Reasons Why Eric* Is Gross

This could go on forever. 

*Also known as Wehrli

Showdown Pt. 3

I happen to be gifted at smelling watermelon. If a watermelon is being sliced, I can smell it. So okay, this one time I was standing next to some and didn't know it. Eric was a witness. But even superheros have off days.

My Rebuttal

We always feared stinkiness was the dominant gene but we fear being too close to Eric more.

Thanks, Eric

My best friend Eric sent me this today:

So un-Eric like!

Help! My Boyfriend Has an Ironic Mustache!

First it was a beard. I liked it. It was lumberjacky and appropriate for winter. Then it became a goatee and mustache for a costume party. Fourteen hours later it was a mustache, Chevron style, bordering on Walrus.

A mustache on a young man is mildly amusing, even if only to young men themselves. But what is at first a party trick, an act of daring or youthful temerity, quickly becomes a gesture of desperation that is quite frankly, unattractive.

It's a familiar plotline for these mustachioed men and their partners and so is the ensuing rift. Not wanting to be a buzz-killing girlfriend, I didn't say anything at first. His friends might have thought me demanding or lame. And he seemed to draw energy and confidence from it like Samson. So I waited. I even called him handsome.

After 10 days the soul patch appeared. It broke me and I admitted to my opinion of his facial hair, I'll admit, hysterically.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU HAVE AN IRONIC MUSTACHE!!!"
"It's not ironic! I like it!"
"You look sleazy!!"
"Why don't you accept me for who I am???"

We're at an impasse. We need help!

The butt's the butt

Lauren may love butt jokes but this story is definitely not funny. Cover your butts people. 

Sitting on an exercise ball isn't just good for your abs. 

Someone Knows What I Did Last Summer...

I received the following envelope in the mail...

...with the following gem inside, cut out from the New York Times...

I don't know who sent it. But here is what I do know. This person:

1. Lives in New York City (or actually, might just know someone who lives in NYC. Which really narrows the pool of candidates.)
   
2. Owns a crappy blue marker and does not know how to properly address envelopes.
3. Knows that I have a crush on Rahm Emmanuel.
4. Has or has not been to 37 W. 37th Street. (Does anyone know where this is? Do I have to go visit? IS THIS A SCAVENGER HUNT?)
5. Knows that I like butt humor.
6. Doesn't care if I ever find out it was them, because it doesn't look like I'm ever going to.
7. Knows my address.
   

So... whodunnit? Fess. Up!

Secrets, secrets are some fun

I'm doing research for work that requires me to spend some time on websites for tween girls. Peering into the interior of the tween mind has been a combination of terrifying, mortifying (I was once one myself) and professionally speaking, informative. And it isn't professional of me to read the "Secrets" page of one such site, meant to be an anonymous forum for openness and compassion, and laugh and then share this with you in hopes you will laugh too. But I'm going to:

"I have an ingrown toenail on my big toe and i ahd it for over 2 years and idk how to tell my parents... ive had before and had surgery on it but im afraid. and it can kill you... i dont want to die" -- one desolate tween

Free Love -- Awesome or Totally Slutty?

Todd Rundgren music was the soundtrack to my childhood. My family and I used to sing “Just One Victory” in the car, as a toddler, while my mom pushed me in the grocery cart, I would swing my legs and sing “Cliché.” I used to dance in the living room to “Bang on the Drums All Day.” As I get older, I realize that I love Rundgren’s music not only for sentimental reasons, but because I think Rundgren is a genius, making huge steps in music and technology, and crafting the most genuine lyrics I have ever heard in my life, ones that still make me really emotional.

My mom and I went to a Rundgren concert in New York City—she obviously is the person who got me hooked— and as we stood there waiting for Todd to appear I felt like an obsessed 12 year old at an N’Sync concert.

We started talking about one of Todd’s most famous songs, “Hello, It’s Me.” I mentioned how after years and years of listening to that song, I never really had thought about the lyrics until now, and I loved them.

The words -- “It’s important to me that you know you are free, 'cause I never want to make you change for me” – were meltworthy in my book. I am single, and cling to the idea of freedom probably a little too much. I would never change myself for a guy. “Maybe I shouldn't think of you as mine” made me nod in agreement, as well. I don’t like the idea of feeling like someone else’s property. To me this was Todd’s song lamenting the girl who wouldn’t commit to him even though he was giving her freedom and respect.

