sometimes find time to work. This has been an achievement that took an incredible amount of time and effort on our side. For us, work usually arrives after I suddenly remember that we actually work in an office, after which I will proceed to have a meltdown about some deadline or the other, then go in the backroom and yell about our complete lack of work ethics. Shosanna will then proceed to calm me down, then calm herself down, and then as a final stroke of genius she will look at me dead in the eye, and with complete confidence she will utter the following words: ‘Norma, I want you to know that I have everything under control.’ Today is one of those days for example. I will now post this blog entry, will politely ask Shosanna to read it- because aside from her there are only two other people in this world that actually follow this blog- and I will proceed to have a nervous breakdown about one of the many deadlines that have been pushed aside by some of our higher callings in life, such as talking, writing, and daydreaming.

Jean-Claude and his mighty Starburst weapon

What to do in Staten Island in the late hours of a weekday aside from watching The Butcher? Follow the adventures of Jean Claude Van Damme’s mighty weapon that helped him fight the bad guys in Cyborg. I mean really just follow the weapon though, because whoever designed this futuristic bicycle pump is one hell of a guy and I pay my respects to him. There is no sarcasm in what I just said. It takes a lot of guts to put a contraption like that together and try to convince an audience that it can shoot out something other than orange flavored Starburst's. In fact it is the only weapon that made me crave orange flavored Starburst's, ever.