I'm An Intern In New York

And...... Scene!

2005-04-29T00:00:00.000-04:00

Well, this is it. We all knew it was coming. No, don't cry. Really, stop. Everyone's looking. You're making a scene. Here, wipe your nose; there's snot everywhere. No, it's not you. It's me.

No, but seriously, I want to thank everyone for reading the blog. I honestly had the best time writing for it, and I'm certain I'll start a new blog very soon (for anyone interested in following me). Maybe even by the time I finish writing this entry. I'll post a link here as soon as it's established.

I want to thank my supervisor Julie, and everyone else at Comedy Central, for being so cool. It's a great place to work, and I learned a great deal about writing and humor there.

I know I poo-poo on New York quite a bit in my posts, but it's all in good fun. For the most part. Listen, the NRW subway station at 59th street and Lexington Avenue really is an very smelly place. And the city really is that expensive. And the DVD bootleggers really are time travellers.

But anyway, these are a few of my favorites. Ones that I had as much fun writing as I hope you did reading...

Happy Chinese New Year! ... Get Your Traditional Chinese Watches!
Chinatown 2: The Revisiting
If You See Something, Say Something
St. Patrick: Patron Saint Of Slurring
What The Scientologists Are Really Up To
10 Things You Didn't Know About Interns
Why I Love The Asterisk

There are others, too, like "God Versus Satan..." and the entire "Interns: A History" series. Let's put it this way: I had fun writing everything on this blog. How I became "blog-famous" is a unique story, which I won't go into, but once people actually started reading this blog, I felt sort of obligated to make it worth reading. I wanted to make it worth your time. I wanted to stay away from giving you random bits about my day mixed with pseudo-comedic observations that went nowhere. "This morning I had granola for breakfast. What's the deal with granola anyway? Am I right?" I wanted to avoid that.

A Brief Paragraph That Implies This Blog Is Much More Important Than It Really Is...
A blog can really help your writing, even if nobody is reading it. Of every good writer I've ever listened to, read about, or had the great fortune of speaking to, they all give the same advice: If you want to be a good writer, you have to write. 85% of everything you write, I write, anyone writes, will likely be crap. So, if you want to hit that 15%, you're going to have to work at it. Blogs are great for that.

And finally, I'll leave you with a quote. It's one of my favorites.

"With whate'er gall thou sett'st thy self to write,
thy inoffensive satires never bite."

- John Dryden's Mac Flecknoe

Choose Your Own Adventure: INTERN EDITION

2005-04-28T08:00:00.000-04:00

It's fitting that this is my last topical blog entry for this particular blog, because it may be — and I'm as modest as they come — THE MOST AMBITIOUS BLOG ENTRY EVER. In fact, it is.* It's long, it's elaborate, and I can only credit my supervisor, Julie, for implanting the idea in my head. And also my countless hours of not doing anything more meaningful with my time. Though I had trouble keeping myself from rushing it, I'm pretty proud of this one. So enjoy it. Or don't. Either way, I still love you.

Choose Your Own Adventure books were once very popular. For those unfamiliar, Choose Your Own Adventure books present you with a story by which, more often than not, you play the main character, and ever so often you are forced to choose the direction of the story. And various outcomes and events result depending on your choices.

My older brother, God rest his soul — I'm just kidding, he's very much alive. Little brother-to-brother humor there. Just kidding, big brother. Anyway, my formerly deceased brother owned quite a few Choose Your Own Adventure books, and the genre was sort of on the way out by the time I learned to read. People say 20 is a late age to learn to read, but I not agree. 20 provides a nice comfort zone. It's not too young like, say, a fetus, but not too old like, say, a much older fetus — we're talking a 30 or 40 year old fetus.

But they were a popular draw for children (and one sad 20 year old), and I thought it would be nice (as well as challenging) to create an intern version of Choose Your Own Adventure. Again, it might be long but I think it's broken up enou — oh, for crying out loud, just read it! Reading doesn't hurt you. It's good for you. So, without further delay...

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE:
I AM AN INTERN

You are an intern.

Your workplace depends on you to
perform the menial tasks no one else
wants to perform.

Will you get all your work done, make
the right decisions, and survive the day?

You gently rustle in your sleep. Slowly, you awaken to another beautiful day in the city. What city? Why, it's New York City. You came here to intern. Remember the internship? The one that requires you show up in the next fifteen minutes? "Oh, shit!" you yell, throwing the covers to the floor and bounding out of bed.

It seems like I'm going to be late no matter what, you think. So, should I show up late, or just call in sick?

CHOOSE
If you want to dress and get ready for work, even though you're going to show up late, go to the section marked A. If you want to call in and tell your supervisor you're sick, go to the section marked B.

A
You quickly throw on some pants and a shirt, even though it smells rotten. As long as I get there relatively quick, you think, everything should be fine. Thank goodness for you the subway was running on time that day and you arrived only twenty minutes late. It could have been much worse.

You enter your building through the revolving doors. As you approach the elevator, you're not paying attention and bump hard into another person who seems to be in quite a hurry. You hold on tight to your bag, but the stranger's things are scattered all over the lobby. "Dammit," the man says under his breath. "Sorry," you say. You graciously help the man gather his items, but he doesn't seem thankful. He hardly looks at you and he's sweating profusely, wildly searching for every last item. A security guard walks over to help, but this makes the stranger gather his things even quicker. And before the guard can help, the stranger has already rushed toward the revolving doors. Odd, you think.

You continue towards the elevator doors. Suddenly, you spot something on the ground. It's off behind one of the planters in the lobby. You casually check to see what it is. Gee-wiz! It's a diamond necklace! This must be worth a gazillion dollars!, you exclaim in your head.

Maybe I should turn it into the security guard. Or maybe I should keep it. After all, they don't pay me anything to work here. I should get something out of this, right?

CHOOSE
If you want to turn the diamond necklace into the security guard, go to the section marked C. If you want to keep the diamond necklace for yourself, go to the section marked D.

B
You reach for your cell phone and dial the number of your workplace. "I'm not feeling very well," you say, throwing a random cough in the conversation here and there. Your supervisor tells you to get well and that she'll see you tomorrow. You end the call with a clear conscience. "Everything turned out fine," you say to yourself.

Fifty blocks away, your supervisor hangs her phone up, rises from her desk, and goes to the wall in her office. On the wall is a board labeled, "World's Coolest Interns." Your name is at the top. But not any more. With a disappointed grimace, she sighs and removes your name from the top slot. You're lowered significantly, placed above the intern who kept inappropriately touching people, but below the intern who came to work once on ecstasy.**

C
I can't keep this, you say to yourself. You nod in agreement with your Christian upbringing. It's the right thing to do.

You walk to the guard station and holding the diamond necklace out to display to them, you say to the guards, "Here, I found this lying on the floor over there behind that planter."

"Oh, thank you so much," says one of the guards. "We'll notify management." The guard picks up the phone and dials management. He tells one of the executives that he found a diamond necklace in the lobby. The executive is apparently ecstatic because you can hear his voice from where you're standing. He tells the security guard that he'll be getting a raise for this, and that from now on the sky is the limit. "You've got a fine future ahead of you," the executive says before hanging up.

The security guard gives you a condescending look with a subtle grin. What an asshole, you think, once again walking to the elevators. But, at least you'll be going to heaven, and he'll roast nicely in eternal hellfire. You take solace in that as the elevator doors close.

D
Yes, why shouldn't you keep it? Eternal hellfire can't be that long. Looking around, you place the diamond necklace inside your messenger bag and go upstairs to your workstation.

After you sit down you see one of the other interns — your arch nemesis, to be exact. Evil Intern. He looks at his watch, alluding to your tardiness, and throws you a evil smirk. God, I hate him so much, you think. "Well, it's nearly lunch time, and I've been here for hours, so I think I'll grab a bite." He gets up and leaves for the elevator.

If only murder was legal, you think watching him the whole way down the hall. You go back to your work and try to think of a way to smooth things over with your supervisor. Suddenly, Evil Intern's bag drops off of the chair in his workstation and into the aisle.

Hmm, you think. But should you? No, you couldn't! Could you?

CHOOSE
If you want to simply pick the evil intern's bag up and put it back on his chair as if nothing happened, go to the section marked E. If you want to plant the diamond necklace in the evil intern's bag, go to the section marked F.

E
You don't plant the diamond necklace in Evil Intern's bag. You choose to just pick the bag up and place it back on the chair. Evil Intern goes on to become the President of the United States. And all because you didn't dishonestly ruin his reputation. Enjoy your life of goodwill. Loser.

F
You quietly grab the bag and transfer the diamond necklace from your bag to Evil Intern's bag. Then, calling your supervisor over to the scene for something completely unrelated, you "accidentally" knock over Evil Intern's bag. The diamond necklace falls out.

Your supervisor has a look of shock on her face. "What the hell is going on?" she yells. "We've had a series of jewel thefts in the past few days — this intern is responsible? Well, he'll feel my fiery sword, that's for sure!"

You try to look as shocked as she is and even throw in a few meaningful quips. "He seemed like such a nice guy," you say. "You think you know someone, and then... this." Your supervisor nods in agreement. "So true," she says.

Well, by comparison, your work is looking excellent, and your supervisor wants to take you to lunch. This is your big chance to make a good impression. You both grab your coats and head out to a nice restaurant down the street. The time comes to order. What you order could have a lasting effect on your professional relationship.

CHOOSE
If you decide to order veal, go to the section marked G. If you decide to play it safe and just get a salad, go to the section marked H. If the pressure is too much and you can't make up your mind, go to the section marked I.

G
You order the veal. But you don't know that your supervisor is a staunch animal rights activist. She slaps you, throws a glass of water in your face, and storms out of the restaurant. "Butcher!" she yells from the doors. Clearly, you've been fired.

H
You play it safe and order a salad. But you don't know that your supervisor is a staunch salad rights activist. She slaps you, throws a glass of water in your face, and storms out of the restaurant. "Butcher!" she yells from the doors. Clearly, you've been fired.

I
You can't make up your mind. This lunch may be the chance of a lifetime to make a good impression. You're sweating all over. The pressure to choose wisely becomes too much for you to handle. You have a major panic attack and frantically stumble out of the restaurant.

You don't know where you're going, but you don't care. You just need to get as far away as possible. You clumsily run down a busy New York City street. Too many people. You feel a second panic attack coming and quickly to a deserted alley. The air is cool and stinky, but you're alone, and, finding a comfortable spot against a brick wall, you begin to relax.

Suddenly, you hear a loud bang from an open door in the alley. It's not a sound you've heard before.

CHOOSE
If you decide to ignore the loud bang and remain where you are and relax, go to the section marked J. If you decide to ignore the loud bang and try to go back to the restaurant, go to the section marked K. If you decide to go find out what caused the loud bang, go to the section marked L.

J
You decide to ignore the loud bang. Furthermore, you ignore everything completely. You let all the muscles in your body relax and you sigh deeply as you tune out the rest of the world. This is nice, you think, falling into a pleasant sleep right there in the alley.

You wake up. It's night time. You're in tremendous pain, but you don't know why. Rising to your feet is very painful. The side of your shirt seems to be wet. Oh, Jesus! It's blood! What happened? Running your hands over every inch of your midsection, you come across some stitches. Oh goodness. Your down-to-earth, Midwestern mother was right. This is exactly what she said would happen if you fell asleep in an alley. Someone stole your kidneys.

K
You ignore the loud bang and decide to go back to the restaurant and attempt to explain your little outburst to your supervisor. But you don't see her. She must have gone back to the office. You've lost your chance. Sitting in the booth, you place your head in your hands and you cry openly. "Little girl" openly. As you reach for the napkin holder to dry your tears, you lock eyes with your supervisor. She's sitting in the next booth over. She quietly removes herself from the booth and, as inconspicuously as possible, rushes out of the restaurant.

L
You get up and carefully walk over to the door. You feel as if someone is following you, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone in view, so you ignore the feeling. There’s just a curtain hanging down from the top, no physical door. You pull the curtain aside and step in. It’s dark and you can’t see anything. The wall feels like riveted metal. What’s this? Feels like a light switch. You flip it on. A long descending corridor appears. Looks like it goes pretty deep under ground.

You follow it along until you reach an elaborately designed metallic door. Again, you turn around, thinking you hear someone behind you, but no one seems to be there. The door looks futuristic — I’ll bet this thing could withstand a bomb blast, you think. To your right is a keypad and above it there are five small digit spaces. Must be a five digit code to unlock this giant door.

“I should probably go back,” you mutter under your breath. Still, it can’t hurt to try, right? “I’ll try three times to open it and then if that doesn’t work, I’ll give up and go home.” But which three button combinations will you try?

CHOOSE
If you want to enter “32183,” your birthday, go to the section marked M. If you want to enter “01110,” the first five digits in the Binary language encoding of the word “poop,” go to the section marked N. If you want to enter the first five numbers off the top of your head, go to the section marked O.

M
You enter “32183,” the date of your birth, just for fun. “That is the incorrect passcode,” says a feminine computer voice. Suddenly, a tiny panel of the wall opens up to your right. A small laser emerges and waits only a moment before severing your hand from your body. You cry out in pain, but no one will hear you so far under ground. You run frantically away from the secured door. You come again into the alley. You’re thankful to be alive. You have a new lease on life. Now it’s time to go back to the restaurant and show your supervisor that you’re the best intern out there. You should seek medical attention, but you’re far too driven. Who cares if the wound becomes infected? It’ll be the most successful infected wound on the job market.

You reenter the restaurant, keeping your severed hand in your pocket so as not to freak out your supervisor. You apologize for the outburst you had had earlier and tell her it was probably because of something you ate for breakfast.

“It’s not a problem,” she says. “Why don’t we forget lunch and just talk.” JOY!, you think. “I wanted to ask you if you were interested in joining our company softball team. You seem athletic, and we really need someone who can swing the bat.”

You stare deep into her eyes, as if she’s just told you that she shot your best friend. And then used your best friend’s severed arms to beat your favorite dog to death.

You jump out of the booth and run out of the restaurant once again, screaming to high heaven.

