Things That Never Happened

3 More Deadly Poems, Part III

2011-07-18T13:09:00.004-05:00

A man named Hank, an artist and a poet, was walking near the lake,

He turned around and saw something move, the bushes began to shake.

Then a pack of wolves surrounded him, the world became dark as night,

Poor Hank was then sadly eaten and he could no longer write.

A woman named Gail was gardening. Petunias, gardenias, and rose,

A wolf came out of nowhere and she went quickly for the hose.

The water was no match for the beast, as Gail was eaten alive,

She should have planted herbs, for wolves are allergic to chive.

Little Kevin was playing basketball, alone in his driveway,

He couldn't make a basket, though he practiced everyday.

A wolf came along and offered some help, "Here give me a try,"

He made the shot then ate the boy, that's how Kevin came to die.

But I Digress

2011-07-12T11:11:00.006-05:00

It's not easy being the new kid. I was always the new kid. My family moved around a lot, not because of the military or job transfers, but because of ADHD.

I went from being the only black student in my 5th grade class in Boston to being the only white student in my new middle school in Philly. But I digress.

I joined a new therapy group last Tuesday night. I sat in the parking lot, nervous as hell. I smoked a Virginia Slim. Inhale, exhale. Relax, Gabe. They aren't going to tease you. This is a therapy group. They're just as damaged as you are. I mustered enough confidence to walk in. I walked in.

The high school basketball court was sectioned into two halves. The therapy half held a small circle of 10 chairs and a card table holding Chips Ahoy and coffee. The other half held basketball practice. Sectionals were tomorrow night. Go Eagles! But I digress.

I was the new kid again. Everyone looked at me and smiled those fake smiles you get when you walk into an art gallery wearing shorts. "Did anyone watch the Home Run Derby last night?" No response. I tried again. "I've been in therapy for 15 years!" Again, no response. What the hell is going on? I gave it one more shot. "The king of hearts is the only king in the deck without a mustache! Did you guys know that?" Some older gentleman rolled his eyes.

"Can we please get started, new guy? You're already 20 minutes late," said Mark or Greg (I can't remember), the therapist. There it was. NEW GUY. That's all I am to these people. I have at least a little bit of dignity. I stood up for myself.

"New guy? Is that all I am to you? What's next? Wedgies and swirlies? Another 3rd place finish in the science fair? Are you guys going to TP my house? Steal my tator tots? Make fun of my banana bike? Ask my sister to prom? Well she's not interested! So back off! She has a boyfriend back in Boston that's way bigger than you and is a black belt." I lost consciousness.

The next thing I remember, I was sitting against the wall, watching oddly tall 16 year olds shoot free throws. The Eagles lost in overtime the next night. They had a chance to win it with 3 seconds left. The shot hit back iron and the rival Spartans were Sectional Champs. Sometimes things just don't your way.

But I digress.

Four More Deadly Poems, (Famous People Edition)

2011-07-08T11:34:00.004-05:00

There once was a lady, Gaga her name,

Like Cyndi Lauper, almost the same,

One day she was on stage and was eaten by wolves,

Not the fault of a person, as the 80s were to blame.

There once was a woman named Kesha,

Her hair was blond, her shirts mesh-a,

One day she became irrelevant, and was eaten by wolves,

And people cared even less-a.

There once was a man named Jay-Z,

I'm king of hip-hop, he did decree,

He had 99 problems, and was eaten by wolves,

Now Beyonce's a single lady, alone and free.

There once was a Jackson named Michael,

He told his siblings to take a hike-ael,

Once day he was moonwalking and was eaten by wolves,

On Facebook, his page has many like-aels (because he's dead).

The Rap Battle

2011-06-28T10:50:00.005-05:00

I went to a rap battle last night. And participated. It was held in the high school auditorium in the rough and tough Chicago suburb of Highland Park, where both the land and the park get high. Straight ghetto.

I couldn't go by my real name. The name Gabe has as much street cred as Big Bird's second cousin Gentle Bird, Jr. My rapper name is FloZilla McNilla. Flo for Florence Henderson, Zilla for Godzilla, Mc for Marty McFly and Nilla for the wafers. I was primed for victory.

I was up against a man named Gerald. He went first. The beat dropped. Bum Bum Boom Boom Bum Bum.

"The first thing you need to know, that is in order to flow, you don't change your name, to FloZilla, oh no. It'll doom you each time, when you try to rhyme, you can't catch me, you don't have the time."

The crowd went nuts. NUTS. Then it was my turn. The beat dropped. Bum Bum Boom Boom Bum Bum.

(Cough, then cough again, then clear throat loudly.) "Your name is Gerald, I read it in the Herald. You remind me of Colin Farrell and also my sister Cheryl. You should change your name, your game, your frame, you're lame, you're all the same. All you Geralds, you Colin Farrells, my sisters Cheryls." (Cough again).

The crowd went nuttier. NUTTIER. I was beaming. I was on fire.

Then the fire department came. Don't play with matches indoors.

I'm an Idiot

2011-06-27T11:07:00.004-05:00

I'm an idiot. Not like George W. Bush and not like the dumb kid in your high school chemistry class. Um, 4 parts oxygen and 20 parts hydrogen and 3 parts sulfuric acid. What? It's WATER!

I'm an idiot. Not like the double rainbow guy and not like the dumb kid in your high school math class. Um, the square root of 16 is 3 divided by 17. What? It's TRIGONOMETRY!

I'm an idiot. Not like Sarah Palin and not like the dumb kid in your high school English class. Um, to be or not to be, wait, what's the question? What? It's R.L. STINE!

I'm an idiot. Not like Michele Bachmann and not like the dumb kid in your high school history class. Um, Paul Revere told us the Brits weren't gonna take our arms! What? It's AMERICAN HISTORY!

I'm an idiot because I said, "Nothin' much" when someone asked me, "How are you?" So dumb.

Interesting Facts

2011-06-22T12:57:00.005-05:00

Note: Some of the following may have happened.

I went to an audition last week. The audition was to get onto an improv team at a theater that had both the size and reputation of the kitchen in my college apartment, minus the stain behind the fridge (It was from spilled milk. No, I didn't cry. Yes I did.)

Improv auditions are strange. They're not unlike the Royal Wedding. A lot of build up and preparation only to be upstaged by someone better doing something better. The Queen married off William. Barack killed Bin Laden. You get it.

We first had to line up and say our names and something interesting about ourselves. I have two go-to facts that I bust out for auditions. 1) "I wore these pants yesterday," and 2) "I actually root for Lebron James." It wasn't until today that I realized these facts are neither interesting nor effective. Let's take a closer look...

1) I wore these pants yesterday. This is uninteresting because as I've come to learn, most people who perform improv only own one pair of pants. It turns out EVERYONE in the room wore their pants yesterday.

2) I actually root for Lebron James. This is uninteresting because as I've come to learn, most people who perform improv have never heard of Lebron James. When I say, "I actually root for Lebron James," most of the auditors look at each other and whisper, "Who the fuck is that? Who names their kid Lebron? And two first names? Yeech."

- Hi, my name is Gabe. To get me started can I get a suggestion of anything at all?

- A more interesting fact.

- Thank you.

The Apple Store

2011-06-21T15:00:00.004-05:00

I went to the Apple store to fix my MacBook. It was a brand new store, in the heart of trendy Chicago. The people who worked there were cooler than me. Way cooler than me. I walked in and alongside the breezy air conditioning, an air of hipness smacked me in the face. WHACK. Now I'm not not a hip guy, I have thick, black rimmed glasses. I own a pair of Converse All-Stars. I've heard of the Black Keys. But I was out of place. I was Flavor Flav at the Royal Wedding. What's HE doing here?

I made an appointment online to meet with a Genius, which is fancy for computer technician, which is fancy for someone who owns or has access to a screwdriver. I walked over to the Genius Bar (don't ask for a Tequila Sunrise, they don't serve alcohol), and checked in. He was holding an iPad 2 and in a very friendly tone asked me my name. "Gabe," I said. "Wow, cool name!" said the Genius. "Are you Mexican?" "No," I said. "Cool!" said the Genius. "That's awesome!" I couldn't tell if he was on a heavy dose of cocaine or incredibly racist. Probably both.

I was told to sit and wait for the next available Genius station to open up. I sat. At the other end of the store, I heard piano music. I looked behind me and there was a guy sitting on a beanbag pushing non-existent buttons on an iPad, creating the music. A fake piano. I felt like I was a special guest at Hansel's bachelor party. Zoolander would be bursting through the door at any moment, I was sure of it.

I was called up to the Genius Bar. After telling a few hilarious jokes about ordering beers and passing law exams, we got to the point. My battery was shot. "Your battery is shot," said the Genius. "CRAP!" I said. "BUT I DON'T EVEN OWN A GUN!" The Genius looked at me with his genius eyes and said, "You need a new battery. It's not a big deal." "Oh, alright. Thank you kindly," I said.

I received my new battery and took a stroll around the store, checking out all the gizmos and gadgets and whatzits and whynots. This was not a place for normal people. The walls were talking, the floors were made of videos, and the ceiling was heaven itself. I was out of place. I couldn't find the exit. I approached a Genius, carefully. "How do I get out of here?" I asked. He replied, "There's no escaping. You may as well stay a while. Have you seen the new iPhones?" I started to sweat. My chest was pounding. The world started to close in around me. I was having a panic attack. I'm stuck here forever? Oh no! I didn't bring my Ray Bans. All I have is my Sony discman. They're all going to make fun of me. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S NO ESCAPING?" I asked. "WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? I HAVE TO GET HOME. I HAVE TO GO!" He looked at me with his genius eyes and replied, "Dude, the door is right there. I was kidding. It was a joke." "Thank you kindly," I said. And walked out.

Moral of the story? Don't trust anyone with an IQ over your own.

3 More Deadly Poems

2011-06-16T16:46:00.005-05:00

1) There once was a guy named Chuck,

He was always running out of luck,

One day he went hiking and was eaten by wolves,

And boy, did that really suck.

2) There once was a girl named Kate,

She was always running late,

One day she got lost and was eaten by wolves,

And was on time at the Pearly Gate.

3) There once was a fellow named Mike,

He was always riding his bike,

One day he fell down, but wasn't eaten by wolves,

And then he...SIKE! (He was eaten by wolves).

When Celebrities Chat

2011-03-21T13:17:00.004-05:00

Have you ever wondered what celebrities say to each other? Me too. Which is why I went to the Oscars last month with my tape recorder in tow. I waltzed my way up and down the red carpet snooping on some conversations. Here's a sampling of what I found:

Conversation #1 - Celine Dion and Justin Bieber

JB: Ms. Dion, what an honor, I loved that song from the movie about the boat that hit the ice cream cone or berg or whatever. Did you get to hang out with Leo on set? (hair flip)

CD: I was never on set. And thank you. Remind me again, little girl, Comment t'appelles-tu?

Conversation #2 - Chris Brown and Sir Ian McKellen

CB: Yo.

(Sir Ian McKellen snickers and walks away)

Conversation #3 - Jeff Bridges and James Franco

JF: Wanna get high?

JB: Yup.

Rappin' on the Train

2011-02-24T15:46:00.002-06:00

Riding the red line home today, there were some guys on the back of the train beatboxing and rapping. A super duper fan of both of those things, I moved seats and sat closer to them to hear what they were rapping about. They were going around in a circle freestyling about their individual, athletic accomplishments and skills.

One guy said, "I be built like Fridge Perry, and knockin down threes like Larry." The next guy said, "I be ballin just like Jordan and be Shaun White-style boardin." Another guy said, "I got speed like Dwyane Wade, my tongue as sharp as Gretzky's blade."

I couldn't resist. I walked up to them and said, "Hello! My name is Gabe, may I join your raucous shenanigans?" They looked at each other. They looked at me. They looked at each other again, looked at me and the leader of the pack said, "Yup, let's see what you got."

They started to beatbox. I started to sweat. I hadn't freestyled in years! What had I gotten myself into? But here I was, standing in front of these incredible musicians, genius lyricists, soon-to-be hip hop legends, I had to impress, I had no other option. I gathered myself and started...

