Monday, September 24, 2012

So... We're Pretty Much All Fucked, Then?

Being from Brooklyn, I'm pretty skeptical by nature (I'm not entirely sure what one has to do with the other, but let's roll with it), so this whole "Mayan-end-of-the-world Theory" hasn't exactly left me a quivering mess. I'm usually pretty calm about this stuff, unless it involves wild turkeys, or sock monkeys.

What a dick.
Lately though, there have been some impending signals that I just can't seem to ignore. For example, being based out of Southern California as of recently, I can't help but notice the swarm of mini-quakes that have frequented the West Coast over the past few months. They've apparently even gone further into the country, spreading like my legs in the presence of a British accent (hey, if the world is going to end, I may as well go out enjoying myself).

Also, this year saw the demise of R.E.M. and to a lesser extent, Jet, as well as the tragic passing of Beastie Boys' MCA, Michael Clarke Duncan, Phyllis Diller, Tony Scott, Sally Ride, Neil Armstrong and Ray Bradbury. Not to mention, on the same day Neil Armstrong died, Snooki gave birth to what I'm pretty sure will grow up to be the Smoke Monster from Lost.

Is this some weird Rosemary's Baby-type shit?
Because if so I am OUT.

Another tell-tale sign of the Apocalypse- these people are still alive:

Also this asshole. And he owns a Batmobile. A fucking Batmobile.

So not only am I processing all this crazy shit and trying to figure out who gets my Ryan Gosling Blu-Rays in the aftermath (Ginntastic), but then I wake up this morning to this insane fuckery from Uproxx:


OK, so I thought of three things when I first saw this:

1) How does this snake take a shit?
B) How long until this is a SyFy Channel movie, and how awesome will it be?
COBRA COMMANDER) HOLYFUCKINGHELL A TWO-HEADED SNAKE MGHSVDFDJDISDCHDGVSDCDKCHJDB OH MY GOD EVERYBODY DIE. What if there's like, a High Council of two-headed snakes, like a Legion of Doom, that has meetings and stuff, trying to take over the Earth?

What the fuck, Mother Nature? Who told you this was OK? Why would you do this? Why? WHY?

I hate you. I hate you so, so much. You are one sick bitch.

Although +5 to the parents that named their kid Preston Logan. I may be dating myself (and we all know that's the only dating I'm actually taking part in), but any Bill and Ted reference is a win in my book.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

The Sick, Strange Cult of Nugs

About a year and a half ago, I wrote a post dedicated to the devastating loss of my grandmother, who for my first 28 years served as one of the most significant and influential parts of my life. Today would have been her 86th birthday.

I called my mom to commemorate this event, and also to remind her that later this week is Rosh Hashanah, or for those of you who aren't of the Jewish persuasion, our New Year. For anyone who is, in fact, of the Jewish persuasion, you will know exactly what I mean when I use the phrase "Jewish mother." I always love talking to her, but our conversations tend to remind me of this:

My mother is one of those moms who adores her family and would do anything for her kids, but she's also the fifth one down on the list when I have news- good or bad- because I know she'll immediately call everyone I've known since I was five and blow it way out of proportion. If I have a paper cut, I'm dying. If I have a date (like that will ever happen), I'm automatically engaged. Maybe this is because I'm pushing thirty, single and have no discernable donor candidates.

Today's telephone exchange inspired me to write this post, based on a recent discussion I had with my brother over Facebook chat. He IM'ed me to talk about recent plans about my move (more about that as it gets closer to the date) and to give me updates on his own life: job stuff, music preferences, and dating stories. He had just started seeing someone and wanted to give me a heads up before my mom started picking out china patterns. His new girlfriend is two years older than he is (older woman- nicely done) and a lawyer, so right away my mom is probably naming their first born. I told a few of my friends about this rap session, and the most common follow-up question was "why is this not a blog entry?" Once you scroll down, you may begin to see why.

Highlights from the found footage of my Jewish family, ladies and gentlemen:

Nugs:  (re: Brother Nugs' new gf) That's awesome!
Brother Nugs: Don't tell Dad yet. I want to call him tomorrow. Unless you just texted him, just now.
Nugs: It's literally been like four seconds. I'm not Mom.
Brother Nugs: Haha. True.
Nugs: So what did you lead with? "I'm dating someone" or "she's a lawyer?"
Brother Nugs: Does it matter?
Nugs: Not really. Either way Mom is already blueprinting the sonogram.
Brother Nugs: Also I told Mom she doesn't have Facebook.
Nugs: Does she?
Brother Nugs: Of course she does. Everyone is on Facebook.
Nugs: Ahahaha. Well played.

