state of mind (similar but different to Empire's)

In 20 years I'll be 50.
And the last 20 years flew by, relatively speaking of course.
Point is: enjoy it while it lasts.

Yike. gtg

#shitmydadsaysabouttheamericasgottalentseasonfinale

-----Original Message-----

From: Chadurday <****@gmail.com>
To: Dadurday <****@aol.com>
Sent: Thu, Sep 15, 2011 11:17 am
Subject: AGT

were you guys pleased with the America's Got Talent result?

 

 

 

---------- Reply ----------
From: Dadurday <****@aol.com>
Date: Thu, Sep 15, 2011 at 4:44 PM
Subject: Re: AGT
To: Chadurday <****@gmail.com>

NO, if I want to hear Frank Sinatra, I will buy some of his old records.  Besides that, I never liked Frank Sinatra's voice.  I was rooting for either Silhouette or Team iLumination.  I thought that they were both very creative and unique.  What say you?  Love, Dad

===================================================

PostScript: My later response would reflect that I don't actually watch the show like he and mom do, so like Paul Rudd post-Bar Mitzvah MC days... I'm Clueless.

Pps Dad still pays $30/month to keep his AOL account going, despite also paying for DSL at the house and not actually needing the ancient dialup service anymore, because he doesn't wanna lose his email address that everyone now has for him and his wonderful jokes and urban legends and virus warning forwards. I then let him know AOL now lets you keep your old email address even if you cancel your account with them (because most of their clientele is dying off) (I didn't tell him that part of course). He then told me he wouldn't want to chance it though.

Same title as that Michael Jackson music video where the faces morph into each at the end

An ex-girlfriend from my college years (Saved by the Bell style) wrote this about me. http://parlourmagazine.com/2010/04/the-second-break-up-are-you-a-victim/

Here's my response.
-------------------------------------


NO GAMES, IT’S SIMPLY ME NOT YOU: A response, a year late and a shekel short
August 26, 2011 | Ben aka The Unresponsive aka Jewfro


So when we last left off, you ended your post with “Whatcha think, should I hold my breath?” Well it’s a damn good thing I didn’t hold mine considering you were an hour late to our long-awaited ‘beer and catch up.’ Was that payback? That’s cool.

For starters, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings Steely D. That surely wasn’t my intention and as you may or may not have figured out by now, the space I created was more about me than you (as it is in most cases). To take this “second break-up” notion into a context outside of our own, when a split occurs the dude’s not trying to be friends with his ex again until he’s at least got his feet back under him - aka another girlfriend or ex-girlfriend or number of regrettable and meaningless hookups under his belt (pun intended). Like Mahogs’ comment so gently put it, “men have a hard time dealing with rejection and break-ups.” She’s right. We’ve got pride. We’ve got ego. Yet for me it seems that I require more than just new experiences with fresh layers of sweet soft skin and counter-brains to go back to being friends (to borrow a phrase from the great philosopher David John Matthews). I can’t speak for all guys, because I’ve got friends to whom this doesn’t apply, but for me it does. I’m a sensitive little monkey, I get it from my mom (that and oodles of Jewish guilt). I cry in movies, I cry at commercials, I feel good when the underdog wins and maybe occasionally cry about it, and I refuse to watch those Sarah McLachlan abandoned pet ads anymore - for reasons already made clear. My point however is more than just acknowledging I’m a royal softy, its that it seems my willingness to “get over it” is akin to a pomodoro timer that has a mind of its own. What can I say, I’m a slow mover just like the pet tortoises I grew up with. I come around eventually - and hopefully its not too late. For us, I’m glad it wasn’t.

Interestingly enough, my track record since our Euromance has me doing more of the same: getting involved with girls I was friends with first and then taking my merry old time post-demise in being ready to rekindle friendships of days gone by. But you know what, that’s the risk we take when we jump in in the first place, hence voiding the warranty. I’m sure the obligatory conversation is had every time, about how this can’t affect the friendship and the others in the circle and yada yada yada…but fuck that nonsense. It will without fail, and that’s the price you pay for getting you some. And as well it should - beats payin for sex with money, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Now to bring it back to us, if my memory serves me correctly, our Anglo courtship ultimately led to a slow fizzle out with us having had the talk but still hooking up out of convenience and familiarity. But then the line in the sand was drawn when you ‘pulled’ the Ghanaian dude at the club on a night we went out together. Tight shit. I knew it was coming, but still it stung. I couldn’t let go as easily as I would’ve liked. Besides, he was proper African and I’m a NY Jew by way of LA. Did you ever consider that perhaps some penile envy seeped into the equation unconsciously? (Although for all you Parlour readers out there, I ain’t ashamed of my Hebrew National. Its surely served its purpose. And don‘t call me Shirley).