"Yo, yo, check it. I got hands so quick like Bonds, and then 'Woah' says The Fonz. When I'm done swimmin' you'll ask for help, cuz they call me Michael Phelp(s). Strategizin' like Lombardi, solving crimes like the boys Hardy. Eating for weeks only Kashi, to prepare to take down Kobayashi."

I stopped. I was sweating profusely. I looked at them and they looked at me. I looked at them again. They looked back. It was silent. A dapper man dressed in a tuxedo at the other end of the train stood up and said, "YO SON THAT WAS ILL! CAN YOU REALLY STRATEGIZE LIKE LOMBARDI? THAT GUY WAS A GENIUS!" I responded, "Not really, I just made it up for the rap. I'm not much of a football fan. But I do plan on eating a lot tonight. I mean, not like Kobayashi, but I may get two Subway sandwiches."

The guy looked at me and I looked back. "Good plan," he said. "All footlongs are five dollars this month."

How are the Ladies Treating You?

2010-10-15T13:18:00.002-05:00

How are the ladies treating you? I hear that all the time. Seems like an innocent question. To the average person it simply means, 'Are you going on any dates?' or 'Have you French kissed anyone recently?' For me, however, it means something totally different.

After being raised in a rural Hungarian orphanage, this seemingly innocent question brings back some horrid memories. The atheist nuns who ran the orphanage or "home" as we called it, referred to themselves as The Ladies. So how are the ladies treating me, you ask? Let's just say they're not anymore. Thank Non-Existent God.

Since God had no part in their or our lives, The Ladies raised us with the belief that when a person dies, nothing happens, emptiness. So don't die. That's it. Just don't die. They created the now popular Don't Die System (DDS). DDS, as you all undoubtedly know, relies on a series of precautions that believers must take to prolong their lives as long as possible, with the hopes that someday, DDS followers won't ever die.

To say that we had to be careful in our daily activities is to say that Glenn Beck is just kinda kooky or the Detroit Lions are a mediocre team or that Kathy Bates is sort of interesting looking. Our uniforms consisted of full football pads and pillow-lined Ugg Boots. We went outside exactly two times a year. Once to smell the proverbial and actual flowers and once for "science time," where we licked our fingers, held them up to the wind and determined which way was North. Our forks had soft plastic tips, which made our dinners consist of jello and lemonade. Twelve orphans were executed for sneaking in and subsequently playing Hungry, Hungry Hippos. Exercise time was high fiving in mittens.

When I was 14, a couple came to visit our facility. I saw them through the cotton ball fence surrounding my bed and made eye contact with the woman. She smiled and came over to me. "How are you doing, little guy?" she asked. "Fine, I guess," I said. "Do you want to come home with me?" she said. "Yes, please," I replied.

My new parents were nothing like The Ladies. We went to church once a week, kept kosher, celebrated Easter and were allowed to use knives to cut our lemonade.

Keep Your Hands Dry. Always.

2010-08-18T13:09:00.002-05:00

Last night I was at my comedy class and during our 10 minute break I went to the bathroom. Business was taken care of and I meandered over the the sink for my post-tinkle wash-up. I use only luke warm water when I cleanse my hands/soul.

See, I'm not much of a hot water kind of guy. I prefer ice water to Earl Grey. Frappucino to Macchiato. Anchorage to Guadalajara. Cryogenics to Cremation. I luke warmly washed my money makers and searched for the paper towel dispenser. No paper towel dispenser. I frantically darted my eyes from north to south, east to west and spotted a machine against the wall that was called a "Hot Air Electric Hand Dryer." The only thing I like less than hot water is wet hands.

I went eye to eye with the hand dryer not knowing what to say. Finally I caved and said, "OK, let's get dry, esse." I cracked my neck and my knuckles and carefully slipped my hands underneath the steel air blower hole. I was not prepared for the next sequence of events. The air came shooting out, true gangster style and it hurt me so bad. It was so damn hot. So. Damn. Hot. But seriously, I couldn't leave that bathroom with wet hands and I wasn't about to dampen my new Eddie Bauer polo. I shook my hands vigorously to remove as much excess water as possible and went back for try numero deux.

This time I had a plan. I was going to dry my hands in short bursts. One explosion at a time. I went in and put my hands underneath the dragon monster. The air started and after a second of awful heat, I removed them. My hands were no more dry than they were before my bathroom laboratory experiment. This would take days, if not years, to fully dry my precious finger holders. I was, as the French say, screwed.

I looked at the time and realized I had a minute before my class started up again and if there's one thing that I would place third in my "I the only thing I like less than..." list, it's being late. I began to panic. Here I was in a public bathroom with soaking wet hands, time ticking down and no escape in sight.

A frantic man must make frantic decisions. Keep that in mind, readers. I took a drink of cold water from the sink and started blowing. If I blew hard and fast enough, my hands would be relaxed and more importantly, dry. So I blew and I blew and I blew. I blew again. It worked.

I was late for the second half of class, but I was fine with that. I had conquered the beast. Copernicus once said, "He who overcomes obstacles with great intensity and cold breath in the bathroom is a man to not be reckoned with."

12 Hours in Munster, Indiana

2010-01-24T12:48:00.003-06:00

My favorite part of the New York Times is getting great travel advice from their "36 Hours in..." series. For a reference, check out their article on Vancouver, BC. I decided to take a hint from their wildly popular series and create my own "12 Hours in..." series. Naturally, to get my feet wet, I decided to start with a city I'm familiar with - my hometown. Munster, Indiana is located a mere 31 miles from downtown Chicago and it's truly a booming, progressive town. It's no surprise that Munster is considered one of the most livable places north of Indianapolis and south of Chicago. I visited Munster on a Wednesday. So here goes nothing.

12 Hours in Munster, Indiana

Munster is known for many things, among them a great gyros restaurant, a tiny gloriously rundown donut place and of course, Community Hospital (in case you fall down or something.) Munster features one public high school, one public middle school and three public elementary schools. For the religious, Munster offers some private, God-inspired educational institutions as well. There's an art center for those who like to take a ride down culture lane and then there's the parking lot behind Taco Bell - a popular destination for teenagers on weekend evenings.

2:30 pm
I enter Munster at Exit 1 off of I-94E and drive down Calumet Ave, passing the Hammond Clinic and Canton House Restaurant, among other gems. On the corner of Ridge and Columbia, I come across Bieker Woods. Bieker Woods is known for a scary Halloween event annually. This area of town is considered the historic district, as there's an old school house and also another building. Rumor has it that an old lady lives there and yells at kids who pass through the woods to get from Wilbur Wright Middle School to Long John Silver's on a half day of school.

3:30pm
I decide to grab a bite at The Commander (745 Ridge Rd). The Commander has been a Munster landmark for decades. My grandfather would drive his Oldsmobile there daily for his "cigarettes and coffee." The Commander is known for it's lemon rice soup and club sandwiches. Get your shmooze on in front of the pie display while locals read "The Times" and discuss politics, Purdue football, and the newest prices at Munster Car Wash, conveniently located a few blocks down on Ridge Rd. Beware of the after school rush of 14-17 year olds wanting to get their fill of that oh-so-good soup.

5:00 pm
After a filling meal, I decide to head over to my mom's house to play with Scooby the dog and do some laundry. On my way to my childhood home, as I'm heading south on Columbia Ave, I pass Munster High School, or as the students call it, "school." I see the tennis team practicing on my right and the football team practicing on my left. The Munster Mustangs athletic department has a rich history of both success and failure. The swimming and tennis teams are usually pretty good, while the football and basketball teams are mediocre at best. But I honestly have no idea how any teams have done in the past 8 or 9 years.

7:30 pm
After sitting around the house with my mom and Scooby for a couple hours, we decide to grab some dinner. There are many choices. Do we pick Giovanni's (603 Ridge Rd) for fine Italian dining or head southwest to Three Floyd's Brew Pub (750 Indiana Parkway) for unique beers and pub food? My mom also suggests going to Charlie's Ale House, but Mom, we always go to Charlie's. OK, she says. We settle on Munster Gyros, which locals will tell you is the absolute best gyro spot on the planet. I couldn't disagree. We each order a Gyro Platter with one extra pita (one just isn't enough - my ONLY complaint about this place).

8:15 pm
We were tired after dinner, but we decided to hit the town in the spirit of this article. We head to Johnny's Tap (8050 Calumet Ave), where a neon sign outside reads, "Mr. Fun is Here." This dive bar has frosted mugs for your ridiculously cheap domestics. We found locals playing bar games like darts and Golden Tee. The jukebox blasts everything from Metallica to Brad Paisley to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. We decided not to talk to the other 6 patrons at Johnny's because, well, they'd been there all day.

9:30 pm
Our next stop was Munster Donut (8314 Calumet Ave), made famous by the Facebook Group - 'People Who Love Munster Donut.' We each order the donut-on-a-stick which features a happy face frosting smile. We sit at the counter with 2 of Munster's police force. I recognize one of them from the D.A.R.E. program in 5th grade.

10 pm
We head home - it's late.

My Conversation with the Solar Energy Guy

2009-11-23T12:59:00.005-06:00

"Hi," he said, with a big wave of his arm. "Do you have a minute for solar energy?"
"Right now?" I asked
"Yep. I'm with Solar Energy Worldwide, a non profit that helps normal people like you succeed without the hassle and expense of electric energy."
"What makes you think I'm normal?"
"Oh, I meant nothing by that comment!" he said joyfully.
"Go on," I said.
"So we are committed to making to the Earth a safer and better place by expanding knowledge and use of solar energy. Do you currently use solar power?"
"I have a calculator that does, but nothing else."
"Very good! That's a great start."
"Thanks."
"No problem! What's your name?"
"What does that have to do with solar power?" I was confused.
"Nothing, technically, but I'm just trying to build a relationship with you."
"Are you hitting on me?" I said excitedly.
"No, I'm trying to inform you about the benefits of solar energy."
"Alright. So how much for a snickers?" I was hungry.
"What? I'm not selling snickers." He was confused.
"But I thought you said you were talking about solar power."
"I am. Did you know that the average household can save over 1oo dollars a month by making one simple switch?" He asked.
"Yes. I knew that. My house is powered by solar power. So is my calculator," I said all snarky-like.
"Interesting. So you were lying earlier about using solar power?" He was confused again.
"Yep. I'm a liar and a solar power user. Me and Al Gore."
"Al Gore is a genius. Not a liar. Don't even start," He said.
"What's your name?" I replied
"Al Gore."

Facebook's Slippery Slope

2009-10-14T22:08:00.005-05:00

There's a new trend in the interweb/cyberspace/intranet/online community. It's devastating. It's ruining my online experience, and probably yours. It's when people change their names on Facebook to their first name and middle name. Abraham Zoltan Lincoln turns into Abraham Zoltan. Susan Princess Sontag turns into Susan Princess. It's happening now and it's happening fast. Every day another FB user loses a piece of their identity.

This poses one giant, massive question: Who the hell do you think you are? What are you afraid of? Newsflash hotshot! Your friends are still your friends whether you eliminate your last name or not. They can still see your pictures, your Farmville chaos and your Perez Hilton fan page. Ok, ok, you don't want people to be able to search for you. Well then how do you expect to network? How do you expect to spy on new people? Eventually your stoner friends from high school are going to slip into oblivion. You need to expand. You need to exist. What's the next move? Changing your birth certificate? Legalizing gay marriage? It's a slippery slope, people.

Looking for a Job in Chicago

2009-10-09T10:24:00.003-05:00

So my girlfriend and I are thinking about getting a cat. We're also thinking about getting jobs. Last night I had a few hours to do nothing. I did it well. I watched The Office wedding and I searched for cats online. There's a website - petfinder.com that lets you type in your zip code and they show all the cats/dogs/reptiles/bonsai trees that have been rescued within a 20 mile radius of your house. I spent a good two hours perusing the cats - from Aristotle to Zeus (and other ridiculous pet names).

This got me thinking - why is it easier to find an abandoned, malnourished cat in Chicago than a job? Is this economy so bad that there are more cats than jobs in a major metropolitan city? I thought cats live on farms. I was wrong. Got me again, Mayor Daley! First you let me down on the Olympics and now you flood our streets with cats, most of which have silly names.

