Making The Impossible a Popsicle
eyes opened wide.
Autor Jesse Abraham | 26.04.2010 | Category Uncategorized
Last night before going to bed I watched an episode of 30 Rock on Hulu – a horribly mediocre show only in existence in my life due to the fact that I feel that Tracy Morgan is like a black Adam Sandler and this makes me happy. In the episode, dreams were discussed, and I realized that normally when I’m consistently sleeping well, my dreams become very vivid and lifelike, yet I haven’t remembered one dream I’ve had nearly this entire year.
Last night I dreamed that I was on some resort with everyone I’ve ever known. Somehow, my amigo Tim Urban and I had managed to greatly anger this dude from my graduating class in high school who I actually bumped into on the subway that day. In the dream, the high school guy was known as a ruthlessly violent man. Specifically, he was known to methodically break every bone in people’s faces using the spine of books as his weapon. Tim and I had angered him greatly – to the point where we were desperately finding some place to hide in case he found us, and when he did we ended up sprinting for our lives throughout this resort. It was actually quite frightening. We ran seeking shelter and found a friend of mine from Emory who said we could hide in his room, which was the third door on the right in “the back.” We didn’t know what “the back” meant so we ran the wrong way, ignoring Emory Man’s shouts of “The back, you morons! The back! Don’t you know what the back is!?! The back!” And the high school guy was gaining on us. Fast forward, suddenly we all are at a play, but I’m not allowed to be in the auditorium because I got in trouble (something that used to happen to me in school a lot.) However, from the lobby I could still see the show. When it was over everyone came out into the lobby and I felt cool for being a bad ass in trouble, but then Lil Wayne, who was lying on the ground in a pile of hot women behind me, said, “Yeah but you got the crap kicked outta you by some high school kids,” and everyone laughed. I thought to myself, “This is true, I did.”
Autor Jesse Abraham | 18.04.2010 | Category Uncategorized
“At the tone, please record your message. When you’re finished recording, you may hang up, or press 1 for more options.”
OK so clearly this is absurd. It’s 2010. We have gadgets and gizmos aplenty, yet we still need to be instructed on how to leave a voicemail. Who needs to be reminded that the message should begin at the tone? As outrageously unnecessary as this instruction is, it’s followed up by a lesson in what to do when you’re done leaving your message. Imagine the individual walking briskly down the street, shoes tied tight and teeth fully brushed, who upon completing his message comes to a halt, puzzled, staring at his phone. Restive pedestrians walk around our hero, who continues to gaze at the screen of his phone as the numbers documenting the length of his message continue to ascend. He glances from side to side, slowly crouches down, puts his phone on the sidewalk and runs away. No, no he doesn’t. He hangs up without thinking about it, because he’s a human over the age of 3 and knows how to leave a message.
But sometimes it can be tricky. I remember hearing voicemails left by people born before 1960 who were used to live answering machines. “Jesse!?! Are you there!? Pick up, it’s me! If you’re there please pick up!”
People often complain about my outgoing message. It’s a tough one for me, as my frequent callers range from prospective tutoring clients to unruly rapper folk, school administrators to club promoters and publicists. I have 12 seconds and 2 sentences to represent myself accurately and honestly to this assortment of people, all while attempting to steer clear of cliched phrasing and vocal tone. Clearly I’m not cowardly enough to go for the automated response, but occasionally my courageous creativity can get the best of me, leaving my outgoing messages filled with strangeness such as sound bytes from A Current Affair, or subtly sarcastic moments of politeness. Or it sounds like I’m crying. Or I’m too upbeat. Or it sounds like I’m actually picking up the phone. Issues.
A month after being conceived, baby kangaroos are born blind, with stumps for hind legs, and are the size of a cashew. After being alive for one minute they are capable of climbing up their mom’s leg and into the pouch. We as newborn babies are useless blobs of confusion and terror, incapable of doing anything remotely impressive. Imagine expecting a human baby to do anything physically gallant at the age of 1 minute old.
Is there a reason that when this guy fell of the wall he was sitting on (who sits on a wall?), the King’s horses were summoned in attempts to fix him? Thumbs are quite useful when attempting to put an egg-creature back together, and horses don’t have thumbs. They have hooves. Hard to fix stuff with hooves.
Toothpaste has sugar in it.
80% of Americans have oral herpes.
80% of people on Twitter have less than 10 followers.
80% of the water used in America is used for agricultural purposes.
80% of the paper napkins in restaurants in Beijing have been tainted with poisoned chemicals and are unsafe.
80% of all humans have a computer.
80% of America’s pretzels are made in Pennsylvania.
80% of humans afflicted with malaria are children in Africa.
80% of the commercials aired on Nickelodeon advertise junk food.
80% of people who are released from prison will return to prison.
80% of the corn grown in America is genetically modified.
80% of Brad Pitt is agnostic.
Biologically speaking, girls mature faster than boys. They hit puberty around nine or ten, and are basically adults by the time they’re 17. Boys don’t start until they’re like 12, and puberty for us can continue into our twenties. So basically, girls spend the first 20 years of their lives surrounded by these fledgling dolts they are expected to marry and mate with eventually. Somewhat immediately, girls easily learn, “Boys are dummies.” On the flip side, boys don’t realize that nature has given girls this head start, so we don’t know what’s going on and just kind of go along with it, playing into our inferior roles. We just figure that this is how we’re supposed to be – silly and simple. Most class clowns are male, most juvenile delinquents are male, and it’s understood that boys are generally the buffoons in a group of children. So girls are raised viewing boys as immature, and we most likely view ourselves in a comparatively similar way. Yeah yeah, the fact that man plants the seed and woman harbors the fetus clearly impacts our gender roles, but this maturity thing…that’s, well, that’s worth writing 13 lines about, apparently.
There’s Nothing Worse
There’s nothing worse than a burnt bagel.
There’s nothing worse than stubbing your toe while on an important phone call.
There’s nothing worse than having to sneeze while chewing a carrot.
There’s nothing worse than leaving a voice mail for someone in which you ask them a specific question, and then they call back and leave you a voice mail without answering the question.
There’s nothing worse than people who stand in front of subway doors and don’t move out the way.
There’s nothing worse than making your entrance to an outdoor party by walking face first into a sliding glass door that you didn’t know was there.
There’s nothing worse than parents who demean their children.
There’s nothing worse than waking up 4 hours earlier than you needed to for work, and then somehow still being late.
There’s nothing worse than accidentally taking a swig of vodka when you thought it was water.
There’s nothing worse than homophobia in hip-hop.
There’s nothing worse than umbrellas.
There’s nothing worse than people who don’t appreciate Michael Jackson.
There’s nothing worse than being intensely hung over and walking through Chinatown on your way to the dentist.
There’s nothing worse than the scary witch lady who screams, “Booo! Rubbish! Filth! Slime! Muck! ” in The Princess Bride.
There’s nothing worse than the word ‘hate’.
There’s nothing worse than Brendan Fraser’s filmography, aside from Encino Man, clearly.
There’s nothing worse than waiting on line at Space Mountain with someone who won’t admit that those things flying above look exactly like giant chocolate chip cookies.
Grand Central Station
After September 11th, the number of visibly armed cops and soldiers in NYC increased by like a zillion percent. Now, a decade later, there are still occasionally these guys in fatigues holding automatic machine guns standing around Grand Central Station, amongst other places. Is this just a normal part of life now? And why are they wearing camouflaged outfits in a train station? Doesn’t seem to be very useful. I miss tokens. And train passes. And red #2 trains. And Freaky Freezies. And the Rock N Jock B-Ball Challenge. And gym class.
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