But does it have tits? (Bill Hicks on pitching the show "Let's Hunt and Kill Billy Ray Cyrus" to executives at ABC)

Pauly D answers the question that was posed by this blog "What would your catchphrase be if you were in your own movie?" It's a great question. I think mine would be "Not much upstairs, but what a staircase." The question fits in with the writing assignment I was going to give my class "Imagine you had the power to rewrite your life. Where would you be right now? What events would you change? What would you leave the same? What long term side effects do you think these changes would have?"

I try not to think of how I would change things if given the chance. Often I think I would probably side with what has already happened, not because of that old adage "better the devil you, than the devil you don't", but because most of my decisions have had some unforeseen positive effects, and I'm not sure if I am willing to risk the ripple effect that would result from "editing" out unpleasant moments. I mean sure, I'd like to change the first kiss I ever had. (It was so awful.) And accept Josh Dandow's invitation to dinner ( I was too stupid to realize he was hitting on me). And leave Duke Nuke'em in September instead of march. But the big decisions, like going to NYU for drama, I wouldn't change, even though they didn't pan out as anticipated. Basically, if I could rewrite my life, I'm not sure how many editorial changes I would really make. I think the one thing I would change is that I would enjoy everything more, and maybe tack on a few extra cosmopolitans here and there.

The Black Saint, in those halcyon days of yore when we used to hang out, was fond of saying "I'm going to put that on my headstone." For me, that's a much easier call. What I want on my headstone is "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

What about you all? Epitaphs? Catchphrases? Movie treatments?
More fun with search tracking

I think I'm going to make a side bar with the week's most amusing searches. Here are this week's. Generally the searches were so out there, I couldn't even come up with witty commentary. I was too distracted by trying to figure out what the hell they were looking for.

japan +crucifix +bunny

ursula dresses delaware

2004 angel in mauritius"hotmail.com"

"brian riley" + new york ( when the hell have I ever mentioned a brian riley?)

Chris Dufresne divorce ( yes it seems I have become the number four search result for divorcing chris dufresnse-who the hell is this guy?)

and the number one bizarre search result of the week:

werewolf sex art erotic with ( I don't want to know. No, I don't.)


And I'm feeling so damn sorry for myself, I can barely breathe...Lucky you, you're here for rock bottom Greg Kinnear as
"the gay neighbor" in As Good As It Gets

OK yesterday when I left work I was in such a dark mood, I actually shook my fist at the sky and said "I renounce G-d." Which probably would have been much more effective, if I haven't done exactly that on many such occassions. The bad buddhist, who was accompanying me-as I tend to borrow his will to catapult me out of the office, said "Ah yes like Job."

"No," I replied," Not like Job. Job never rejected G-d, he simply questioned why G-d was allowing him to suffer. I'm beyond asking questions or even making hint laden remarks. I am rejecting him. I don't care about his rhetoric or reasoning or whatever. He's out. Fired. Call security and watch him clean out his desk."

"OK," the buddhist relented, "I got it."

And this was when things were going, relatively speaking, well.

From here I had to go and get fitted for a bridesmaid gown. Now everything in my closest is a size six or smaller. I feel fat even about that. And the gown that fit me was a SIZE 14! Can someone please explain to me how that is possible? Are the rules of physics altered in bridal gown stores?

Other bad things ensued and so finally I ended up having drinks with shutterbug and his wife. A year into the marriage, they both seem incredibly happy. Damn them both. As we drank, I was hit on by a 60 year old "Jazz chef" and, of course, my good friend the married Israeli who has made hitting on me something of a hobby.I managed to stumble back to my apartment and curl up with my cat, the only creature on the face of the earth for whom I feel any affection.

The only good thing about my day was as I sat on the bus I was hit on by a Jewish heavy metal singer who gave me his cd. So, I always have the tender strains of "I am Jew" to console me in my heartbreak.
And G-d Hates You

I was standing at the copier just now and one teacher was telling another about a class she had as an undergraduate. Apparently it was some kind of Eastern philosophy course, and the prof. was a buddhist who was fond of telling her students, "If you don't do your homework, G-d will hate you." Now, I hope the prof. was joking ( although I got the impression that she wasn't). I have to say invoking divine hatred for failure to do homework, well, it's a bit harsh. But then again, if I could harness the wrath of G-d against my students, I would. ( which would be a bit difficult-seein' as I don't believe in him and all, but, well, for that you know I'd give up bacon AND go to temple-once in a while...maybe...)