So all in all, even though we communicate bi-annually these days, I must say I’m happy we still do. You’re good people Hillbone and you make me laugh and we had a great time together then and I reckon we will for years to come. Every other year that is. And considering we did have that drink after all a year ago, I must say I’m greatly looking forward to our time in 2012. Hopefully the Mayan calendar doesn’t get in our way.

Yours in lactose intolerance, Ben


Ps what’s up with that line “my current boyfriend…who’s
honestly the best guy I’ve ever been able to call mine?” Makes me feel like
kosher chopped liver. Nah that’s cool though, Mazel Tov for him. You deserve
good good love, I hope you’re getting it.

Pps I’m glad you alias’d me as a ‘Ben.’ That was my
grandpa’s name. He was a great man. He also survived a hit to the head with a
hammer during an attempted robbery of his Brooklyn candy store. Crazy story,
but that’s for another time.

Ppps the Jewfro is no longer, but the legacy lives on.


SIDEBAR: In other news, I’d also like to thank you for the expression, “…So good to me.” It first came out of your mouth at the end of a long night celebrating my 20th birthday overseas in those British “The Shining”-esque dorms we called home for nine months. Whilst in the communal kitchen, you were drunkenly shoveling some green lettuce through your grill and in the midst declared, “THIS SALAD IS SO GOOD TO ME RIGHT NOW.” Thank you Hillary aka Steely D. My friends and I, including said songstress, have gotten many the miles out of that phrase and we all have you to thank for it. So cheers and L’Chaim to you.

##

True Tales of the Parental Roomies - Part 1

Scene - post-dinner conversation as mom sifts thru the guide listings on the TV for her favorite primetime shows (Tuesdays during the summer is always a big night for their demographic, or more like them specifically) and notices that Hell's Kitchen will not be on during its regularly scheduled slot next to Master Chef because tonight's M.C. is a special 2 HOUR episode. The reaction goes as follows...

 

Mom (venting): I hate how Master Chef stretches it out so much. I time it now.

Dad (more worked up): Oh and America's Got Talent doesn't stretch it out?! If that guy waits any longer to make the winner announcements... I COULD DIE.

 

[Sidenote: that result would probably bum him out even more so considering his current manifestation is to croak while working at his desk in the office. So no, he doesn't plan to retire.]

Deep Citi Lights

Dear Citi,

I miss you already, only not at all. Twelve years we lasted together? I still can't believe it. Just short of a baker's dozen, bummer. We had a good run though, this I can't deny.

I can remember meeting you when I was just a late teen gettin' jazzed for my roaring twenties. You were there posted up on BruinWalk and I was yet another collegial passerby that took the bait. When I saw that sweet beach chair on display, you caught me staring, handed me a pen and clipboard, and told me to just take it. It was serendipity, only not on the silver screen for once. But then you took me under your wing and showed me how much you cared.

You took me out all the time, paid for all my Hooters meals, bought me my first cruiser bike, and then after Howling at the Moon you'd treat us to late night 7-Eleven. And I'll never forget the time we started another globetrot around earth with a cup of morning joe from Urth Cafe - purefection. We definitely had our good times indeed.

But just like any set of scales, the ups come with the downs. Sometimes you rejected me when I asked for more, but I didn't get mad at you. And other times I was late to dates, and you'd just waive me off like it was no big deal. I will say we did our best to work through the good and the bad together, we were a good team - bound by those gold handcuffs you gifted me early on (thanks again btw, the scars still haven't gone away). But with all that said and done, it's time to move on. I think we'd both agree that we've each grown immensely since, and for the best.

I'm sorry I left last year without saying goodbye, but it hurt too much to even talk about. I was in a bad place. And I appreciate all the diligent followup just to check in on me and make sure I was ok, although I will say five calls a day may have been a wee bit overboard (weekends too? really?). At least you stopped calling my parent's line. I do though sincerely wanna say thank you for your final offer. It was a gift really, and the timing was impeccable. I'm glad we got to end it on good terms.

Citi, you taught me things I never would've known were it not for you, and for that I'll always be indebted to you. I hate you. Goodbye, for good.