N
You decide to enter “01110,” the first five digits in the Binary language encoding of the word “poop.” You can’t help but giggle as you press the keys. Just as you suspected; it doesn’t work. Nothing happens. “Very funny,” says the feminine computer voice.

It was pretty damn funny. **

Go to the section marked O.

O
You decide to enter in the first five digits that come into your head. Okay, you think. How about 1... 2... 3... 4... and 6 — no wait, 5. Yeah, “12345.” You take a breath and then enter the combination into the keypad. You hear two beeps followed by a metallic thud. “Passcode correct. Lock disengaged,” says the soft, feminine computer voice.

Incredible. What are the chances? It’s almost as if you existed within a story and the author was simply using inexplicable luck to move the plot forward.

The door is fairly heavy and to avoid drawing any unwanted attention to yourself, you don’t shut it and instead leave it open just a crack. You appear to be in some sort of laboratory or warehouse. There are large crates stacked all over. You quietly come to an opening and see a long boardroom type table with chairs all around it.

To the right you see a giant computer screen and a map of the globe. You can’t really tell what’s going on, but your curiosity has gotten the best of you. You move closer. Coming into the clearing, an entire other area of the complex appears to the left. The place appears to be deserted.

Then, you see it. What is that? Within a large clear chamber, bolted down to an upright steel slab, is some kind of creature. It looks humanoid, but it clearly isn't human. It has two massive horns attached at its temples. There's a bloody wound at its side; that's probably what that loud bang was. A gun perhaps. They must have shot it, whatever it is. It looks like some kind of... some kind of —

" — What the hell is that?!" shouts someone from behind you. You turn to see someone you hoped never to see again. It's none other than your arch nemesis, Evil Intern.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you bark. "Are you following me? Weren't you fired?"

"Yeah," he says. "But I have this strange feeling that you had something to do with that?"

"Don't look at me, jewel thief," you reply. You switch your attention back to the creature. Evil Intern walks to your side to examine it with you. "I think it's being held captive," you say. "Why else would they shoot it?" Evil Intern remains silent.

Suddenly the creature awakens with a weak growl. "RRRRelease me," it says is a hard gritty demon voice. "I mean no harm to anyone. I only wish to return to my home." The creature winces in pain from the bullet wound. "RRRRelease me. If you release me, I will reward you with riches beyond your wildest dreams." It looks very weak now, and it once again goes unconscious.

CHOOSE
If you decide not to open the chamber, go to the section marked P. If you decide to open the chamber and free the creature, go to the section marked Q.

P
You decide not to open the chamber. You convince Evil Intern to let it go and you both exit the complex, never speaking of it again. Except on your resume. What? The demon creature is a viable reference. ... What?

Q
You decide to open the chamber. It hisses and steam shoots out the sides. The creature awakes to the sound and slowly emerges. You and Evil Intern take a few steps back unconsciously. "Thank you," says the demon creature. It wants to bring whoever freed him back to its lair to reward that person for what they've done. You don't really like the sound of "lair."

But it doesn’t matter, because Evil Intern has already taken credit. Evil Intern is too keen on traveling to the demon's lair, but he's so annoyingly proactive, he'll become friends with a demon if it means advancement.

The demon is about to take Evil Intern down to his lair, when he pauses and looks at you. He grins. "Are you sure you weren't the one who freed me?" It's almost like he knew. But what do you tell him?

CHOOSE
If you want to tell the demon it WAS Evil Intern who freed him, go to the section marked R. If you want to tell the demon that it was in fact YOU who freed him, go to the section marked S. If you want to tell the demon that NEITHER of you actually freed him, go to the section marked T.

R
You decide to tell the demon creature that it WAS Evil Intern who freed him. "Very well," says the demon. With a boom, he opens up a fiery prtal and dives in. You can hear Evil Intern's screams of horror.

Finally, things are looking up.

Just then, a hand grabs your shoulder. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE???" It's a man in a lab coat; a scientist, you assume. He looks absolutely panicked. You now see that there are a group of men surrounding you. Some look like scientists, some look like business men. They grab you and force you in a seat.

"Do you realize what you've done?" says one scientist. You look at him innocently. "You've released a demon back into the world! The end of the world is now going to come thanks to you!"

"I don't understand," you say. "Who are you people?"

"We're representatives from every nation on Earth," says one man, dressed in a black suit. "That demon was holding information that is key to Lucifer's success in world domination! And now Lucifer will get that information!"

"I still don't understand."

"You don't need to understand!" yelled one man. "The demon must be stopped, and you must be the one to stop him. You're responsible. You need to slay the demon before he reaches Lucifer!"

"I can't slay that thing," you say.

"You can with this," says an old priest, carrying a large sword. He slowly walks to the front. "This is the sword of St. Michael, the archangel, used to guard the gates of Eden. We discovered this ten years ago. When we recently had it carbon dated, it turned out to be older than... well, anything. Older than the universe itself. The markings, the style; this is the sword of St. Michael. We're not talking stories of the Bible here — he really existed. You're going to take this sword. You're going down to hell, and you're going to find that demon before he reaches Lucifer."

The old priest kneels before you and holds out the sword. "Will you, or will you not accept this quest?"

CHOOSE
To refuse St. Michael's sword, go to the section marked U. To accept the sword of St. Michael, go to the section marked V.

S
You decide to tell the demon creature that it was you who freed him. He smiles devilishly and tosses Evil Intern aside. He grabs you and you shoot down a portal to Hell. There, he tortures you and steals your soul. You are to die slowly and painfully, but first you ask the demon for one last request. He allows for one request, at which point, you, on the brink of death, say to him, “My supervisor will throw a fit when I don’t come in on Friday... please deliver the appropriate message for me.”

T
You tell him that neither of you actually freed him. The demon becomes enraged by the utter dishonesty. “I’ve never been so insulted in my whole life! Your were going to reap rewards which you did not deserve?? OUTLANDISH!”

Instantly, you’re both killed in fiery flames from Hell. “I try SO hard sometimes,” says the demon, fighting back tears. “And what does it ever get me? Used and abused, that’s what! This world is SO getting damned!” He sniffles and then descends slowly into Hell.

U
You refuse St. Michael’s sword and run out of the underground complex knowing full well that you have brought about the end of the world. It’s just too much pressure. What can one little intern do? Oh well. Anyway, there will be very little time left.

...

Maybe I can still somehow impress my supervisor before this all goes down, you think, running back to the restaurant.

V
You accept St. Michael’s sword — the sword he used to guard the Gates of Eden — and you accept responsibility for your actions. You need to travel down to Hell and smite the demon before he reaches Lucifer. Holding the archangel's sword in your hand gives you a strength you've never felt before, like the power of God is flowing through you.

A second priest emerges from the back of the group and presents to you an amulet. "This will allow you to travel back and forth between this plane of existence and Hell." You take the amulet and place it around your neck, still not entirely sure about any of this. The two priests back away cautiously.

With a bright explosion of light, you arrive in the Unholy Land, Hell. Immediately, the smell of death is making you want to vomit. The air is filled with ash and you find it difficult to breathe. But your mission is clear and you press on. You come to a long bridge overlooking a vast lake of blood and fire. Then, something you don't expect. There is the demon creature you're looking for. On the bridge. He's waiting for you. He sensed you were coming, and he is too proud to run away from you. His pride may be his undoing.

You walk out to meet him. He pulls a flaming sword from its sheeth. It's somehow dark and blazing at the same time. Truly hellish. With attitude, you remove the archangel's sword from its sheeth. The glare momentarily blinds you. The creature grunts in pain.

Within seconds, he lunges for you, but you block his attacks. Left. Right. From above. Left again. He's trying to over power you, but you're quick. You don't know where the strength is coming from, but you feel it with every swing of your blade. The creature starts to become frustrated. Clank! Crack! Shwing! CLANK! He becomes sloppy and clumsy. You push him back toward the end of the bridge. He's confused now. You're power is too much for him. Just a few more moves. You throw him off balance and sever his sword hand in one clean swipe. His sword falls to the ground with a loud clatter.

He's crying out in pain now. You hold the tip of the blade underneath his chin. Now what?

CHOOSE
If you want to spare the demon's life, go to the section marked W. If you want to finish him off, go to the sction marked X.

W
You decide to spare the demon’s life. You’re Christian upbringing — turn the other cheek — has served you well. But you warn him to forget the vital information in his brain and that you’ll be back if he makes any more trouble. As you turn to leave, he leaps up and grabs his sword, stabbing you square in the back. It’s very painful. You’re Christian upbringing has totally screwed you over.

X
You place your boot on the creature's throat. So pitiful, you think. With a bright flash of holy light, you bring the sword down hard, beheading the beast.

You stand for a minute, breathing heavily, studying the surroundings. Hell, huh?, you think. But there's no time to look, because a bright flash brings you instantly back to the lab you were started. The group of secretive men thanks you for your work. They take the sword and amulet away and push you out the door with little more said. As you walk out, a younger priest says, "You should know, several days have passed since you left. It seemed instant in that world, but time works differently here."

Oh no, you think. Can I still make it to work today? Will I be fined or suspended?

CHOOSE
If you decide not to go to work today, go to the section marked Y. If you decide to go to work today, go to the section marked Z.

Y
You've decided not to go to work, and that, after fighting the Devil's minion, you have a new lease on life. You don't need an internship. Everything is now in perspective. The world seems brighter. Food tastes better. You stopped the end of the world. Take a few days off. But stop walking like a sissy. You beat Satan. Walk like you just beat Satan. No, that's not it either. Forget it. Let's go home, intern... let's go home....

Z
You decide you can still make it into work today. They'll be pretty impressed that you fought a demon and saved the world from Satan. You're walking a little taller now and people seem to notice. "Hey, you, can you copy this for me? Thanks." Ah, what a past couple days it's been. Now, get to work.

* Yes, it is.
** A real person.
*** The word “poop” in Binary is “01110000011011110110111101110000.” The scary thing? Some of you didn’t need to be told.

One Last Chinatown Trek

2005-04-26T22:30:00.000-04:00

My friends Jake, Melissa and I wanted to see Chinatown once more before we left the city. Even after going there as many times as I had, I was still not used to the complete and utter bombardment of illegal activity that is Chinatown. It wasn't so much that we wanted to be there; we had to be there. Because there was one more thing we needed to get before we left for home. We didn't need watches or purses or sunglasses, all of which look strikingly similar to the designer name-brand version of the same product. I mean, heh-heh, you could probably attach a fake Gucci label to a knock-off hand bag and sell it as if it were Gucci, but, come on, this is Chinatown. Nothing like that goes down here. Silly billy.

No, we needed only one item. A blinged-out medallion with supernatural powers.

If there's anywhere in the world where you can pick up a supernaturally powered medallion at a low, low price, Chinatown would be it. So, we set off into the hustle and bustle of Canary Street on a quest to find the coolest looking — most reasonably priced — medallion or amulet with supernatural powers that we could find.

We poked our heads into all the shops we could find, but no one wanted to provide us with a medallion that had supernatural powers. There were plenty of medallions and amulets — money signs and crucifixes and Superman symbols. But alas, none of them would allow us to steal and contain the souls of others, or breathe fire, or live forever. We wanted one like this...

Finally, after searching for a number of hours, we met one man who said he could deliver the merchandise we were looking for. He took us into a back alley, passed all of the purses and watches and sunglasses.

"I believe this is the item for which you seek," he said, stroking his mustache. "I received this dragon medallion from a wise old Chinese man outside of Kunming. He seemed hasty to rid himself of it. Only when I discovered it's true power did I understand his urge to sell."

We all sat in awe, eager to discover the magical properties of this medallion. "What does it do?" asked Melissa.

"Oh, it is a very special medallion," said the man in a dark whisper. "When worn, it allows you to inhabit the bodies of other people and then extricate their essence from their physical body — YOU WILL STEAL THEIR SOUL! MWAHAHAHA!"

...

"Sweet!" we all said simultaneously. "Dude, we will so take that!" I said.

"Twenty dollars," said the Chinese man.

"What?" said Jake. "That's crap! We're not paying twenty for that. Come on, guys. Let's go. There's probably a supernatural medallion store down the street."

"Very well," said the Chinese man. "Fifteen dollars. Final offer."

"Sorry, buddy," I said. "No deal. Too bad, too. I really felt like stealing some souls today. I guess me and burdensome ten dollar bill will have to go elsewhere."

He never went lower than fifteen. But he did show us some fine Rolexes. And Prada bags. Prada bags... Rolexes... soul-stealing medallions.* A fine selection. A Chinatown selection.

We never did find the soul sucking medallion we wanted. No one seemed to have one. Well, they had them, but twenty dollars? F that. We might have even settled for non-blinged out supernatural medallions, too. Honestly. It didn't necessarily have to be decked out in ice.**

Anyway, that guy was a complete waste of time. So, if you see him in Chinatown, don't do your business with him. He's a shady dude. Twenty for a soul-absorbing medallion? Give me a break. I found this picture of him. Spread it around. Warn any other Chinatown shoppers you know.

* And over-priced at that.
** "Ice" means diamonds. And in Chinatown, "diamonds" means "These are not diamonds."

Parting Tips For Future New Yorkers

2005-04-24T05:29:00.000-04:00

Since I'll be leaving in a week, I thought I could give a few tips, a few bits of info, to people interested in becoming future New Yorkers. As is obvious by this blog, I know very little; these are just random things I've noticed and made a mental note of at some point during the adventure.

#1 Don't Come To New York City
Don't come to this place.

#2 If You Must Come, Bring One Million Dollars
You'll need a lot of money if you want to live in New York — one million dollars will start you off pretty well. The odd thing is, I have absolutely no idea why. Everything is expensive, true. But why it costs more is beyond me. It certainly isn't the quality level. Sometimes I think people in New York simply pay for the thrill of living in a big city. It's similar to if NASA opened up a theme park and charged people for the chance to experience what it would be like to live on the moon. New Yorkers are being charged for the chance to experience what it would be like to live in New York. There's no other explanation.

#3 Always Walk Around Like You're Looking For Your Next Victim
When you walk the streets of this city, you need to look like you may snap at any moment. Crazy people come in all kinds, and you never know who is a psycho and who isn't. The crazies don't seem to bother other crazies. So, get crazy.