***(This is the part where I admit I went through his friends and found someone who I think is her. She looks like she's probably pretty cute but sadly her profile is private. Creepy stalker or curious sister? Your call.)***

Nugs: Remember when I dated a Jewish lawyer? After a month she was already drafting wedding invites.
Brother Nugs: Yeah. I remember him. That guy was a douchebag. For some reason Mom really liked him though.
Nugs: Jewish. And lawyer. Although Mom likes anyone who she thinks is going to implant me with their seed.
Brother Nugs: You're definitely next.
Nugs: She's like, "How about that nice kid in the next apartment?" And I'm like, "No Mom. He's 16, and a Klansman."

Brother Nugs: She probably likes that at least he has high-thread count sheets that get frequently washed. You need better excuses.

This is seriously the conversation that occurred, on Facebook, between my brother and I, at 9pm PST on a weeknight.

The best part is that my mom insists that she's totally normal and doesn't do any of this. The three of us (I have two brothers) all know that she's insane, but we've all grown accustomed to it over the years and usually just do the sitcom shoulder shrug at this point.

I know that I'm not alone in this and that some of you know exactly what I'm referring to here. Are all of your parents desperate to marry you off and turkey baster anyone that walks in the door? Please, tell me I'm not a cult of one (or three).

Monday, September 03, 2012

Nature Can Suck It

At 3:30 this morning my night table started rattling. I had been sleeping and did not appreciate being jolted awake by anything other than Ryan Gosling carrying a Costco-size crate of coffee ice cream. Combined with the fact that I had spent the entire holiday weekend (Labor Day, for those of you not in the US) fighting off an incredibly annoying sinus infection, this was not how I had planned to end the summer of 2012. I mean, it's not like my phone was ringing off the hook anyway, but still. No, Richter scale. NO.

Growing up in New York City, I've been through a bunch of Nor'Easters and more than a few huge storms. Usually what those meant were a couple of days off from school. I remember one instance in high school where they prematurely cancelled classes due to a "hurricane warning," and then the next day turned out to be bright, sunny and like 70 degrees. It was awesome and my friends and I went to the park and hung out all day. Before moving to California, I'd become pretty desensitized to natural disasters, although I sympathized with other areas and always worried about my friends. The only time I'd really been directly affected by a "natural disaster" is when I got up every morning and looked at myself in the mirror.

I'm going to ask you nicely to stop taking pictures of me and
posting them on the internet. Thank you.
Then I moved to Los Angeles. I knew, when I relocated, that earthquakes were a Thing. That kind of freaked me out, but I had also heard that they were very infrequent. My dad had already lived in LA for a few years and had yet to experience one, so I figured I was OK. LA was never my first (or even my eighth) choice of residence, but I got offered a job here, and besides, nothing in Los Angeles is natural anyway, so I thought that maybe the only "disaster" would be like, a dye job or something. 

PS- despite what we all thought we learned from Clueless, the "Pismo Beach" event was entirely made up.

The thought of the ground vibrating and opening up under my feet absolutely fucking terrifies me. I'll admit that most of my fears are pretty irrational adorable, but when something's main characteristics also sound like the coming of the apocalypse, that's enough to make me run far the fuck away. Forever.

That was definitely one of the four signs of the apocalypse.
Earthquakes, Pestilence, Famine, and uh, Bieber.
Free-falling into a black hole of nothing isn't exactly on my bucket list, thanks. What makes it worse is that you never know when one is going to hit- earthquakes sneak up on you, like the stomach flu, or midgets. 

This fun surprise from last night is just the latest in a string of Southern California shake-ups in the last two months. Depending on which news report you read, there have been between thirty to four hundred mini-quakes, all between the magnitude of 3.0-4.5. Maybe it's because I'm so paranoid, but I've felt a lot of them, and they all scare the shit out of me. If yesterday's quake was only a 3.3, I never want to feel anything above a 5. I have no idea why there have been so many in such a short amount of time, but I don't like it, and I can't believe anybody would choose to live an area where the ground could crack open with no prior warning. 

Add this to one more reason why I've booked my flight back home. I still have to wait until my lease is up- right before Halloween- but I do get to leave, and I will never, ever, have to live in constant fear of being swallowed into the Earth ever again.