My mom knew the lyrics in a different way. Todd is being a jerk in this song, she said. Then she schooled me in the idea of “Free Love”—a popular theme in 70’s culture. The way she described it, the freedom Todd is talking about isn’t a thing to be coveted at all, but more of a hands-off, commitmentless approach to love. As in, "Let's have sex, but I want you to be free, so then I'm not going to call you for four months." As supporting evidence, she referred me to other free-love songs. England Dan sings ”I'm not talking 'bout moving in, and I don't want to change your life. But… I'd really love to see you tonight.” Crosby, Still and Nash’s “Love The One You’re With” isn’t actually too romantic. And how about Mac Davis’ Don’t Get Hooked On Me “'Cause I'll just use you then I'll set you free”?

Now as I listen to Todd, I pick up more of this free love stuff in his lyrics. After spending four years living with a bunch of slutty sorority sisters in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, I started thinking that commitment-less sex was relatively new. But I guess we're just carrying the banner.

I know girls have a reputation for wanting monogamous, shopping-for-shower-curtains, meeting- mom-for-brunch relationships, but I have found that many girls are really into the idea of commitment-less sex. (Fo real -- I think the book should have been called She's Just Not That Into You). But honestly, this discovery about Todd's Free Love tactics was much like finding out there is no Santa, or falling out of the Garden of Eden. I will never be the same. Todd, you jerk. I thought you were better than this. Or maybe I was right all along, and in this song Todd is singing of a beautiful kind of freedom and a beautiful kind of love. Please, someone, tell me I was right the first time.

Is Mickey a Racist?

My friend wrote this hilarious round up of the 9 Most Racist Disney Characters. I don't think we can get mad at Disney for these inappropriate representations of minorities, but we can LAUGH at them now, and the fact that they slipped through the cracks, because come on, life is funny. I thought about blogging about this at work, wondering how moms might tell their kids while watching Dumbo, "now hunny, not all black people are unemployed and unable to speak in grammatically correct sentences," but then I realized it is not necessary to point this out to children. Nobody explained it to me, and I turned out fine. I didn't even pick up on it, at the time. Was I just stupid? Could this be damaging to children in any way?

The last, and most hilarious character mentioned is actually The Mouse Himself -- but I think it's wrong to label poor Mickey a racist. He really is just kind of dumb.

"Let me see. A genuine African native," Mickey murmured. "Perhaps I should start showing him off."

Stop embarrassing yourself, Mickey.

A Brief History in My Kal Penn Obsession (A Timeline)

April 23, 1977 - Kalpen Suresh Modi is born

March 21, 1984 - I am born

1991 - Kal acts in a school production of the musical "The Wiz". I learn how to write in cursive.

2004 - Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle. I do not watch them, because I think the movie looks stupid. (My taste for fine film is completely unrefined at this point.)

2006 - I see Kal Penn in The Namesake and am smitten.

2007 - Obsession grows. I finally see Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle and love it. I purchase the Italian version, American Trip, and cannot stop watching it.

January 2008 - I am fooled by co-workers into believing that we can interview John Cho for the site, which would have inevitably led me to the arms of Kal Penn. (I am still waiting for this to happen?)

February 2008 - I convince Doogie Howser to buy me a beer (see below) and try to get him to hook me up with his H&K co-star. (Left: me, with my NPH beer. The empty Stella bottle remains in my living room.)

Somewhere in the Spring - I hit the 1,000 mark for times I've seen American Trip.

April 25 - My supportive friend, Nikki H. accompanies me to the H&K Escape From Guantanamo Bay premiere and sprints through the streets of New York and basically beats down ass to make sure we get good seats. I have never seen her run so fast in my life. She explodes in laughter, when later, there is a flashback of Roldie as a gothy college student.

June - I try to become Kal's friend of Facebook but am denied. (Three times.)

August - I rent a bunch of lesser known Kal Pen movies, such as Ball & Chain, and while they are awful, I appreciate them in unexpected ways.

October - I write Kal Penn a heartfelt letter and send it, snail mail.

November - I post the following video on YouTube. (Long story.)

January 2009 - Friends torture me with news that Kal Penn is gay. I don't care. It's not like I'm actually going to get to hook up with him, anyway.

The ensuing months - I check my mailbox every day in hopes that I find a letter from Kal Penn. (Might I admit that sometimes it is the first thought that pops to mind when I wake up in the morning: Today Could Be The Day! ? I might.)

Present - I'm posting this letter in a final attempt to snatch his attention.

