Now with special sauce.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Everybody with added Fiber!

What the hell is up with all the fiber lately? All the...."probiotics"? When did it become so trendy to take a shit? Haven't we all been doing this for years now? Now it's "in" to be regular, and to let everyone know that we are, or aren’ what foods we choose to purchase. Getting a colonic is not a new trend, but you may be as suprised as I was to learn that more than one person thought it would be interesting to tape themselves getting one and post it on youtube? I am all for finding this type of relief, and if I weren't a girl, I would totally poo. It is a natural bodily function, and man does it suck when you can't. But these products are getting out of control! Am I the only one who still feels slightly embarrassed when ordering a raisin bran muffin, because everybody knows that the main reason we make that choice is to facilitate a poo? Not that bran isn't delicious, because I actually kinda dig it, but there is generally only one reason I start to crave it. It is not longer a secret that Jamie Lee Curtis poops...and all because her yogurt has "probiotics"...whatever the hell those are. We see in the Benefiber commercials that it now comes in little flavored drink powders that gorgeous "Sex in the City" type women pop into their water bottles and drink 'til they poo (we don't see that part). You can order a fiber "shot" in your Jamba Juice. Splenda is including "a little boost of fiber" now. Fiber One is making all sorts of new treats which I am promptly trying. Generic labels in the stores are even creating their own cheaper versions of these "Chock-full-o-fiber" delectables. I am antsy with anticipation for the day I learn that Fiber One is partnering with McDonalds for McFiber Fries! Eating too much McDonald's already makes some people poo...but now you will be assured instant relief. Is it all just clever marketing? Is there really added fiber? Or is it like when I see "New! Creamier milk chocolate!" on a candy bar and want to buy it to see for myself. Sure enough it tastes creamier, but is it only because I read it on the label? Will we start pooping more because our Slurpi claims "added Fiber shot!"? Here is what really worries me. Why does our culture need so much fiber? Are we just the most horribly irregular generation? This has clearly reached a moment of supply meeting demand. There is obviously a huge need for all of these products, and every one is jumping on board. What about eating the natural foods that have always had fiber in them? Maybe if our country didn't over process and mass produce everything with high-fructose corn syrup in it, our bodies would function normally. Maybe if the water we drink didn't have traces of prescription drug residue that, as most of their side effects includes constipation, we wouldn't need to pay someone to stick a hose up our ass and flush ourselves out. Why is it so much more expensive to eat foods that keep our body working rather then back them up so that they only thing flowing is our money into more and more bullshit? Why is it so much more convenient just to pick up a granola bar with fiber added (never mind everything else that is)? If I weren't a girl, I would totally change that about myself...but I am a girl, and girls don't poo.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Only in New York...I hope.

So I was heading home last night after seeing a show and grabbing some food with friends, and the subway car that I got on had a homeless guy stretched out and sleeping on the bench. The first thing I do when I notice I am on a car like this is take a small sniff. I have endured more than my share of subway rides with homeless people who smell like poop, or worse....death. I once stayed on a subway car all the way into the city with a man who smelled dead because it was rush hour and I needed to sit down and eat my breakfast on the way to a job I would be standing all day for. Yes, I even ate an egg sandwich whilst smelling death. I don't recommend it, but not just for the fact that it is gross, mainly because I smelled that smelly homeless dead guy all day long. There are still days when I think I can smell him near me. Anyway, I noticed upon sniffing that there was no discernible scent, so I decided to stay. I noticed some crumbs lying on the floor next to his cart. I felt bad for the man, knowing this may have been his only meal that day and it looked like a tiny bag of chips. I wondered if he would be interested in finishing the half of chicken quesadilla I was carrying home. It wouldn't be the first time I had offered someone my leftovers, and generally they have been well-received, but sometimes it can be offensive. I thought about how I wish I could leave him a $50 bill to wake up to instead of a quesadilla. My thoughts drifted to this man and his plight for a few stops until I noticed that he had his hand down his pants. Up to that point, the angle I was sitting at saved me from that discovery. Certainly he isn't doing anything in there....maybe his hand was just...cold? It wasn't long before I noticed that his hand was moving, and there was no denying what it was doing in there. Well fuck that! That foul man is NOT getting my chicken quesadilla! Ah....NYC. Good times. Well...shortly before my stop, I noticed his motions getting more...purposeful when....I heard the sound of water...falling. Still laying across the subway car seat, he had pulled out his penis and proceeded to unload his bladder. From where I was seated, his cart blocked full exposure, but the arch of urine from his crotch and splashing onto the floor was clear. It was then that those at the other end of the car....down-stream of this man's relief show...noticed what was happening. Some were amused, some were appauled. I found myself more amused than anything. I have to say that, while NYC is a much cleaner/safer city than years ago, nothing like this really surprises me exactly. It was a first for me though. I never saw a man whip it out and piss on the subway while laying down, but I did see a man take a dump on the sidewalk in broad sunny daylight near Madison Square Garden though. It was a hot summer day and there were people everywhere. The man made no attempt to conceal his actions, and I saw his bare ass gleaning in the sunlight and the poop coming out of it. But the best part of it all was that he was reading what looked like a paperback romance novel at the time.