#4 Get Used To "Atmosphere" Restaurants
Atmosphere restaurants are restaurants whereby you pay money for really no services rendered at all. New York isn't the cleanest place and so these restaurants need something going for them. It's called "imaginary cool restaurant." Often the food isn't that great, but it's the atmosphere you're there for. Basically, you're paying more to feel like the restaurant you're eating at is much more important than it probably is. For instance, this blog is free, but if I charged you ten dollars to view it, and got a bunch of initial suckers — wait, I shouldn't call them suckers... no, suckers works fine — to pay for it, then people would start saying, "Hey, this blog isn't free, but it's pretty popular, so it must be worth it. I'm in." Then, regardless of how blatantly clear it is that this blog sucks, you would still think it's cool, because everyone else does.

#5 Don't Go To The Empire State Building
It costs about twelve dollars to go to the observation deck. I went with a friend and we waited approximately three hours to get to the top. Yes, it is very tall. But, honestly, this is why we invented cameras and pictures. One person takes one for the team, goes to the top of the building. That person takes a picture. That person comes back down the building and shows the picture to other people, who then do not have to go to the top. Trust me, it's solid logic.

#6 Seriously, The Empire State Building Isn't Worth It
...

#7 Don't Walk In The City Unless You Are The Flash
If you aren't DC superhero The Flash, don't walk around in Manhattan. Because even The Flash, with his incredible speed, will get dirty looks and annoyed sighs from New Yorkers for not walking as fast as he should be.

#8 Disposing Of Trash
If you acquire garbage while touring the city, don't worry about it. Just do what everyone else seems to do; toss it off the platform and onto the tracks of a subway station.

#9 Don't Go To Subway Stations
Just buy a rickshaw. Did you see that episode of Seinfeld? That was a good one.

#10 Taxi Drivers
Every language has a word for "nutcase," and if you take cabs in the city, you'll likely hear all of those languages and meet plenty of nutcases. Again, rickshaws are awesome.

Keeping those things in mind, you should do all right here.

A Little Tale About A Mohawk And The Intern Who Gave It A Home

2005-04-21T08:30:00.000-04:00

The following post is true. I do have a mohawk, though it's grown in quite a bit. And I am very cool. But since truth doesn't really sit well with me, first I'm going to tell this story in the third person. Like a fairy tale. I will be playing the role of Intern Andy. Also, to make it more fairy tale-like, my character will be a rabbit. And I will wear people clothes. The other characters in the story will also be animals. They will also wear people clothes. So, sit back boys and girls.

There was once an intern named Andy. Intern Andy was a rabbit. Intern Andy really loved his internship, and his internship really loved him. Intern Andy wanted a mohawk more than anything in the world. Unfortunately, Intern Andy didn't have the money. See, Intern Andy was an intern, and interns more often than not receive no wage for their services.

INTERN/MOHAWK FUN FACT #435

78% of interns resort to some form of cannibalism as a result of not having the money to eat. 50% of those interns become so distressed by life that they get mohawks. 0.005% of those interns is named Intern Andy. Intern Andy has a mohawk. Ipso facto, Intern Andy eats people. The real Intern Andy, I mean. Not the rabbit.

Everyday, Intern Andy would pass by the pet store, see all the little mohawks playing in the window and dream of someday owning a mohawk. And sometimes, Intern Andy would cry when he realized he might never have one.

Intern Andy's two friends, Intern Melissa, a luck dragon, and Intern Jake, a bear, knew that Intern Andy wanted nothing more than to have his very own mohawk. They also knew that Intern Andy's birthday was fast approaching.

Intern Melissa and Intern Jake didn't buy Intern Andy the mohawk and it was the source of bitterness for years to come. But they were interns, too, and had no money to spend on mohawks. When Intern Andy's birthday arrived and he received no mohawk, he knew that desperate times would call for desperate measures. This was of course after he cried though the night.

Intern Andy robbed a bank later that week and was caught instantly. Well, he's a rabbit and rabbits can't really hold guns or money, or slip away undetected. Intern Andy went to jail. And Intern Andy didn't like jail. It was a scary place for him. He was there for nearly a year when his friends Melissa the luck dragon and Jake the bear finally broke him out. Quite easily in fact. Well, because they are a luck dragon and a bear. Seems pretty obvious how they would do it.

To their amazement, Intern Andy came out of prison with a mohawk, which he had apparently crafted out of random debris he had found in the prison yard. Intern Andy was also hard as shit and talking all kinds of street talk. Intern Andy's new name was The Viper Den. He had all sorts of trouble readjusting to society, but he now he had his mohawk, and that completes the story arc. Also, he could kill a man with a towel and a bar of soap. That's impressive for a rabbit. And, being an intern, he knew exactly where the towel and soap went after he was finished disposing of someone in the prison's shower area.

THE STORY BEHIND THE FAIRY TALE

I had always wanted to get a mohawk. Coming to New York all by myself allows me a certain amount of anonymity. Though I've gotten to know a lot of great people since arriving in the big city, it's a different situation than it would be owning a mohawk in the Wisconsin town I grew up in. Whereas in New York, freaks are welcomed with open arms — by other freaks, as it turns out, some with no arms at all — in my hometown they're welcomed mostly by angry mobs and torches.

Just kidding. Little Midwest humor there. The angry mobs in my hometown rarely use the torches anymore. Now the townsfolk simply ostracize. "Point and ostracize, children!" the parents would say. Kidding again. Children in my hometown don't need to be told. Again, more of that Midwestern humor.

Actually, mohawks are not welcomed so warmly in New York either. The people here seem to look at it with the same frightened curiosity they do in Wisconsin. Well, when I finally decided to get a mohawk, I went to a small barbershop in the subway after work. As I received "the hawk," the entire 4,5, and 6 train community looked on. I even got people stopping to take photos.* I was a freak, put on display. At the time the hair was being cut, people seemed very interested, but walking home that day, no one thought anything of it. And it's a testament to the people of New York. They see these kinds of things everyday. "Wow, a mohawk. Interesting. MOVE, ASSHOLE!"**

People look at you differently when you have a mohawk. They sort of keep their distance from you, as if at any moment you're going to let out an ear-piercing scream and start head butting them. Now, of the thousands of people-encounters I've had during my stay here, only twice have I resorted to head butts. Screaming is a given, but head butting is a wild generalization, and I resent it.

I personally receive a large number of curious looks on account of my mohawk. But also because I'm a rabbit. And also because I'm a rabbit wearing people clothes. And I hang out with other animals. And they wear people clothes, too.

* The truth.
** So much truth your mind has just been blown

The Sad Truth

2005-04-19T19:07:00.000-04:00

Well, my internship at Comedy Central is nearly complete. April 29th will be my last day. Then, I'll be flying back home on the 30th. What's more heartbreaking — for you, that is; not so much for me — is that this particular blog will need to end soon. I'll probably keep on blogging, but it won't be under "I'm A New York Intern." I'm inspired by the great blog Things I Hate About My Flatmate and ending the ride appropriately. I'll think of something. However, blogging about being an intern in New York when I'm no longer an intern in New York would be shameless. And though I am completely shameless, I'm also very, very tired.

There's a lot in New York I haven't been able to write about, but that won't stop me from trying to cram it all in in a half-assed way before I go home. I promise to make it a fitting end. And then I expect you all to follow me like zombies to wherever I happen to go next.

And now, for no reason whatsoever, here's the Voltron animation...

(click on me... I'll bring you Voltron.)

Google Satellite Maps UPDATE

2005-04-19T00:00:00.000-04:00

This is really half of a post, but I couldn't just ignore this amazing new find. As luck would have it, my family and friends escaped the Marshmallow Man unscathed. But upon further review of the satellite imagery, I discovered something even more unbelievable, more incredible. I discovered just why they escaped. The photo of the Marshmallow Man was but a snapshot. I went back and reviewed the video footage. Truly, luck was on our side.

No worries, mom and dad. Falcor and Atreyu are on the case. The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man is jacked.

And save me some marshmallow. Remember the end of Ghostbusters? Save me some marshmallow.

Google Satellite Maps

2005-04-17T08:00:00.000-04:00

Living in New York for so many months has created a void in the fabric of my being. Also, I'm very, very deep. You can't say "fabric of my being" without having first attained a certain level of deepness. And my new-age life coach tells me that, after my check clears, I will have attained that level of deepness.

Though I can think of lots of reasons I'd want to stay in New York, it'd be nice to see my hometown, see my house. If only there were some sort of satellite that I could utilize to capture high resolution images of my hometown in Wisconsin. If only...

Well, do you believe in miracles, folks? Because that's not what happened. This problem was solved with good old fashioned internet link-sendin'. No miracles. None at all. Thanks, God. No, really, I'm so glad I spent all those years in private school praising your name. God could easily acquire some high resolution shots of my neighborhood. So why doesn't he? Simple, really. God hates high resolution pictures of my neighborhood. Yes, his hate is so specific.

Anyway, my great friend Nate sent me a link the other day. The link, http://maps.google.com, allows users to scan the higher populated areas of the United States and zoom to near-street-level shots. It's quite impressive.

Perfect, I thought, having just drawn a perfect circle freehand, as the artist Giotto did to prove his skill to Pope Boniface VIII. But also perfect because this link will allow me to see the neighborhood I grew up in without leaving the comfort of my own New York residence, warmly referred to by the neighborhood locals as "that place" and "a God forsaken hole where demon's spawn and demon babies eat smaller, less cool demon babies, leaving only one demon baby who is inevitably considered the coolest demon baby in the neighborhood." Those neighbors sure are quirky! But they do put up with the demon babies, so you've got to love them!

I located my general area using Google's satellite maps. I wasn't even completely zoomed in and already I was impressed. Look at this incredible shot, is what I would say if the picture was bigger and clearer. Since it isn't, I'll just say, "Hey... look at this!"

A little breathtaking, I know. I was pumped. Finally, after months, I was going to see my hometown. I was going to get a little slice of home away from home.

Then I zoomed in closer. I was not prepared for the sight, ladies and gentlemen. I only hope that there is still time to contact my family and friends before they've fled the city.

Pray with me, fellow bloggers.

WARNING: 1980's references will never not be cool. Flux capacitor, the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man -- get on board, folks, or get the hell out of the way.

The Bootleggers In Grand Central Are Actually Time Travelers

2005-04-13T08:06:00.000-04:00

There's no doubt that I've done quite a bit to spread the word on the variety of characters to be found in New York's Grand Central Station. I'm not saying it's a freak show, but there's really no other way for me to finish this sentence. Except by writing "there's really no other way for me to finish this sentence." Which is in a sense finishing the sentence, thereby ruining the joke and my credibility.

Anyway, you can't help but notice it. A blanket, spread out on the floor of Grand Central, carrying DVD's and CD's which everyone in New York refers to as "bootlegs." But I'll let you in on a little secret. The "bootleggers" are not bootleggers at all. They're time travelers. Their merchandise? It's not cheaply copied five dollar DVD versions of films which have not yet officially been released to DVD but were recorded in a theater using a video camera. Heh-heh, that's one wild imagination you have there.

No. These people are time travelers — TIME ADVENTURERS, if you will — and their mission is a noble one. They've traveled back in time with official DVD releases from the future to bring us New Yorkers big, big savings!

But a few questions still remain. Why, if they are official and from the future, do these DVD's feature such substandard packaging and poor video quality? I think the best guess is that the loss in quality is a result of the time traveling process itself. The flux capacitor probably uses so much energy when it rips open the space/time continuum that your copy of Hitch, starring actor, rapper, breather of air Will Smith, has slightly deteriorated by the time it has exited the wormhole.

I approached the time travelers/bootleggers a few days ago and asked if they would take some photos of their time machine the next time they went back to the future for more DVD's. They agreed. I turned around to leave and — surprise, surprise — there was the same person I was talking to just a second ago and now he had photos of the time machine in his hand.

Confused? See, the way time traveling works...

...and that's how time travel works.

But I took a look at these photos. And, sure enough, I immediately spotted the problem. It seems that these time travelers were so busy worrying about time travel and bringing us unbelievable savings that they forgot to properly store the DVD's while traveling through the wormhole. Here's one of the pictures. It really explains the whole thing...

See how they're just carelessly stacked around the flux capacitor? Just as I suspected. That can't be good for quality.

I went immediately to the time travelers/bootleggers in Grand Central to explain my findings. They couldn't believe they had been so stupid. "All this time traveling and bringing of big-time savings has caused us to forget the little things," said one. "Well, from now on, we'll store the DVD's away from the flux capacitor. Thanks, citizen."

"We should get a bin of some kind," said the leader. "Nothing too fancy. But something that looks nice. Are there any stores around here?" he asked.

"There's a Duane Reade about five feet from here," I said. "And if you're feeling adventurous, there's a larger one about six feet from that one." Suddenly, a look of shock and horror came over the man's face. "What's wrong?" I asked.

WHAT IS DUANE READE? A MOMENT TO EXPLAIN...
Duane Reade is a popular store in New York. It's similar to Walgreens. There are a lot of them, and I'm sure they will be sprouting up in a town near you very soo — oh, too late. There it is. Looks pretty nice, right? Actually it doesn't matter what you think. Look, there's another behind you. And in the time you took to turn around, the first one was demolished and built again.

"Please, citizen of this time, do not use that name in our midst," he said.

"I don't understand," I said, not understanding.

"In our time, Duane Reade is the oppressive Supreme Overlord of Earth. That's why we come here to bring you savings on DVD's, CD's, and sometimes batteries," he said. "We're slowly trying to whittle away the Supreme Overlord's power in this time, so that his reign of terror will end in our time."

So, there you have it. The bootleggers in Grand Central are actually time travelers. They come from the future to bring us savings, but also to topple Duane Reade, who apparently becomes Earth's Overlord in the future in what I can only assume is a tyrannical dictatorship of pharmaceutical, Walgreen-esque stores. And now that I've solved the problem with the DVD's and the flux capacitor, the "bootlegs" in Grand Central should be top-notch quality. So, buy away.

