Hungry, Lazy, Nostalgia

Shit Works Out For the Best

A week ago I pulled each coat out of my closet stuck my hands into the pockets and scrounged for change. I needed it to buy cheese and tortillas which I needed for quesidillas which I needed for nourishment.

The last time I had worn these coats was in the fall when I had enough money that change coming my way was a cause for dismissal instead of rejoicing – coins were a thing I deposited in my pockets as opposed to my bank. Now my bank account had such little money deposited in it that the $4.63 that I found in the depth of the folds of cloth that hung from my clothes would have to feed  me.

I don’t want to be rich. But I don’t want to be dig-for-change-poor anymore. I also don’t want another job. I know that with a little more work, I could afford to live comfortably. By comfortably I mean with snacks.

Snacks to me are all I ever hope for. They are the ultimate luxury. Luxury is some that that you use not because you need to but because you want to. And the only thing I ever want when I need nothing is food. Salty, addictive, crunchy food.

But I can’t afford snacks.

I can’t afford to have a pantry full of chips and crackers to choose from when I’m bored.

Growing up, my basement was our pantry, and it was stocked like a grocery store’s dumpster. This was because my parents owned a grocery store that sold a small range of food from Kettle Chips to Fruit Leather. All food that had expiration dates despite not really expiring. All these dates were before the date that I ate the food, but I had so many snacks. I lived the most luxurious life I could possibly live, and I wish to do that again, but in order to do that I would need about an extra $100/week for snacks and (why not) beer. This would involve working about one more day a week instead of pretending I’m writing while watching Hulu.

This risk reward problem was really frustrating.

I say “was” because my parents have shut down the health food store, and are sending me boxes and boxes of food hat they never got to sell. I have my weight in snacks against the wall of my apartment.

I’m living in luxury while working 16 hrs/week.

I love me.

Attention Whoring, Lazy

Need Want

I don’t know how I feel about the latest episode of Parks and Recreation. It’s my favorite show on television-online right now, but the latest episode felt stale. The important thing to note about me saying this is that hulu is running turbotax ads, meaning I have a constant reminder that I’m not doing things I need to do. I’ve been filming a webseries all week that I am a co-writer/director/producer/actor in and it has taken up a lot of my time. It has eaten into my time to accomplish other goals – goals that involve writing stuff and making money.

These goals are less important to me than garnering fame.

Less important, but still more necessary. I’ve been to three job interviews in the last two weeks. Two were food service jobs that I killed at and received invitations to participate in their restaurant serving agreement during the interview. One job demanded I work my first day on Super Bowl Sunday so for the first time in all years of my life, I missed the super bowl. While I like sports, it is not the sport of football that I missed seeing. I like the Super Bowl because it involves hanging out with people and drinking and eating and not moving. Most importantly, no one can say “Let’s go do something!” because you are supposedly doing something just by watching TV and shushing each other when possibly good commercials come on.

I missed it out of fear that my rent would be hard to pay and I needed any opportunity to gain money.

I made a dollar that day.


They sent me on a delivery and I received a dollar tip. I was never paid for my day of work because I ended up getting a better job the next day. My better job involves a less full schedule and … I’m sure there are other pros too. I just like the less full schedule.

It’s necessary.

In this last week I’ve got nothing done out of obligation – only out of desire. Filming a webseries is what I want to do, but it cuts into what I need to do. Mostly it cuts into what I need to do because I no longer think I should do things out of necessity, but rather only out of want. I haven’t done my taxes yet. I haven’t done my laundry yet.

I started a new website that I think is good.

Attention Whoring, comedy, Lazy

Self Promotion

I’m really sore. Like I hurt a lot. In my thighs and my arms and my back and my neck. The thighs and arms are because I went rock climbing two days ago. The back and neck are because since then I’ve found it too difficult to put on clothes and therefore don’t feel quite comfortable lounging in the public space of our apartment and therefore spend all my time in my bed and therefore prop my neck and back in weird positions against the wall and my bed in order to view my computer screen.