MySpace Tracker

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Happy Garden

Well, it only took me about 5 years living in Astoria (7 living in NYC total) to find some decent chinese food. There is a cheapo chinese joint for almost every Starbucks here in the city and all it's boroughs, but the quality generally leaves something to be desired. That was, until I happened on "Happy Garden". I forget just how I happened on them exactly. I think I just was searching online for a new place to go since my last "this can sort of pass as food" chinese place just wasn't cutting it anymore. It is frightening if you ever leave NYC and order chinese food, because the chicken actually looks like chicken, and not some other questionable game. It can be disturbing, and yet...I definitely still eat it. Well...Happy Garden truly is an entire garden full of happy. Happy chicken, moist on the outside, crispy and General Tsao-y on the outside (only if you order General Tsao's). They have eggrolls with fresh ingredients inside a tender, flakey shell and just the right am0unt of egg roll greasiness to really hit the spot. In the first week of discovering this place (on, my roommates must have ordered from here at least 3 times. I found myself yearning for a night to be home so I could order in again too. Very quickly the lady on the phone recognized me, but it wasn't just because I was ordering from them a lot. It turns out that we are one of the only customers to request fortune cookies. She finds this absolutely absurd and hysterical, like I am requesting that the delivery boy tapes his eyes back so they look even more chinese or something. I have never been more paranoid about asking for fortune cookies! It is strangely common these days, at least here in NYC, for them not to automatically give you fortune cookies, and I find that highly I request them. This, for reasons I may never fully comprehendm is high comedy.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009


So you may recall a few months ago I posted a blog called "The Princess of Soho?". It was about the newspaper guy on my way to work who spouts out many words to me, most of which I don't understand, and when I do they are often insulting. Well he is still working the corner, and I am still working that job. So I've grown accustomed to the gibberish I don't understand and can recognize his old standby, "I lika you eyes." He may 'lika my eyes', but he still thinks I'm a large woman. Once again he threatened to bring me dresses from his home, and protested again when I said I wear a size 8. He corrected me, "no...10!" What is this man doing with all these dresses at home, and why does he want to give them to me? Well beyond those precious moments we finally hit a new level this week. When I passed him yesterday he mentioned something about cooking as he handed me my paper. I thought he was asking if I like to cook. I mentioned that I am not particularly skilled at it, no. Then he said something about his friend, and how I should call him, and something about...fettucini? I figured he must have a friend who works in a restaurant and he must make good fettucini, perhaps he wanted me try it. "No!" he said. I tried to clarify, certainly he was speaking about a restaurant of some sort. "No!" he replied....and I couldn't make out any other meaning from the repetition of him saying something about calling this man....and...fettucini. So I said "okay..." and walked away in the same cloud of confusion as always. I looked down at the paper and saw that he wrote this man's number out, with his first and last name....and next to it he wrote the word "fettucini". So do I call this man and tell him I heard about his fettucini? Is fettucini some code word for a drugs? Is he using a new petname he has given me and I just don't understand he is actually saying "FATtacini??" Is this man on the corner some mystical matchmaker that lures in your true love via random pasta code words. I really have to call this number.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Ziplock Oatmeal and Tongue Lips?

I saw a man eating oatmeal out of a ziplock baggie on the subway this morning, with a plastic fork. Now, I gotta hand it to this guy on one hand, because I hate carrying around my plastic container all day after I have eaten oatmeal on the go. I didn't see a man-purse on him, so this is a very logical choice. But...a plastic fork? Everyone knows you eat oatmeal with a spoon! It was amusing to watch as he forged into every nook and cranny to fish out all the clumpy clumps that stuck to every inch of the bag...sometimes squeezing it out like toothpaste.

This was all happening just inches away from a man who looked like he was sitting there sleeping with his tongue half sticking out in between his lips. I instantly caught a glimpse of him just as a tiny boy sidled over towards him to grab onto the pole on that seat. The man's "tongue" startled the boy who immediately let go of the pole and jumped as far away from him as he could. I watched as the boy stared from a far, trying to make sense of this. I did as well. Is this the man's relaxed state? Had his coffee been too hot and he had burnt the poor thing? Every once in a while the small boy would get as close as he could until he grew frightened again and would dart away. Shortly after the boy and his family left the train we were nearing this man's stop. Only I would notice, as he opened his eyes and saw me stealing glances, that his "tongue" was actually just the inner edge of his bottom lip, which was more pink in color against his darker skin. I hope he didn't think we had a "missed connection".

Sunday, January 4, 2009

Tiny Dancer

I had just stepped onto the uptown N train platform below Union Square. I was joining a few others, but it wasn't too crowded, so the wait would not be long. A small woman, wrapped in Muslim sheathes, was playing a synthesizer on the opposite platform. I am calling it a synthesizer because this looked like one of the originals. I mean, the keyboard was so large it nearly hid her entire body. Having finished a tardy, if not spirited rendition of Joy the the World over a week after Christmas, she began the familiar notes to "Fur Elise". Just then, the scrawny homeless man who slid under the turnstile before me approached and appeared to check the time on the digital clock hanging above. Suddenly he began attempting to reach it, as there was a sticker of some sort that he felt it was necessary to remove. The sticker on the clock was just barely in reach and he could only rip it off in tiny strips. He stood on his tip-toes and balanced himself by allowing his free arm to circle himself. It almost fluttered gracefully like a ballerina's port de bra. Having scraped off another strip, he switched arms and popped back up on the toes and proceeded to circle the other arm several times just the same. He repeated these moves several times even as the train came and I left on it. Had Beethoven's gentle melodies overtaken him? For what reason did he feel it vital to remove that darn sticker? To what do we owe his elegance and delicate artistry? More importantly, when can I see it again?