NECESSARY TIME TRAVEL DISCLAIMER
Since there a lot of unforeseen occurrences with time travel, it would be naïve of you to think that I, a humble intern, would have all the answers regarding the subject. Being that they're from the future, wouldn't they have known about the flux capacitor problem beforehand? And if Duane Reade is such a problem in the future, why not go back and alter the past so he's never born at all? These are all great questions. But, only a loser would ask these questions. You're not a loser, right? Of course you're not.

...

So, the Pope died, huh? Yeah, pretty crazy...

Off-Topic Post #224: Why I Love The Asterisk

2005-04-09T08:34:00.000-04:00

Few characters in the written word are so versatile. Few characters have the ability to say so much in such a small glyph. Three lines of equal length, crossed at their centers, placed equidistantly around a Z-axis.

My asterisks, because of the font, take a different form, similar to a star. That fact might derail this entire post, but we'll just sweep that little inconsistency under the carpet. And... I have a feeling you won't remember it anyway...

This is the marvel that is the asterisk. Placed at the bottom of a page, an asterisk allows an author to interject and further elaborate on material presented within the body of a piece while still maintaining the continuity of the work.*

Now I’m sure many have noticed that I am quite the utilizer of the asterisk. I like them. They make me feel safe, like a security blanket. Like a security blanket made of asterisks. And also silk. Possibly chocolate. Silky, chocolate asterisks.

There are reasons I use the asterisk more than, say, the tilde (~) or the umlaut/diaeresis (ë). Those particular characters lack the flavorful, literary zest of the asterisk. But mostly, they’re just dumb and stupid, and no one loves them, and no one will be sending them Christmas cards this year. The asterisk will be inundated with Christmas cards this year, and I’ll bet it’ll receive a few holiday fruitcakes as well. People love the asterisk so much they’re going to be sending baked goods to the asterisk on Christmas. The tilde says it’s Jewish and that it doesn’t celebrate Christmas, but I think it’s a front created out of humiliation. It gets no cards. It gets no cards at all.

But let’s get to the specifics. What exactly makes the asterisk so great, besides the fact that it totally kicks ass?

There's no need to be certain of anything. Worried that your material needs "facts" or "a point of view"? An asterisk allows for the most noncommittal of writing. Is this true, or is it the opposite? Why not both?**

It acts as a pit stop for readers. The asterisk allows the reader to take a short break from reading to do some reading. People who read are not having enough words thrown at them at one time. Sure, a page full of words is okay, but I often stop reading in frustration simply because there aren't enough words entering my eyes. Even if for no logical reason at all, the asterisk crams more words onto the page.***

The asterisk will weed out readers who are under the influence of drugs. It sounds far-fetched, I know. But the asterisk has powers -- supernatural powers, really -- beyond its conventional uses. It has the power to identify and subsequently freak out readers who are currently reading your work while on drugs. I'll demonstrate, but not because I want to alienate anyone reading this who may in fact be on drugs. If anything, I want to keep you happy, because your standards are so low. With you, I don't have to work as hard. Because you're on drugs. And everything is funny to you. I could really do anything. Anything at all. Like this...

If I know the drugged audience as well as I think I do, right now they're either laughing uncontrollably, hysterical with fear, or chasing a bouncy ball that just passed into their field of vision. Go! Go get it!

If you're clean, the asterisk below will remain the same the entire time. If you're not clean... well, no one really knows how the asterisk operates. It's rumored to focus in on the fears of each reader individually and exploit those fears. If you fear, say -- oh, I don't know -- Care Bears, then the asterisk will sense that. Or if you fear, say -- again, off the top of my head -- the Quaker Oats guy, the asterisk will sense that as well. So, take a deep breath. Relax. And good luck.

(click on me... I weed out druggies)

* Like this.
** And neither.
*** Like this. See? No reason at all.

Retroactive Epileptic Seizure Warning

For those of you who may suffer from epilepsy, it was probably risky for you to have viewed these animations given their intense and colorfully crazy nature. In retrospect, it would have been better for you to have skipped those crazy seizure-inducing animations. So, let me give you a heads up, a word of warning: You shouldn't have looked at those.

10 Things You Probably Didn't Know About Interns

2005-04-06T08:27:00.000-04:00

10 Things You Probably Didn't Know About Interns

(using no particular order or logic)

Interns Are Edible
The good news is we're made of candy. The bad news is that candy is black licorice. I know there are probably some people who like eating black licorice (statistically, someone has to), or, as it's known in France, "le black licorice." The name changes from region to region. In third world countries and other places where food is scarce, it's known as "Seriously, we don't have anything else?"

Interns Can Unite To Form Voltron
This rarely happens, but when the city is under attack, it's nice to have five interns clad (respectively) in suits of green, blue, orangish-yellow, red, and black to form the mighty Voltron: Defender of the Universe. Of course, the member wearing blue will later be injured and then replaced by the pink suited intern.*

"Help us, Voltron! The city is under attack!... also, this coffee has way too much creamer... work on that. Thanks a bunch, Voltron."

As I said, it doesn't happen often, but when it does, look out! If I could add the theme music, you better believe I would...

(click on me... one-way ticket to goodness)

Interns Have Feelings Too
Even though we're made of black licorice, our blood runs red** just like everyone else's. So, if you get the chance today, hug an intern. But not for too long. We have feelings, but for a select few interns, also rabies.

So, if you get the chance today, shoot a rabid intern. Mouth frothing. That's the key. And aim high. Bullets to the chest just anger rabid interns.

Interns Are Not God, For Crying Out Loud!
We try to save everyone we can, but sometimes they're just too far-gone to be brought back. You think we like watching people die?? We're doing the best we can, dammit! We're not God!***

Interns Aren't Robots
It's true. Though our movements are very robotic, and though we don't have the capacity to feel love, we are human. Technically. Don't confuse our constant need to do "the robot" with the true biology of our species.

Interns Are Capable Of Photosynthesis
...

What?

Interns Did Not Steal Your New Found Glory CD
Though your New Found Glory CD has been missing for the last week and a half, interns did not do it. Don't look at us; we don't even listen to that kind of music. Honestly, whoever stole it did you a favor. What? Stop rifling through our drawers!**** Dude, we don't have it!

Interns Once Drank A Whole Case Of Michelob And Puked All Over His Bed
There was, like, this crazy party at Jon-Jon's house in the 'burbs! And, like, someone totally snuck in, like, a whole case of Michelob! And Interns just sat in the corner and drank the whole thing himself! I thought he was going to fuckin' bleed out his eyes or some shit! Anyway, I heard from this one dude that Interns totally went home that night and puked all over his bed and then just, like, totally fell asleep in it. That guy's hardcore, man.

Interns Are Not Vin Diesel
Though it seems like a logical conclusion, interns are not Hollywood action star Vin Diesel. You may know Vin Diesel from films like XXX (pronounced "Triple X"), The Chronicles Of Riddick (oddly enough, also pronounced "Triple X"), and the smash hit, critically acclaimed, Oscar buzz-worthy sensation The Pacifier.

We're not him.

Interns Are Incorrigible
Interns have a tendency to get themselves into hilarious jams week after week. The conflict begins unexpectedly and usually resolves itself about a half hour later (unless it's a two parter). Strangely enough, it occurs the same day and time every week. Of course, every episode ends the exact same way...

(click on me... I'm good for you)

* If you know what this means, then you are truly sad... as am I. Let's embrace.
** Licorice. Yeah, I know, that was a bad joke. But I'm certain you all would have gone crazy waiting for that inevitable punch line.
*** Dammit!
**** "Drawers" is not spelled D-R-O-O-R-S. Sure, it sounds like "doors," but this is the English language, we don't need your "logic." I mean, we have doe and dough, and we have toe and tough. Our language is on the pot. Or rather, "potgh." The "gh" is silent.

Manhattan Waiters & Waitresses (Actors & Actresses) And Tip-Giving

2005-04-03T23:00:00.000-04:00

Restaurants in Manhattan are famously expensive places to eat. Yes, there are a lot of great worthwhile restaurants, and yes, there is a lot of diversity in cuisine. But it doesn't do you much good if you don't have the cash to part with.

And on top of the high prices, you still have the need for generous tipping. In Manhattan, as it is many other places, waiters/waitresses depend on their tips to make a decent living. There are a lot of waiters/waitresses in this city, 120% of whom want to become actors/actresses. But, you say, 120% is an impossible number, and logically nothing can reach beyond 100%.

...

Not tipping well in Manhattan looks very bad. But it doesn't have to be all bad. I imagine that struggling actors and actresses (waiters and waitresses) have to work constantly to make a living and support their lifestyle of striving to break into the industry. A job can decrease the amount of time they have to work on the acting craft. So, as a customer, why not help them out? Help the struggling actors and actresses out. Help them practice their craft right there in the restaurant.

Leave them a horrible tip. Don't leave them nothing, because that might imply that you simply forgot, whereas leaving very little something means that the particularly horrible tip you left was absolutely intended.

Don't leave. Remain seated at your table until the waiter/waitress comes to retrieve the tip. When they see the horrible tip, they will react negatively, but here's how you should handle the situation. Follow my example...

Waitress
Nice tip, asshole.

Me
Nope. Nope.

Waitress
Excuse me?

Me
I wasn't feeling that at all.
Try it again.

Waitress
What are you talking about?

Me
The whole "angry about bad
tip" routine. I just don't believe
you're really angry. You need to
sell it.

Waitress
Go to hell.

Me
That was better, but you're
a little robotic when you pick
up the empty soup bowl.

Waitress
Listen, you want me to get
the manager?

Me
Still nothing. I don't believe you're
really a waitress. It's as if you're
saying to the camera, "Hi, I'm
someone playing a waitress."

Waitress
What camera?

Me
This one.

I should probably interject here for a moment. You'll need a video camera, too. Also, I'd recommend a small crew — someone to do lighting and then another person to hold the boom mic.

Waitress
Where the hell did that come from?
Get that boom mic out of my face!

Me
Good, I like the pushing. Here's the
scene. You've just had a fight with
your boyfriend, the boom mic guy, and
now he's ready to make up, but you're
not. Go!

Waitress
Listen, I'm asking you guys
nicely to please leave.

Me
No, no, no — your boyfriend
won't respond to that. But now I
want to bring in your new lover.
Enter lighting guy. Go!

Waitress
This is crazy.

Me
Yes, good, a chaotic three-way!
Take that further.

Waitress
Guy, that light is really hot.

Me
Yes, good, hot like your sinful
desires of the flesh. Build on that!

Manager
What's going on over here?

Waitress
Hell if I know.

Me
Yes, good, enter alcoholic,
overbearing yet insecure father
figure. Go!

Okay, I'll stop there, but just know that I could very easily go on for hours. That being said, I want you to know that you should leave good tips when the waiter or waitress is deserving of it. I don't want to make it sound like I do this regularly. Because, even though I do, it's important for me to make it sound like I don't so that your undoubtedly positive impression of me goes untainted.

Interns: A History (part three)

2005-04-02T19:00:00.000-05:00

Previously on Interns: A History
"The Middle Ages... Columbus... American Revolution...."

And now, the stunning conclusion...

INTERNS
PART III: The 20th Century And Beyond!

Fast-forward to the twentieth century and onward, the golden age of interning. We have the luxury of looking back on the past, remembering the interns from eras long forgotten who suffered through terrible interning assignments. We complain nowadays about making coffee or copies. Interns of ancient Rome would have killed to make coffee or copies.

...

See, just then you thought I was using another metaphor. No, they quite literally killed to make their masters coffee or copies. Copy machines and coffee making supplies were set up in the middle of the Coliseum and then hundreds of interns were let loose into the arena. Now, there were only enough supplies for maybe ten interns to complete the task. Can you imagine? The rage? The fury? The built up teenaged angst that these young interns released during these incredibly bloody and gruesome matches? Spectators were seen and heard vomiting in the aisles on account of the sheer barbarism they were witnessing. They say the blood of interns flowed through the streets for days.*

You get the idea. We modern interns are blessed. There are no more Coliseum battles and a significantly less amount of intern blood sports. But the current position of the intern can be accredited to a single speech given in the United States in 1933.

President Franklin Roosevelt addresses a crowd of thousands in front of the White House. In a historical speech, he makes bold predictions about the future.

"There'll be an intern in every home," says the President. "There'll be an intern for every man, woman, and child. We'll pay them nothing except whatever college credit their university will allow!" The crowd cheers rapturously.

He adds, "And the interns will all be robots, and they'll attend universities specifically created for robots!" The crowd cheers rapturously.

"And, make no mistake about it, these robots will fly just like the flying cars which, as my top scientific advisors have told me, will be available to the public no later than the year 1975!" The crowd cheers rapturously.

"And after we've conquered and colonized Mars by no later than 1955, interns will become servants to those brave few willing to start anew on that hellish red rock." The President adds, "At least until the teleportation devices are perfected in the early 60's." The crowd cheers rapturously.

...

Okay, not everything President Roosevelt predicted came true, but he did set the stage for robot universities. Granted, those still don't yet exist, but, to be fair, the man is dead.

Still, I'd like to think that someday there will be intern robot universities all over the world. I can only guess what those universities for intern robots will look like. So I will. Using Photosho... using advance technology... okay, fine, it's Photoshop, alright? Are you happy? Does it make you happy to know that I'm humiliated? Should I get on this table and dance for you? Is that what you want? I'll be like your little own intern robot.

Anywho, here is an artist's rendition of the future. Don't look for too long. They say that seeing one's own future can cause a person to go insane with thoughts of inadequacy. So, though this glimpse into the future will shock and awe you with its stunning advancements in technology, remember, our place is here and now. Behold...

I know it's depressing. You're just a regular intern. Human. Flightless. I'm sure there have been many instances during your internship where you've thought, "Damn, if only I could fly. Like the robots. Like the flying intern robots of the future." And that's when your supervisor walks in on you. You, dressed in a cape and makeshift robot costume. How awkward for you.

That brings us to the present. The fetching, the copying, the college credit. We are a composite of all the interns who came before us. It's like evolution, only nothing at all like evolution. Now, there are going to be people who think that, over the course of this series of posts, I've carelessly skipped over a lot of important history in a matter of a few paragraphs.

...