So for all you unemployed people in the world, get a cat, not a job. It will provide you with warmth, comfort, companionship and as a bonus, it won't be hard to find one. But if you do end up wanting a job - don't look in Chicago. Try another place where there are no cats - like Farmville, Iowa or Middle of Nowhere, Kansas.

The Playlist of my Awkward Years

2009-10-01T16:54:00.003-05:00

I'm making a playlist of all the songs I loved during my awkward years. It's really bringing back a lot of memories. Allow me to share.

1) Bush - Machinehead. I'm sitting in my bedroom getting pumped for my bar mitzvah. I have it blasting as I'm putting my new suit on. My sister walks in and yells over the music, "You're gonna be a man!"

2) Rush - Tom Sawyer. 6th grade sitting in the cafeteria listening to this song on my headphones thinking I'm so cool. I know nothing about the band, except that the drummer is awesome. This girl I had a crush on comes up to me and I act way too cool for her. I'm listening to Rush, leave me alone. She never talks to me again.

3) Third Eye Blind - Semi-Charmed Life. 7th grade social studies. I know this song by heart and I make sure everyone at Wilbur Wright Middle School knows this. I'm so freaking awesome - sitting in my desk singing the song at the top of my lungs. Mr. Colias gives me detention. I don't care, I'm singing about cocaine. Mr. Colias is so dorky, but detention sucks.

4) Dave Matthews Band - Let You Down. Trying to woo girls by singing the words "I have no lid upon my head, but if I did, you could look inside and see what's on my mind." It kind of worked. Only because everyone liked Dave Matthews. Some hot girl told me my Adidas gym pants were cool. They were cool.

5) Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - American Girl. Going into my older brother's room while he was out of the house and memorizing all the band members of the Heartbreakers and then bringing them up on the way to school the next day so he would think I was cool. He didn't think I was cool. He thought I was AWESOME.

6) Aeroplane - Red Hot Chili Peppers. Wishing I could be one of the kids singing back up on the track.

7) Sophie B. Hawkins - As I Lay Me Down. My friends thought I was lame. I guess I was.

That's what I have so far. I'm going to keep working on it. Wish me luck.

Wazzup Xerox?

2009-09-29T14:10:00.003-05:00

Wazzup Xerox? That's what the maintenance guy at my apartment building says to me all the time. Whenever I see him, maybe 3 or 4 times a week, it's "Wazzup Xerox?" I'm a nice, considerate guy so I never talk back. I just drop my head and say, "Hi, Boris." That was until yesterday.

Boris had to come up to my apartment to fix my oven and he walked in and obviously said, "Wazzup Xerox?" Instead of saying "Hi Boris," I said, "Boris, can I ask you something? Why do you call me Xerox?" This followed...

Boris: Your name iz not Xerox?
Me: No, it's Gabe
Boris: I likez Xerox better. You look like a Xerox.
Me: Like a photocopy?
Boris: No, like my nephew Xerox. He livez in St. Petersburg.
Me: How old is he?
Boris: Seven.
Me: I look like a seven year old?
Boris: No, Xerox lookz like he'z 25.
Me: Can I make up a nickname for you?
Boris Yez, of courz.
Me: How about BrontoBoris. Like the dinosaur.
Boris: Do I look likez a dinozaur?
Me: No, it's a play on words.
Boris: I hate dinosaurz. They are scary and ugly.
Me: I didn't mean anything by it.
Boris: You aren't Xerox anymore. You are azzhole.

Now Boris says, "Wazzup azzhole?" And I say, "not much."

Famous like Mitch Hedberg

2009-08-28T10:41:00.003-05:00

There is a small group of people in the world that can best be categorized as a group that people say they like because its cool to like them. OK that explanation was a bit convoluted. I'll try again. So there's a group of people that are cool in society - like Johnny Depp and Steven Tyler. Then there is a group of people that people think they should think are cool in society -like Mitch Hedberg. It's the second group that interests me. The Mitch Hedberg group.

This can be confusing, so stay with me. When someone says, "God, I just LOVE Mitch Hedberg," 90% of the time they are really saying, "I've HEARD of Mitch Hedberg and people will think it's cool if I say I love him." Mitch Hedberg, now dead, didn't really have to do much to be loved because 9 out of 10 people who "love" him have never heard any of his jokes or looked at his ridiculous haircut. (This, of course, is unscientific. What do you think I am, a scientist?)

So what am I getting at? I want to be Mitch Hedberg. Wait. No I don't. I want to be famous like Mitch Hedberg. I want people who have barely even heard of me say, "God I just LOVE that guy." I want 14 year old girls to have posters of me on their wall without even knowing my middle name. I want my records to go platinum with the help of people who will never listen to it. I want my movie to be #1 at the box office and people to walk away saying, "Why do I tell people I love that guy?" and then still tell people they love me, you know, to be cool.

Where the Urinal Cakes Smell like Trees

2009-08-25T19:07:00.003-05:00

Every man has been there. Standing at the urinal surrounded on either side by other men peeing. No matter what your sexuality, what your color, where you are from, there's always the "OMG this is awfully awkward and horrifying." Every guy will tell you the first thing he does when walking into a public bathroom is see whether or not there's a urinal with two empty spots next to it. If so, they will make a bee-line to that spot. If not, they will meander slowly over, hoping that the fellow washroom users will finish their business by the time they wander over.

Anyway, back to the point. It's awkward. There's the feeling that the other person is looking at you. There's the feeling that you are peeing too loudly. There's the feeling that you're peeing too softly. There's the feeling that if you slip and fall maybe you pee on the other guy's feet. There are a lot of feelings. For example (there's ALWAYS an example!), I was at the symphony orchestra last night and I had to use the facilities. I walked into the room marked "Men," and I obviously checked to see if there was a urinal with the vacant adjoining spots. No dice. I checked my blackberry, looked in the mirror, tied my shoes, adjusted my belt, coughed a few times, pretended to look for my contact lens - all in the hopes that the people would leave so I could do my thing in peace. Again, no dice.

I walked up to the urinal and gave the kindly fellow next to me a quick glance and a grin. Not too friendly, not too mean, just enough to let him know that I was cool. I wasn't going to pull any fast ones on him. I was standing there with my fly down hoping to the good lord that it would be smooth sailing. The man (who by this time had been peeing for well over 2 minutes) did a little shake, zipped up his pants and flushed. He walked away but suddenly turned around and said, "I like your shoes."

What the hell? What did he mean? Were shoes a metaphor for my urinal style? Did he like my stance? My flow? Or really did he just like my shoes? I couldn't answer him. I couldn't pee anymore. I just stood there with my eyes closed hoping that when I opened them he was gone. I opened my eyes, my fly was down, my stream was halted. I turned my head and he was no longer there.

The urinal is nature's way of telling me to pee in the woods, where no one is watching you. Where nobody likes your shoes. Where the urinal cakes smell like trees.

My Interview with Beyonce

2009-08-21T14:16:00.003-05:00

I recently had the rare opportunity to interview Beyonce Knowles. This was a dream come true. Here's the conversation:

Me: This is an honor, Beyonce. Thanks for taking the time.
BK: It's no problem at all.
Me: How do you handle the pressure of being such a mega star?
BK: I just take it day by day. I have the love and support of so many friends and family members.
Me: You have my support, that's for sure. I will always support you, Beyonce. ALWAYS. No matter what. Even if you break your leg and can't perform anymore. Or get fat.
BK: Uh...thank you.
Me: You're welcome. I have listened to "Halo" about 10 times a day for the past month. I love that song.
BK: Thank you very much, it's a song I'm very proud of.
Me: Did you write that song about me?
BK: I just met you for the first time, so no.
Me: Well then why did you put my name in the song?
BK: I didn't. What are you talking about?
Me: You performed for Barack and Michelle. What was that like? Did the president put any moves on you?
BK: Um no. They were very friendly. I feel so blessed that I was able to do that.
Me: Come on, Barack tried to get you to come back to the White House. That doggie!
BK: No he didn't.
Me: If the president asked you on a date, would you say yes?
BK: That is not going to happen.
Me: If I asked you on a date, would you say yes?
BK: No.
Me: Well that's all the time we have. Perhaps we can meet up again sometime soon.
BK: I seriously doubt it.
Me: You never know.
BK: Yes I do.

My First Ballet Class

2009-08-10T14:46:00.002-05:00

I'm back. Where'd I go? I was on a month long vacation with Angelina Jolie and her 7 dwarfs. I was trying out for the Harlem Globetrotters. I was on a drinking binge with Lindsay Lohan. That's where I was, ok?

So my girlfriend and I took a ballet class. We thought we should up our grooviness. Note to my readers: if you're trying to up your grooviness, don't go to a ballet class. The instructor was a 70 year old woman who clearly used to be a good dancer but now every time she does the Macarena her back goes out. Every time she attempts the Mambo #5 a little pee comes out.

There were about 30 of us - 15 couples. We were an eclectic bunch - varying ages, varying ethnicities, varying sexes, varying body types. The couple to our left didn't speak a word of English. When the instructor lady said, "now first position!" the couple would break into the Moonwalk and yell, "Mickey Yakjon!" When she would say, "second position!" the couple would make out gratuitously. It was hot.

I was so distracted by these two that I learned nothing. I'm moving to Greece or Iraq or wherever they were from. Ballet seems way more interesting over there.

A Funeral Fit for Me

2009-07-07T17:00:00.003-05:00

When I die, I don't want an ordinary funeral. I want a Michael Jackson funeral. I want Justin Timberlake to perform. I want Jesse Jackson to give the eulogy. I want free champagne cocktails for everyone in attendance. I want Barack Obama to hit a 3-pointer in my memory. I want Tiger Woods to name a golf tournament after me. I want Annie Leibowitz to be the official photographer. I want Aretha Franklin to sing my smash hit "Hey Now, Scooby Doo." I want Pete Rose to bet on how many people show up. I want Emeril to prepare the pre-funeral meal. I want Nike to name a shoe after me. I want Dolce and Gabbana changed to Dolce and Gabeona. I want my face on the Statue of Liberty. I want Jessica Simpson to mispronounce my name. I want the funeral broadcasted live across all networks, including HBO and the Food Network. I want 40 minutes of silence - worldwide. I want a Monopoly property named after me. I want the New York Times to have a 20 page spread about me. I want every dog and baby born on the day of my funeral to be named Gabe.

That is all.

4 Deadly Poems

2009-06-26T18:52:00.002-05:00

1) There once was a man named Dave,
All the ladies, about Dave, they did rave,
One night Dave got drunk and was eaten by wolves,
And that's how Dave went to his grave.

2) There once was a lady named Jane,
She had a bad leg, used a cane,
One day Jane got lost, and was eaten by wolves,
And now in the grass there's a stain.

3) There once was a fella named Stan,
His enemies, they did have a plan,
They took him to the woods and fed him the wolves,
They were arrested and ended up in the can.

4) There once was a woman named Stella,
She was a big fan of Helen Kella,
Stella drove past the woods, a wolf jumped in her car,
She didn't croak, but now her world's all psychedella.

The Fit TV Question

2009-06-22T09:56:00.003-05:00

Question of the Day - Fit TV...is it counterproductive?

The network is full of shows ranging from healthy cooking to "All Star Workouts." Seems like a great idea, right? Get the 'work from home people' in shape without leaving the comfort of your home. The stay at home moms can work out and breast feed at the same time, without leaving the couch! Wowie!

But wait. Hold on just a minute. The network has beautiful women doing belly dances and huge beefy men doing bicep curls and cute little blond men making chicken a la low cholesterol.

The hosts and actors in these programs are very good looking, well put together (except for the aptly named Sharon Mann) individuals. I bet there are hundreds if not thousands or millions of people - men and women, girls and boys - who just sit on their ass eating nachos staring at these immaculately shaped human beings. It's impressive how flexible or how jacked or how cute these people are. There's no exercise for these voyeurs. No sweat, only drool.

So think long and hard about this. Is Fit TV really helping America?

