Health Conscious State Fair To Offer Steamed Twinkies

If I was the creator of "Lost"

If I was the creator of “Lost," I wouldn’t have made it a mystery island with a smoke monster and people getting attacked and traveling through time. It would just be like how do a group of people survive on an island, by building houses, and figuring out what plants are edible, and learning to fish and make fires.

Also, I wouldn’t make the series start with a plane crash--that’s a bit scary. Instead, maybe people could just be helicoptered onto the island, or take a boat ride there and have a lovely picnic but then realize they’ve run out of gas and can’t get back to the mainland. But they’d be allowed to leave whenever they wanted because there would be members of the coast guard nearby.

Also, I would use real people, not actors, so you could never guess what they would say next. And I would have them compete in games we set up on the island, like capture the flag and tag with special rules.

Also, the island would be Australia and the show would be set up just outside Sydney. That way people could get snacks they liked just a drive away. We’d give them all phones with regional SIM cards so they could call home, and their loved ones wouldn’t worry. And if they really needed a break, they could just check into a hotel until they were ready to have some fun again.

Actually, maybe I’d just check them directly into the hotel to begin with. We could film them flipping through television channels, getting a drink at the hotel bar, filling up on ice at the ice machine, using the small gym. Yes, that would be the main focus of the show, and then we could take them outside sometimes, to keep the jungle aspect, and they could do tae-bo in the parking lot or argue about where to go for dinner.

I wouldn’t call it “Lost,” either, I’d call it something like “Pretty Comfortable” or “Hotel Time.”

I’d watch it.

Great news!

The Onion was not at all amused by my all-pirate-related headline list this week, so I can publish them here instead, for your enjoyment.

US Military Drops 20,000 Copies Of Treasure Island On Somalia

New York Times Hopes Piracy Crisis Lasts Long Enough To Use “Swashbuckling” In Headline

Obama Delivers Address To Somali Pirates In 3-Cornered Hat Made Of Newspaper

International Community Exploits Pirates' Known Fear Of Tick-Tock Sound To End Crisis In Somalia

Congolese People Hope Wizard-Robot-Astronaut Crisis Will Draw International Attention To Their Problems

Nation Briefly Interested In International Crisis Because It Reminds Them Of Childhood

Somali Internet Piracy Just A Symptom Of Wider Somali E-Problems

Delighted Somalians Divide Treasure Brought In By Pirates

French Navy Uses Telescope Made Of Old Toilet Paper Roll To Locate Somali Pirates

O/E: Point/Counterpoint: Yarr, I'm A Pirate! By Captain Hook vs. I Will Carry Your Head On A Spike Through The Streets Of Mogadishu, By Ismail Hassan, Somali Pirate

More self promotion? Alright!

An interview with Sarah Schneider I did for Gelf Magazine.

How do rich people do it?

Those of you who've loaned me money or mugged me know that I don't carry much cash. I usually only take out about $20 at a time, with the reasoning that if I have more money in my wallet, I will spend it. Even though I know from experience that this has no impact on how much I spend (since I just end up using my free money card, which is cheaper), I still make a habit of it. Also, I often only have about $23 in my bank account. So $20 is the largest amount I can withdraw.

But a couple of days ago, I needed to take out $200, because I was having an improv practice, and paying back my boyfriend for part of a plane ticket. Also, I was getting a hair cut, and I hate putting the tip on my credit card, because then you just have that awkward moment where you’re like “Thank you, looks great,” and the stylist is like, “Thank you, I’m glad you like it,” and then she is still standing there, so you’re like, “I really really like it. It looks perfect,” and she’s like “You’re welcome, you’ve got beautiful hair,” and she kind of smiles at you, and you’re like, “You will be handsomely rewarded, I’m sure” and she’s like, “Oh, you don't have t--” and you say, “Well, got to go,” and then she sweeps off and probably Thinks Bad Thoughts about you.

So I go to the ATM in the CVS across the street, and I withdraw my $200 with kind of a thrill in my chest, because in my world that is A Lot of Money. The 20s come out of the machine pat-pat-pat-pat and I fold them up in my pocket and go back to work.

Later that day, I take them out of my pocket to put in my wallet. But first, I count them, and, horrified, discover there are 2 extra 20s!

Stealing! What bad karma!

Of course, I checked first to make sure I hadn’t accidentally withdrawn $240, but no, there it was on my bank statement: $200.

So I contemplate going back to the ATM, but it wasn’t in a bank, so I would just have to give the money back to a CVS employee, which doesn’t seem 100% right, either, because they’d probably just spend it on booze and pocket-sized Kleenex packets.

Then I thought I would give it to a homeless person. I’d wrap the money in a single, so as not to make a scene when I dropped it in their bucket.

I decided to go back to the ATM, get the phone number off of it, and then if they were like, “Keep it, lady,” I’d call my mom to ask her what the Talmud says about this sort of thing.

On my way back from the ATM, I suddenly realized that there are 5 $20 bills in a $100. Not 4, like with quarters in a dollar (a denomination I deal with much more frequently), but 5.