I sure did... I sure did.**

Review Of Contributions To The Intern World

Greeks
Proactiveness
Fetching skills

Egyptians
Perseverance
Embalmed kitties
Feet and arms which are only two dimensional

Romans
Ferocity
The taste for human blood
Copying and coffee-making skills

Aztecs
Taste for human heart
Collating skills
Heart-eating skills

Columbus
People skills
Putting on a happy face
Running from angry natives

America
Revolutionaries
Quill sharpening skills
Flying intern robots
Robot universities

Things which I would have liked to include in Interns: A History, but didn't...

Jokes
Logic
Some sense of dignity
Intelligence
An ultimate purpose

* Later to be mopped up by interns.
** I sure did.

A Scathing Blogger Criticism

2005-03-29T19:35:00.000-05:00

I've just written a great article criticizing Blogger. Just wait for the article to load. As soon as Blogger loads the article, you'll see why Blogger isn't very good. Any moment now, an article that takes the proverbial wind out of Blogger's sails will load and reveal my scathing criticism. Wait until you see it. It's really quite awesome, if I do say so myself.

...

Any moment now.

Interns: A History (part two)

2005-03-28T18:36:00.000-05:00

Previously on Interns: A History...
"Plato... Egyptians... Romans...."

We now continue with Interns: A History...

INTERNS

PART II: The Awkward Years

The Middle Ages hit the intern community hard. It was a confusing time. Feudalism was common practice and lands changed hands often. Servants of one master could quickly become the servants of another. Interns were without stability. The entire intern community lacked motivation. Because, why try to move ahead in the feudal career world of one lord when that lord's head could very well be on top of a pike by the end of week.

The Middle Ages are also scattered as far as information about the intern goes. I scoured my many databases* and logged many hours viewing said data.** The thoroughness of my presentation will no doubt attest to this.***

The same can be said for the many other important parts of history. The Crusades, the Renaissance, the Enlightenment; it’s safe to assume that interns played a major role in all of these events. All I found – again, during my tireless research effort – were web pages entitled “All Nude Girls Of The Crusades,” and “Hot Girl-On-Girl Action During The Renaissance,” and “Learn About The Enlightenment While You Enlarge Your Penis.” ****

However, intern activity picked up again in The New World. Columbus used interns when he discovered America.*****

COLUMBUS
Hmm... those natives don’t look
very friendly. [clap clap] Intern!
Take a rowboat ashore and greet
those natives.

INTERN
They look like they have spears.
That can’t be a good sign.

COLUMBUS
Those are just “welcome spears.”

INTERN
Uh, I don’t think—

COLUMBUS
Hey! Who’s Columbus?
Huh? Who’s Columbus?

INTERN
...
You’re Columbus.

COLUMBUS
Damn straight. Now, put
on your “meet & greet” face.

INTERN
Like this?

COLUMBUS
No, that’s a “I-want-to-massacre-
your-people-and-treat-them-as-
subhuman-for-generations-to-
come” face.
...
Work on that.

But the event that is considered by most to have jumpstarted the intern community is the American Revolution. It is there that we saw a true specialization of the position. No longer were interns sacrificed merely for the entertainment of others, or thrown to the front lines as human shields, or, as in one unfortunate case during the Renaissance, ground up into a fine paste and used to make the color “intern.” Interns who wanted to aid the revolution had to hold specific job skills.

It just so happens that I’ve acquired a copy of the very ad used to recruit the future American revolutionaries.

------------------------

WANTED:
Interns To Join Rebellion, Help Throw
Off Chains Of Tyranny, Perform Menial Office Tasks

JOBS INCLUDE:
Light filing
Nation founding
Copying (by hand -- remember, 1700’s -- we have no Xerox machine)
Quill sharpening
Red Coat sticking

SKILLS NEEDED:
MUST have experience founding nations.
MUST be able to fire (then reload) musket in under a minute.
MUST be okay with the possibility of meeting the maker.
MUST be easy-going, cheerful people person who can change to ravenous, gun-toting revolutionary on very short notice.
MUST be able to cover for bosses when Native Americans come by to complain. Acceptable responses include...

1. “Genocide? You’re gonna wanna talk to human resources about that.”
2. “Those blankets were infected when we got them.”
3. “I’m sorry, the forefathers are at a brunch/luncheon.”

MUST be able to simultaneously laugh at and disregard the irony of liberating yourself from a tyrannical power, founding a nation based on freedom, and owning slaves.

QUICK QUESTIONS:
Are you British?
Do you think Great Britain is really all that great?
Do you own any red coats?
Are you violently allergic to tea?
Are you a Native American who is upset with the colonizing force for killing your people and giving you infected blankets?

If you answered YES to the last question, there’s no need to go on. We have all we need, and we thank you for your interest. If you said NO, please continue.

...

What’s up with those Native Americans, huh? I mean, with their buffaloes and their teepees and their animal names? What’s that about? We know. Totally weird, right?

------------------------

* Pornography websites.
** Pornography.
*** "this" meaning pornography.
**** False advertising... their information on The Enlightenment is mediocre at best.
***** Little known fact: America was once known as the “West Indies.”

Next time on Interns: A History...
PART III: The 20th Century and Beyond!

Interns: A History (part one)

2005-03-24T08:00:00.000-05:00

It seems that lately I've talked about New York itself more than interning. That's because interning just isn't the glamorous life that virtually no one thinks it is. Comedy Central is a great place to work, but it's a lot like any other workplace. New York, on the other hand, is a zoo and much more interesting to write about.

Therefore, I'm dedicating the next few posts to interns. Today, I'm going to begin to give a history of the position known as intern. This is part one. The next will likely be part two, but it might not be. It may be part three; you don't know. I'm sly like that.

INTERNS
PART I: The Early Years

The word intern comes from the Latin internus, meaning "to fetch" or "hey, you, do this." It was said that in ancient Greece, Socrates was often over-heard saying of Plato, "Fetch me fresh olives and a fine bathrobe!"

Of course, Plato, being the proactive intern that he was, eager to please, would return post-haste with all the items requested. Socrates would usually then complain that the olives weren't fresh enough or that the robe was "starchy as hell" and would "chafe [his] ass." Obviously, I'm paraphrasing. It is well known that Socrates, as wise as he was, had the mouth of a sailor and would never use expletives as tame as "hell" or "ass." But I'm getting off-track.

In ancient Egypt, the dedication of the modern intern was truly born. Usually outliving their masters, interns were buried alive in the tombs right alongside the sarcophagus. But, as torturous as that sounds, most interns at the time considered it to be a small price to pay for the chance to land a sweet job in the afterlife.

This era also gave birth to intern networking. Given that each Egyptian upper-class citizen was likely to have many interns working under them, the interns were all buried alive within the tomb together. With so much time on their hands, it was only natural for these young Egyptian go-getters to make connections with their fellow interns before reaching the afterlife. Because you never know when a reference from Ptahhotep will come in handy. Sure, he's the obnoxious, dorky intern and he's always carrying around the jug filled with his embalmed cat which makes the tomb smell like ass, but it's a dog-eat-dog world out there, and you've got make friends wherever (within the twenty square foot tomb) you can.

Then came the Romans. Often associated with power and dominance, the Romans were a warrior culture. They were first to force interns to engage in battle with one another as a way of proving who was the more qualified for the job they may or may not get sometime in the near to very distant future. The intern least dead by the end was declared the victor. Or eaten by lions if he was too dead. It is this era where the intern's tenacity was born.

Interning is a cutthroat world; let's be honest. In modern times, however, the word "cutthroat" is merely a metaphor for tenaciously besting your opponent in the career world. Whereas, back in the Roman era, it was still a metaphor, but a much more violent and gruesome metaphor. I believe it was also the name of a blade used to kill interns.

INTERN
I don't want to kill him.
Can't we just say he lost and
leave it at that?

ROMAN EMPEROR
No! This is a cutthroat
world, intern. Now, take
that metaphor and cut his throat!

FUN FACTS ABOUT INTERN HISTORY

Did you know that even the Aztecs had interns? Well, they did. They also ate the hearts of sacrificed interns. It's believed that by eating the heart of an intern you absorb all of that intern's job skills. Mmm, skill-tastic.

Next time on Interns: A History...
PART II: The Awkward Years

Pressing National Matters

2005-03-23T00:14:00.000-05:00

This is a brief tangent from my usual posts. There's been a lot of debate recently concerning the rights of Americans and their ability to take their family members off life support, assuming the patient's condition has no chance of improvement. Whether it's a feeding tube or a respirator, these issues need careful discussion, or, as is custom in America, a non-scientific poll in which we will then use to declare a moral victor. So, the question you've all been knocking around in your heads for the last couple of weeks...

Should President Bush's feeding tube be removed?

I leave the floor to you. And, please, let's keep the seriousness to a minimum.*

*Seriously.

St. Patrick: Patron Saint Of Slurring

2005-03-20T15:30:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the delay in posts. I've been spending the week planning for my sister's visit to New York. She said, "I'll come as long as it's an expensive, crowded, and dirty town. But not drunken. I have no tolerance for drunkenness."

Enter March 17th, the date of her arrival and a date known across America as "Dude, we're totally getting shit-faced!" day. When I picked her up at the airport and saw the waves of green t-shirts exit the plane, I realized there were a lot of people coming to New York to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. So, this post is in honor of St. Patrick's Day Weekend.

ESSENTIAL ST. PATRICK'S DAY POST DISCLAIMER
I'm Irish. So, it's okay for me to make fun of the Irish and drunken behavior. Not that the two are in any way related. And, by that, I mean that there is a direct correlation.

Wait. Before you get all in a huff about my inappropriate generalization of the Irish, remember, besides being oblivious to the feelings of others, I'm also Irish. So, again, that makes it alright.

ESSENTIAL ST. PATRICK'S DAY POST DISCLAIMER DRINKING GAME
This is a drinking game created just for this post. Every time you become angry at the way I generalize the Irish, St. Patrick, or St. Patty's Day as purely alcohol-related, take a drink of alcohol. If you're Irish though, take two, because one would only be like water to you. Only less alcohol than water. In fact, take three or four, because we all know you're going to sneak in one or two during the game anyway, am I right? Let's make it fair for the non-Irish.

Now, I went to Catholic school growing up, so I've learned an awful lot about St. Patrick and other people important to Christian history. It would be rather selfish of me not to pass this knowledge along, so let me share with you a tidbit or two about the man...

Did you know St. Patrick was one of the original apostles? It's true.* Unfortunately, he was kicked out of Club Jesus (as it was called in those days) because of his "problem." As most know, Jesus is legendary for turning water into wine. But St. Patrick was legendary in his own right, drinking three gallons of it in under a half-hour. The wine was blessed of course, and it's said that he had a constant blood/blessed alcohol level of 0.2, which, as anyone familiar with the power of Christ knows, is pretty blessed up.

The apostles convened and decided that it would be for the best if St. Patrick, or Drinky McDrink-Drink as they called him behind his back, left Club Jesus for good. However, no one really had the guts to confront St. Patrick about his "problem" -- he was a rather mean drunk. Even Jesus didn't want to get on his bad side. "What? Are you trippin'?" said Jesus. "Shit. Son of God don't play that."

Everyone was scared of Drinky McDrink-Drink. Except for one. Simon Peter. None of the other apostles liked Simon much; they were all in general agreement that he was a dick. But, in situations like this, they used him for just that reason. So, Simon road to St. Patrick's house and, after finding him in a drunken stupor, forced him onto the camel and brought him to Jesus' house, where an intervention was planned.

This is a transcript of that intervention, taken from the Bible (the King James version, obviously)...

JESUS
Listen, Pat. You're a cool guy
and all, but you're just not...
Club Jesus material.

ST. PATRICK
[stumbling]
What? You wanna fight
me, Jesus? I don't care who
your dad is.

SIMON
Sit down and shut your mouth!

JESUS
Thanks, Simon, but I think I can
handle it from here.

SIMON
You just say the word, Christ,
and his ass is grass.

JESUS
I appreciate that.

SIMON
I'm just saying, shouldn't we
be mopping the floor with his
face right now?

JUDAS
Anyone have any pieces of
silver I can borrow?

JESUS
Sorry, Judas. Simon, we don't treat
people like that. You know that.

SIMON
I know, I know. But, man, I just
wanna kick ass so bad! Don't you?

JESUS
Sometimes. But this is about Pat.
Pat?

SIMON
See, he's passed out. And I didn't
even get to kick ass!

MATTHEW
Jesus, that rash came back.
I was wondering if you could...
you know...

JESUS
Fine, whatever, it's healed.

JUDAS
No one has any pieces
of silver?

MATTHEW
Check Drinky McDrink-Drink
on the floor over there. I don't
think he's made it to the bars yet.

JESUS
Matthew! Just for that you
get your rash back.

MATTHEW
[itching]
Oh, Jesus! But it itches so
much! Ahh!

SIMON
Can I kick his ass?

JESUS
...

I know the transcript doesn't really feature much of St. Patrick, but, to be fair, most of his appearances in the Bible consisted of others referring to him in the third person and muttering things like, "The neighbors aren't going to be happy when they find that," or "You think we should flip him over onto his stomach?" or "That table is not going to hold his weight for much more dancing," or "Oh! That's not pretty!" The transcript does show one thing, though. Simon; what a dick, right?

St. Patrick, although splitting with Club Jesus, went on to become a very famous face for Christianity, but also for his short-lived, off-shoot denomination, which he himself started with his buddies, called... well, let's just say that everyone regretted the name the next morning, but they'd already had the sign chiseled out while at the tavern the night before. See?

What's amazing is that, even though they were completely intoxicated, they managed to properly separate the parenthetical statement using dashes. And they connected the two complete thoughts using a semicolon! Incredible. He truly did deserve sainthood.

Anway, service for this denomination started out pleasant and peaceful and conscious. Everyone was happy to see everyone else, children were playing in the aisles, and all were conscious. By the end, though, only half the congregation was present, only half of those present were conscious, and it's quite possible that some on the unconscious half were dead. This denomination lasted for only one service. Well, really half a service. No one remembers what happened after that.

And that's really all I learned. I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did making you less intelligent by presenting it.