I Put the Bed on the Front Lawn

2009-06-15T10:32:00.003-05:00

I took a house sitting job for this guy Georgie. When I arrived at his house, he was showing me around, introducing me to his dog, when I realized that I knew this guy from somewhere - and not just the creepy picture he posted on his craigslist ad. This guy was the valet parking attendant that parked my car last weekend. This was the same dude that MOVED MY SEAT UP when he drove my car. I tell you, nothing, NOTHING, revs my engine more than when valet attendants move my seat and don't put it back.

Revenge is my middle name. Georgie left for the weekend and I got to work. I moved everything in his house from its original place to somewhere else. I put the dining room table in the bedroom. I put the bed on the front lawn. I put the toilet paper in the refrigerator, I put the dishes in the bathroom. I was on a mission. The recliner went in the garage, the microwave went in the stove and the bookshelves I turned upside down.

I didn't get paid, obviously. But I also refused to put anything back.

Improbable Conversations #2

2009-06-11T15:45:00.003-05:00

Mickey Mouse: Hiya!
Eminem: Oh shit, is this for real?
Mickey: Yeppie! This is oh so exciting! Hee Hee!
Eminem: I ain't got time for this.
Mickey: My favorite candy is M&Ms! That's like you! Are you super sweet too?
Eminem: Yo this is whack, I'm gonna murder my agent for setting this up.
Mickey: I like teddy bears! and Minnie Mouse!
Eminem: Peace.
Mickey: It was nice talking to you!

20 Steps to Becoming an International Spy

2009-06-10T14:51:00.002-05:00

20 Steps to Becoming an International Spy:

1) Develop a foreign accent (preferably French)
2) Purchase a plane ticket to Santo Domingo
3) Get a fedora
4) Put a feather in the fedora
5) Wear a Yarmulke under the fedora
6) Grow a beard without the connectors
7) Marry a Russian woman
8) Get a MacBook
9) Get purple tinted contact lenses
10) Eat sushi...all the time
11) Once you get to Santo Domingo, look up a guy named Frankie
12) Tell Frankie you want to be a spy
13) Kill Frankie
14) Get a puppy and name it Frankie (don't kill it)
15) Go to the racetrack and bet on the favorite
16) Read "Where the Wild Things Are"
17) Find Waldo and don't tell anywhere where he is
18) Purchase a gun and throw it in the Hudson
19) Play Wii Fit for 3 hours a day
20) Never, ever, ever, under any circumstances, smile.

The Funniest Man in America

2009-06-08T20:59:00.003-05:00

Today I met the funniest man in America. "I'm the funniest man in America," he told me from across the room.

This was kind of startling to hear. "What are you talking about?" I said.
"Yeah, it's true. I mean I don't get it. Someone named me the funniest man in America. The funny thing is, I don't feel funny. I'm depressed, I have a terrible family, I teach piano lessons, I have 12 cats, my car was broken into, I eat marshmallows for breakfast, my favorite song is 'Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely,' people refer to me as 'Captain Bozo,' I haven't had a girlfriend in 20 years, blah blah blah." He was rambling.

"Maybe you should take off the clown suit," I said.
"But it makes me look cool," he said.
"...And funny!" I countered.
"Ohhhhhhhhh, I get it!"
The kids just sat there, perplexed.

I no longer hang out at birthday parties.

Improbable Conversations #1

2009-06-05T15:42:00.004-05:00

My girlfriend had an amazing idea for a new blog post that can be turned into a blog series. I thought I'd try it out today. It's called "Improbable Conversations." What happens is two celebrities come together and have a conversation. I merely transcribe. I have an extensive database of celebrity (both dead and alive) phone numbers, so what I do is I call one of them up, put them on hold, and then call the other one. They chat, I write. The first one was last night...

Barack Obama: Good evening.
Britney Spears: Hi there! This is such an honor! Oh my god!
Obama: Well the honor is all mine, Britney. How are you doing?
Britney: Well, I've been chillin, recording some songs, do your daughters listen to my music?
Obama: No. They're big fans of the Jonas Brothers and Miley Cyrus.
Britney: Oh.
Obama: I heard that song, If You Seek Amy. I won't let my kids listen to that. There is a certain audience for that kind of music, and it's not my children. I'm sorry.
Britney: Whatever man, like you know anything.
Obama: Now Britney, I have a question for you, are you drunk?
Britney: Are YOU drunk? You're like asking me all these weird questions. This sucks. I'm out.
Obama: Hello? Are you here? I think she hung up on me. Gabe? Are you there?
Gabe: Yes, Mr. President I'm here. Yes, she hung up. My apologies. Thanks for your time.
Obama: No problem. Thanks for this opportunity.

A Very Unfortunate Name

2009-06-04T15:43:00.004-05:00

I came across a guy today named Shi, pronounced "shy." Pretty cool name if you ask me. Here's how the conversation went:

Me: Hey man, what's your name?
Shi: Shi, tis Shi.
Me: Shi, that's a cool name, where are you from?
Shi: Well Shi, that's a Hawaiian name, but I'm from Philly.
Me: Cool, well Shi, this is my first time at a book club meeting, have you ever been to one?
Shi: Yeah, I'm a regular.
Me: Cool, hey, what's your last name?
Shi: Thead, pronounced "Theed"
Me: Oh ok, Shi Thead, that's...WAIT A MINUTE!
Shi: What?
Me: Your name is Shi Thead?
Shi: Yup.
Me: Did you know that if you put it all together is spells Shithead?
Shi: No, I've never thought of that before.
Me: Really?
Shi: No, I hear that all the time.

The Dave Matthews Experience

2009-06-03T17:26:00.003-05:00

Dave Matthews Band - the single greatest social and musical influence of my hometown and likely yours circa 1996. From ages 12 to 17, DMB was the absolute shit. I went to dozens of concerts. I paid top dollar to sit 300 yards away from the stage. Do I regret it? Hell no. It was fun. When our parents tell us they used to go to CSNY shows or Grateful Dead tours, we don't scoff.

What we can scoff at, however, was our behavior at those aforementioned Dave Matthews concerts. I remember it like yesterday, that feeling...when "Trippin' Billies" or "Two Step" or "Ants Marching" started to play, we went apeshit. We turned into animals, nay, prehistorical dinosaurs. We would scream at the top of our lungs "THANK YOU DAVE! WE LOVE YOU DAVE!" We would bop around, not really dancing, but bopping to the rhythm. On the slow songs we would sway, again not dancing, but swaying. We're wearing hemp chokers, tie dye t-shirts, bandanas, Birkenstocks, some of us even got a peace sign tattooed on their ankle (who? me?)

But again, we would have it no other way. Sure, looking back on things, it was embarrasing, humiliating, and immature. It was all part of the experience. So go ahead, scoff, it's OK. But remember those days fondly. For those of you who were more into the "let's make fun of everyone who loved Dave Matthews," oh boy, you missed out. To those of you too young to remember DMB, go buy some albums and keep listening to Miley Cyrus. Because some day you'll look back and say, "remember when Miley Cyrus was around? Oh nevermind, she sucked." OK, so don't listen to her. Just stick to Dave Matthews, Miley Cyrus sucks.

A Picture I Took at Whole Foods

2009-06-02T22:44:00.001-05:00

But Mom, I was so damn hungry!

Bustin' Chops

2009-06-01T13:45:00.004-05:00

Bustin' Chops - an American pastime since 15 BC. I was in the library reading up on American history and on page 14 of the American History Journal of the World, just before the John Quincy Adams story and just after Nick Bollettieri tennis camps, was a section on Bustin' Chops. I read that one time during the American Revolution, George Washington would go up to his soldiers and bust chops like he invented it. He would say, "Hey Johnny Boy, your sister is looking hot today. Did she just come back from the sauna? Oh come on, Johnny, I'm just bustin' your chops." He was a genius.

So I thought if GW could bust chops, why can't I? So I've been on a bustin' chops binge. Everything that comes out of my mouth is bust choppin'. I can bust chops with the best chop busters in the world. Allow me to tell you some of the best phrases I've come up with during my chop bustin' journey:

Hey man, I think there's something wrong with your hat, it's on backwards.
What up chick? Did a tornado attack your hair?
Hey Big Bird, why are you so tall? Are you hiding a ladder under your overalls?
Hi guy at restaurant, why did you order the turkey club sandwich? Are you in some sort of club?
...and other awesome, hilarious phrases like that.

After each response by the person, I say, "Oh COME ON! I'm just bustin' your chops."

It's really fun. I suggest you try it some time. It also helps during a job interview. Keep that in mind.

The French Love Sweaty People

2009-05-28T14:17:00.003-05:00

Is it just me or do French people absolutely love sweaty people? Let me explain...I was watching the French Open this morning. Andy Roddick was beating the crap out of some guy and every so often he would call over the towel boy. For those of you who aren't tennis enthusiasts, the towel boy is the kid who runs over to the player with a towel. The player then wipes his sweat all over the towel and throws it back to the kid. The kid then stands back against the wall and waits until the player summons him once more.

Can you imagine the interview process for the job of towel boy? "Hi, thanks for your interest in the towel boy job. Now as you probably know, the job pretty much only entails holding a very sweaty towel. The towel will get progressively more sweaty as the day goes on, but you must still hold on to it. Do you accept the job?" The towel boy says, "Oui."

What a horrible job. I know, I know, you get to be within feet of the world's best tennis players, but at what cost? What I observed most about the Roddick match was that Andy was the sweatiest person in France since Lance Armstrong pedaled his way down the Champs Elysees. After Lance finished the race, mobs of Frenchies hugged him and high fived him. See what I mean? The French love sweaty people.

If I had the misfortune of being the towel boy, I'd insist that either a new towel was used every time the player wanted to deposit sweat, or I was a towel boy for, say, the French Chess Championship, or the French Spelling Bee, or the French Sitting Around Watching French Television Competition of France.

Oh, Chicago

2009-05-27T13:02:00.003-05:00

Oh, Chicago, with your winds blustery and bold,
Oh, Chicago, with your winters so god damn cold,
Oh, Chicago, but your summer with its sun,
Oh, Chicago, if the Cubs could win just one,
Oh, Chicago, remember MJ? oh, could he leap,
Oh, Chicago, the city that does, indeed, sleep,
Oh, Chicago, I live in your belly,
Oh, Chicago, it's getting a little smelly,
Oh, Chicago, I think you about daily,
Oh, Chicago, no, not you, Mayor Daley.
Oh, Chicago, the lake is to the East,
Oh, Chicago, people here just love to feast,
Oh, Chicago, the hope and soul of the Midwest,
Oh, Chicago, Milwaukee thinks it's best.
But it's not.

If I Were A Toaster, The Bread Would Be Ready.

2009-05-26T14:35:00.003-05:00

So I'm chillin on a park bench last week when a woman comes up to me and says, "Excuse me, have you got the time?" "Yeah, it's 9:30," I replied. "Thank you," she said. Later on as I was strolling through the park, the same lady comes up to me again and says, "Excuse me, have you got the time?" I gave her a WTF look and said, "Yeah, it's 9:45." "Thank you," she said. Maybe this lady had Alzheimer's or some kind of memory deficiency so I didn't think much of it.

About 5 minutes after that as I was coming out of the lake in slow motion with only a speedo on and my long silky hair was blowing in the wind even though it was wet, and the same goddamn lady comes up to me and says, "Excuse me, have you got the time?" "Are you serious?" I said, "I just told you 5 minutes ago and then 15 minutes before that. Do you really not know what time it is or are you trying to drive me nuts?" "I'll take the nuts, I'm hungry, cashews please," she replied. "So what time is it? Have you got the time?" If I was a toaster, the bread would be ready. "It's 9:52." "In the morning?" she asked.

Now was my chance. (Editor's Note: "Now was my chance" is such a strange phrase. "Now" indicates that we're in the present, while "was" is indicative of the past. How can we be both in the present and in the past? Where's Daniel Faraday when you need him?) I told the woman that it was, indeed, nighttime and that the world was in total chaos causing the sunlight to be brightest at night. The woman looked at me and said, "What? Are you insane? I know it's the morning. I was just testing you. I'm calling the police." She took out her iPhone and called 9-1-1. "Is that the new iPhone?" I asked. "Yeah, it's super sweet. I just got the new app that lets you see what time it is. It's very helpful."