-Acct#...2424; SSN...8939

Recurring themes

I love that a tweet of mine which included the words 'college' and 'university' illicited a spambot tweet response with a link where I can find nearby places to get a fake I.D. Spam is taking on a whole new chapter now. That's great. Fortunately I'm no longer short of a good fake ID when in need of one, but there was a time when I did need said identification. I did have a fake ID for my college years, but it was a Maryland driver's license and I lived in California, and the guy was 6 years older than me and 50 pounds heavier and 4 inches taller and had a goatee (which isn't exactly my steez). It worked a few times. Didn't work a couple. But ultimately I didn't chance it too often for fear of rejection. Why am I not surprised that that's where this post just ended.

Sincerely, wa waa waaaaaaa

Savvy vet

The deets:
-a concert and post-party, everything's comp'd
-a 1 hour and 15 minute drive to and from
-2 guys: A Bolivian and a Greek. This means 1 gets to keep partying, and the other has to slow down so he's good to drive
-a coin-flip game at the beginning of the night to determine the above

The Bolivian flips the coin. He calls tails. The quarter lands. Tails up. Who wins? The Bolivian, right? Well apparently not in this game. The Greek proceeds to convince him that because Tails came up, he lost and therefore the Greek gets to keep partying into the night. Huh? There's zero sense in this argument. However that's exactly how the night played out. And the Bolivian just went along with it, kind as can be.

The kicker: the Bolivian was the one who hooked up the tix and post-party in the first place! Those wily Greeks.

I know you feel me (if you're a dude). Or maybe you don't

You walk into an empty one-hitter unisex bathroom and you discover that the seat was left down and doused in yellow pee droplets - as in a torrential downpour but with piss instead of acid rain. There may or may not also be a standalone urinal in there. And if there's not and all you went in there for was to pee (or pish as mom would say), then ordinarily you'd undoubtedly raise the seat with your shoe (or a paper towel or loads of T.P. if you have sandals on like I do 97% of the time) and do your thing. But then this thought strikes you: "What if I waltz outta this nasty boxed room and a lady is standing outside waiting to go next? Then she's gonna think I just did that damage on the seat!" 


I suppose I could just leave the seat up, but that kinda goes against my programming considering I lived with a chick post-college for several years and we shared 1 bathroom. Now you could clean up some other douche-bayg's pissy mess but that's eff'ing gross, or you could just leave said urine on said seat and simply risk walking out and getting a dirty look later on because of some previous assholamillo's dickiness. 


Stuck in a quandary. I'm just gonna stay in here til the bar closes.

Its a new day (just like Sting or Celine would say)

Today I joined the ranks of a new army, an army of adult soldiers who use baby wipes to finish the job. My first purchase was a medium size pack, 42 to be exact. I chose the hard shell plastic case instead of the resealable ziplocky bag because it just seemed a lot cleanlier that way. And isn't that the whole point of this market and purpose. Anyway so far so good. My form can still use some refining, but I just got a hot tip from a fellow wiper friend and I'm greatly looking forward to my next movement. I know people who say once you go flushable-wipe you never go back. I kinda get it now, already. Cheers to new beginnings...

Musings from a new friend. And she's right.

The deets:
-there was a party
-there was a deep-fryer
-there were drinks
-there was a volcano

I made a new friend that night that already knew other new friends of mine, and I met her sister too. When we met however, the evening was already long in the tooth and the volcano had erupted a few times. Here's the followup emails the next week:

ME: Ps I honestly have little recollection of our nightcap dealings. Things started turning brown right around that time. Hope I didn't offer up anything too inane nor insane. And if I did, what a helluva way to kick it off.

HER: Does this mean anything to you, 'fudgesicles are like frozen poop.' If you do remember, then you know my sister very well; and if it doesn't, maybe cut down on the boos because a line like that should never be blacked out.

one small step for Chadurday, one giant leap for Chadurkind

Huge babystep in the right direction put into motion today: no longer do I click on SINGLE PAGE view when reading long multi-page articles online. In finally coming to terms with the realization how that was yet another contributor to the recurring "overwhelming" theme in my life (aka piles of start-stops & open browser tabs) - I hereby now read 1 short page at a time, absorb the small success, and then build on that by clicking thru to the next page. Big doin's over here.


(We ain't movin mountains just yet, but Stonehenge wasn't built in a day)

  

Happy Dance & Coffee Snaps

Would've been nice to know that:
a) my iSight cam was recording, but more importantly
2) I chair-dance as if time stopped in the 80's.

