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Yesterday I walked out of my apartment and there, on the front page of the Sun-Times, was the headline, "Gerald Ford Dies." Tragic? Yes. But all I could think about was an old Saturday Night Live Skit where Dana Carvey is pretending to be Tom Brokaw who, ridiculously, really wants to spend the entire winter vacationing in Barbados, so he's forced to record every possible news story that could break over the coming months while he's out of town. Oh Gerald, I'm sorry that's all I can think about.
Yesterday on Christmas, doing our civic duty as Jews, Micah and I went down to Chinatown for lunch. We found a little place on Wentworth, ate lots of Chinese food (of course down in that neighborhood they just call it "food"), and then decided to do some shopping. There was a little store across the street called Woks N' Things (the Asian version of Linens N' Things, perhaps?). Items that could be found there included, but were not limited to: *Lightbulbs I think there should be a combined megastore called Linens N' Woks N' Things. It'd give Target a run for its money.
So after five happy years Blogger and I have split up. It's whole "new", "updated" whatever it is just stopped working as well as it used to. And you know what they say: "If it's broke..." I'm now with Movable Type, which is a great platform and a lot more flexable. The only thing is it's a pain to copy all the Blogger posts over to Movable Type (not to mention the fact that I'd be losing all your lovely comments if I did so), so my first five years of posts will still exist over at Blogger, but can be viewed in The Archives. Bascially, this isn't really a funny blog, just an update. That's why I put it the day after Christmas. I figured everyone would just be returning presents and recovering from eggnog, so why not put this here. Am I right or am I right?
CNN may quite possibly be the most Christmasy of all the cable news networks. I mean, how else do you explain twenty straight hours of a 73-year-old Jewish man on Christmas day? For the full Larry King Live marathon schedule click here.
This season Old Navy invites everyone to "Get Your Fash On!" Other catchphrases that can't be far behind? "Get Your Addicsh On!" "Get Your Infecsh On!" "Get Your Star Trek Villain Kha On!" "Get Your Aborsh On!" "Get Your Vaccinash On!" "Get Your Quadripartish On!" "Get Your Depressh On!"
Some people know that I have a secret passion to be a water sommelier. "I'd recommend the Fiji with your steak, sir," I would say to customers. "The Fiji?" they'd ask, skeptically. I'd nod, close my eyes and give a tight smile. "I'm quite sure, sir," I'd say. But until that day comes I'm stuck perusing the great site, FineWaters.com. They have articles and tips encompassing everything you'd ever want to know about bottled water. Not to mention a tiny little section showcasing water sommeliers (someday, oh someday!). This article on the site about fighting hangovers with water is pretty great too.
The other night I'm flipping through the channels when I find a show about a bunch of slutty women who have been thrown together to live in a house. It's late at night and two of them are completely drunk, taking swigs from a bottle of Jack Daniels, when somehow they decide to do yoga. Walking out to the deck with their yoga mats and sunglasses on (at night, mind you - how very Corey Hart of them) they start to set up. "We are SO gonna meditate!" one of them announces. I think I may have found my new favorite show.
This morning Pat leaves this away message on his computer: Ah, the pre-holiday three-day weekend. So, so sweet. Me: Pre-holiday? Um, we're right in the middle of Hanukkah. There's nothing pre about this weekend. It's here. Bam!
Last night at work Massimo and I are bored and come up with a list of songs that cell phone companies really should use in their commercials. You're welcome, cell phone companies! Out of Touch - Hall & Oates We also tried to come up with songs for car commercials with even sadder results. Those don't even get posted.
The other day I'm at Bernadette's work, visiting her. I want to order some french fries but try to do it slyly. "I want to order some, um..." I wink at Bernadette. "What is that?" she says and imitates my facial actions, looking like she's having a seizure. "I was trying to be sly and winking," I tell her. "Wink equals fries." "Just say fries, weirdo," she tells me. I exclaim that I now plan on ordering Wink Winkers when I want fries. Bernadette puts the order in her computer and turns to me. "Does that means your blog will change it's name to Berg with Wink Winkers?"
