Well said Stephen Fry!
Well said Stephen Fry!
For the past week, I’ve had Muppet on the brains. I decided to take a little trip down memory lane and look up some clips from old Sesame Street episodes. Man, it’s unbelievable how it’s been years since I’ve heard some of these, but just in the first few chords, sense memory takes over and I find myself mouthing ALL THE WORDS to some of these songs.
They’re pretty ingenious, incorporating what was relevant in the music industry during that time, parodying Bruce Springsteen to Billy Idol. So for Manic Music Mondays, I present to you some of the raddest Sesame Street music videos ever made:
9:30 am: Start my walk from Crown Heights to Prospect Park. On google maps, it looks like it’s a couple of blocks away.
10:15 am: Arrive at Prospect Park station 45 minutes later. NY blocks are a lot longer than SF blocks. Even more so when it’s 20 degrees out and I can no longer feel my face.
10:15-12 pm: Morgan and I train into the city and get off near Madison Square Park. Sarah has said nothing but great things about Shake Shack. “Is that it?” Morgan says. “It’s outside.” We are freezing. We walk into Eataly and get mochas. We talk about friend maintenance and how much harder it is than we ever thought it would be. Friendship is like that other “-ship”, it’s just a relation to another person that needs to be taken care of and tended to. But we often let them fall to the wayside and get careless with them. We think of all the misbegotten friend/relation-ships we’ve had and I hold Morgan’s arm a little tighter when we walk out to meet Sarah.
12-1:30 pm: We nixed the Shake Shack and opt for in-door burgers at some place called Schnippet? Schnippers? We eat and take selfies. Sarah is especially good at this since she’s getting her masters in digital photography. “You must’ve tested out of Selfies 101 because you’re at like intermediate/advance levels,” I tell her. Meanwhile, I need a remedial course because this is what my selfies turn out looking like:
2 pm: After walking for about 3 blocks, we decide that we’re cold again and want to get something to drink. We talk about how all New York restaurants have a poster up on how to perform the heimlich maneuver on someone who may be choking. Morgan says “My Dad had to give me the heimlich twice… both times because of steak.” “Becausesteak” becomes an overnight hashtag sensation.
2:30-3:45 pm: We say goodbye to Sarah as she leaves for class and I wonder if it will be another two years before I see her again. Morgan and I walk The Highline in Chelsea (which he keeps calling The Highland like he’s in Scotland or something). I talk about masturbation as an addiction, he talks about his love of decisive women. I don’t know what to do next.
3:45-4:45 pm: A goodbye train trip with Morgan where we talk about dead family members. Fun.
4:45-5 pm: I frantically try to figure out how I’m going to get to the airport, arrange for my pick up from SFO and pack everything in 15 minutes. I left my orange pen and my loofah at the apartment =(
7 pm: So long, New York! #Becausesteak
9:30 am: Ahmed calls and asks “God, did I wake you?” Apparently in the mornings I sound like Patty and/or Selma from the Simpsons.
10 am-11:15: So, Easy Like Sunday Morning by the Commodores was not written about a Sunday morning commute to Red Hook. There are no trains that get there, only buses.
11-3: Spend the day with Carlos, Ahmed and Peanut. We eat at Home-made, where they make seriously, the BEST breakfast potatoes I’ve ever had (the secret is dijon mustard). Carlos shakes a lot of hands, like he’s still running for class president, but this time people actually give a shit. I’m scared of saying anything offensive or doing anything that will get the councilman in trouble while we are on our lovely walk. But I can’t resist posing like this when given the opportunity:
5 pm: I get back to Crown Heights and ride into the city with Anil, who is heading to the airport. We sing Careless Whisper by George Michaels. I sing the part of the saxophone.
6 pm: At the cafe I’m recharging my phone at, the boy that makes my coffee is making conversation with me about what I’ve done that day and where I’m from. When I tell him that I’m seeing some of my friends from college and how we’ve been out of school for the past 10 years, he looks like he nearly shats himself and stops making conversation with me. Pffft. Fucking Ageist.
7-9:30: Meet with Lauren Smith, friend from college. We eat biscuits at Empire Biscuit and talk about Grey’s Anatomy.
10:30: Having the apartment to myself, I decide to soak in the tub using one of the 15 bottles of bubble bath our AirBnB has. I also set up my laptop so I can watch Girls and pop open a bottle of beer. This is how I spend my last night in New York.
10 am: Anil wakes up and plays Jay Z. I drown it out with “Wind Beneath My Wings”
11 am: Anil and I train into Manhattan. There is a man of what appears to be Eastern European descent sullenly hugging a pole. Anil nudges me and says “You lek merry? He mek you wife.”
“I mek you wife.” “You come, we merry.” “You cook and clean me.” “I merry you.” “I teach you how to mek soup.” “You mek soup? I teach you.” “We very poor, we mek soup.” “Soup is med of water and-“ “Boot… leather boot. We mek leather boot soup.” “It is a custom my mudder mek in old country.” “It iz… 5 part water… to 1 part-“ “Leather boot. Meaning pair, so ack-chully, 2 part leather boot. Yes.” “Yes. It (how do you say?) maria-nates.” “Goot leather flavor. Strong leather flavor. Like dey boys we make when I poot my P in your wagina.” “I pronounce my Vs as Ws.” “Werry werry vet wagina” “Apparently, I haf trouble with W too.”
(This back and forth went on for pretty much the entire trip. When I look at my phone, the estimated time it took to get from Crown Heights to Manhattan was 47 minutes. This went on for almost 47 minutes.)
12 pm: We are late. I call Sarah to tell her that we are two blocks away. Anil stops and offers a hot girl directions which sets us back even later.