I went with my sister to St. Patrick's Cathedral on St. Patrick's Day and it was full of people, all paying tribute to the man once known as Drinky McDrink-Drink. Being Irish, we couldn't have been more proud. We stayed for nearly five whole minutes, then paid our last respects to the stein which held his ashes and moved on out. We came across a lot of inebriated individuals walking home that day. But what do you expect? It was a very special drinking day for New York. It was Thursday.

It was also St. Patrick's Day, but that's really more of a coincidence.

*He did live 400 years after Jesus, but for that to be important, first, I'd have to care.

Technical difficulties...

2005-03-20T08:09:00.000-05:00

UPDATE: Thanks for the info, guys. Everything should be working in a couple minutes.

I'm having some image hosting problems (feel free to post any good image-hosting sites you'd recommend in the comments), but the wonderful pictures, as well a new post, should hopefully be here later today. Sorry.*

*I got nothin' for this asterisk. Once again, sorry.

What The Scientologists In The Subway Are Really Up To

2005-03-14T21:30:00.000-05:00

In the comments on one of my previous entries, a blogger named meems (credit where credit is due) had mentioned the Scientologists who occupy a specific corridor in Grand Central station and was curious to know what they were up to. Now, for those unaware, Scientology is a religion started by a man named L. Ron Hubbard. Actually, I should say founded, rather than started. Founded implies a legitimacy, like the religion exists outside of time. As if, while walking with your friend Budd, you trip over something in a field.* "Hot damn, Budd. Well, I'll be. It's one of them religions."

I'm not familiar with all the specifics of Scientology, but I'm sure I could pretend pretty well. There may or may not be a god named Scientor. I'll get back to you on that.

The Scientologists who inhabit the corridor in Grand Central, on the way to the shuttle to Times Square, give out free stress tests and copies of books written by L. Ron Hubbard. You should be very suspicious of anyone who uses an abbreviated first name. Sure, it could be Larry Ron Hubbard. And, in that case, I'd almost understand the need for abbreviation. But, it could also be Lucifer Ron Hubbard. So, the next time you're getting a stress test, remember that they might be simply trying to relax you for the torturously painful trip to Hell. Or, they may just steal your wallet as you doze off. Either way, it's a bit of a downer for you.

But what are these Scientologists up to? What is their ultimate goal? What does Scientor look like? Does he have horns? Mandibles? Is it a he at all? We always just assume that when a name is as aggressive-sounding as Scientor (or Skeletor for that matter), it's automatically a male. I’d like to think Scientor is female. With mandibles. Possibly horns. And a suit. Why can't gods where suits?

The Goal of the Grand Central Scientologists

World domination?
Think smaller.
Hemisphere domination?
Smaller yet.
Country domination?
Come on.
State, city, township?
...
Grand Central subway station corridor domination?
Bingo.

Think about it. Thousands of people have to walk through that particular corridor everyday. That's thousands of people who are very, very slowly becoming servants of Scientology. Sure, the effects aren't seen immediately. Walking through a corridor wouldn't appear to enslave a common New Yorker, but over the course of say -- oh, I don't know -- 1,000 years, a person could become essentially brainwashed.

And that's the brilliance behind the Scientologists in the corridor leading to the shuttle to Times Square. They're patient. We Christians operate a bit differently...

CHRISTIAN
Hey, is that your god?

NON-CHRISTIAN
Why yes it is.

CHRISTIAN
No, it's not.

NON-CHRISTIAN
It's not?

CHRISTIAN
Nope.

NON-CHRISTIAN
Okay.

See? We're crafty like that. But Scientologists...

SCIENTOLOGIST
Excuse me, friend. Would you
like a free stress test and to possibly
learn more about Scientology?

NON-SCIENTOLOGIST
Oh, no, thank you, I'm fine.

SCIENTOLOGIST
Okay, no problem. Have a good day!

NON-SCIENTOLOGIST
Um, thanks. You, too! ... Oh, geez.
I feel like such an ass now. This guy was
just trying to be nice, and I'm all, "No, I
don't want to." Maybe I am too stressed
out. Maybe there is something to this
Scientology business.

1,000 years later? ENSLAVED. Here's a graphic to help drive the point home.

So, the next time you're confronted by Scientology, don't be critical, just be vigilant. And be especially careful on the web, because you never know when a site or a blog will throw Scientology at you.

...

Until then, I've discovered this amazing new way of looking at the universe, but more importantly, a new way of looking at myself. Take a look, or don't. There's no pressure at all. Or maybe there is, if that's how you want it. It's up to you... friend. Welcome to the new you.

*There's a Mormonism joke here, but I'll pass. I kid the Mormons.

McDonald's Delivers In Manhattan, But Not Very McWell

2005-03-11T08:16:00.000-05:00

McDonald's delivers? Yes, it's true. In Manhattan, McDonald's delivers. And for free. I myself did not believe it at first. I must point out that I am not a Mc-fan of McDonald's. In fact, after Mc-seeing the documentary "Super Size Me," I didn't go to a McDonald's for quite some time, mostly because I realized just how unhealthy it was. And I didn't want to get in line for an Mc-angioplasty. Some people really love the Mc-angioplasty. I myself am not a fan.

One night, however, after getting home late, I met up with two friends who both wanted McDonald's. I was hungry and decided that since I'd never experienced McDonald's delivered before, one meal there wouldn't Mc-kill me. Well, wait, I take that back.

Fear not, though, for I am getting McDonald's delivered! So, my chances of dying in a McDonald's-related bomb blast are decreased. But, let's be honest, not by much, if you know what I mean.*

We called McDonald's and placed our orders. One of my friends asked if I would get a Happy Meal, just so she could get one of the famous McDonald's toys. I'll be frank. I don't like McDonald's toys. They're not as good as they used to be. Who's with me on that?**

NOTE: I hear McDonald's is trying a new menu item based on the Happy Meal. They're called "Prozac Meals," and instead of rewarding happiness, which is what I assume the Happy Meal does, it induces happiness. They might have gone with "Clinical Depression Meal," but I could see how that name wouldn't quite carry the ZING! that "Prozac Meal" does. See that? ... ZING!

NOTE of the NOTE: I apologize to anyone who may suffer from clinical depression. Obviously, I'm just trying to be funny. Perhaps, I'm failing misera... I am failing miserably. So, you can find solace in that. Plus, I'm only grateful for you who keep the junk food industry going strong.

NOTE of the NOTE of the NOTE: I apologize to anyone employed by the junk food industry. Listen, clearly, I'm not very good at this. I didn't mean to associate your delicious products with clinical depression. If anything, you temporarily cure clinical depression. So, you can find solace in that. Not much, but enough to keep you sleeping at night.

Eventually, I relented and ordered a Happy meal, just so my friend could have the toy. Three hours later, the delivery man arrived and called us down.*** Obviously, we were a little Mc-angry that he arrived so late. And to show it, we would leave him no Mc-tip.

We went downstairs to get the food and to confront the tardy delivery man. I was already upset with my friends for having to wait so long just for McDonald's. I grabbed the food and removed the McDonald's toy, placing it in my Mc-shirt pocket. My friend, who had her heart set on the McDonald's toy, complained loudly, but I stood firm.

When the delivery man realized that we had left him no tip, he became enraged and an altercation ensued. Naturally, he pulled out a gun.

NEW YORK CITY TOURISM FACT #86
Everyone in New York carries a gun, and they all want to rob people all the time. For those of you who have never been to New York, once you arrive in the city and exit your airplane, you'll find yourself at the Harlem airport, where you're immediately shot, killed, and stabbed. In that order. People here, for some reason, love stabbing bodies which are already riddled with bullets.

But now you're thinking, "Wait, you went to New York, and you're apparently still alive. What gives?"

...

So, the delivery man has a gun. He doesn't think twice about it and shoots me right in the chest. I fall back and land hard on the tile flooring. The screaming of bystanders sends the delivery man out the door in a panic. My friends rush to my side, hoping that I'm not dead. And I 'm not.

It was the McDonald's toy. The McDonald's toy, which I despised so much, saved my life. The bullet struck the toy and ricocheted off into a wall. It also passed through a dog on the way to that wall. So, I guess the McDonald's toy actually killed a dog, too. Though, everyone secretly hated that dog. The dog really had it coming.

Well, we went back upstairs and ate our food in silence, mulling over what would have happened if it wasn't for that McDonald's toy. Then, my friend said, "You would have gotten Mc-shot."

"Yep," I said.

...

The mulling ended there. So concluded my first experience with delivered McDonald's. And I suppose I owe a great debt of gratitude to those little McDonald's toys. They saved my life, and got rid of a pesky dog, which everyone secretly hated. I guess they're okay after all.

* I have no idea what I'm implying by this.
** You are all with me on that.
*** Actually, it was more like 45 minutes, but I'm building drama here.
**** Andy, this asterisk thing is getting fucking ridiculous.
***** Seriously.

Google Ad Experiment Update

2005-03-08T17:45:00.000-05:00

Well, it seems like Google doesn't want to play along. I let it sit for quite a while, and the strangest ad that I saw appear was, "Want To Be A Cop? Protect people with a criminal justice degree." But, let's be honest, that's pretty damn weird. How does that work? Is the degree made of Kevlar? Because I'm fairly certain a bullet could penetrate such a degree. Anyway...

What did we learn from all this? We learned that there is in fact a band named "Vermicious Knid," and they apparently live in Canada (thanks for the info, Dave). We learned that "Angry Fetus" is not a good band name. However, after some deliberation, I think "Happy Fetus" would be an excellent name for a band -- maybe country rock or indie metal. And, finally, we learned that, given the results of this experiment, Google is simply not funny. Seriously, not one S&M ad? Come on, Google, I thought you had a sense of humor. I thought you were cool.

Shortly after writing this and updating my blog, Google sent me this...

Sorry, Google, but it's just not going to happen. You had your chance. You could have been cool, but it's too late now. Too little, too late. The experiment is over. Maybe next time, though.

Note: For anyone still interested in claiming their own domain name, www.poopiepoop.com is apparently still up for grabs.

Fun With Google Ads!

2005-03-06T17:23:00.000-05:00

This post is slightly off-topic from my normal entries, but, if you'll humor me for this brief installment, I'd like to experiment a bit.

The Google ads to your right -- or left if you view your monitor turned around and looking through a mirror -- are supposed to directly reflect the content of the blog. Friday, the post mentioned garbage bags, and then garbage bag-related ads appeared shortly thereafter. On Wednesday, I mentioned Chintatown, and then my screen turned into a purse.

Anyway, you get the idea. So, this post is all about generating the most ridiculously bizarre Google advertisments we can. Excited? I know. I am, too.

Let's begin...

Sado-Masochism-erific!*
Robot Fellatio*
Pirate Soul Train*
Monkey Butter*
Flux Capacitor*
Chocolate Breast Explosion*
Cannibal Cookies*
Martha Stewart*
Leather & Chains*
Buggy Whip*
Menstrual Kamikaze*
Tofu Orbit*
Goat Jesus*
Assassin Module*
Vermicious Knid*
Kitty Death Squad*
Puppet Penis*
Talcum Poop*
Puppy Death March*
Steel Booger*
Santa Sandwich*
Gazpacho Ninja*
Angry Fetus**

And now, we wait.

*Also excellent potential band names.

**But, obviously, not Angry Fetus. Come on, Angry Fetus? Get fucking serious. Clearly, you've never been in a band before. At least not one with an awesome name.

If You See Something, Say Something

2005-03-04T08:57:00.000-05:00

Here in New York, it's difficult not to notice the city's level of caution concerning terrorism and things of that sort. Things like masochism, mannerism, catechism, and other words that end in "ism." I'm just kidding. It has nothing to do with words that end in "ism." Well, except one word. Terrorism. And possibly flatulism. Well, no, I made that up, too.

Now, every comedic outlet everywhere has done some (supposedly) clever ribbing regarding the Homeland Security terror alert level color system. So, I'm not going to go there. I'm not going to, for instance, get a copy of the color chart and do some creative editing, use wacky characters for "Severe," meaning that what I have to say is too aggressive to be spelled out with letters, like this...

It's an easy laugh, and I just won't sink to that level.

Anyway, there's a campaign in New York called, "If You See Something, Say Something." Basically, if you see something suspicious, tell an authority figure. But the word "suspicious" has an entirely different meaning for those of us not from around here. So, let me clarify for the non-New Yorkers.

Now, I don't want to make light of an important safety matter. It's important that we're all safe. But not too long ago, there was a suspicious bag found on the block where I live. The whole area was taped off and we weren't able to get into the building for some time. Again, I want to be safe, but when they told us that someone had spotted a suspicious bag, I must say I didn't feel much safer standing behind that yellow tape. Let me explain further, but in dialogue form...

POLICE OFFICER 1

What seems to be the trouble here?

POLICE OFFICER 2
Somebody apparently saw a
suspicious bag on the street.

POLICE OFFICER 1
Well, where is it?

POLICE OFFICER 2
It's right over there.

POLICE OFFICER 1
That one there?

POLICE OFFICER 2
No, no, the one over there.
See, it's right next to that New York city
street filled with nothing but garbage bags
and old junk which would never resemble
or be confused with suspicious bags.

And... scene. See the dilemma?

So, given that, I went to the nearest police officer and asked him if it was strange that there were so many suspicious bags lying on the street, all of them filled with some sort of refuse, and all of them labeled "Hefty." Instead of laughing, he went to his superior, and I can only guess at what was said in that conversation. So I will...

POLICE OFFICER
Chief, isn't it strange that there
are so many suspicious bags lying
on the street, all of them filled with
garbage, all of them labeled "Hefty"?

CHIEF
My god... it's been under our noses this
whole time! So that's what Bin Laden has
been up to! It's all so pungently clear now!

POLICE OFFICER
What do you mean?

CHIEF
Don't you see?! They're bringing all their
garbage over from Al Qaeda-land and
very gradually stinking us to death!
They're using our olfactory nerves against us!

POLICE OFFICER
Chief, do you think they use "Hefty"
bags in Al Qaeda-land?

CHIEF
Kid, these terrorists are a cunning
bunch. They could be using "Glad"
bags for all we know. But they
aren't. No, these terrorists are
definitely "Hefty" bag people.