Engaged to Megan Fox

2009-05-21T12:16:00.002-05:00

People are so skeptical, ya know? Think about it - if you tell someone you met Tiger Woods, their first response is always, "No way, buttercup, I don't believe you." Or if you say your cousin's grandmother's dog sitter is engaged to Megan Fox, the response is, "Shut the hell up, Mr. Liar Pants." Even less impressive things such as getting a new job in this rough economy - the response is, "Really? You did?"

I think it's because people are inherently jealous. If you have something that they don't have, or know someone that they don't know, they don't believe you. How can Jimmy know Dave Matthews? I love Dave Matthews and I don't know him, therefore Jimmy is a dirty liar. Or Hank won second place in a beauty contest and won 10 dollars. But Hank is ugly, so how could he win a beauty contest? What they don't know is that the beauty contest Hank won was for naked mole rats. Of course Hank would win. Idiots.

People need to grow up. It's a matter of maturity. C'mon people, pull it together. Alright, I have to go have lunch with Paris Hilton, Dave Grohl, and Andy Roddick. Peace out.
__________
"Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet." - Bob Dylan

Yo Yo Cupcake

2009-05-19T18:12:00.003-05:00

Want to hear something that you can do that will really kick your socks off? Of course you don't. Here's what you do: You walk down the street with your girlfriend and go up to some dweeby looking dude and say, "Yo Yo Cupcake, can I ask you somethin?" The guy says, "yes" and then you say, "Do you think my girlfriend is hot?"

The guy has 3 options. 1) Says yes and then you say "Watch it, amigo. Then give him the Robert DeNiro finger eyes thing from Meet the Parents. 2) Says no and insults your girlfriend. 3) Says nothing which you can take either way and then repeat either steps 1 or 2.

It's pretty fun. Unless your girlfriend is ugly, in which case I wouldn't recommend doing this at all.
__________
"If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it." - Beyonce

Rudy the Basil Plant

2009-05-18T20:32:00.003-05:00

My girlfriend recently bought a basil plant. We named it Rudy - after Rutherford B. Hayes (true). This is my first bout with parenthood. Like a child, Rudy needs constant nourishing. He needs attention on a daily basis, needs to be fed when he's hungry, and turns brown from time to time.

I think about Rudy constantly. When I'm sleeping, I dream of Rudy. When I'm walking I walk with Rudy. When I'm on the phone - it's Rudy. "Hi Rudy, how are you? What's that? You need water? Why? I fed you this morning. Rudy? Are you there? Why aren't you answering? Rudy? RUDY? RUDY! Where are you? Are you OK? Oh Jesus no. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO"

I raced home. Rudy was fine. He's a plant.
__________

"People tell me that Senator Edwards got picked for his good looks, his sex appeal, and his great hair. I say to them, How do you think I got the job?" - Dick Cheney

The President at Notre Dame

2009-05-15T17:48:00.004-05:00

I'm about to head to Notre Dame for their graduation ceremonies. In case you haven't read the news in the past week, President Obama is speaking. But that's hardly the most newsworthy part of this weekend. There are lots and lots and lots of protesters. They claim that President Obama is anti-Catholic because of his stance on abortion. All politics aside, I have a plan. Here's how it's going to go...

Me: What do you want from me?
Protester: I want you to join the boycott of President Obama
Me: Why?
Protester: He is pro-choice.
Me: But this is graduation, not a pro-abortion rally. Shouldn't we be celebrating the graduates?
Protester: Yeah, but by bringing him here, Notre Dame is agreeing with his policies. And that makes me upset as an American.
Me: Well, I'm going to hear the President of the United States while you stare at pictures of dead unborn people. Have fun with that.
Protester: K, Bye.
Me: Bye.

Really Rubbery

2009-05-14T11:05:00.002-05:00

I have a serious dilemma on my hands. I have a pair of Converse All Stars - black and white. Real slick, real trendy. I enjoy wearing them...it makes me feel like I'm Ben Folds or the guy from Weezer or Pee Wee Herman.

What's the dilemma? They smell like rubber. I mean rubber rubber. Really rubbery. When I'm not wearing them, I have to wrap them in a plastic Kohls bag and stuff it in the back of my closet by the bike I never ride.

It's a hard decision to make. Do I throw them away and rid myself and my apartment of the rubber factory stink or be cool? I was taught as a young boy to always put looking awesome over anything else. When I was 6 I got a tattoo of Michael Jackson on my back. When I was 12 I got a tattoo of Donnie Wahlberg on my chest.

Yeah, I think I'll throw away the shoes.

Maple Syrup Marmalade

2009-05-12T16:42:00.003-05:00

You know the drill. You've all been to a restaurant. You sit down and get your water, you get your menus, look it over for a bit and the waiter/tress comes over to you. They ask if you want a cocktail or beverage of any type and then begin to tell you the specials for that day. This is where the metaphoric shit hits the metaphoric fan.

It's one of the most awkward positions to be in. It's like wearing a banana suit on bandanna day. It's like being a 14 year old boy with a full beard and a forest in your pants the size of the Amazon. It's just a situation you don't want to be in. Here's why -

What do you do? Do you keep staring at the waiter while he reads to you? Then it's just a stare-off. You know the waiter won't break eye contact with you and you don't want to be rude. The waiter knows you don't want to stare, hell he doesn't want to stare. But it's ingrained in us. You just stare. So as Francisco (the waiter) tells you about the duck confit with a maple syrup marmalade and the shaved oregano salad with mango chutney and the Hamburger Helper special, you have a decision to make. Do you care if the waiter thinks you're rude? Uh, does the pope wear a funny hat? Being rude to people to deal with your food is like being rude to your acupuncturist.

So I think you just stare back and smile. Even if it's for a while.

Supple Like My Thighs

2009-05-08T18:34:00.003-05:00

I went to Ft. Wayne, IN yesterday (true.) The place is magical. They have unicorns flying over buildings, free street cars that play whimsical melodies leisurely strolling through the thoroughfares, and children everywhere! The air is supple - like my thighs. The sun is always shining. The cows produce such great milk that it really does do your body good. The trees are tall and the ladies are sexy. The grass is green(ish) and there's not a cloud in the sky. Everyone is in peak physical condition.

I hear they are thinking about holding the 2020 World's Fair in Ft. Wayne. It wouldn't be a bad idea.

Rip Rip One Two

2009-05-05T17:28:00.002-05:00

Editor's Note: Before I start, I want to make something clear - I usually don't make fun of people or complain and I usually don't tell true stories. The story you are about to enjoy involves all three: truth, making fun of someone and complaints. If you are the guy referenced in this post - GRRRRRRR.
______________________________________________

I went to the Cubs game this afternoon. By myself. I had nothing else to do and I live so close to Wrigley Field, it was really a no-brainer. Just a quick walk. I was sitting in section 206 behind the Cubs bullpen in left field. (I just wanted to give you all a reference point.) There was this guy sitting behind me who was either really drunk or really dumb. I was leaning toward dumb because I didn't see him imbibe anything other than Diet Coke. He was wearing over sized aviator glasses (it was very cloudy), a plaid shirt with snap buttons open to his hairy chest, skinny jeans and Chuck Taylors. He was about 24-25 years old. Oh and he had a Budweiser trucker hat on.

Every time a girl walked in front of him, he would start on this bizarre baseball lingo that I'm pretty sure he made up. It went something like this: "Come on baby baby, little rip rip one two rip rip you got it rip rip baby baby oh baby one two." Then the girl would pass and he would go back to his other rants that went like this: "Let's go Cubs, you got this! We can do this!" It didn't matter at all what was happening on the field. The grounds crew could have been out sweeping the infield and he would say, "COME ON BABY WE GOT THIS! ONE TWO ONE TWO RIP RIP RIP."

As the game went on and the Cubs looked like they were going to lose, he turns to his friend and says, "I am so drunk, dude." So I guess he was drunk and I was wrong. But I'd rather be wrong than be that guy. Rip Rip Rip One Two One Two Rip One Two Rip Rip Here We Go Baby Baby Oh Baby Rip Rip Rip.

Fighting an Ex-Marine

2009-05-04T12:58:00.003-05:00

I decided to join the ranks of professional boxing. After watching the Hatton vs. Pacquiao fight, I was so impressed that I thought I needed to be a part of it. I spent a full week dancing around my apartment on my toes, cloaked in loose boxer shorts and stripper boots. My man boobs were flying around, it made me feel fierce, determined, and oddly turned on.

My first task was to choose a nickname. All the greats have a nickname: Cassius "Muhammad Ali" Clay, George "The Griller" Foreman, Mike "Captain Insane-o" Tyson, etc. I came up with Gabe "Harry Truman" Culberg.

I hired a promoter/trainer, Jackie Garabond, some Jewish guy from Naples, Florida. He promised me a world of hurt and glory and he just wanted 40% of my profit. It sounded like a good deal. He arranged a fight with Gary "The Ex-Marine" Anderson. I guess he was in the military. The ding-ding sounded and I got a good look at my opponent. He was a huge mofo. He had tattoos all over his arms and neck. He was foaming at the mouth. I was peeing in my pants. I was so scared. Immediately I knew this was the wrong choice. I should have never quit my job as a ice cream salesman. I was KO'd in the first round, in the first 10 seconds to be exact. I now have 4 teeth left and a broken collar bone. Was it worth it? Hell no.

As for Jackie Garabond...well, as soon as the ding-ding sounded, he grabbed my wallet and ran out of the building. What a sucker - there was nothing in my wallet except for a coupon to Mel's ice cream parlor. Jackie Garabond is lactose intolerant.

My interview with Taylor Swift

2009-04-29T21:41:00.003-05:00

I called Taylor Swift's manager hoping to get an interview with her for this blog. I figured that I'm just a budding star, not yet a superstar, so I had to concoct some kind of fib in order for her to allow me the interview. I told her I was a writer for a new celeb magazine called "Reach for the Stars." Here's how it went...

Me: OMG Taylor! This is such an honor.
TS: The pleasure is all mine.
Me: Did you just say pleasure?
TS: What?
Me: Nevermind. That song about Romeo and Juliet is so HOT! How do you remember all the words?
TS: It's all about practice. My band manager is a real sweetheart and he helps me out a lot.
Me: In what ways?
TS: Well, we sit down together and go over the chords and lyrics and I tell him what exactly I'm looking for out of each instrument. We make a great team.
Me: What else do you two do together?
TS: What are you talking about?
Me: Nothing, nothing, forget it. So you're what, like 15?
TS: No, I'm 18.
Me: You look like you're 15. So what's the best thing about being famous?
TS: It's the fans. They are so great and supportive and I wouldn't be here without them.
Me: What about the free liquor?
TS: Oh, I don't drink, besides I'm not yet 21!
Me: That shouldn't stop you. Well, thanks for the time, Taylor. You're a real babe and sweetheart. Maybe we can get a drink sometime.
TS: You're creepy.
Me: Tee Hee

I just did 450 pushups

2009-04-27T17:57:00.003-05:00

I'm thinking about changing my name. No, not my screen name, not my Hebrew name, my real name. Gabriel is my name now. It's fine - but it's like Pictionary. It's fun but then after a while it's like, how many pictures of an airplane can you draw with your eyes closed? You know what I mean?

But if I'm going to change my name, it has to be worth it. Like I wouldn't change it to Dale or Norm or Gregoire. Not that there's much wrong with those names, it's just I can choose any name in the world, so why go mainstream? I want a name that shows who I am. And considering I just did 450 push ups without a break and then ran 30 miles and beat up Mike Tyson, I need a name that reflects that kind of badassery.

Here are the names I've come up with so far: Strongbow Arrow, Pterodactyl, Piston Pistol, Tanker Thompson, George W. Bush, Bark, Mess With Me Not, Chuckster, Rutherford B. Hayes, Vanilla the Thrilla, Rabbi Ezekiel, Beeswax in Yo Face, and Your Majesty.

I can't quite decide. This is where I ask my readers (that means YOU) to help me out. What do you guys think? Which is your favorite, or, perhaps, you are smarter than I and can think of something better for my new self. The ball is in your court...

FYI, there's a comment section...use it.

Oogadee Boogadee!

