Wazzup Xerox?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.