Which led to my one allotted use of the word “retarded” for today.

karl marx looks like a homeless guy - TAKE THAT!

This is the fat cat that used to live in my sister's house. It goes by "Fat Cat" or sometimes "Mr. Fat."

Can you find its face?

This isn't one of those blogs where people just post adorable pictures of animals and say "awwww, look how cute. "

This is a hard hitting news blog (obvi).

So I wanted to get to the story behind the photo. Rising cat literacy. You probably noticed (if you could find his head) that Mr. Fat is checking out the titles on my sister's bookshelf. What you may not have noticed is that one of the books he's eying is "The Communist Manifesto."

Of course, he's far too obese to get himself up off the back of that chair and too apathetic to take the time to learn to read. But give him a scratching post and some young kitty to chase around, and he'll be spouting German revolutionary rhetoric in a matter of lives.

That's the last thing we need, people. Not in this economy. I for one can't afford to pay any more taxes to fluffy feline overlords.

I hope you're getting worried, because the revolution may already be starting. Someone has vandalized the Karl Marx Wikipedia page. They've written "karl marx looks like a homeless guy" next to a photograph of him.

I'm not saying a cat was doing research and thought it would be funny. I'm just saying cats can't capitalize things (they don't have the proper appendages to operate the shift key), so what does that tell us?

You tell me.

Lesson Plan for February 12

Gather round, children! Today we are celebrating a very special occasion. Our nation’s sixteenth president, Abraham Lincoln, would have celebrated his 200th birthday today. But he isn’t celebrating with us, because he’s dead.

Lincoln was an important advocate for national unity during a time of war. He helped bring an end to the tragic history of slavery in this country. Then, he was shot by John Wilkes Booth. He held on for a bit, but soon he died.

None of that changes the wonderful event we’re celebrating today—the birth of a great man who would be dead by now anyway, even if he hadn’t been assassinated.

So please, take a look at the age-appropriate biographies we’ve selected for you, visit the “wax museum” of important figures from the Lincoln Era, and enjoy some of these delicious top hat-shaped sugar cookies, decorated by Mrs. Smithson, our 3rd grade PTA representative.

And if you take away anything from today’s activities, let it be this: we’re all going to die someday; and probably, in 200 years, no one will care if we ever lived.

Stupid people are stupid

This morning on the train I was seated for several stops on the train next to one of those awful blond people with a Chanel bag. Everything this woman did was designed to make me hate her. She swept her perfectly waved blond hair out of her face to reapply her lipstick and gloss, removed her Burberry sunglasses and replaced them in their case. Then, she took out her *pink* Blackberry to check a few things—probably People.com—and finally turned up the volume on her iTouch so that I could hear the thumping in the background of the latest Katy Perry single.

Every single one of the defense mechanisms I built up in a high school full of people like this came crashing out of the gate. “Boy, she looks dumb with all that make-up on,” I thought. “I bet she think it’s cool to be stupid.” “I’ll just continue reading my theology book called ‘The River of Light’” and “I think my purple painted fingernails look funky, so I don’t care if hers are perfectly manicured” and finally, inevitably: “What a cunt.”

Only then, in my head, she started responding to what I was thinking and told ME that I was the one with a problem and that I really ought to dress up and enjoy life while I was young and beautiful. And she said nobody likes poor people, and that why didn’t I brush my hair?

So I punched the bitch, and in my rage, I got off at the wrong stop.

I need to get out of this city.

Personal Statement

My roommate needed help writing his personal statement for math grad school. His original version was a little lacking in personality. Here’s what I came up with:

“Bang!” went my backpack as I slammed it down on the kitchen table after a long day of school. I grabbed a banana from the counter and took a big bite.

“Mom, I’m late for sailing practice!” I yelled as I ran upstairs to change into my drysuit. It was a beautiful day in my upper middle class neighborhood of Miami—the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the smell of Cuban food wafted gently on the breeze.

“But Jonny, don’t you need to do your math homework first?” my Swedish-born mother asked me with a hint of an accent. I rolled my eyes.

“Mom, you don’t understand me at all. Sailing comes first.”

It was true. Sailing had always come first. Ahead of school, ahead of family. I was so young that I thought feeling alive meant I was really living.

Out in the bay, I smiled broadly from behind my sunglasses. The water was nice and even, the sun was shining, and I hadn’t a care in the world. My sailing teammates and I rocked gently back and forth on the surface, turning bronze in the shining sun.

Suddenly, I heard a cry for help.

“Help! Help!”

I whipped around. An old woman had fallen off the edge of the dock and into the water. She wasn’t wearing a lifejacket and she didn’t look like she knew how to swim because she was flailing around and screaming for help. I needed to get over to her, and fast.

But how could I get my boat to move that quickly? How high should I raise the sail and in what direction? The sail was a triangle. If the length of the edge opposite the right angle was 7 feet, then how many degrees should the angle adjacent to the hypotenuse be extended? I tried to remember sine and cosine from that day’s math class, but my mind was completely blank. I hadn’t learned math, and now I learned the consequences.