2009-04-26T10:51:00.003-05:00

I used to hide in bushes and backseats of cars. It was exhilarating to scare people. When someone would walk by I would jump out and yell "Oogadee Boogadee!" The person would flip out. Half scared and half angry they would chase me down the street. Not only was it a great way to meet people, it was a great way to get exercise.

I once scared a kid. It was awesome. Kids are so easy to scare. I once waltzed my way onto a playground on a Saturday morning with a ski mask on. I would climb the jungle gym and jump up and down screaming, "Snakes! Snakes! There are snakes everywhere!" Kids don't like snakes - except for the weird ones.

Don't Come a Knocking.

2009-04-25T14:09:00.002-05:00

I was waiting to make a phone call today at a phone booth (I got rid of my cell phone, read "34,000 feet") and the gentleman who was inside using the phone was taking forever. After 5, 10, 15 minutes, I didn't know what to do.

I remembered that in movies and TV shows, people knock on the phone booth when they want people to hurry up. So I knocked. The gentleman ignored me. There's no way he didn't hear me because it's a goddamn phone booth and I knocked hard. I didn't want to be Rude Jude so I didn't knock again. I decided to wait. I waited for another 5, 10 minutes. Then I just had to knock. I didn't care if I was Rude Jude or Irritating Ira or Annoying Alex, I was going to use that phone.

The gentleman slid back the door to the phone booth and said, "What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?" "Who are you talking to for so long?" "My girlfriend. We're being intimate." I could see that his face was red and his knees were buckling. "Gross, dude." I said.

I immediately went to the Verizon store and bought a cell phone. The moral of the story: don't come a knocking when the knocking is a coming.

34,000 feet

2009-04-24T16:14:00.003-05:00

So I'm back from vacation (true). Thanks for all your patience as you undoubtedly were screaming at yourselves daily, "WHERE THE HELL IS HE?" Well, I'm back. And do I have a story for you!

So I took a flight through Philadelphia to get to the Caribbean (true) and the plane had one of those phones that are on the back of the center seat in front of you. Since I was young I always wanted to use one, but I was told how expensive it was to use so I never did. It always looked like fun. Talking on the phone from 34,000 ft.? Uh, yes please!

So right before I went on my trip I won a settlement of $5,600. I signed up for a credit card with a limit of - you guessed it - $5,600. So anyway, I get on the plane, I see the phone, I see my credit card and I did some simple math and figured out that if I was on the phone from take off to landing, all 3.5 hours, I would spend - you guessed it again - $5,600.

As soon as Sandy, the flight attendant, told us we could use our portable electronics, I picked up the phone, slid my Amex and called everyone in my rolodex - from Aunt Alice to Ziggy Ziggerson. The woman next to me was clearly annoyed, but if she understood how long I've wanted to do this, she would have understood. I didn't have enough free time off the phone to explain it to her.

I've decided to keep suing people and ditch my cell phone. Once you go center seat in front of you plane phone - you never go back.

Negotiating with Terrorists

2009-04-14T14:40:00.004-05:00

So if you aren't hibernating you know that President Obama gave the go-ahead to take out the Somali pirates that took the American hostage. What a bad ass move. I can't believe I didn't immediately remember the time when I had to take down the pirates, but last night in my dreams, it came back to me.

It was probably 1976 or 1977 (those were some rad times, brother) when I was working on a cargo ship delivering medical supplies to Hawaii when a pirate ship came and ordered us to go ashore. My captain, Captain Gertrude, gathered the crew onto the poop deck and said, "Listen men, we do not negotiate with terrorists." We all agreed. We would win as a team or go down as a team. We drew our swords.

The crew chose me as a representative to go talk to the pirates. I swam out to their boat, climbed aboard and listened to what they had to say. "Hi there! My name is Brent," said the pirate. He didn't seem like your typical pirate. He had neither a peg leg or a parrot on his shoulder. Both eyes were intact. "Hi Brent, I'm Gabe." We shook hands. "Do you want a Little Debbie Cake?" "Sure," I said.

I swam back to my crew and told them not to be worried. The pirates meant no harm. All they wanted was to be towed the rest of the way to Hawaii. One of their engines blew out. We agreed, but under one condition: unlimited Little Debbie Cakes the rest of the way. They agreed.

(Editor's Note: For your enjoyment ) - http://14.media.tumblr.com/oaDQWwRAbm98xg3mZqG8JbV2o1_500.jpg

?

2009-04-13T19:22:00.001-05:00

Putting a period in the place of a question mark is a bold statement. Example: What the hell? vs. What the hell. That's a pretty clear example. Another: Where's my money? vs. Where's my money. See? The period creates an entirely different emotion than does the question mark.

It works reciprocally. Example: My bag is on the ground. vs. My bag is on the ground? The period creates a statement of truth. The question mark inherently denies truth. Another: I ate the last olive. vs. I ate the last olive? In this case, the question mark creates a vision of a buffoon who doesn't know his left from right or up from down. The period creates certainty. And tampon sales.

The Final Four Series: Part Two

2009-04-12T15:38:00.001-05:00

So Machy and I woke up early the next morning after the PHBB and went to this place - The Northside Grill for a greasy filling breakfast before we departed for Detroit and the Final Four.
We sat at the table and sketched out our game plan: first we would look for Michael Jordan, then we would go to Ford Field and watch some basketball.

We drove to Detroit, parked the car, decided whether or not to bring our jackets or leave them in the car (we left them) and started our search for MJ. I had read a few days before that Jordan would indeed be in the D to root on his Tar Heels, so we thought that if there were anyone on the planet who would find him, it would be us. We asked several people on the street if they knew where Michael Jordan was, but none of them knew (or thought we were sane). So we ventured on. We stopped at the Renaissance Hotel, where a Final Four staffer told us he may be staying. We walked around and stared at everyone who walked by. No, not him. Nope, that's not him. No, that guy's white. Is that him? Dude, it's a 4 year old girl. Haven't you seen the Benjamin Button movie? Benjamin who? Nevermind.

The search for Michael Jordan was looking bleak. But we are not quitters. We went to this thing called "Hoop City," a little kids event where you could meet various celebrities (Lil Bow Wow and the Clemson head coach - uhhh no thanks) and we continued to look. He wasn't there. I even went into the men's bathroom to see if I could find him there, but all I found was a note on the side of the stall that read, "For a good time call 555-6501." I called and asked for Michael Jordan. He wasn't there either.

We gave up. We got to the stadium... stay tuned for Part Three coming soon.

The Final Four Series: Part One

2009-04-08T12:31:00.006-05:00

Last Thursday my friend Machy and I ventured to Michigan for the Final Four. I have a friend, Josh, who lives in Ann Arbor - about an hour outside of Detroit, the site of the tournament. Josh is in college. He had planned for us to go to his friend's house for a party that night. The party was called the "Pre Hash Bash Bash." Needless to say, Machy and I were psyched. We've been out of college for a handful of years now and we were both itching for a college party.

We get to the party and the host of the PHBB - this kid Rikki - is your stereotypical college kid. Glazed eyes, full heart, and drunk as a skunk. What's not so typical about Rikki is that he's an astrophysicist. I kid you not. This kid has space posters all over his house. Josh tells me that Rikki will probably make millions of dollars one day from the U.S. government from his astrophysicist hypothesis or whatever. I had to find out for myself.

I went up to Rikki and said, "What's up Rikki, I'm Gabe, Josh's friend." "Heeeeeeey mannnn what's crackin, yo?" said Rikki. "What are you studying?" "Space Aerodynamics and Astrophysics." "No shit? So like what exactly are you working on?" I asked. "Satellites," he said. "So you're going to send satellites into space?" Rikki puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "No brah, I AM putting satellites into space...small satellites."

God Bless America. Stay tuned for part two of the Final Four Series.

The Sexy Criminals

2009-03-30T16:20:00.003-05:00

I recently saw a home video of myself from 1989. I was 5 years old. I was so damn cute. You know when people look at an old picture of you and say, "You were cute, what the hell happened?" like as a joke? Well it's true in this case - seriously, what the hell happened?

I'm not a bad looking guy, but compared to the 5-year old version of myself? Jesus H. Christ, man. What do I do about this? I'll tell you what I do - I pretend to be 5.

My first move was to get the same exact pair of clothes I was wearing in that video - a blue sweatshirt with trains on it and on each car of the train it had a balloon with a letter it in. 7 cars, 7 letters. G-A-B-R-I-E-L. I was wearing bright red sweatpants with the Chicago Bulls logo on the right butt cheek. I was wearing checkered slip ons with TMNT socks. Once I gathered all these items, I got dressed.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I was disappointed. I didn't look like I was 5 or cute. I looked like a freakshow. Half of my stomach was hanging out from under my sweatshirt. The Bulls logo ripped on my butt because they were too tight. The balloons popped. I had to cut the ends of the slip ons off because my feet wouldn't fit.

My girlfriend got home from work and saw me dancing in front of the mirror with my getup. She said, "Did you rob a daycare?" "Yes I did," I said. I figured it was a better story than the one I just told. Please don't tell her. She thinks criminals are sexy.

What a Ripoff

2009-03-26T15:42:00.003-05:00

My hand got stuck to the remote control today. I was doing some carpentry around the house and I accidentally got super glue on my hand and then I grabbed the remote to turn on That 70's Show, and I couldn't put it down. I tried everything to get it off - turpentine, water, oil, soap, punching the wall, nothing worked at all. I didn't want to call an ambulance because I'm broke. Did you know it costs money to have an ambulance come to your house? What a ripoff.

So I sat and I thought. The power of the mind is the greatest power of all. Except this time. I wish I had the power to release super glue from my skin. That would be the greatest power of all. So I thought. And I thought. And I thought. Nothing came.

Then I had an epiphany. What if this is a GOOD thing? I mean I'll never lose the remote again. How many times have I lost the remote? A lot of times. I called my friend Nicolas and he suggested cutting off my hand. "Yeah man, I'll come over and do it for you. You won't feel a thing. It'll just happen so fast." Nicolas is a moron. I regretted that phone call instantly.

So what does a guy do with a remote control stuck to his hand? He sulks. He sits around watching TV, because really what else is there to do? I couldn't sleep, I couldn't exercise, I couldn't tie my shoe, I couldn't do anything except watch TV.

Have you guys seen Dirty Jobs? I love that show.

The Tuxedo Man Cometh

2009-03-25T20:19:00.002-05:00

I sat down to a poker game with 4 of the best poker players in the world. There was Benito Nibori, a man from the Phillipines with a knack for knowing when to bet big. Then there was Rupert Greenman, an ex-marine with a penchant for yelling. There was Mr. Schullmann, a German diplomat who barely spoke English but when he did it sounded scary. "I RAISE!" he would say, but it sounded like "I will destroy you!" Scary mofo. Then there was Sunny Garden, a porn star who doubled as a professional card shark and would wear scandalous outfits to throw off her competition. And then there was me.

I would consider myself an amateur player. I'm not bad at all actually, but I've never been on the world circuit, never played in a huge game such as this, and certainly have never lost more than a few hundred dollars on any given night. How did I get into this game you ask? I have no idea.

I was sitting at my desk in my apartment doing a crossword puzzle, trying to figure out what the hell the name of Julia Roberts brother was (it's Eric) when a cloth bag was pulled over my head and I heard a voice say, "Don't move, you'll be OK." I didn't move. The next thing I know I'm sitting at this poker table with a massive headache.

I didn't ask questions, I was either too scared from Mr. Schullmann's voice or too distracted by Sunny Garden's personality to ask. I reached for my wallet and found ten thousand dollars neatly stashed away in crisp, brand new hundred dollar bills. A man in a sharp tuxedo came up to me and said, "The decision is yours. You can take the 10 grand and go home or you can play. I strongly recommend that you play." Before I made my choice I wanted to make sure I knew exactly what was at stake. "OK, so I can just leave with this money, no questions asked?" "None," said the tuxedo man. "OK I'm out."

I went home. I'm a rich man. Daidle Deedle Daidle Deedle Daidle Deedle Daidle Dum.

