Kids say the darndest things

I’ve mentioned my friend Sam here before (you can watch a video of us laughing when I visited her in October). She’s an English teacher in Houston and wears fun socks. She’s really funny. But I think some of her students are giving her a run for her money. Most days her IM status rotates among hilarious quotations from her fifth grade students or members of her family. They’re so funny that I started copying and pasting them into an e-mail to save and reread.

But she’s finally figured out a way to keep better track of these quotes: Twitter. It’s brilliant. A sprinkling of laughter in between my tweets about publishing and current events and design. Even if you don’t have an account, you can still see all the quotes.

For more entertaining stories, check out her blog. My recent favorite is about her trip to San Francisco. She might love the city even more than me.

The ultimate sacrifice

An e-mail from my mom about what the puppy has been up to:

Subject: Zoe ate baby Jesus
yeah, she did. the little tiny baby that was glued inside an acorn…one of you girls made it. I used it every year in the advent calendar to count down the days. destroyed. and it was hanging up on the side of the bar.

Is Zoe trying to tell us she’s an atheist?

Out of order

My cousins first shared their love of Mitch Hedberg with me during Thanksgiving in 2005. I had absolutely no clue who this guy was and thought his voice was kind of weird. But I cracked up as my cousins quoted his lines, and the jokes were so funny that I downloaded some of his stand up acts (which I managed to misplace when I finally got a new computer last year).

When I went back to school after the holiday, I found out one of my roommates was already a Hedberg fan. We’d quote some of his acts together, citing lines about Smokey the Bear, Smackey the Frog and preventing forest fires. We’d finish eachother’s sentences when we recounted his hilarious take on waiting lists at restaurants (seriously, click on that link. There’s even a cute animation). Four years later, it’s not uncommon for one of us to randomly sign an e-mail “Love, Smackey.”

What I find most appealing about his sense of humor is how he plays on words, definitions and observations. It’s pretty basic, universal stuff but his twist — and drawn out delivery — really make it hilarious.

His comedy doesn’t ignore his drug use (if you watch any videos of him, it’s pretty apparent too) and I assumed his demographic was college kids. Imagine the kick I got from this e-mail my mom sent me:

Subject: quote
i think this is funny
“I like an escalator because an escalator can never break, it can only become stairs. There would never be an escalator temporarily out of order sign, only an escalator temporarily stairs. Sorry for the convenience.”
- Mitch Hedberg

I was dying after I read this. My mom likes Mitch Hedberg. One of those “OMG!” moments (for those of us who admit to using “OMG”)

And because I want to make sure you laugh enough today, here are some other quotes:
• I like to play blackjack. I’m not addicted to gambling. I’m addicted to sitting in a semi-circle.
• I would imagine that if you could understand Morse code, a tap dancer would drive you crazy.
• I saw a human pyramid once. It was very unnecessary.
• I haven’t slept for ten days, because that would be too long.
• I wear a necklace, cause I wanna know when I’m upside down.
• My fake plants died because I did not pretend to water them.
• The depressing thing about tennis is that no matter how good I get, I’ll never be as good as a wall.

I really could go on and on. But I have to stop at some point.

Wait, one more.
• I was at this casino minding my own business, and this guy came up to me and said, “You’re gonna have to move, you’re blocking a fire exit.” As though if there was a fire, I wasn’t gonna run. If you’re flammable and have legs, you are never blocking a fire exit.

OK, done.

Question of the day

One of my best friends in college enjoyed posing questions of the day — in person, on the phone or through text messages. If she asked the question in person or on the phone, it became more of a discussion than just a response. Stories would unfold from a simple answer. No matter what, we’d end up laughing and with a new inside joke. That’s just how we roll.

But questions of the day weren’t all fun and games. She swears I never responded to the “Favorite Phil Collins song” text, even though I know I replied with “Su-su-suuuuudio-ooohhh-oooooh.” Things were tense between us for awhile as I tried to convince her of my participation. Despite my efforts, she never believed me and we eventually dropped the subject (or got distracted by something else). If I brought up Phil Collins to her now, there’s a good chance she’d remind me of the time I ignored her poll question. I never knew Phil Collins meant so much to her.

I adopted her question of the day antics and started including them in my own e-mails. Sometimes they’d turned into a random thought of the day, or a fact of the day or a quote of the day. Whatever it was, I liked adding another layer to my correspondence, often completely unrelated to the rest of my e-mail.

When I stumbled upon the Dial-A-Stranger podcast last weekend, it brought back memories of Tasha’s question of the day. Listeners can submit a questions and their phone numbers on the website. The podcast then takes those questions and calls the people who volunteered their phone numbers. The co-hosts start out with general chit-chat and natural questions evolve from those answers. Then they get to the question of the day, which is actually just one of many questions, but it’s the only one that’s planned.

Basically it’s consensual eavesdropping and it’s great. Just by prodding and asking follow up questions, the hosts elicit so many more details of a story. One woman was a yoga instructor, but the question led her to talk about when she was a maid for a lawyer. She only worked five hours, five days a week and the house was so clean that all she did was scrub the shower once a week and read all the books in the man’s library.

I’m considering submitting my phone number. Though with my track record of missing calls, I don’t think I’d ever make it on — even if I saved Dial-A-Stranger’s number in my phone. BUT it would make me really happy if a responsible, phone-answering friend handed over their number so I could hear someone familiar one podcast.