Okay so this is how crazy I am. Awhile ago, in New York City, I attended Fuerza Bruta, this incredible, while Cirque Du Soleil-esque artistic performance where the stage actually moves around the audience. There is no seating. Everyone was going all nuts because Orlando Bloom was there. But do you know why I was going nuts? Neil Patrick Harris was there. I thought I finally had a Kal Penn connection! I pretty much stalked NPH throughout the show -- he was easy to spot due to the fact that he was wearing a newsboy cap. By the end of the show, everyone gets up and dances and jumps around. I don't know if ordinarily I would have danced and jumped around, but NPH was so I did too. Afterward, at the venue bar I went up to NHP, smacked him on the arm and said "Hey! You stepped on my foot like nine times back there when we were dancing and jumping around! I think you owe me a beer!" He said: Alright. And he did. How fantastic is that? He could have told me to go away or rolled his eyes or ignored me but instead we talked and he was very kind. I finally got to my point -- the reason I had wanted to talk to him so badly. "So do you know Kal Penn?" I asked. I think he said, "Yeah, Kal Penn's my boy!" And I said "Well, next time you talk to him tell him there is a blonde vegetarian* who'd like to get veggie burgers at White Castle in New York City with him." Just then, before I could get any sort of response, my enthusiastic friend swooped in and started going all nuts about Doogie Howser and NPH seemed very turned off and sort of went away and I thought, "Okay, you've really blown it." I finished my beer and left. I'm sure he never told you and that's okay. I'm sure I seemed pretty nutty.

Every once in awhile I get this feeling of a memory of hanging out with a really good friend, a memory of a really good night. And I think... what is that? Why am I smiling? And then I realize I'm remembering the freezing cold night I saw The Namesake in the Paris Theater by myself. I was new to New York and all alone. But it was a wonderful night and I didn't feel alone then.

And I cried when I saw The Namesake, too. (I read that you cried when you read it.) I still wonder where Gogol is, where Ashima is. I wanted to know more about them. I would die if you responded to this letter. Just die.

Thank you for listening to my crazy story, anyway. Go Obama.

-Lauren

*Kal Penn is a vegetarian, too.

Jesus Got Game!

Everyone has their weaknesses, and Jesus jokes are definitely one of mine. It doesn't really matter if it's funny or not, I DIE. I snort. I can't look away. I can't continue on with another project. That's why one of my favorite websites is JesusoftheWeek.com. Not only are the pictures little gems, Peter Gilstrap's commentary gives them an extra punch. If you're like me, you won't be able to stop "resurrecting" new images.

I DIE bananas

You only have to watch the Rachel Zoe Project for five minutes (which is what I have done) to hear her say the following eight gazillion times: I Die I Die I Die, Bananas Bananas Bananas. I cannot detect a common thread connecting the things she calls bananas, but I Die seems to refer to when she sees a fashion item that she cannot live without. And you know what? I sort of relate. I, too, have loved a piece of clothing so much that all I can think about is life and death and the most appropriate thing to say is I DIE. I saw stars when I saw those pink boots in the window of Urban Outfitters and the Nanette Lepore dress my mom bought me makes me believe that the world is good.  In fact, I used to say it about a LOT of things. I think it really sums up when you are pretty much speechless about the awesomeness of something. What else is there besides this awesome thing, and death? But guess what? I DIE is apparently Rachel's trademarked saying that nobody else is allowed to use, especially Christopher Sauve, a NYC artist who planned on selling this pretty awesome shirt in low distribution. After 25 shirts, his work was stopped when he received a letter from Zoe's lawyer siting that I DIE and bananas are trademarked. I just said I DIE the other day, referring to Passover. (I love Passover. More on that later, I guess.) I had no idea I was stealing vernacular from the quoteworthy Rachel Zoe. 

This is totally stupid. How can you own I DIE and bananas? Rachel Zoe has more millions of dollars than she has vintage Chanel dresses (both numbers are a lot) and she can't afford to let an actual artist in New York City, who actually is (was?) a huge fan of hers pick up on a strage/somewhatcute/butnotTHATcute phrase and carry it to a new, better level? If that's not bananas, I don't know what is. Maybe we'll have to wait until she actually does die to use the word again. 

"This is my chance to make it happen"

Later generations will look back at ours and wonder at our preoccupation with skinny, glassy-eyed ingenues who show up in new cities and unrealistically achieve great career heights while boning losers in vests and straw bowler hats. Of course I'm referring to "The Hills" and "The City" and if you think about it, it's actually kind of weird that we like these shows.

But I have logged enough hours in front of the television screen watching them and I am glad of that just because I was able to enjoy this:

Instead of Whitney, behold Barack Obama as he embarks on his new life, narration, blank stares and all.

Leggo My Eggo

Once I moved to New York the city's symbols -- taxis, the Empire State Building, -- got replaced by new ones -- ankle length puffy coats, chicken and rice. I like that the same odd detail can represent the same thing to so many different people and that a pickle or a dinner check can be one of those details.

The Abstract City, NY Times

Baby On Speed?

Meet 9-month old Charles-Edward. He enjoys rolling around, flipping toys over, and spinning on his belly. Here, his parents used lapse videography to cram four hours of little Charles-Edward's non-stop action into two minutes of video. "Human interactions were left out" -- making it extra hilarious.