Get the Hell Out

2009-03-24T20:33:00.003-05:00

I went into a restaurant that only serves pie. Any kind of pie you want - they have it. The place was called "Only Pie." Solid name if you ask me. I walked in and there was a single counter with red vinyl stools, kind of like a 1950s diner but with no booths, no tables and no women named Flo or Jo or Daisy. The woman at the counter's name was Geri. I saw her name tag and said, "Can I have a double cheeseburger with large fries and a large Coke?" I expected Geri to laugh and laugh hard. I was doubled over in my stool. I was crying. The laughter would not stop. I had diarrhea of the mouth, but with laughs.

"Get the hell out," Geri said. I stopped laughing.
"What do you mean? It was a joke. I'll have a slice of banana creme."
"No you won't. Get the hell out."
"Come on, it was a joke. I knew you only serve pie so I wanted to be funny."
"It wasn't funny. Plus, I'm a vegetarian and I'm kosher. Your ordering a cheeseburger offends me in so many ways."
"Jeez, I'm sorry. I didn't mean any harm." I really didn't.
"Your apology is no good here."

I waited a good 10 seconds before reacting. I didn't know what to do. I was confused. Why would she be so mad about this? Is this some type of test? Is God testing me? I looked up to the heavens. "God, are you testing me?"

No response. I guess I should read The Bible more often. Or stop making stupid jokes. Or both. Or neither.

Britney Spears

2009-03-23T19:22:00.002-05:00

I recently took my creativity and competency to another level. I wanted to make whiskey in my bathtub. First thing I did was clean out my bathtub. It was filthy. There was a layer of dirt all around and inside the tub. What you need to know is that I don't bathe in this bathtub. I found this bathtub on the side of the road and decided to take it home. You never know what you need a spare bathtub for. And voila! Now I can make homemade whiskey.

I'm not one to read instructions or recipes or warnings. I figure I can just do it myself. I don't need anyone's help. Seriously, how hard can it be to make whiskey? You just need hops, water, rubbing alcohol, 3 eggs, dog biscuits, gin, beer, the ace of spades, a cut out Beetle Bailey cartoon, six sunflower seeds, a 1987 David Justice baseball card, a spare tire, sawdust, fairy dust, a baby tooth, a hammer, 14 Tyson Anytizers, toothpaste, Prozac, vitamin water, dirt (ironic, I know), cinnamon, a 15 lb dumbbell, a Christmas sweater, an old copy of Dances With Wolves, some rocks and a piano.

Once I gathered all my materials I decided I needed a bigger tub. All this stuff wouldn't fit in my backyard tub (or my inside tub). I gave it a rest. I sold the bathtub for some Britney Spears tickets and went to the concert. When she came on stage with glitter galore and lights luminating the landscape, I knew I made the right choice.

So next time ya'll want to make yourself something special, just keep in mind that sometimes some things are more important than others.

AMERICAN UNIVERSITY

2009-03-18T21:16:00.001-05:00

American University Eagles vs. Villanova Wildcats.

GO AU!

The Funky Collection

2009-03-17T21:38:00.003-05:00

I'm in a Beatles cover band. I'm George. My friends Paul, John, and Ringo are the other members of the band. John is Ringo, Paul is John, and Ringo is Paul. We've usually just played the older Beatles stuff, the softer side of things. You know, such greats as "I Want to Hold Your Hand," and "Eight Days a Week."

At band practice last week Ringo (Paul) brought up the idea of playing some of The Beatles crazier stuff, "the funky collection," is how he put it. We thought about it for a while. We weren't sure if we had the vocal capabilities or the finger dexterity or the confidence for songs like, "One after 909" and "Come Together." But we thought we would give it a try.

We practiced these songs, 12 new songs total. We had a gig lined up last night at Johnny's Tap, a real slick bar in Northwest Indiana. The place was packed. We came on stage in our costumes. We decided that each one of us would represent a different time period of the Beatles and we would dress accordingly. I wore a black suit with a skinny tie with a bowl cut hairpiece. Ringo (Paul) wore an Indian sari, John (Ringo) wore one of those fringy hippy vests and bell bottom jeans, and Paul (John) wore a white shroud.

We started with "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" and we totally ruined it. It was horrible. We weren't in tune, the lyrics were wrong, the CD was skipping, and the crowd was booing. We walked off the stage as losers - total failures. That was our last show - our only show. We're temporarily disbanding.

Things come, things go. C'est la vie. Carpe Diem. E Pluribus Unum.

I didn't eat the donuts

2009-03-16T18:54:00.002-05:00

Today was a pretty awful day. I literally woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I opened my eyes and I didn't know where I was. Then I dropped my toothbrush in the toilet. Then I fell in the shower and hurt my arm so I couldn't shampoo my hair and then my hair was dirty. Then I put my shirt on backward but I couldn't fix it because my arm hurt so I went around with my shirt backward all day. Then the bus was late so I was late for work and someone brought in donuts but I missed the donuts because I was late and I really like donuts. Then it started to rain and I got wet because I don't own an umbrella. Then I got in a fender bender and the person I bumped into was my boss and that was unfortunate because he really likes his car and he fired me because I hit his car. So now I'm jobless and my shirt is on backward and my arm hurts and my hair is dirty and I didn't eat any donuts and that makes me sad.

Oh and my socks don't match. It's because I'm colorblind. And then I played Monopoly with my friend Ed and he got both Boardwalk and Park Place in two consecutive turns and that was the end of the Monopoly game because everyone knows once you get those two properties, it's pretty much over. Then my watch broke so I didn't know what time it was and I went to go see a 6 o'clock showing of Titanic but I was walked in during the middle of the movie because I thought I was on time but I wasn't and people started yelling at me like, "Down in front!" And then I said, "THE SHIP SINKS!" I said that because I was mad at the people for yelling at me. I regret saying that because I didn't want to ruin the movie for people.

Old Granny Panties

2009-03-13T08:51:00.003-05:00

It's a rough economy - no doubt about it. Sometimes you have to do things you're not proud of. Rough times call for rough measures. That's a Winston Churchill quote.

I took a job as a bellman at a fancy schmancy hotel. My job is to unload luggage from car, label luggage, take luggage to guest room - rinse and repeat. So why is this something I'm not proud of, you ask? Let me explain. I'm a nosy person. I like to get into other people's biznass. So this job, though not glamorous, is a perfect gig for me because I can get to know things about people that only a bellman can know. I look in people's bags. Allow me to share with you some items I've found.

Example 1 - an old rich lady who rolled up in a BMW.
old granny panties, Vick's vaporub, inhaler, Viagra (gross), and a rubber band ball.

Example 2 - a guy, mid 30s, rolled up in a limo.
old granny panties, tennis racket, laptop (I took it), hamster, 2 lbs marijuana (I gave it to my friend D-Bag).

Example 3 - a couple, early 20s, rolled up in a beat up 1987 Chevy.
basketball, handcuffs, cell phone charger, matching socks, a Spanish bootleg copy of Debbie Does Dallas (I took it), 3 lbs of Styrofoam (WTF?)

After much deliberation, I decided to stop looking in people's bags. It's just not as cool as I thought it would be. I wanted to find ninja swords and bananas. I wanted to find animals and FBI documents. I wanted to find cool contraptions and maybe a few thousand dollars. Instead I just got some old granny panties and an adult movie I couldn't even understand.

did you know?

2009-03-12T11:52:00.001-05:00

There's a Facebook group. It's called "Things That Never Happened." You should join it. Unless you want to be a nincompoop.

great links

2009-03-11T13:54:00.005-05:00

www.oldjewstellingjokes.com/ - Thanks to my brother Dave

and
www.passiveaggressivenotes.com - Thanks to my friend Emily

Like a Coconut Without a Duffel Bag

2009-03-10T20:39:00.002-05:00

I was never good with analogies. In 3rd grade my teacher phrased this question to me in front of the whole class, "Gabe, a bark is to a tree as skin is to a ..." I said, "Cedar Rapids, Iowa?"

So I'm still no good at analogies. I try really hard, though. I try to practice every chance I get. When someone at work asks me to do something, I respond with an analogy. For example, "Gabe, will you send this package as a FedEx Priority Overnight?" My response - "Yeah, no problem. Does a banana taste like jumping jacks?" I know that doesn't make sense. When my mom told me she was going to take me out to dinner, I said, "That's cool, it'll be like when Franklin Roosevelt stepped in mashed potatoes in the Oval Office." That one was better. See? I told you I was practicing.

As I get older, I know I'll improve. It's like when you buy a bottle of wine - you know it'll be better in a few years. YES! I DID IT!

I'm just kidding, I'm actually really good at analogies.

Tinkle in the Trousers

2009-03-03T22:01:00.003-06:00

I don't like it when people use the word "little boys/girls room." As in, "Excuse me, I have to use the little boys/girls room." Why can't they just say bathroom? My first thought is where little kids pee - which is usually in bed, in their pants or in kiddie pools shaped like turtles. So every time someone says "I have to use the little boys/girls room," I assume they are going to have an accident.

There are plenty of alternative words you can use: as stated before - bathroom, washroom, loo, toilet, John, WC, Peeatorium, lavatory, restroom. It doesn't matter what you call it. If you happen to be one of those people who say little boys/girls room, listen up - Nobody thinks it's cute. If you want to have people think you tinkle in the trousers, go ahead, but if you want to be an adult about it, choose another term.

He Spit on My Arm

2009-03-02T20:00:00.004-06:00

There's this creepy guy who lives in my building. I was waiting for the elevator when I saw him coming. I took a deep breath and told myself I could deal - I could deal with him, just don't make too much conversation.

Anyway the creeper was standing next to me. I tried to not make eye contact and I was looking at my blackberry as if I were really busy, you know, important work stuff. Finally he took a deep breath and spit a little on my arm. I really didn't want to talk to him so I tried to wipe it off without him noticing and decided that I'd puke later.

"Sorry," he said. "Oh that's OK," I replied. I was trying not to look at him. I was pretending to type on my blackberry but what I was really typing was "dwero4234jdne32er." "Oh you have a blackberry?" he asked. "Yup," I said. "That's cool, I have a Schwinn bicycle."

"You wanna play Pictionary later?" he said. "Sorry, man I'm really busy," I said. "Oh, alright, I just thought I would show you how good I am at drawing you." "Excuse me?" I replied. "Yeah, your green eyes really shine when I use my Crayolas."

I got off the elevator and walked the rest of the way.

A Forest in my Belly

2009-03-01T10:55:00.003-06:00

When I was in 1st grade and learning about plants, I decided to take matters into my own hands. So I learned that plants grow when you have dirt, seeds, water and sunlight. This is agreed upon universally. I grew up in a place with little dirt or sunlight so I thought that I would do it myself. I bought some dirt and seeds. Then I opened my science book.

The first sentence of the "How To Grow Your Own Plants!" section was: Get some dirt and seeds. Check. The second sentence was "Put the seeds in the dirt." Hmm...I decided to eat the dirt and subsequently eat the seeds. OK Check. The third sentence was "Now water the dirt." I went to the sink, filled up my Bebop and Rocksteady cup and drank it. That's all it said.

I thought I was a genius. In a matter of days I would be growing a forest in my belly. Turns out I was wrong. I forgot the sunlight.

My leg is cramping, I swear

2009-02-26T19:13:00.005-06:00

I ripped my jeans today at work, trying to fix my stapler. It was a minor occurrence, nothing too special, nothing worth talking about at Believe You Me Enterprises. Until they ripped some more. And more. It got to the point that I couldn't get up from my desk. It was very embarrassing. And just my luck - it was Thursday - no underpants day. The rip wasn't in my hoo-ha area, it was more on the side, below the pocket. I didn't want anyone to see my pale upper leg zone. I thought about using duct tape to cover it up but then people would be like, "yo whats with the duct tape on your pants?" Then I thought about sewing it when I remembered that I don't know how. I decided that holding the pants together strategically was the best option and just pretend that I had a cramp or something in my leg.

My boss called me into a meeting and I had to face the facts - I had to leave my desk and try my best to be discreet. When I stood up I tripped over my printer and ripped my pants completely. My hoo-ha area was in full view. My immediate thought was to run. My second thought was to wink at the ladies. My third thought, which I followed up on was to start dancing and pretend that I meant to do it. You know, be Mr. Cool. It didn't work. I had a rough day.