A MOMENT FOR THOSE WHO NEED IT SPELLED OUT
See, looking for suspicious bags or packages in a city like New York seems difficult, because there is so much random debris lying all over the place. If somebody wanted to, they could easily shove dangerous materials into a pile of garbage on a busy street and no one would know the difference.*

Don't misunderstand me. I don't want to seem as if I dislike New York. I like New York. It's fun. More so if you've got a lot of money to spend. And also no olfactory nerves.

But, anyway, we were all eventually let back into the building and peace was once again restored to the galaxy. The end.

*For those of you who are members of Al Qaeda, this is a lie.
*For those of you who are not members of Al Qaeda, this is not a lie.

Chinatown 2: The Revisiting

2005-03-02T08:16:00.000-05:00

I thought I'd seen everything, ladies and gentlemen. When the Berlin Wall fell November 9th, 1989, once again uniting East and West Germany, I cried. When John Glenn lifted off for a second time at age 77 to become the oldest person to ever travel in space, I cheered. And when Tootie used a Hearse to take her driver's test in episode #147 of The Facts Of Life, I nearly crapped my pants. But after this weekend, it became clear that I in fact hadn't seen everything.

On Saturday, I traveled with a friend to the downtown district known as Chinatown. She was looking for "a purse," which in Chinese means "3 or 4 purses." We browsed many store fronts, "fronts" being the important word for the day. More on that later.

It is bizarre to see little, old ladies trying to push merchandise on an unsuspecting public. You see them and think they're going to give you a sugar cookie or something, but instead they say, "I got what you need. You need something? I got what you need."

After one lady strolled up to me and told me she had what I needed, I said, "You have an original, still-in-the-packaging, mint condition Star Wars Millennium Falcon action playset??" She looked around shifty-eyed. And then, wouldn't you know it, out of her pantaloons came an original, mint condition Star Wars Millennium Falcon action playset, still in the packaging. Amazing, I thought.

"I'll give you $5 for that," I said.

She said, "What? Look, mint condition. You look, still in packaging. Hard to find. I sell for $15."

Here's where my haggling skills come into play. Watch and learn, ladies and gentlemen...

"Deal!" I said, grabbing her hand almost violently and then shaking it.

Haggling Skill #256
When you want to end your haggling session and accept the given offer, yell "Deal!," grabbing the person's hand almost violently and then shaking it.

So, I had what I came for. Now, we needed to find a purse for my friend. But where? Where in Chinatown would we possibly find a purse, specifically one that's inexpensive, poorly made, and sold by big, burly males who seem to know an awful lot about purses for being so big and burly?

At last, success! Hidden away behind all the purse stands was a purse stand. This purse stand looked much like a garage. I think it was the garage door which made it look that way. The walls reminded me of a Payless shoe store. And also a garage. Hung all over were purses, purses, purses of all colors, shapes, and sizes. The big, burly gentleman managing the place was eager to please and was a master "purseman," I might add. His knowledge of purses seemed to explode out of him.

"Here you go. This one shiny. Glitters a bunch. Make you look real pretty for going out to dinner," he said. "Here, you look. It opens, it closes, it glitters. It real shiny."

"You sure do know your purses, sir," I said. "I mean, come on," I said to my friend. "What other choice is there? This one opens AND closes! And LOOK, it's all glittery and shiny and shit."

But, alas, despite the expert sales pitch, my friend wasn't convinced. She quickly glanced at the three walls of the purse stand which weren't a garage door. She asked the purseman if he had anything else, besides what was on display.

Here's where the purseman became very quiet. He looked us up and down suspiciously. Then, he went to the back wall of the garage -- I mean, purse stand. Oh fine, it was a garage, okay? It was a garage dressed up to looked like purse stand. Are you happy?

Anyway, he went to back wall of the purse stand and, after looking out onto the walkway entrance for a second or two, knocked on the wall three times.* To my surprise, a small section of the wall, maybe 5 ft. high by 3 ft. wide, clicked and then opened up.** There seemed to be whole other section of purses available, probably the ones which were acquired through legitimate channels, and not ones which were in any way illegal. ***

The purseman gestured for my friend and I to go inside. My friend went in to look at the recently uncovered purses, which again I can only assume were obtained through the most honest and reputable channels. I mean, let's be frank here, people. Some purses are just too non-illegal to be kept in the front. Am I right?

The purseman closed the door behind her, then he asked me if I wanted to go inside, too.

"No thanks," I said. "Just make sure she comes out again and doesn't become part of some illegal, underground, sweatshop slavery ring, alright?"

Haggling Skill #128

If the person you're shopping with is suddenly removed from your field of vision, be sure to tell a nearby clerk that you don't want them to become part of some illegal, underground, sweatshop slavery ring.

Well, I'm happy to report that my friend did come out of the tiny door, and was completely unharmed. She did smell like a cock fight, but that's neither here nor there. Unfortunately, she didn't find a purse.

So, broken and beaten, we wandered the streets of Chinatown aimlessly, hoping to find another stand that sold purses. Five feet later, we'd found one. And, astonishingly enough, we'd passed ten on the way.

Well, my friend eventually found a purse, and a fun time was had by all.

Chinatown Fun Fact!

Not many know this about Chinatown, but its people, its hundreds of restaurants and shops, and its booming fruit and fish markets are actually 87% purse.****

* I'm not good enough to make this part up.
** Or this.
*** Or this.
**** This, I am.

A Change Of Address...

2005-02-25T16:27:00.000-05:00

Out of respect for the people I work with and the company I work for, I will be making some changes to this blog. The title and URL will change, but the semi-retarded writer at the helm will remain the same. Who am I kidding? I'm completely retarded.

Find the new rendition at http://newyorkintern.blogspot.com .

Trickle-Down Joke-onomics!

2005-02-23T20:42:00.000-05:00

Today, I got to edit jokes written by the writers of The Daily Show. These are jokes which aren't used on air, but will be later posted on the Comedy Central website.

So, if you’re keeping score at home, that’s…

I edit jokes which don't make it on The Daily Show.
These unused jokes are now the best topic for this blog.
I’ll use this topic/blog to create my own jokes.
These jokes won’t be as good as the jokes I edited.
Which, again, weren’t quite good enough for The Daily Show.

We’re talking third maybe even fourth-hand humor here. Come to think of it, I don't even believe there's a reason for this post, which simply makes the blog that much sadder. Essentially, I'm using unused Daily Show jokes -- and not even the joke itself, just the idea of the joke -- to fuel my own mediocre humor. And I'm not even telling you the unused jokes; I'm using the story of an idea of a joke to guide this post. Still with me?

Wait, here's a graphic which will better explain it. This graphic is meant to be applied to Ronald Reagan's brilliant trickle-down theory, whereby if you give corporations lots of free money, those corporations will pass the wealth down to the little people. I haven't left my room in 20 years, but, heh-heh, I think it's silly for me to assume that modern-day corporations are anything but the generous, ethical entities they were in the 80's.

I mean, what could they possibly do, use fraudulent accounting techniques to allow themselves to be listed as the seventh largest company in the United States, a company expected to dominate the trading it had virtually invented in communications, power and weather securities, and then instead become the largest corporate failure in history, emblematic of institutionalized and well-planned corporate fraud?? Haha! Okay, Looney McNutjob! Whatever you say!

Anyway...

That's really all I've got. I spent most of the time on the picture.

God Versus Satan, Coming Soon To A Subway Train Near You

2005-02-18T10:47:00.000-05:00

I got on the N train this morning, like it was any other morning. Suddenly, a woman on the far end of the car began belting out some speech about God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit and how it's not too late to accept Him (God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit) and His (God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit's) love. Well, a number of the passengers were becoming increasingly annoyed by the woman, not so much for the message, but because her voice carried so well. Too well...

"It's not too late, children! Turn back to Jesus! I know things in your life haven't been great. Your job is not fulfilling. The person you thought was your soulmate is no longer providing the love and support you need. That brand of cereal you really loved is now off the market. Life is beating you down like a jack hammer. Come to God! God will be your soulmate. God will provide you with the sustenance which that cereal never could! Jesus will make your life fulfilling, because Jesus is everlasting. God is all powerful. The Holy Spirit will lift you up and fill your heart with so much love and joy that you'll wish you'd accepted Him (God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit) sooner. You'll sing to the highest heavens to proclaim your unwaivering devotion to God! Come now, children. It's never too late!"

And it went on. I, too, became annoyed by it. So, in the mood for a little competitive preaching, I began touting the joys of worshipping Satan.

"Yes, children, it certainly isn't too late. To turn to Satan that is! I know there have been a lot of negative things said about me. That I "torment" souls. Or that I "torture" humanity. Or that I "chain" souls to "posts" in Hell and make these souls live out eternity as weird, human-like beast creatures, eating from skull-shaped doggie bowls. They're not even real skulls! And honestly, aren't these words like "torture" and "torment" just buzz words that Good likes to use to give Bad a bad name?

Yes, your life isn't going as planned. Whose does? So, you didn't get that promotion? Well I got kicked out of Heaven! Your girlfriend left you? Well I got kicked out of Heaven. Life not amounting to much? Well I got kicked out of Heaven! You know how hard that is to do? It's, like, super hard! God will forgive you for anything! Your favorite cereal is now off the market? Cereal?? HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO BATHE IN A SEA OF REALLY POINTY DAGGERS???

Sure, turn to Christ. If you want your time wasted. Think about it! He's the Christ... I'm the Anti-Christ. Didn't you learn about matter and anti-matter in high school? It doesn't, heh-heh... "matter" ... what side you're on, because we'll just cancel each other out in the end anyway. So, why in the my home would you want to live out your life worrying about sin, when you live it out your life smiting your enemies and sexing up your enemies' many wives? The choice is pretty obvious, friends."

Well, needless to say, that shut her up. And it was all thanks to the power of the Dark Lord.

Straight Forward Post #1 - The UCB Theatre

2005-02-14T02:59:00.000-05:00

So this will be my first post where I don't skew the "facts" with the power of flight or one-eyed subway dwellers. It had to happen eventually. This is my first straight forward blog entry. Plus, nothing at all happened at work today, so....

On Sunday night, I went with two friends (Jake and Melissa) to the UCB theatre, home of the outstanding comedy improv group Upright Citizens Brigade. The UCB was founded by Amy Pohler (now on SNL), Matt Besser, Ian Roberts (dance instructor in the film Bring It On), and Matt Walsh. I first discovered them when their show debuted on Comedy Central. It was a half hour of some of the most hilarious sketch comedy I've ever seen. So, when I knew I was coming to New York, one of the things I wanted to do was to go and see a show at the UCB theatre.

We went to the free 9:00PM show of Asssssscat 3000, a title which may or may not have anything to do with anything. I wasn't sure if any of the original UCB members would be performing, but sure enough, Amy Pohler did perform, and it was awesome. Also performing was Seth Meyer, another cast member from SNL. I must admit that on SNL I don't think he's all that funny, but doing improv he is unbelievably good.

Well, the show was fantastic, and I hope to return many times during the next few months. I may even try and take an improv class there. Who knows. Upright Citizens Brigade kicks ass.

End of straight forward post #1.

Happy Chinese New Year! ... Get Your Traditional Chinese Designer Watch!

2005-02-12T20:19:00.000-05:00

The Chinese New Year, the year of the rooster, is finally here. I know, I'm exhausted from the anticipation, too. Now we can all get back to life as usual; am I right?

I went with some friends down to Chinatown to see the New Year's parade. It was pretty impressive. Not that the floats or costumes were that decorative or elaborate, but seeing Chinatown for the first time, and getting a glimpse of the culture was fascinating. I got to see people in traditional Chinese dress, hear traditional Chinese music, and see groups perform traditional Chinese dances.

But the traditions didn't end there! After the parade was over, I got to see the floats taken down by traditional chinese union labor. There were 4 or 5 of them, all wearing Yankee hats. They had large guts, grizzled beards and goatees, and smoked. "I feel like I'm in Hong Kong!" I said excitedly.

As we walked down the street, we saw a number of traditional chinese vendors, selling anything you might want, straight from the Asian mother-country! One man carried what looked like ancient chinese manuscripts. One was called "Winnie the Pooh Coloring Book" and another was entitled "Pikachu Adventures." It all sounded so exotic! I felt like I was wandering a library in feudal China!

And it still didn't stop. Here's a list of other items I saw...

Traditional Chinese $5-10 Designer Watches
Traditional Chinese Gucci Bags
Traditional Chinese Personalized Belts
Traditional Chinese NYPD Hooded Sweatshirts
Traditional Chinese Bootleg DVD's

Oh, what a time! I feel like, even though I've never been to China, it doesn't matter anymore, because a little bit of China was brought to me. Thanks, Chinese New Year parade!

Don't Go Shvitzin' About This Blog Entry

2005-02-09T15:01:00.000-05:00

The Upper East side, where I am currently living, has a large Jewish population (as does New York in general). Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's actually quite interesting to get a glimpse of that culture.

Enter: Pizza Cave, a small pizza parlor on Lexington Avenue with brick oven pies that are incredibly cheap and incredibly delicious.

Being that it's located in a largely Jewish neighborhood -- which, for the record, is perfectly fine in every way -- Pizza Cave has to cater to a certain crowd. So, the menus also include Hebrew, there is Hebrew lettering on the signs, and I wouldn't be surprised if the pepperoni and sausage were actually ham-free.

-----TANGENT-----

Some people have noticed the similarity between the names Pizza Cave and Pizza Hut. Quite frankly, it's ridiculous to assume that Pizza Cave is in anyway trying to capitalize on the Pizza Hut name. Everyone knows that huts and caves are two very different types of dwellings. If Pizza Cave wanted to capitalize on the Pizza Hut name, they instead would have used any one of the following...

Pizza Hovel
Pizza Hutch
Pizza Hoochie

And there are plenty more where those came from. Little known fact: Pizza Hoochie is also a type of forbidden dance, whereby the female prances in a circle around the male, throwing dough, tomato sauce, and shredded cheese at him. The male can request other items to be thrown, but that of course will cost him extra.