You thought the glasses were all I had up my sleeve in the way of nerdiness, huh?
You thought wrong. I've now implemented Phase II of Operation Make Josh Look Smarter Than He Is.
Micah sees me wearing the shirt and starts laughing hysterically. "You're such a nerd," he says. That's the plan.
The other night I'm bartending a private party for a group of graphic designers. Looking at them all in their twenty-something urban coolness I can't help but think of that part in High Fidelity when Rob goes to Charlie's dinner party and feels like he doesn't fit in. "And sure, I want their money and clothes and jobs and opinions. And I'd like to have advice on jetlag. But that's not it. I mean, they're not bad people and I'm not a class warrior." I think of Rob's words as I'm making these people their amaretto stone sours, and I can't help but wonder why every other drink is a Tanqueray and tonic. But then I overhear a cute girl with big thick glasses prompt the question, "But really, what do you think is the gayest whiskey?" Opinions are thrown around. A few guys say Makers Mark ("Pouring hot wax over the bottle is very kinky," one says, though I don't know what would make that gay whiskey instead of, say, BDSM whiskey). A few other people offer up that whiskey is a manly drink and can't be made gay. After a minute or two going over it in my head the answer hits me all at once. After the argument has died down and the crowd has thinned I make my way over to the cute girl with the big thick glasses. "So the gayest whiskey..." I say. She nods, waiting to hear what I've got. "Knob Creek." She smiles broadly and laughs. "That's it!" she says. "That's the one I was trying to think of! Thank you!" Sure, like Rob I may not have advice on jetlag, but I do know my alcohol.
Salon.com ran an interesting article yesterday about Rudy Giuliani, reminding us all of the horrible "dictator" he was before 9/11 gave us all amnesia. The article also reminds us to not even consider Giuliani come 2008. Firing one of America's best police commissioners (Bill Bratton) because Bratton was getting too much credit? Ordering the MTA to remove a bus ad for New York magazine that said, "Possibly the only good thing in New York Rudy hasn't taken credit for," because he had no sense of humor? Threatening to close the Brooklyn Museum after it hosted a painting he had never seen but didn't approve of? The 2001 ferret ban? They're all in the article. Oh, people, how could we have forgotten?
This weekend Mom was in town for her birthday. She was staying at the Fairmont downtown and Micah and I decided to take her out to lunch at the Park Grill in Millennium Park. We walked into the restaurant, waiting for the hostess to come back to seat us, and as I turned to look around I noticed that Mayor Daley was walking in just behind us. I tilted my head inconspicuously so that Micah would look and the two of us exchanged amused smiles. Mom looked behind us and leaned towards me, whispering, "Is he somebody you know?" We waited until we were seated and out of earshot before rolling our eyes and announcing, "Moooom!" in the same tone that teenagers use when exasperated by their parents embarrassing them. "That's Mayor Daley!" The mayor was being seated across the section from us and Mom eyed him as he walked to his booth. "That's Mayor Daley?" she said. "But he looks so short!" Micah and I just chuckled, and every 15 minutes or so Mom would look over again and announce, "I just can't believe he's so small." Then, when our server came over to tell us about the desserts, he added, "Well Mr. Branson is having the S'More special." "Mr. Branson?" we asked. "Richard Branson," he said. Ah, the Virgin mobile/airlines/records guy. But of course. Not only is the mayor of the third largest city in the U.S. in the restaurant, so is one of the richest men on the planet. Evidently the Park Grill is the place to see and be seen. But then, we already knew that. Why else would we have been there? I'm sure our server was telling other tables, "I recommend the Asian chicken soup. Josh Eisenberg just ordered it."
For some reason at work the other night Cary and I are talking about fat people. I tell Cary how I used to be chubby when I was little. Cary: You used to be fat? When I was 9 that stuff did me in.
First off, I'd like to give everyone (including myself) who completed NaBloPoMo a big hand. I was a bit unsure if I'd make it but...well, what can I say? I'm awesome. Me: So I met this woman the other night who kept calling me Jew #2. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