J-Date

2009-02-25T19:03:00.005-06:00

Have you guys ever heard of J-Date? Well it's this Jewish online dating website that connects Jews to other Jews who want to be in a relationship. It's E-Harmony for The Chosen People. Those of you who know me are well aware that I have a girlfriend and I am not one of the thousands of people who use J-Date. Buuuuuuuut I thought what the hell, I'll check it out anyway.

So I created a false name - Jeffrey Silverberg, gave him false information - real estate agent, 6'3, 170 lbs, likes to "chill, smoke hookah, read about Israel, secular, is into sports and likes to go to the beach in the summer." Not bad, right? Kind of a generic Jewish guy. I also threw in that I wet the bed until I was 17. I mean I didn't really want anyone to email me, I didn't want to go on a date, I just wanted to browse...maybe see some people from my past. The picture I put up there was of the guy who was sitting next to me on the train. I pulled one of those "hmm...there's a glare on my blackberry, I have to hold it up right in the face of you, sir and SNAP. Got the picture." We've all done it. The guy wasn't bad looking. Kind of a combination between Adam Sandler and Jack Black (two Jews, BTW).

I got an email this morning from someone named Rachel. I was shocked. What do I do? I freaked out. I could either not write her back and be a jerk and crush her or I could write her back and tell her I'm a fake and crush her. Or I could go along with it. This was a hard choice.

I still haven't decided what to do. As I write this, I have another webpage open to J-Date. I'm going to look at her picture now and then make the decision...stay with me. OK...Rachel from Chicago. God, there are like 100. OK let me look for her screen name. Standby. Wait...what the.... GRANDMA!?!?!?

mustache

2009-02-24T18:42:00.004-06:00

So I've been trying to grow a mustache for some time now. I can easily grow a beard. That's no problem. It's the area above my upper lip which is the problem. It's like my jaw line and neck is John Belushi - jolly, hairy, big and fruitful while the area above my upper lip is like the Jonas Brothers - insignificant but with great promise. So anyway, I've been trying to grow this mustache for a while now with little success. Don't get me wrong - hair is a-growin'. But it kinda looks funny. I've decided to grow a goatee as well - you know, to even it out. So now I've got this ridiculous mustache that I'm trying to make look not so ridiculous by giving it a brother, if you will. Tell me what you guys think:

Eggs for Breakfast

2009-02-18T19:46:00.007-06:00

The Miami Dolphins held public, open tryouts this past year. Anyone from anywhere could participate. Nobody was guaranteed a spot on the team, but there was at least the opportunity to wow the coaching staff. I had to go. This was my shot to show everyone how talented I really was. In 8th grade I was on the Wilbur Wright Middle School Munster Mustang Football team. I wore #94 and was the backup left defensive tackle. In my first game I had a fumble recovery and ran it back to the 5 yard line. (Editor's Note: That part is true.)

That was the last time I played organized football. But what the hell, I thought, maybe I can make the team. When I arrived at the practice facility, I was wearing black sweatpants and an old yellow t-shirt with the word "Louisiana" on the front and the words "Hot Sauce" on the back. It was the only clean shirt I had.

When all the potential-Dolphins gathered for the first drill, there was so much adrenaline running through me. I was jumping up and down, sweating profusely, ready for anything. I had chugged 2 five hour energy drinks and eaten 4 raw eggs that morning. "LET'S DO THIS!" I screamed. People gave me funny looks. I ignored them. I was the new face of the Miami Dolphins. I was William Wallace, I was Ironman, I was Justin Timberlake. Screw everyone else. I had to concentrate, I had to perform.

During that first drill I got tackled and hit the ground hard. When I got up I had a big fat red mark on my right forearm. Before I knew it, I was crying. A fellow tryer-outer came up to me and said, "Suck it up, man. Don't let them see you cry." I kicked him in the shin and said, "Leave me alone you big jerk!"

That ended my glorious football career. I have no regrets.

something to ponder

2009-02-12T12:11:00.002-06:00

my friend David has a blog. it's amazing. you should read it. http://dmbulletinonline.com

Airplane Seats

2009-02-12T08:45:00.004-06:00

I'm currently sitting on an airplane. I just gave the 7 year old sitting behind me a lesson in etiquette. Here's how it went.
Me: Stop kicking the seat
Kid: No
Me: You better stop kicking the seat
Kid: I'm not gonna
Me: Why?
Kid: It's fun
Me: Well, sonny, it's only fun for you, there are other people you have to take into account
Kid: I have a bank account
Me: How much money do you have?
Kid: 30 dollars
Me: Pathetic.
Kid: I mowed my grandma's lawn and she gave me cash.
Me: Stop kicking the god-damn seat!
Kid's Dad: Don't yell at my kid.

Hey, Can I Use Your Phone for a Second?

2009-02-11T20:17:00.004-06:00

Have you ever invited the Potbelly's delivery man into your house?

Take it from me - DON'T!

The Mugger

2009-02-10T18:40:00.003-06:00

I almost got mugged last night. I was walking home from the post office when a guy approached me. Here's how it went:

Guy: Hey
Me: Uh...hey
Guy: How much money you got?
Me: Not much
Guy: Well how much?
Me: Why do you ask?
Guy: I'm gonna take it
Me: Oh you are, huh?
Guy: Yep
Me: No you aren't
(Guy takes out a blowtorch)
Me: Is that a blowtorch?
Guy: Yep.
Me: Why do you have a blowtorch?
Guy: Don't worry it doesn't work.
Me: OK good. Can I go now?
Guy: I don't know, can you?
Me: Ugh. MAY I go now?
Guy: Yes.

Sam the Brit

2009-02-10T08:53:00.002-06:00

My new friend Sam is British. He makes me feel uncomfortable because of the way he talks. He uses words like "aubergine" and "jolly" and "cheeri-o." I hate that. Why can't he use words like "ubiquitous" or "sentimental" or "hella-good?" Like a real human being aka an American.

Sam came over the other day and said "jolly good day, would you like a swim?" I had no idea what that meant. I stared at him for a while and finally said, "Sam, look, I hate to be the guy who tells you this, but NOBODY CAN UNDERSTAND YOU!"

Sam and I are no longer friends.

Lou's Rise and Shine Family Restaurant

2009-02-08T16:32:00.011-06:00

It's 9 o'clock in the A-M. You know what that means. What? You don't? Well I've only got one more hour until my job interview. I haven't had an interview in years. The last time I had an interview it was at Lou's Rise and Shine Family Restaurant. Lou is my uncle. The interview consisted of Uncle Lou saying "Don't f**k this up."

My interview today is at Gargantuan and Flabbergast. They do animal adoption and family law here locally in Terre Haute. I just went out and bought a dress shirt and a silk tie with a picture of the Supreme Court on it. Gotta dress to impress, right homes?

I'm starting to get nervous. It's now 9:18. I hope I'm not late. Slappy's handicapped and I told him if he doesn't get me there on time, we are going to have some serious talking to do. Slappy's my car.

I'm going to leave soon. I have to get my CD collection ready - a good boss always likes a good CD collection. I'm going to bust out moves like they've never seen. This is good, I'm getting more confident. Maybe I'll show them my Beanie Babies, too.

Wish me luck. I have sweat stains on my shirt.

RockbandGod3

2009-02-06T21:01:00.010-06:00

I play online poker. A lot. My avatar's name is RockbandGod3. I thought it was equal parts biblical and intimidating - exactly what you want for online poker. Now I'm not sure how many of you play poker over the internet, but it's quite the thrill. From the moment you give the website your credit card information, it is ON.

Not only is playing poker online a great way to spend my time, I blush when I say this, but I met my boo over the site as well. Her name is Pryncess818. I'm not sure if that's her real name.

I instantly fell for her. There's no way to tell if she's really a pryncess, but I'm betting she is. I started flirting a bit during our first couple Sit-N-Go tournaments. Oh? What's that you ask? Yeah, that's right. She flirted back. I was getting somewhere with royalty!

After a couple months of good times and good talks, I decided to give our relationship a rest. Don't get me wrong, I was having a great time and needless to say, I really think we had a connection. But needlesslier to say, I had a lot of homework to do. I mean, I'm only 9 years old.

I'm only kidding, that never happened.

Duck Hunt

2009-02-05T18:43:00.005-06:00

This morning before work I went on a duck hunt. It was my first time hunting and let me tell you, it was a quack. My only experience with hunting was when I was a little kid playing Duck Hunt on Nintendo. I sucked at that game, therefore I thought I would suck at the real life duck hunt. I was dead on.

I was a terrible shot. I couldn't shoot anything. Every time I took a shot I said "bam!" very loudly, hoping that maybe I'd scare a duck to death. Didn't happen. Now keep in mind that I'm a lover, not a fighter, so accompaning each "bam!" was a "oh man, I'm so sorry." So it went a little something like this. (Gabe raises the gun, takes aim, shoots and says, "Bam! Oh man, I'm sorry.") What was I sorry for? I'm not so sure, maybe the fact that I was out in the freezing cold shooting at ducks and god would look down on that. Who knows, maybe god was a duck hunter himself. I'm pretty sure Abraham was, I think I learned that at hebrew school (Thanks Mrs. Silversteinberg!) (sigh... I digress.)

Anyway, when I got to work I found out that my company was buying lunch for everyone. They were ordering Chinese food and we all had to pick something from the menu. I looked over the menu and came across "Peking Duck." Ironic, no? Don't you think? I had to get that. I had to win the battle with the ducks. If you can't beat 'em, eat 'em. That's what I say.

I'm only kidding. That never happened.

Office Troubles

2009-02-04T16:59:00.000-06:00

I get nervous a lot. Sometimes my nervousness is reasonable. Sometimes it's not. So yesterday at work I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business when one of my secretaries (yes I have more than one. I'm a P.I.M.P) came over to me and said, "Mr. Culberg, someone's here to see you."

Naturally, I got nervous. Who could it be? My boss? Michael Jordan? Edward Norton? It could be anyone! I gathered myself and calmly said, "send them in."

The big, mahogany doors to my office opened and in stepped a small child. He approached my desk and said, "Hi Dad, it's me, Phil." "Uh, Hi, Phil," I said. Then there was silence. Phil and I starred at each other for what seemed like hours. I was getting more nervous as time wore on. Finally I said, "What do you want, Phil? What the hell are you doing? Who are you?" Phil's eyes started to water. "Don't you know me? You don't recognize me, Dad?" "No, I don't." Phil then took a step back, looked at my name plate and said, "Oh shit, wrong office."

I'm only kidding, that never happened.

Playing Basketball

2009-02-04T10:48:00.000-06:00

I enjoy playing basketball, everyone knows that. I was the starting point guard on the Munster High School state championship team. Ever since I moved to Chicago, I enjoy going down to Lincoln Park and shooting some hoops. Last night, though it was cold, I decided to get my game on. I went to LP and I was the only one on the courts. I was warming up, knocking down threes, when a very large man came up to me.
Large man - "Sup."
Me- "Yeah, what's up?"
Large man - "Wanna ball?"
Me - "You are a very large man."
Large man - "obvi."
Me- "OK, Yeah, let's play"

Now I am a big guy, but this dude was freakin enormous. He smoked me. He won 11-2. I mean I just couldn't compete with this fella. When we were done playing and my lungs burned from playing defense and the sub-zero temperatures, I asked him what his name was, I only wanted to be polite.

Me - "what's your name?"
Large man - "Larry"
Me - "Does Larry have a last name?"
Large man - "Bird"
Me - "Larry Bird? What kind of name is that?"
Large man - "I'm from Indiana"
Me - "So am I!!!"

I'm only kidding. That never happened.

driving to work this morning

2009-02-04T09:25:00.000-06:00

So this morning as I was driving to work I saw a guy on the street who looked just like my friend Tim. I have a running joke with my friend Tim that he is a slacker and therefore can't get a job. (Editor's note: Tim is not a slacker. And he has a job). I yelled out the window, convinced it was Tim, "Hey slacker! Get a job you bum!" To which the Tim doppelganger replied, "I'm trying. I'm actually headed to the unemployment office right now. Leave me the f**k alone!"

Needless to say I felt like a giant schlub. I slouched down in my seat, hopeful that as I drove by him he couldn't get a good look at me.

just kidding. that never happened.