Remember that song “My Neck, My Back?” I also want all those things licked, if the tongue is laced in icy hot. Yes, I want my pussy and asshole laced in Methyl Salicylate. Yes, for the purposes of this joke I have a pussy. Yes, for the purposes of this joke I have an asshole.

This is why I don’t work out.

Working out is the act of competing to see who can be in more pain tomorrow. I have no desire for future pain. It’s a waste of time

In an attempt to illustrate how aware I am of my hypocrisy I’m putting a colon before this next sentence: I was surprised by how everyone at the rock climbing gym was very attractive. I’m not very attractive.

Let’s list the things that I think are important to note now:

1. Some male friends of mine wanted to start working out when we were in college. I was sitting in the back of the minivan on the way to McDonalds drawing penises in the fog of the back window. “Nisse, do you want to work out with us?” To which I responded: “No, getting buff would ruin my image.”

2. In one of my writing books I have a list entitled: “Disparaging Ways to Insult My Body.” There are sections on skinniness, chest hair, eyebrows, and facial hair.

We all make sacrifices for our art, and fortunately my art demands me to look like a holocaust victim who got leprous squirrels stapled to his body. Comedy is my art, but more importantly my life is my art. I write, talk, and perform mostly about me which means that I have to create a me that I appreciate writing, talking, and performing about.

I had half a beard for 4 months. During that time I created a blog specifically dedicated to jokes that a person with half a beard would write. I abandoned the blog when I abandoned the facial hair on the right side of my face. I’ve come back to that blog because I realized that I didn’t need to have half a face of pubic looking strands of gross to act like a person with half a face of pubic looking strands of gross. This one‘s my favorite.

Indignant, Lazy, Media

My Excuse

Again I am faced with the disgusting reality that when my eyes opened at 9am this morning I had to watch three hours of television. I had to check my twitter feed, which is like wasting time by wasting time. And then I saw this on facebook:

Obviously the movie is stupid. Obviously it is a bad thing for society. What caught my eye though was that this ad is stating that in order to answer the question “Can sex friends be best friends?” you have to see this movie. Movies don’t answer questions like that. They are providing a look into one person’s vision as to the answer. Good filmmakers just provide you with the tools to ask yourself questions. But it’s not fair to compare whoever started writing a project that was originally titled “Untitled Ashton Kutcher/Natalie Portman project” to good filmmakers. It is fair, however, to demand that just because you had one thought about one subject that it is not correct. That people should not listen to it and think wow, you’re right that is how I think about that now. Especially when it comes to love and shit. Love and shit is complicated. Love and shit is not answerable in a script.

Lots of people are stupid.

This is my ultimate point is that lots of people are stupid. Also lots of people talk. Therefore the overlap on the venn diagram is going to be significant. We shouldn’t be listening to people just because they are talking.

I watched a lot of CBS’s answer to The View: The Talk. It’s worse. Somehow they managed to get a larger group of more incoherent, more disagreeable people letting the loudest and dumbest voices speak loudly and then end with, “each of our opinions is valid.”


We don’t all have valid opinions. Some opinions are dumb. They need to be challenged and when a person refuses to challenge their own conceptions and instead look wackily at the camera as though they just made an obvious point and are simultaneously auditioning for The Office, then that person needs to be told to shut up. I’m not saying we can’t listen to people, but when people refuse to listen to other points of veiw, they lose their right to have their point of view listened to.

I think I’ve summed up enough hypocrisy to get to the point: I’m not wasting any more time because of hulufriday and twitter – they are just new excuses.

Lazy, Nostalgia

A New Way of Being Recycley Unproductive

To start off 2011 I will be scouring through my old notebooks to find writing so that I don’t have to create new things. Here’s something I wrote in a bar:

True Story



I was watching TV in a bar on mute and those are the words that were chosen to move slowly and horizontally across the screen in-between shots of Brendan Frasier and Harrison Ford arguing. Taylor Swift’s Romeo and Juliet played on the bar’s radio and I got so excited about the possible symbolism of the event that I demanded the check immediately and gave forth my credit card even though I had the cash to pay for my BLT so that they would have to give me a pen so that I could write this in my notebook.

