money money money

if only things were this simple, J.G.




but i suppose this strategy is worth a try.

room

There is one question I'm asked just about every single day, and I would be fine with that--I might even appreciate it--if I thought my answer actually meant something to the seemingly 'with it' barista doing the asking:

Do I want room for cream?

Now, I know that want cream, without a doubt. I also know that I want the most for my money-- if I'm paying for a 12oz. cup, I want 12 ounces of liquid. The mystery lies in the room leaver's judgment of how much "room" should be left, and this is where things start getting out of control. Before I go on, I would like to note that I am aware of how trivial this is. Good, it's nice to have that out of the way.

Something must be done about the room. I'm sick of answering this question and never knowing what I'm going to get back. I like my coffee with cream and not the other way around, and I think this is true for most drinkers. For this reason, I usually reply with a "no, thanks" or I say "just a smidge" or something stupid like that, holding up my fingers and giving some kind of visual representation of what a smidge might be.

Here's what it isn't: 1/3 my cup of coffee. When I'm handed the sad-looking paper cup after embarrassing myself with the whole smidge act, I'm wondering how much they leave for the people who just say "yes" to the dreaded question. I'm thinking I'll just retire from doing anything that implies I want room, it's too risky and I'm usually disappointed.

However, while the "no" response often produces a suitable amount of room, I'm still getting the occasional balance master who gives me a brimming cup of lava that usually gets all over my hand as I try to choke it down by the trash can until it is at an appropriate level for creamin'. And then there's the tension between the barista and me as I inquire of the half & half, looking at me like "no room, huh?"

Put your right index finger in front of your face and point to the left, or vice-versa. Most people have this finger, and probably a lot of baristas have this finger. THIS, people-- the girth of the index finger (left or right) should be the universal size of the room we are so often asked about, and no more. If we can't all agree on an appropriate standard of cream allotment, we have officially failed as a caffeinated people.

That is all.

Dumplings (2004)

Take 87 minutes to watch this beautiful movie.

http://vitamovie.com/movies/dumplings/

wait...

There's nothing more degrading than running for public transportation. Well, maybe there are a few things, but huffing it for a bus doesn't get you any cash in your g-string, or boners for your audience (usually). Some would say that the act of riding the bus itself is degrading, let alone breaking a sweat over it. I don't really mind, but I suppose I haven't really been around long enough to feel bad about not acquiring my own personal shame cart.

You're fully aware that the bus has the upper-hand in the relationship--often confusing you, making you wait around, follow its schedule. But you're human, and sometimes you forget that, for whatever reason, you took each shoe off in a separate room of the house. So there you are, letting out that throaty groan of frustration every so often until you find it and get your ass out the door.

You start doing some kind of math that you don't really understand once you lay eyes on the beefy monster. Like, how far away you are, how much time you think you have to get to it--really, just gauging whether or not you actually need to bring yourself to run. As you go over it in your mind, you figure it wouldn't hurt to pick up the pace so you walk with purpose until it transitions into a mom jeans, windbreaker-worthy power walk. The run starts when you know it's absolutely necessary, and even then you're aware that you may have started too late. If you've got stuff in your hands there's an added embarrassment, it makes your run look funny and probably slows you down--or you might drop it and reach entirely new levels of pathetic.

Whether they stop for you or not, it's a degrading scene. If they don't, there you are stranded with one arm out getting ditched by public transportation, while the punctual bastards in the back half look at you and smirk in a that's-a-shame kind of way. If the driver does stop for you it can go one of two ways: they're too sweet to make you feel bad about it and happily welcome you on, OR they act like you've really put them out and maybe make some smarmy comment about "the next time."

I suppose the reason it feels degrading in the moment is just because you're really only using this service to take you from A to B, so you can avoid real problems that come as a result of laziness or neglect. But when you can't even make the bus in time, that's when you really feel like shit.

$1.50

It always feels good when you put a solid amount of time and effort into something you're trying to make perfect for the tight ass student teacher who you know is grading it, ultimately deciding your fate in a class of something like one million people. Some dinky one-page essay that you probably wouldn't think twice about if said grader hadn't wiped her ass with the last one you put in front of her.

So you spend this embarrassing amount of time devoting yourself to this tiny essay that is supposed to serve as some kind of proof of what you've learned--and of course, by "what you've learned," I mean how well you can follow the rules being applied to that stack of essays she's skimming over, looking for enough run-ons and misplaced thesis statements to meet her "hard grader" quota.

You don't even believe in grades, really, but you still like to think you're intelligent enough to get something higher than a C+ out of those who do.

But alas, you're worth nothing more than 79 percent, despite your efforts to give these motherfuckers everything they ask for in a short paper--some clear argument with evidence and examples up the ass, and transitions that could make angels weep. At this point, you don't know which number more depressing to look at--the 79, or the debt you're acquiring in order to see that 79.

It's such a great opportunity, though! And you should be grateful that you live in a country where you have the freedom to further your education. An education that you could probably get for "a dollar fifty in late charges at the public library..." as Will would say.

Unfortunately, the public library can't afford to hire anyone right now to tell you that you aren't good enough. Unless they raise those late charges a couple of thousand dollars a year...

an old favorite

neglected pizza

I'm going to let you all in on an issue of great importance we often discuss in the Appel family. We call it the "neglected pizza phenomenon" --this is basically the idea that many movies, typically from the 80s and 90s, often bad horror or family comedy-types, will introduce a pizza into the film during what is a most pivotal, plot-advancing scene. Indeed, it seems that just after the pizza boy arrives and everyone is ready to dig in, a sound is heard, or there is a knock at the door (or whatever)--drawing our characters away from the cheesy, thick crust of the pizza and closer to the cheesier, thickening plot of the movie. We as an audience aren't usually clued in on the fate of the pizza beyond this point--whether or not it was wrapped up and saved in the fridge, or just left out on the counter all night while the characters were off "doing more important things." Sometimes the pizza is even used as a comedic touch to the scene--maybe it goes flying in the air upon bad-guy arrival and lands on someone's head, or we are given a shot later of the family dog eating the pizza amidst the mayhem of whatever shenanigans might be taking place.

The point here is that the pizza goes neglected, often untouched, and before you know it the story is unfolding. This universally enjoyed Italian delight just doesn't get the kind of recognition within the movie industry that it has so rightfully earned among American households. Pizza is delicious, and it doesn't deserve to be used for a cheap laugh, or as some kind of tool for directors to establish "hangin' out" in their movie before they get going with the action. Who will stand up for the pizzas, who? All I'm really asking for here is recognition. Next time you're watching a movie and see this kind of neglect happening, point it out. Look around to your friends and family, and say "Hey, what about the pizza? Who will eat the pizza?"--for the pizza's sake.

Some examples of movies with neglected/abused pizzas: E.T., Home Alone, Spider Man 2, She's All That

Find your own neglected pizza, and show it some love.

fucking hipsters

we miss you...

pretending you're busy