12:10 pm: We arrive at Momofuku. I am hungry and being near ramen bowls almost brings me to tears. They won’t seat us because Sarah is unknowingly on an express train heading for Brooklyn. I make plans to divorce her.
12:11 pm: Anil admires a photograph of hipster beardy dudes on the wall. They look like band members. The caption says it was taken in 1969. “They mean last week,” Anil says.
12:30 pm: Sarah arrives, I calm the fuck down and I eat.
1 pm: Sarah and I walk through SoHo to get to Chinatown. An Indian man hocking fake Dolce and Gabbana is saying something that sounds like “Jeggaloo, jeggaloo, jeggaloo, jeggaloo”.
“What the hell was that guy saying?”
“He was mixing ‘Check it out’ and ‘Take a look’.”
Check a look, check a look, check a look, check a look. The fact that Sarah deciphered this makes me want to marry her again.
1-4pm: “Check a look” x 145 and Florida Water?
7-9:30 pm: meet Danny for dinner. Danny and I met almost 10 years ago (holy cow) through a little thing called MySpace (just in case you weren’t already feeling old) when we were both in the theater pool of SF. He is an amazing actor and all around good guy. I haven’t eaten a single vegetable in the past two days and fear scurvy. We eat beans and seitan in a Chinese restaurant. My fortune cookie says something along the lines “The one you love is closer than you think.” Danny has spent the entire dinner telling me that he is 3 parts crazy, 5 parts commitment phobe, and 2 parts broke, so I doubt my fortune means him. “Every month is like swinging on the monkey bars and each time the bars get further and further away and I’m just waiting for the day I fall off.” I’m convinced that the near-by love that my fortune was talking about is the Dominican teenager outside with the attempted mustache.
10 pm-1 am: Head over to Flatbush Farms to meet up with Anil, Sean and Morgan. Sean and I play the getting to know you game, Morgan gets drunk, Anil catches up with his friend Tasso. Sean quickly becomes the long lost encouraging Aunt, saying things like “You’re very funny. Why don’t you have a boyfriend? Your hair is so nice.” Thanks Aunty Sean.
4 am: Anil is downstairs in the lobby and needs to be let in. I tell him I’ve had the shits the entire night and go to bed.
3:45 am: Wake up for 6 am flight from SFO.
6:10 am: Bravo Delta, for having an 80’s themed safety video, featuring Alf as the passenger you may have to assist with the oxygen mask should cabin pressure change.
Somewhere up in the sky: decide to watch Mad Men and wonder how many people still have nooners at the Plaza nowadays?
3 pm: Cab driver is PISSED that he has to drive to Brooklyn, man.
4:15 pm: arrive at AirBnB house and watch Anil eat Cup o’ Noodle while the neighbors in the unit below us blast “Wind Beneath My Wings”
4:15-5:30 “Wind Beneath My Wings” x 6
6:30 pm: take train to Washington Square. Trailers are everywhere and a group of young Asian girls are lined up outside with cameras. The (gay male) ring leader says “If she comes out the door this way, she’s gonna wanna walk this way to get to her car, and then you take the picture.” I consider for a split second to hang around and see what celebrity they’re waiting for, and then remember that I’m 31 years old.
7 pm: sitting at a cafe, two girls ask to share the table with me. They are both using “Sexy Baby Voice” a la Kim Kardashian. One girl sees the book I’m reading and comments “Oh my gosh, I love Zadie Smith. I saw her speak at the public library and she’s really lovely.” I feel bad for not believing that anyone that sounds like that when they talk are literate.
8 pm: Dinner at Fatty Cue with Sarah. I return my Malay Michelada cocktail because it tastes the way Vietnam smells.
9:30 pm: Drinks at Wilfie and Nell in the West Village, where the contents of a girl’s purse spills out onto the bar room floor. People hold out cell phones for light and help her collect her things. While everyone helps her pick up her change, credit cards, receipts, etc, Sarah scoffs “My God, it’s like she emptied a junk drawer”. In my head, I make plans to marry Sarah one day.
10-11 pm: Whaling
12iish am-ish: Head back to Brooklyn
2 am: Beck album
4 am: Melatonin
Recently, a writer at The Hairpin posted an article listing the reasons why she still remains single in her 30’s. And although many of the items she listed, I could easily say “Ditto” to, there’s about a bucket and one more reasons that make me an unlikely candidate for someone to wanna get their matrimonial bliss on. Here are some of the following:
I watch SNL skits and memorize lines from it the same way I did when I was in high school. And then I will act it out to anyone who is around with ears and eyes.
I give names to major appliances like they’re new stuffies. I have a coffee maker named Phyllis and a DSLR named Jack. I will also refer to them by name. “Can you turn Phyllis on while I’m in the shower?”
When there’s a pair of underwear on my bedroom floor, I smell them to see if they’re clean or dirty. (But in my defense, it’s better than licking them.)
There are times when I’m in a dilemma or life crisis where I honestly think “What would Hannah Horvath do right now?” (Even though, I think we ALL know, I’m totally a Marnie.)
I once spent $16 on a cake batter scented candle from Anthropologie… which meant that I had to forego buying lunch for 3 days.
I will openly admit that nothing terrifies me more than a young group of loud black girls on the #31 Muni.
I had this for dinner last night:
I’ve actually used my okcupid profile as a writing sample for a job because it’s the only piece of writing online that I put my heart and soul into (and yet I’m still single… but it did get me an interview for the job)
I once ate a noodle out of a garbage can for $10. It was definitely Chinese food.
I take Buzzfeed quizzes and seriously apply them to my life. I actually said out loud “I really am a survivor. I am Katniss Everdeen. That is so true.”
For the original “sampling” by Meghan Nesmith go here: Reasons Why Everyone is Engaged But Me
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