9 posts tagged humor
9 posts tagged humor
"The sichuan button that stayed in Vegas."
My first completely-mostly-animated short! This was a wee little moment I had out in Sin City a couple months ago. Enjoy.
Had my own Damn You Autocorrect conversation last night…
I posted the above photo from the Women’s Media Center gala last night, with a note that I got to tell Wanda Sykes that I’d named my iPad her—she was emceeing the festivities. Disclaimer: I lurve her. I lurve everything she’s done, and I have most of “Sick & Tired,” one of her stand-up DVDs, memorized. If you haven’t seen it… OMG. Go. Watch. Now.
Anyhoo, the iPad story.
I had been holding off on getting one for a long time. One, I didn’t, honestly, really get them. They’re a giant iPhone, what’s the big deal? (I now know better. I have seen the Light.) But more importantly, two: I was trying to be good with my money and not spend it on every little thing. My dear friend Sonal has been helping me with this over the last year—coaching me and basically being my sponsor every time I wanted to buy something unnecessary. “You will feel better,” she kept telling me, “with that $800 in your savings account when things get scary.” Sigh, she’s right.
When I came back from Berlin in September, things had improved on the financial front, but I was still really trying to hold off on the iPad till the new one comes out sometime next year. Then I started to have a REEEAAAALLLYYYY crappy day one day. I mean, just everything was going wrong. I started to get the iPad itch, and called Sonal.
"I want to go buy an iPad. Like, right now. Just leave the house and go get one," I said.
Turns out, Sonal was having a reeeeeaaalllyyy crappy day, too. “You know what? You should. F*** it. Just go f***ing buy it.”
"Yeah!" I squealed. "F*** it! Nothing matters! Everything’s pointless! Whee!"
We started giggling and riffing and landed on this favorite bit of ours from Ms Sykes. Good Lord, we laughed so hard we were crying and yelling “I don’t give a f***!”
I went and bought the iPad that evening. I bought her a pink cover, and named her “Wanda Sykes.”
Post script: when I told her this story, she laughed and then stopped and got semi-serious sounding, and said, “That’s a good story.” WIN.
When I was in third grade, my teacher launched the gifted & talented program at my school, and one of the first sections was an astronomy program. Surprisingly enough, the smallish town I grew up in had a great observatory, and we studied loads of cool stuff there for a few weeks.
Because it was a bit of a hike from where we lived, my dad would wait and hang out while we did our thing. Our instructor was Dr. Jay Sarton, and Pop told me this morning he said to him once, “You’ve studied, and gone through all this training, and you’ve got a doctorate and all, but you still gotta work nights?”
I emailed my mom my realization that the Tooth Fairy didn’t come visit me after my extraction last week. It was probably alright, though, since the Mom Fairy did come… this was her response:
Hmmm, I was just discussing this with friends too. Jean tells me she’s not certain your situation qualifies for a visit from the tooth fairy as your tooth was deliberately pulled and didn’t just “fall” out. Otherwise, kids would be pulling out their own teeth anytime they need money.
My friend, Tim, says after one reaches a certain age, the responsibility transfers to the tooth gnome (who by the way doesn’t deal with minors, legal issues you understand). According to Tim, since you had novocaine to remove the tooth AND drugs to dull the pain you do not qualify. Sorry.
The mom fairy
Three summers ago in Chicago, I was walking home with one of my good friends on a lovely, warm night. I had stopped there on my way to San Francisco to see friends that I normally only got to run into at random conferences throughout the year. One of them was Christine, an editor and writer I’d long admired but had only just started to get to know the year before.
But there we were, walking down a quiet street on our way back to her house after a night of dinner, drinks and laughs. My spidey sense started tingling, and suddenly two men ran up to us and demanded our goods. The mugging itself and its immediate aftermath is a whole ‘nother story that I’ll spare you, but know that we escaped relatively physically unscathed, albeit sans wallets.
Oh, our wallets. Sigh.
When Christine asked me what I wanted for dinner the next night, I answered, “My wallet.” When her partner, Bernie, asked if we needed anything from the store, we said, “Our wallets.” It went on like that right up until they watched me go through the special screening line at the airport, created especially for would-be terrorists and people with (you guessed it) no wallets.
They came to visit me in Brooklyn a few weeks later, on their way to Vermont. Nothing solidifies a lifelong friendship like getting mugged together, and they even brought me a present to commemorate it. The package was wrapped in butcher paper like deli meat (odd for vegetarian friends, but hey, what do I know?), and I saw that the label read “The T-Shirt Deli, Chicago.”
It’s a place where you can go and pick out templates to customize for clothing of all kinds. They’d picked one for me that had a Chicago skyline, and it read, “Someone in Chicago ________ me,” where the customizer could pick the verb to fill in the blank. My friends decided that this would be the best one for mine:
Fast-forward to the holidays this year. Some time has passed and the sting of being mugged has dulled a little; “my wallet” jokes don’t pop up as frequently in our conversations as they once did. When a package from Chicago arrived the other day, I zipped it open quickly, since Christine and Bernie are excellent gift givers. What did I find inside?
Made of Chicago.
Curiously strong, like Altoids and… Chicagoans. My friends.
I asked Larry what people were going to be wearing on Sunday, and what I should wear.
"Somewhere above ‘Night out on the town’ but below ‘Ball Gown and Tuxedo.’ Cheerier than ‘Funeral’ and less costumey than ‘Halloween.’"
This illustrates well why I’ve been friends with him for 15 years, I think.