Tuesday, October 27, 2009
First, I would like to comment on the title of this blog post but alas, I am too lazy so instead, check out my friend Nathan's blog for further explanation.
Again,I apologize for the severe decrease in posting. Due to my increasingly depressing Vietnam War History seminar(honestly, how many more times can I read about American troops raping mamasans at An Hao or NVA troops gouging the eyes out of American troops!!!??) and the new novel I am writing, I have been running short on spare time. However, that's all in the past(not really) and I look forward to producing a consistent stream of blog posts! Hoorah!(again, see Vietnam reference before. I really want to be in the marines now)
I am currently sitting at my brother's house in Riverdale, about to eat dinner with my family. This is great for two reasons. One is that I get to eat my mom's home cooking and her culinary delights are a combination of the Barefoot Contessa and Paula Dean...delicious!(If you don't know who these beautiful women are, I feel bad for you and you should begin watching the Food Network). The second, and most important reason, is that I get to see the progeny of my brother and sister in law, my two amazingly beautiful nieces Noa and Maayan. See pictures below. Playing with them makes me want to have kids right now. Don't worry, mom! It's not gonna happen quite yet. At best, i'll buy a kitten...probably some type of tabby. Those things are damn cute!
Back to the heart of this post...being home is great. Whether it's taking the subway home from school or flying across the country, walking through your front door and seeing your family is an unparalleled feeling. I love the smell of my house. I love using my mother's computer because it actually runs, unlike my piece of shit dell, which is nearing its death and needs a severe dose of the whatever the computer version of Dr. Kevorkian has, and I love talking to my dad whose hilarity rivals Bernie Mac(z'l) I don't remember my dad being this funny when I was younger. Maybe I didn't notice it....or maybe with this senility has come an unrivaled sense of humor. Either way, the old adage certainly jives with me...home is where the heart is.
On another note, I got a haircut from my barber, Vinny. He's this dope Bucharian guy who loves to talk to me. I usually pretend to engage in conversation with him while mostly attempting to decipher his pseudo-soviet mumbo jumbo. Whatever, he cuts a mean hair. If you see me on the street, you may think I have enlisted in the Hitler Youth. My hair is a lot blonder when cut and combined with my eyes, I am an embodiment of the Aryan race. Yikes.
Another reason coming home is great is I get to go to my favorite shoe store. If you're a true friend of mine, you know I have a shoe fetish. If you're not a true friend, screw you and try harder(to become a good friend, I recommend purchasing a pair of shoes for me). I have shoes that line my room and my closets. Girls come into my room and make fun of me for having more shoes than they do. For this I am proud and not ashamed. It could be worse. I could be into stockings or high heels. That's some kinky shit, man. The feeling I have when I walk into a shoe store is like my birthday and chanukah combined into one euphorically blissful shopping experience.
My favorite part of Cribs, the awful MTV show, where we, the clueless viewer watches the entertainer show off his myriad of cars, clothes, and harem(which we have purchased with the oodles of money we funnel to them for their terribly produced music) is when we see their shoes . These people have shoe closets, my friends. These shoe closets are my version of a suicide bombers version of heaven with 72 virgins. Except, instead of virgins, substitute in a pair or Nike Dunks, preferably in very bright colors.
When i'm older, I want to have one of these closets. I want to wake up in my bed, surrounded by shoes. Hell, if I could have a shoe blanket that would be sweet. Whenever I deposit a check in my meager bank account, I think about what shoes I can purchase next. I know. I have a problem. My mother tells me every time she sees me. So what! First step is admitting it. Second stop is buying more shoes. Also, for those conscientious shoppers who won't purchase nike products because they utilize kids in their sweat shops, blah, blah, blah, I say go bark at someone else. I'm not reducing my carbon footprint, i'm not replacing my light bulbs with those LCDSHDF(or whatever they're called) lightbulbs which save energy or something, and I sure as hell am not stopping my purchasing of nikes. They are my drugs and I need them. I say instead of yelling at people for buying nikes we should be patting those kids who make the shoes on their backs. For example, "good job, little guy, you make a fine shoe. Now, here's your plate of two cookies and a glass of milk...for the whole day." Lets support these youth and infuse them with a sense of self-confidence. The kids are the future!
pining for a new pair,
Only in New York Moment:
I saw a man carrying a fire extinguisher on the street today, spraying it at random. Honestly, what purpose could this serve? But, it seemed like I was the only one paying attention. Does anything make New Yorkers look twice? Apparently not.