Helpless, alongside my drunken teammates, I watched the old woman drown.

That night, I came home late, feeling wretched. Soundlessly, I threw myself into my estranged father’s arms. Never again would I put sailing before math and family.

It is this traumatizing experience that has led me to pursue graduate studies in the Mathematics Department of the University of Florida. A Master’s degree in mathematics would not only extend my undergraduate foundation and allow me to progress to a doctoral degree, it would also prevent another terrible tragedy like this one.

U.S. Feebly Condemns Israeli Airstrikes Over Gaza

Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice affirmed today that the United States will continue to feebly condemn Israeli airstrikes over Gaza.

“The United States fully supports Israel’s right to defend herself, but we will almost dispute Israel stepping over the bounds of self-defense,” Rice said, in a whisper that could only be heard by those closest to her in the hall.

Tuesday was the fourth consecutive day of airstrikes by the Israeli military. Israeli officials offer no hope for a ceasefire, despite the United States’ suggestion that they think things through a bit more.

“We take seriously the halfhearted concerns of the United States. It pains us to hear that we are performing operations that our ally is maybe not 100% comfortable with,” said Tzipi Livni, Israel’s Foreign Affairs Minister and acting Prime Minister.

“It’s not that I think they’re totally bad,” Rice mumbled, referring to the targeted attacks of known Hamas facilities that have nonetheless led to the deaths of at least 60 civilians. She then shrugged. “It’s just kinda like, hey, come on, guys.”

Rice added that the United States will maintain its tepid commitment to diplomatic relations.

The thing about U-Haul is

it sucks.

It's clear that the people who work there do not want to be there. It's far away, by bus or walking. It's impossible to drive giant vans/trucks in the city. They take forever to do anything, and then make you feel like a dork for asking if you can rent blankets--not because they don't have blankets but just because it builds them up to put other people down. Then they make you fill up the gas afterward.

That's why I'm starting my own moving van rental facility. It will be called Awesome Van or maybe Van's the Man. It will be located right next door to wherever you are moving things from. A complimentary driver will be assisted by two burly yet gentle men, who will delicately remove your furniture from your dwelling and place it in the van, which will come pre-cushioned for your convenience. You will be ferried to your destination in a Vespa or something else cool. After they move your things with the grace of very strong swans, the driver will return the van for you, and then offer not to charge you because they weren't finished in under half an hour. The cost of the amount of gas you used will be credited by the company to the green charity of your choice.

Runts

One-liner on Onion homepage. Check it out this week: www.theonion.com.

This is important:

I can't wait to read the article.

Brand Names Rejected by Honest Tea:

Unwieltea (comes in an enormous bottle)
Calamitea (whatever you do, don't open the bottle)
Adversitea (proceeds go to orphans)
Difficultea (hard to digest)
Dirtea (is that even tea floating around in there?)
Smuttea (inside of label conceals picture of naked woman)
Tragetea (made with real tears)

Nelson Mandela's first day of school

Teacher: And what's your name little boy?
Mandela: My name is Rolihlahla.
Teacher: Hmm...we'll call you "Nelson."

Female, 26, seeks missed connection

26 year old female living in Gramercy seeks missed connection with slightly older man. Brooding brown eyes, boyishly dimpled chin, deep frown lines suggesting a troubled past a plus. Our accidental and random encounter can be repeated eye contact on the 4/5 train, you giving up your seat for an elderly woman on the bus so I don’t have to, or you asking to share my table at Starbucks since everywhere else is full. Could even be a more striking brief, anonymous engagement such as us both reaching for the last marble mocha muffin at Dean and Deluca, or you commenting on the book I am looking at in the Strand. You decide. I’ll be looking everywhere.

Keep your thoughts about Miley Cyrus to yourself

It’s days like these, when I feel stifled by my own inadequacy—“Thursdays”—that I like to list people who were older than me when they achieved things:

Age 29 – Oprah Winfrey gets her own T.V. show

Age 30 – Steve Martin first appears on the Tonight Show

Age 30 - Kurt Vonnegut publishes his first novel, "Player Piano" (to be fair he was fighting in WWII and stuff)

Age 31 – Neil Simon writes his first play

Age 31 – Judy Blume publishes her first novel

Age 33 – Virginia Woolf writes her first novel, the Voyage Out

Age 34 – Margaret Edson produces her first and only play, “Wit”

Age 36 – Christopher Guest has his one-season stint on SNL

Age 36 – Dave Barry gets his gig writing a humor column for the Miami Herald

Age 38 – George Saunders publishes first collection of short stories

Age 40 - Eric Carle publishes "The Very Hungry Caterpillar"

Age 45 - Roald Dahl writes "James and the Giant Peach"

Age 46 - E.B. White publishes his first children's novel (never mind that the New Yorker printed his first essay at age 26)

Age 57 – George Washington becomes president

I’m gonna flip out when I turn 40.