I'm a guy living in Colorado. I used to live in NYC. You can reach me at itssharingtime (at) gmail.com.
My boss told me the latest piece I was writing needed work. The problem?
It needed more jokes.
Let me recap that for you: my boss asked me to spend time during my workday to write jokes.
This is like a zookeeper asking a monkey to spend time during visitor hours to eat bananas, scare children visiting the zoo on a field trip, and violently hump other monkeys.
Jon Stewart plugged this book at the end of an episode of The Daily Show a month or two ago, as he does for most books his correspondents write. Good for her, I thought. I never expected to read it. Then this review from The AV Club came out in which they gave it an A. So I decided to give it a shot.
While it starts out a little slow, most of the stories in the second half are amazing. It made me count my lucky stars that my upbringing was relatively normal compared to hers. You probably will too. Unless you stole cars or something.
Did you steal cars? Shame on you. This was an enjoyable summer read.
A fascinating look into the creative mind of Francis Ford Coppola and the disaster that was the filming of Apocalypse Now. I hadn’t seen the movie in a while and this makes me want to dig it up again. But even if the movie isn’t your cup of tea, it’s great to watch a guy talk about how he has no idea how he’s going to end the movie and what piece of shit it’s turning into and blah blah blah… as he’s making one of the best films ever made.
Recommended if you like documentaries, behind-the-scenes dirt or want to look at a young Martin Sheen shirtless for ninety minutes.
Number of viewers of Jersey Shore season premiere: 5.3 million viewers
Number of viewers of Mad Men season premiere: 2.9 million viewers
Number of viewers of my public access show Lee Gets Cuhrazy on the Jersey Shore with Mad Men premiere: 2 viewers (I have two DVR boxes, therefore each box counts as a viewer)
Number of times I’ve called Neilsen headquarters to demand a recount of the number of viewers of my TV show: 18 times (per hour)
Number of friends who have told me the name of my show makes me seem a little gay: 27
Number of friends I actually have: 23
Why there was a discrepancy in the number of friends I have: I don’t know, I’m tired and this joke was never funny to begin with, but I don’t really feel like getting up and doing something productive, so get off my back. Fine, I’ll make up a reason. It’s because there were four people who gained my trust and became my friend over a short period of time, but they did so only to tell me that the name of my show made me seem a tad gay. Once they expressed that opinion to me, they told me they no longer wanted to be my friend. Happy? I’m not.
I hope one day the Jersey Shore cast gets to be on that ABC show Downfall where they throw people and their belongings off the side of buildings. So Angelina answers a bunch of questions wrong and the host is like, “Ok, Angelina, off the side of the building you go!” and the conveyor belt moves and she goes off the side and is like, “I’m the queen bitch of Staten Island bitch! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” but then the stunt coordinator goes, “Oh shit, we forgot to hook her up to wires!” and then Angelina screams, “My life has been wastedddddddddd!” and plummets to the ground and then splat! But then she wakes up and discovers it was one of those shared dreams like in Inception, a shared dream OF THE ENTIRE WORLD.
Guy makes a call on old cell phone in front of me in line.
Me: Hey, who're you calling on that thing? Natalie Imbruglia?
Guy: What?
Me: Get it? Because she's from the 90's and so is your phone!
Guy: I can't afford a new phone because I lost my job, my wife works three jobs just to pay the rent on our trailer, and we have to support our two special needs children. So excuse me if I don't have the newest phone. I spend my money on my family so we can live. Not on things.
Me: You're just jealous of my new Blackberry.
Guy: Who do you even type to on that thing?
Me: My fans.
Guy: You don't have fans.
Me: You don't know that.
Guy: I can smell the lies on you. Even though my life is difficult, you envy me. You'd give up your phone in a heartbeat to have what I have.
Me: Can't wait for iPad 2.0 to come out and fucking blow the Kindle out of the water. It's like, suck on THAT Amazon!
Guy: Do you want to come over to dinner sometime?
Me: Sorry, I don't eat food that comes out of a can.
Guy: I'm just going to start saying my address and while I'm saying it, you can type on your phone like you're typing to your fans, when in fact you're storing my address.
Me: I just had a killer idea for a post.
Guy: Ok, it's 637 Longwood Lane.
Me: People are going to love that post I just made.
Guy: 7 PM. Tonight.
Me: I'm busy tonight.
Guy: Reruns of Community on NBC do not constitute being busy.
Me: I'm just going to your house so I can check into it on foursquare and people will be like, "what's he doing on the bad side of town?"
Guy: Inviting you was probably a mistake.
Sometimes when I’m the only person on the bus, I go to the back and sing to myself. I sing a song of my own making, with my own melody. The lyrics are often the following:
I’m the only one on this bus
I’m the only one on this bus
No one can see me
I am all alone
I’m the only one on this bus
But what do I do when someone gets on the bus? I simply change the lyrics:
I’m the only one in the back of the bus
I’m the only one in the back of the bus
One asshole can see me
I’m not alone because that guy in tie dye can see me
I’m the only one in the back of the bus
But oftentimes other passengers distract me, and then this horrible thing happens.
I missed my stop
I totally missed my stop
If it weren’t for that guy in tie dye who distracted me from where the bus was
I wouldn’t have missed my stop
At least he sold me some pot
After a while, I’ll finally get home and sing another song to myself.
That guy sold me some horrible weed
I’m pretty sure this is just oregano
I really could go for a pizza now
I’m the only one in my apartment
This is the third “I’m a young lady living in New York City and these are the sad things that happened to me or that I directly caused by making horrible decisions” memoir I’ve read this year. I have no idea why I’m reading so many of them.
I liked it (I liked the other two as well, if we’re keeping score). She has an engaging style. She also seems to write about cigarettes quite a bit. If books could smell, this one would smell like a dirty alley in Williamsburg and an overturned ashtray. And who doesn’t want to read about crushed cigarettes and broken hearts when the weather is so beautiful out?
“Don’t you run away from me, Carol!” her husband shouted at her as they walked down the street.
They had been drinking. She stopped in her tracks and turned around.
“Do you love me, Bill? Do you really love me? You say you do. You always say it. But the way you’ve been acting, I don’t feel like you do,” Carol said.
“I do, baby. Believe me.”
“Then take off your jorts.”
“You’re nuts,” he said.
“Take them off. Take off your jorts and show me that you love me,” Carol said.
“Baby, I can’t. You know how I feel about m’jorts.”
“It’s either your jorts or me.”
Bill stood there not knowing what to do. He knew he could always buy more jorts, but he couldn’t buy another Carol. But these were his favorite.
“Carol,” he said, “let’s go home.”
