Monday, December 22, 2008

eternal bryanambition

ok so i realized something today--the reason i'm so obsessed with youth and the mere act of preserving it is because i've inadvertently been doing just that since the very day i was born and started aging! let a brother explain.

so as i've been going through life, and experience those situations where i get to reflect on myself and how/where i stand, both chronologically and geographically, i've realized, as of late, that i'm still stuck in a "long time ago" era. i've been in nyc for just about 10 years, yet i still don't grasp the full realization that i live, work and exist here. in another 10 years, i'll have lived here for a longer period of time than in PA, where i was raised. maybe that's the cutoff for true realization. hmm.
but the oddest part was when i looked beyond the geography of my existence to the chronology--where am i on the timeline of the life of bryanambition?
to someone i've known for a few years, i'd appear as a dashing 27 year-old (that's right, kids--i said 27. twenty-fucking-seven. that's me. i'm not owning up to be proud of it yet, but next year's pre-reunion botox should put me in my place [and keep me there]) with messy hair who works in fashion at a magazine. and listens to weird music. and can undulate his stomach. ok the descriptions can go on for years, but the one that rings the WTF bell for me is the age part. twenty-seven.
now, it's no news that i've had an issue with my age since i was 22, but what really gets me is not the number--it's the time and space that's lapsed. when those reflective moments hit, i think of myself as a 12 year-old, in his gaudily-decorated bedroom, murals and hieroglyphics strewn across the walls, under the reign of his traditional, yet oddly progressive parents, and not having to deal with any real issues in life, such as bills, student loan payments and criminal records (ok that last one was for good measure), who parted his hair down the middle and wore green and black braces. but i'm not that kid anymore.
so maybe by continuing to feel like him, i won't age?

later, alligators.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

ok enough

this is what i have to put up with on union square on a daily basis. the only thing that would make this scarier is if all the children riding this rickshaw of a device sported uniform bleachjobs and had icy blue eyes. oh, and if they all turned their heads at once.

children are getting out of control.

Thursday, December 11, 2008


did you ever know that you're my heeeeero...ok not gonna happen. but i'd like to start by captioning the above image with, "there are slow walkers, and there are slow talkers, but the real plaque in the arteries of the morning commute are the assholes who just meander in their chunky-soled shoes."

today i'd like to list the things of the moment for which i am grateful:
-mcintosh apples
-asparagus pee
-coffee pee (because it eerily smells of cheerios)
-red wine
-ck one
-holiday music in the shower
-american express platinum cards and the men who own them
-peanut butter and plastic spoons
-chipotle and the rap i made up while i was there (i'm a the chipot/it's like a muthafuckin' antidote/ to the sins of last night--boy did i give a fright/i be traipsin' around widdout makin' a sound/treatin dems boys like they was some toys/runnin' and runnin' and runnin' them down
-mayim bialik

and that's all for now. later, alligators.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

bitch&rantonawednesday -or- oy, what's the secret with the soy?

hey kids!
how you bitches hanging? i'd love to blame my absence on economic status or government-sanctioned internet rations, but to be frank, i've been busy and didn't care as much. tho here i am.

so where do i start?

starbucks. i feel like that name garners so much frustration and negative empathy that i needn't even go on. but like to true bitcher i am, i will.
so i'm not even that big of a coffee drinker--the last thing i need is more energy--but certain days require a liiiittle more motivation than others, so i find myself either enduring the painfully slow line at the LPQ for an only half-full cup of marginal coffee, or subjecting myself to an even longer line, completely ludicrous methods of communication (are those headsets really necessary) and a robotic staff of mentally retarded baristas for a too-hot cup of overroasted coffee. today i opted for starbucks, call me a masochist.
so yeah, after i placed my order with what seemed like 74 different people, i received my steaming hot cup of burnt black and proceeded over to the condiment bar to dress it up. sugar, sugar in the raw, sweet-n-low, splenda, skin, half-and-half, whole--WAIT a second--where's the soy? where the FUCK is the soy milk? yeah--not OUT, that's where. i had to ask for it, which required an additional wait in line, not to mention several eye rolls. now i'm prompted to really ask starbucks, "OK--what is the secret with the soy?" it's bad enough they charge me extra for my lactose intolerance ($.75 on a soy latte, thankssss) but now they hide the incidental soy milk behind the counter. are they just imposing stinginess clauses in their new constitution? or perhaps zev siegl had a torrid affair with the youngest daughter of the world's soy import commission president, and decided to spread his animosity worldwide by imposing extra charges on all those who sought the lactose-free milk substitute.
whatever the reason, i think it's mighty fucked up that i have to both pay extra and ask for alternatives to better suit my digestive proclivities. thanks.

next up--those crazy bitches at wholefoods.

i don't know what it is about the place--could be that the natural/organic fare goes hand-in-hand with slothlike granola people--but why the eff does wholefoods attract such retards? sorry gals, but most of the time it's you. these women come in wearing multiple layers, even in summertime, always topped off by a large coat, sometimes shorts over leggings, almost always sporting fair isle knit hats with pom poms on top of an unbrushed, unruly, and UNRIGHT mop of hair, usually carrying some oversized hemp bag, and alllllllllways wearing lesbian shoes, some experimental ergonomic footwear, usually supported by an oddly-shaped heel or an excessively rounded toe. either way, they swarm and huddle around the prepared food section, slowly moving to inspect each selection, actually reading every ingredient listed on the card that corresponds to each one, and taking their sweet, granola time, like nobody's actually there to serve themselves. then when you push them out of the way or reach directly in front of them to take something, they look at you like, "how dare you invade my weirdo space to make the intended use of this table of food?" listen, granola bitches--there's a place for you and it's called westerly health foods on 8th avenue. the aisles are nice and narrow for you to clog up, and there are more labels than you'll know what to do with. so go read away nice and slow because the union square whole foods don't wantchu all up in thurr.

i'm out--