I don’t think there is any symbolism.


Lazy, Selfish


Yesterday was the first day that that man could drive his Hummer in New York City with reason. I’m sure he was proud.

Like the rest of this post-apocalyptic world we are living in without completely realizing it, we are covered in snow. The night before had been a misadventure to see Tron – an hour and a half of The Dude being surprised by how cool computers are – through what seemed like Antarctic conditions, if Antarctica were full of stalling cars instead of penguins. Our 3D glasses providing wind protection, we trudged through feet of snow passed people choosing to spend the night in bodegas and toward the warmth of a friend’s couch.

There was a man walking by us with a crutch as we struggled with the lock of our entrance. Through three feet of snow, one man was hobbling and using a hunk of metal as his other leg to attempt to reach his destination.

Did we help him? Did we offer to put him up for the night? Did we stare awkwardly attempting to decide if either of these things were valid to do?


I still feel terrible.

I feel terrible because my thought process was: “I don’t need to help him because no one else will. He can’t be mad at me because I’m not treating him worse than other people are treating him. He’s not going to specifically point out me as an asshole – I’m just part of asshole culture.”

After our first apocalyptic adventure with a tornado everyone helped out everyone else, but now we film each other struggling with cars.

I don’t think it’s time that has jaded us, I think it’s cold that has made us less willing to help our fellow citizen. Fuck cold.

Also fuck myself.

Attention Whoring, Lazy

I’m Pajama Rich! A Story of Oscillation

My parents sent me pajamas.

I have to do my laundry and get toilet paper and garbage bags and sponges.

People in pajamas don’t do these things. People in pajamas lay down. I’ve essentially been wearing some element of my pajamas for the past 4 days, and it’s felt great. It feels like when you get up from your bed and there’s still an indentation where you had been, except somehow that indentation is still surrounding you – walking around with you – holding your shoulders and hips in its sweet embrace.

In other words, it feels terrible.

So often in my life the words terrible and great seem synonymous. I don’t know if I know what I want, but I do feel as though the knowledge would unhinge me. I’d rather oscillate like Sin(Tan(x)) at x=Pi/2 between love and disgust. I have no interest in x-axis emotions.

This is why I refuse to do my laundry because laundry is never as bad as I think it’s going to be. It’s always really easy, but it takes me 4 days to get up the energy to walk two doors down and empty one container into another container. It’s impossible. It’s impossible because it’s so boring. Nothing interesting happens in the two minutes that it takes for me to do my laundry, which is why I can’t get myself to do it. Boring is the x-axis emotion.

This is the second big reason that I like wearing pajamas constantly. If I wear them over my other clothes than they will not need to be washed. You only sweat into your first layer of clothing.

Last night I was at a party wearing my pajamas and everyone else was wearing clothes that had been organized and thought about. The hypocrisy of me criticizing someone for wearing clothes to present an image is not lost on me, but the difference in goals led to a difference in person. Was I wearing PJs mostly for attention? Absolutely. Other people were also wearing their clothes for attention, though the amount of attention that they wanted was a specific amount. Some perfect level of attention – some line that they could walk as thin as a tightrope where the right people would give them attention and the wrong people wouldn’t and all the attention would be the right kind of attention. BORING! If you’re going for things, go for them all out. Get all the attention you can get. PJs get a lot of good attention and bad attention, and I embrace it all – just as my PJs embrace me. The problem comes with that people are confused by a desire to achieve sadness, badness, and negative things. People are confused when I dive purposefully underneath the x-axis.

I can’t hang out too long on one line because even if that line is positive, that line becomes the default with which you measure all other emotions from. That line becomes the new x-axis. I want to keep my x-axis where it is and continue to oscillate around it.

So I left the party, jumped into bed and allowed my terrible greatness to surround my shoulders and hips.