-----END OF TANGENT-----

So, I took a trip to Pizza Cave, ordered myself a couple of slices, and sat down to watch the TV playing in the background. The program looked to be some kind of soap opera. But what was the language they were speaking? Was it Arabic? Turkish? No, it was Hebrew. It was a Hebrew soap opera -- which is absolutely acceptable in my mind.

The language can often be rather beautiful to hear, but then, it's interrupted by a weird, throaty sound. Phonetically, it looks something like "HCKKKK," but you have to pronounce it like you're hocking a loogey.

The soap opera I was watching was a perfectly normal program, with what I can assume was a perfectly normal plot, but that sound really distracted me. Imagine an American soap opera, but with that sound...

MARY
John, I know you've just had that brain
tumor removed, and you're in no condition
to support our telepathic son, but I'm
leaving you for Anthony.

JOHN
Anthony? Our 21 year old gardener,
who moonlights as a private detective
and also has the figure of an amateur
body builder?

MARY
Yes. I'm sorry.

JOHN
Well, I'm sorry, too, Mary. What will we tell
our son, Cameron, when HCKKKK he's older?

MARY
What do you mean? We're HCKKKK going to
tell him HCKKKK the truth.

JOHN
The truth? You mean that HCKKKK his
mother abandoned him like he was some
sort of HCKKKK garbage to be thrown
to the curb HCKKKK?!

MARY
Well, what do you want from me? Ever
since HCKKKK you discovered your twin
brother, the two of you HCKKKK have
been almost inseparable! You're never
HCKKKK around, John!

JOHN
I had no idea it bothered you so much.

MARY
Well, it does.

JOHN
HCKKKK!

MARY
Don't talk like that!

JOHN
I'm sorry. I realize now that I haven't
been there HCKKKK enough for you and
Cameron. I hate myself for that.

MARY
It hurts us not to see you.

JOHN
Well, you are blind. Remember?
The accident in HCKKKK Dr. Armstrong's
laboratory? The experime--

MARY
Of course, I remember! I meant
it hurts HCKKKK for us not being around you!

JOHN
Oh, right. HCKKKK!

MARY
What's wrong?

JOHN
Oh, nothing. Just... something
stuck in my throat... HCKKKK!

THE END

N, R, W, 4, 5, S; That's The Way To Transit Success!

2005-02-04T10:50:00.000-05:00

When I first began this internship, the route I took to work every morning was like this: I walked to 86th Street on Lexington Avenue and then boarded the 4 or 5 train. That took me to 42nd Street, also known as Grand Central. From there I would board the shuttle to Times Square, called the S. Then, I would exit the subway in Times Square and walk to 57th Street. It was roughly a 12 block walk, but I didn't mind; there's quite a bit to look at.

Since having the flu, and because of the weather being colder and windier, I've changed my route. The less time spent above ground the better.

So, with the help of Julie, my route now goes as follows: I walk to 86th Street and take the 4 or 5, as before, but instead get off at 59th Street. From there, I board the N, R, or W train, which takes me almost directly to 57th Street and Broadway. Nice, right?

The trade-off for taking the quicker N, R, W route is the horrible N, R, W smell. It's not like any place in New York smells particularly good, but this is pretty bad. And no wonder, it looks and feels like a dungeon. On my way home, to get to the 4 or 5 train, I have to make my way down to the absolute lowest levels. I once passed a sewer rat on my way down, and he was all, "Fuck that, dude."

Wednesday, on my way down, a hunchback carrying a torch caught me in the passageway. He only had one good eye, looked like Sloth from the film The Gooonies, and he spoke somewhat like an educated pirate. "Looking for the Chamber of Secrets, are ye?" he asked.

"Um, no," I said. "I'm actually looking for the 4 or 5 express trains."

"Oh, well then," he said. "Let me give you some light; it's darker than shit down here." He led me down the maze of passageways, once in a while whispering, "These tunnels is evil, they is." We got to the platform and he tipped his hat to me, which was strange, because he wasn't wearing a hat before. He said, "This is where I'll leaves ye. By the way, you wouldn't happen to know where the Chamber of Secrets be, would ye?"

"No, sorry," I said.

"It's okay," he said. "You just get home safe."

"Thanks a lot, subway station hunchback!" I said. I waved to him as the train pulled away. Then, he pulled something from his pocket, threw it to the ground, and a cloud of smoke exploded all around him. And, with that, he was gone...

I'm just kidding. He was still there, and coughing pretty badly, too. Loud, violent hacking, really. Must have been the cloud of smoke. It was pretty embarrassing.

So, yeah. The N, R, W smells real bad.

Oh, The Characters I See!

2005-02-02T13:56:00.000-05:00

From the moment I step out of my residence in the morning to the time I return again later that night, I am surrounded by some interesting characters. And they change everyday! I've kept a thorough mental list, but I won't bore you too much...

Man with suit and sneakers
Woman wearing fur coat as wide as her body is long
The panhandlers who begin every ride with "Ladies and gentlemen..."
Elderly woman who reaches top speed of .02 mph
Woman with lipstick near eyes
Musician with guitar, guitar case, and one song called, "Give Me A Dollar"
Seller of pirated DVD's of films just recently released in theaters
Buyer of pirated DVD's
Young man with headphones and bobbing head which resembles a muscle spasm
Old man with headphones and bobbing head which actually is a muscle spasm
Person speaking language which sounds like Klingon
Klingon

Obviously, I'm exaggerating a bit. I've never seen a woman with lipstick near her eyes. Tip of the nose, maybe. But I see these characters all over, and they all live in New York City together, like one big, happy... like one big family.

And the party doesn't stop when I get to work. I have an excellent view from the ninth floor. I can see everything. Today I saw a guy mug a woman in broad daylight. I felt bad, and I wished that I could have been there to do something about it. I can see the street vendors with their carts of high quality, not too mention visually appetizing, foods. I know if I ever need a bagel or a copy of She-Male, that's the place to go. Of course, the bagels are day-old and the copies of She-Male are probably months old. No thanks, street vendor; I'll stick with my up-to-date subscription.

Well, I have to go now, this guy in my office just totally mugged this woman in broad daylight! Lets see what kind of sweet loot he got!

1 Of 2 Security ID's

2005-02-01T16:56:00.000-05:00

The main Viacom building is located at 1515 Broadway, right in the middle of Times Square. Comedy Central is stationed roughly 12 blocks from there. While I don't really need a security ID for the Viacom building, we're required to get one. Plus, it allows me access to, essentially, the entire building, which may pay off someday while I'm here. So today, not working or having very much to do, I went down to Times Square to get it done.

I passed through security and took the elevator to the necessary floor. By the way, it's the strangest thing to ride an elevator alone with a woman you've never met and attempt to look non-threatening. Like, "I know I'm male and I fit the description of most criminals, but I promise, I'm harmless. I don't want to mug or kill you." Wouldn't it be funny if she was thinking, "One more floor, then grab this chump's wallet and run like hell."

Anyway, I got my picture taken, finally. I asked the woman taking the ID photos to let me try a second photo, because I was sure that I could reach into the depths of my soul and muster the strength for a better face. But apparently not. What you see is in fact the second try.

[Just imagine the picture]

Granted, I had just gotten up 45 minutes earlier, and had ridden the subway for a half hour, but there's no reason I should look like a burn victim. Well, I don't look burned; I look more like a burn victim just as he is starting to get his life back together. You know, you think you can still see hints of horrific scars, but maybe the person isn't a burn victim at all, and they simply woke up with weird pillow imprints on their face? That's me.

So now I have security ID 1 of 2. Not the one I need, but hey, life's quirky.

...and also stupid.

Sarcasm Wrapped In Sarcasm

2005-01-28T13:53:00.000-05:00

Not a lot happened today. I did get to sit in on a meeting, which was pretty fascinating. The boardroom overlooked Central Park. Why did I put "overlook" in the past tense as if the boardroom no longer does overlook the park? The boardroom overlooks Central Park. Or perhaps it did move... I'll check into that and get back to you.

Julie gave me some things to edit. That was fun. Well, in a geeky editing kind of way. But, I am a geek, so it all works out.

On Monday, I'll take a walk over to the Daily Show studio (weather permitting) and get some shots of the outside. It's pretty spectacular. Well, in a this-studio-is-not-at-all-spectacular kind of way. What I'm saying is that it's not spectular. That's the joke I was trying to convey. I was being sarcastic.

Now, I'm using this sarcastic use of sarcasm to again get you to laugh. It's sarcastic on one level, but the whole sarcastic joke is wrapped up in a warm, sarcasm blanket.

And now, I'm using the explanation of the multiple leveled sarcastic joke to make you laugh yet again. By explaining my own failed jokes, it makes them seem more planned out or carefully devised, instead of what they really are. Which is retarded.

Chappelle's Show: Season 2

2005-01-26T21:30:00.000-05:00

Today, I started on the second season of Chappelle's Show. This latest season also carries with it probably the most memorable characters of the entire series. Characters like Rick James, Wayne Brady, and Rick James.

Now, I could very easily go into a rant about how people have absolutely butchered the Rick James sketches by repeating the catch phrase, "I'm Rick James, bitch!" again and again. But why think up such a rant when such a rant already exists?

Maddox says it best, and you don't mess with the best...
You're Not Dave Chappelle, And You're Not Funny.

I think we'll end with that for today.

My First Sick Day

2005-01-24T17:23:00.000-05:00

Apparently, the cold weather here in NY has gotten the best of me, and now I've got somewhat of a fever. So, I emailed Julie and asked her for the day off to recuperate. She, of course, said "Go to hell!" No, I kid. She was, as I expected, very sympathetic and told me to feel better.

Since I'm obviously not at work today, there's not much to go into about Comedy Central. Because I'm not there. So, instead, I'll just make something up.

Well, I arrived to work at around 10AM, wearing a leather jacket, a pair of Daisy Dukes and a striped scarf straight out of Harry Potter. "If only I was carrying my magic wand with me today," is what I would say if I didn't have my wand with me. But, thankfully, I did have it, so I never said that at all.

Using my gift of flight, I swooped in on the ninth floor. I do possess the gift of flight, but I do not, however, possess the gift of landing. So, I don't. Ever. I am never not flying. If you see me walking or running down a street or a hallway, you'll be surprised to know that I'm actually not walking or running at all. That's right. I'm flying. My feet are a mere centimeters off the ground, making it appear as if I'm walking or running, when it fact I'm just sort of floating there and moving my legs.

Anyway, I get into work, blah blah blah... you know, I thought this was going somewhere, but it's really not. So, how about you think of your own little adventure story involving me at Comedy Central. Here, let me give you a setting...

Green meadows... a butterscotch waterfall... birds singing...

Now... CREATE!

...Like I Own The Place

2005-01-21T21:41:00.000-05:00

As an intern, I've learned early on that it's best to relax, make yourself at home, and wait for your supervisors to come to you. This inevitably gives the appearance that I am an office bigshot or that I "own the place."

Recently, a coworker -- wait, no. Co-worker implies that I also work, and, as this blog shows, it seems pretty obvious that I don't. Anyway, a person who also exists at Comedy Central asked me, "Andy, why do you walk around like you own the place?"

I was a little insulted. This person had seen me for over a week, and already he was mislabeling my walks. If I owned the place, my walk would take the form of a strut. It does not. My walk resembles more of a waltz, which could never imply owernship. Owners don't waltz, they strut. People who waltz don't own, they lease.

So, in a charismatic yet firm voice, I replied, "Sir, I walk around merely as if leasing this place! Now I'll say good day to you!" And that was that.

Don't strut, interns. Know your place.

Day 2 Of "The Spiffying"

2005-01-21T13:28:00.000-05:00

Today was spent continuing to spiffy up the "intern dungeon," which is now the official room name, thanks to me... and also the realization that it is in fact a dungeon. Julie, my supervisor, gave me a few posters to hang up. Also, she gave me her collection of Mark Curry photos. That's right, comic sensation Mark Curry. I know, I was excited, too. Obviously, my mission was clear; I needed to create a Mark Curry gallery, a shrine, if you will. Comedians like Jerry Seinfeld and George Carlin seem to have success carelessly thrown at them because of their "humor," their "genius comedic skills," or their "ability to make someone, anyone at all, laugh." But not Mark Curry. Mark Curry will have no part of that. He would rather make it as a comedian without the crutches that past comedians have relied on. Things like talent and general likeability.

And now, the Mark Curry Gallery is the most visited gallery in this entire room.

Spiffying Up The Intern Dungeon

2005-01-19T13:02:00.000-05:00

The room where I'm stationed is very bland and boring. There are a few South Park posters, and there's a Drawn Together poster, and there's one poster for Porn'n Chicken. It's all very exciting as you can no doubt tell by the exclamation point ending this sentence!

By the by, using the word "stationed" makes me sound more professional, like I'm a peace keeper working for the U.N. Well, that's an exaggeration. Our accommodations are slightly better than that of a U.N. peace keeper's accommodations. For example, we have two buckets in which to defecate in. One for pee and one for poop. U.N. peace keepers usually only have one. Score for us.

So, I'm doing my best to spice things up in the intern dungeon, spiffy up the decorum a bit. I've added two windows to the room. One window has a view that is nice. One window has a view that is mediocre at best. But both are drawn on pieces of paper and taped to the wall.

Now, you probably want to know why I drew one window with a view that is mediocre at best, when I could have drawn them all having fantastic views. But think about that. As a realist, I know that our world isn't made up of fantastic views. Would you want to look out into your paper-window world everyday knowing that it was just one big lie?

Maybe you choose to draw paper-window worlds where people live in harmony and bathe in butterscotch waterfalls; you're quite welcome to do so. But you know what happens in my paper-window world? Babies cry, friend. That's right. Think about that while you choke down your butterscotch waterfalls.

See you Friday!

The First Few Days...

2005-01-13T13:10:00.000-05:00

So, welcome. I'm at the office right now. So far, I've just been watching Chappelle's Show episodes. Every episode, to be exact. Yes, I'll be writing episode guides for each and every episode. Fun? You bet.

But it isn't all fun and games. Okay, well that's not true -- there has been a lot of fun, and we just finished playing office dodgeball. My face is sore. So... I guess I lied. Sorry about that. I don't want to start off my blog with dishonesty. It's just not who I am. Raping and pillaging, maybe, but dishonesty? No, sir.