Ps yes I drink with the spoon in the cup and it still drives my mom meshuggeneh (crazy in gentile speak). "You're gonna poke your eye out one of these days!" "No I'm not, I have superman glasses on."
   Pps ever heard of an iron Breausiff?
      Ppps that's my dog Bretholomew Dennen

Baberaham Lincoln

After listening to this Radiolab podcast, now every time I look in the mirror before going out - if I don't lurve what I see I just figure, "Well that's not what people are seeing anyway." And if I do like it then I just assume my mojo will exude itself and override any initial thoughts others might have of the reflection de opposite that they're looking at. Hello guy-who-obviously-cares-a-lil-too-much-what-others-think, nice to meet you.

And courtesy of http://hairparttheory.com/ ...

More on this available from the artist formerly known as America Online: 

http://jobs.aol.com/articles/2009/02/04/how-hair-plays-a-part-in-your-career/

(you're welcome)

Hangin from the golden arches

On Wednesday April 20th, you saw an amazing thing. People hanging out at McD's. You were there for a similar but different mission - munchies. Them however - not the case at all.

First you see at your 3 o'clock (but more like 2:30 because you like to sit on your seat facing out, ready at a moment's notice to bail - there's the non-committal you bearing your skeleton) four Persian guys with years ranging from 20s to 40s. They could've been students, could've been just getting off from work, could've been neither, could've been both. Ne'ertheless, they were smiling, laughing and having a grand ol' time.

Then at 1 o'clock you see the maths tutor and his high school aged pupil. Sitting on the same side of the booth. Just rapping maths quixotic. Kid blows his nose and drops the snotrag atop the table, less than a foot away. You think "gross." [You're a germophobe, but a dirty one. And you love that irony about yourself.]

At One-thirty, the gold starts to rear its head. Four CSUN freshmen sitting across from each other in one booth, and three kids in the adjacent one. They all know each other, but loosely. Maybe live on the same dorm floor? Chick with dyed red hair falling for dude with 'fro who's surfin the net on his laptop whilst conversating. They're sitting directly under the sign: Free Wireless Internet. On the inside of that booth is an apparent metal diehard with long straight hair like Jay (of Silent Bob fame), and he's listening in to the table of 4 next to them - not really participating though, just looking in.

Now you hone in on the table of four: 3 asians and a white. 1 girl and 3 boys. All still in getting-to-know-each-other mode. The white boy with glasses and a beard (pretty full one for a fresher btw) says he's never played that Nintendo DS game so he wants to give it a try. Communication 101: try something new, play along, make nice. Good work kid. Now the girl starts playfully flirting with the boy right right next to her who was just robbed of his Nintendo distraction as they both chow down on their ice cream cones. Game on kid.

Platinum occurs at the table just beyond them, roughly 1:45ish. Earlier when ordering, you saw this babbling foursome doing math outloud over and over again whilst holding crumbled 1 dollar bills and sweaty change. They had coupons. And zits. 9th 10th grade you're guessing. You hear mentions of moms, PE teachers, homeroom and the like. They're bones have grown faster than the rest of them. They're still workin it out, in many a way. They want the deal that will yield them 8 double cheeseburgers. But they soon find out they'll have to split up the order then in order to use both coupons. They oblige, then have to scrounge up an extra dollar they didn't previously take into account. "You owe me later then Bobby." Bobby's cool with that. Bobby also insists that his 2 of the 8 cheezboorgars are plain. Really? 'Oh man he's gotta get over that shit,' you think to yourself. You were that guy. And you don't exactly love that when looking back.
        Now they've arrived at the table at roughly 1:45ish. Trying to balance 5 cheeseburgers on top of each other en route, 3 of them fall to the ground. Salvaged though, the Golden Arches knows how to securely wrap a good cheezboorgar. They've already paired off within their own group. The two lankier ones sit quickly together on their side of the bench, whilst the two squarer one do the same (crunching their rucksacks on the inside of the booth).

Moral of the story: so people do hang out at McDonalds, just like in the commercials? You had no idea.

Journal entry courtesy of 13 year old Chadurday

"Right now I am at the talent show. I am able to be here because I had perfect attendance in the month of May. So far the show has been pretty horrible. The first act was Mr. Tovey jumping on an oversized trampolene. Most of the other acts have been singing acts. I am sitting next to the most nice girl in the wholeee school. I just heard a noise that made me lose hearing in my left ear. Joanne says that after she graduates Middle School, she is moving to Puerto Rico with her boyfriend who lives with her. She wants to marry the guy." 

(written in picture-perfect cursive, blue ink)