Who’s sacrificing themselves for my listening pleasure?

Happy dance

This video brings me so much joy.

I mean. Brilliant. If Minnesota is filled with these kinds of people, I might need to move there.

My so called life

My best friend and I started using the phrase “Just another day in the city…” after I’d tell her about something absurd or unbelievable that I’d witnessed in New York. No matter how random the event was, by New York City standards, it was just another day. Like a weekend stroll in Union Square when I accidentally started walking in line with protesters passionate about Taiwan. Another time, I passed Cynthia Nixon on 16th Street one rainy day after work — and literally stopped, turned around and stared (with mouth open) as she walked past me.  I’m not too fond of taxis, and I have to wonder if part of the reason is because one brushed against my right side as I was in the middle of a crosswalk during my lunch break. After being knocked to the ground, I picked myself up and continued on to the library. The bruises lasted a week but the story will live on forever. I’m not one for mingling in places where celebrities hang out, but Sean “Puffy” Combs and I had dinner at the same restaurant one night. He was even wearing a puffy coat. I actually felt like a celebrity when the cast and crew of America’s Next Top Model paused filming in Central Park for my running class to pass by. And then they clapped for us. I got the impression they thought we were training for a marathon and I wasn’t going to correct them.

Here are a few “just another day in the city” observations from this weekend (a little less exciting, but memorable nonetheless).

Celebrity sighting
Upon leaving work, I forced myself to walk through Times Square. I occasionally dare myself to do this, not so much as a test of patience or grace, but more to remind myself that I live in New York. That this place I dreamed of living when I was in high school has become my reality. That a few blocks from my office is the center of the tourist universe. And while I was cursing tourists under my breath for abruptly stopping and taking up the entire sidewalk, I noticed Saturday Night Live alum Rachel Dratch quietly walking past me. Spotting celebrities will never get old to me.

Sidewalk portraits
The artists who line the entrance to Central Park have an overwhelming affinity for showcasing their drawings of Angelina Jolie. They display other celebrities and regular people too, but it must be a requirement to set up shop on this path that you know how to draw Angelina specifically. While most of the artists’ work appears interchangeable, you can weed out one dude whose Angie portrait barely resembles her.

I’ll admit that when my sister and I were younger, our parents let us get caricatures done when we were on vacation. But I’m still baffled by how many artists are in Central Park everyday. I’m not sure how much business they have at 8:30 a.m. on a Sunday, but I appreciated the note one man left on his chair next to his easel that listed his phone number and said that if you called, he’d come right down. Which made me wonder if he’d climbed up in the tree or something. I sure wouldn’t mind a treehouse in Central Park.

Product instructions
Picked up cottonballs from the grocery store and got a kick out of the suggestions/instructions for use: “BABY CARE: Soft and gentle for cleaning a baby’s delicate skin. ARTS & CRAFTS: Ideal for art projects and creative hobbies.” Or, you know, removing eye makeup. Whatever.

Subway characters
I remember yelling at my sister a lot when we were younger because she blatantly stared at people. To the point that even I was uncomfortable. Subway commutes make it entirely too easy — and guilt free — to look at people. So I stare. A lot. And that seems to be OK with everyone else. One man caught my attention yesterday. He reminded me of a cross between Mr. Clean and actor/diabetic/Liberty Medical and Quaker Oats spokesman Wilford Brimley. Which is to say he was not a small guy and looked rather intimidating. Once he sat down, I noticed his baby blue shirt said “Animal Haven” in the center. Then I noticed that he also had his ear pierced, much like Mr. Clean, and that he had tattoos covering the majority of his arms. There’s something about picturing a large, gruff looking, middle-aged man playing with kittens that makes my day. It wasn’t until he exited the train that I noticed all of his tattoos were of animals — mostly dogs. I nearly melted.

The wheels on the bus go round and round

Taking buses in New York is always an adventure. They never run on time. You never know how many people will already be on them. It’s impossible to gauge how long it will take to get somewhere because of factors like traffic, or people throwing themselves on the windshield because they’re pissed the driver won’t let them on (yes, this actually happened, and I was on the bus. Quite the spectacle, I must say).

I’m always amazed by the way so many people treat the bus like their personal car. Today a woman blocked the entryway and took up two seats with her cart and boxes. I realize I am probably one of the few people who has read subway and bus etiquette on the transit authority’s website, but when a bus is full, it’s incredibly rude to invade as much space as possible with all your crap, which honestly looks like trash you’re taking to a dumpster. People have no qualms about screaming on their cell phones, yelling at their children or holding up the line so they can ask the bus driver detailed questions about their commute.

But what I love about buses is the view, which is by far better than subway tunnels. Today I saw courts full of teenage boys shooting hoops. The glow of the sunset casting its soft haze on buildings. And the crowds of people still mourning Michael Jackson’s death outside the Apollo Theater in Harlem, leaving flowers and writing messages. I also saw a whole bunch of cops surrounding a couple guys, but it was too dark to really see what was going on.

I’ve tried convincing skeptical friends of the benefits of the bus — that they can be much more direct and put you much closer to your destination than a train; they’re not as confusing to navigate as you might worry; they really don’t get stuck in traffic (most of the time they’re in a special lane anyways). But not many people believe me. Which is fine, I guess, because it increases my chances of getting a seat.