But I came back here, and with all the groups claiming G-d hates a variety of peopleincluding fig eaters and bad fan fic authors, I began to wonder if anyone had bought the domain www.godhatesyou.com. My research reveals there is no such site, and I think this is fairly surprising. I guess even slaveringly delusional religious nuts don't want to alienate their fan base. But I was sitting here thinking what an effective insult it is to tell someone G-d hates you. I mean that's way better than the 'my cat hates you' break up cards. "You're lousy in bed, I never liked your singing, I "accidentally" deleted all 240 pages of you Ph.D. thesis, and G-d hates you!"
Overheard


A married couple celebrated their anniversary with their two teenage children last night. I was sitting, unfortunately, close enough to hear the festivities. The husband, an innocuous, white bearded, wire rim framed glasses kind of guy, raised his glass and said, "Happy Anniversity...Anniversary. Now why would I say anniversity?"

The wife immediately responded, "Maybe, dear, because I've taught you so much."
What I should have said

Well since none of you seem to have any response to emotional apathy, I thought I would give you what you have come to expect from me-invective aimed at men. Oh no, not any man in general, my floridian dalliance:

Alright, someone needs reminding about his place in the natural order of things. I'm going to give it to you fast and nasty not because that's the way you like it, but because that is the only way to penetrate the seven layers of titanium steel that surround that tiny thing you like to call a brain.

You are an aging playboy who is in good shape for his age, but you're closer to my mother's age than my father is. You have limited intelligence and even less education. I would be impressed if you could even manage to win a round of Trivial Pursuit. You have a face with "personality" and although you have some limited abilities, I've had better. Much, much better. About the nicest thing which can be said of you is that you have a certain ignorant charm, like a brain damaged puppy.

I, on the other, have a comprehensive education. It is hard to find a topic on which I can't converse and converse with some authority. I'm also beautiful and have an amazing body, which I know how to use every inch of this body in ways that your tiny mind can't even begin to conceive. I could pick up a better man than you before I even leave baggage claim.

You were a momentary distraction. The only thing that seperates you from other men is the fact that they only imagine what it's like to be with me and you absolutely positively know just how good it is. So go on honey, go home and dream. Because that's the only way you'll ever be able to have me again.
And I Felt Nothing

Recently two people in my office have had family emergencies. The head of my department, Bleeding Heart, rushed to Boston when her mother had a heart attack, and her assistant had a distant in-law die. Now my father died when I was 19, and one would think that such an occurence would make me more sensitive and more outgoing with this type of emotional crisis. One would think that.

And one would be wrong.

Perhaps it was because I wasn't very close to my father, perhaps it was because his death was such a long time coming, perhaps it was because he was clinically nuts, but I was relieved when my father died. Many people, including my mother, witnessed the ease with which I dealt with my father's death and thought there was something wrong with me. I, on the other hand, stood fast by my claim that the person I had known as my father died a long time before and that the mourning process for me was long since over. What seemed odd was that my refusal to demonstrate the signs of mourning in public was treated as a pathology itself. It may seem extraordinary hard hearted to some, but when I hear people being sympathetic to the head of my department ( who is well into her late fifties) having to go through this, my response is fairly apathetic. Personally, I think she's lucky that her parents have had such good health up until now.

Now my emotional distance may be the result of the family I was born into. My father was a doctor, and he used to take me into the ER to hang at the nurses station while he did his rounds while I was a little kid. Perhaps then I developed an apathy towards other people in this situation. Or maybe it's simply that I don't feel any bond with Bleeding Heart and therefore by extension don't feel much sympathy when things like this happen to her.

To clarify, when friends have gone through the death of parents (for example my closest friend college and grad school lost his mother), I have been very sympathetic. I am not entirely heartless contrary to popular belief. But when I work with someone, I try to keep emotional distance. This type of event seems to be the kind when people jump over that work wall, but not me. I keep my distance, and certainly others notice it and think, as they did when my father died, that something is "wrong" with my re-action.

And I am not sure that there isn't something wrong with it. All I know is that I don't feel anything about it, and I am not willing to "fake" it. (The response of many of colleagues seems to be operatic and exaggerated. The cooing and hugging and throwing around of cliches.) Also my distance towards her may be because in such a situation I would be uncomfortable with people acting towards me in such an outgoing supportive manner.

I guess it's the new englander in me.