1) Black people are at a terrible disadvantage when it comes to tattoos. I just saw a black guy with tattoos all up both arms, and I couldn't make out what a single one of them was. What's the point of getting a tattoo if people can't tell what it is? I guess I could have squinted, but I don't want a black guy catching me squinting at his arms.
2) Asian kids on the subway unsettle me.
3) Is it racist if I'm Jewish and I strongly dislike Hasidic Jews? I'm sorry, they're creepy. They walk around all solemn, never smiling or laughing, dressed like funeral directors in the middle of summer, with bizarre ringlets of hair hanging off the sides of their heads. I don't like religious extremists of any kind, but Hasids in particular freak me out.
That's all for now. Don't worry Argentinians, I'll get to you.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
Time-Warner, I Miss You
Never, ever, ever would I have believed that I would yearn for the days of Time-Warner cable. But I have found a more frustrating cable company, and its name is RCN here in New York.
It began when the cable guy first came to install my cable. My roommate Rob had not yet moved in, and he was bringing his TV, but I wanted to have the cable hooked up and ready to go when he got here. The cable guy marches in, a stocky, goateed New Yorker, looks around and asks me in his thick NY accent, "Wheh's yeh TV, bro?"
"Oh, it's not here yet," I replied.
"Wheh is it?" he asked again, more pointed this time.
"Uh, it's actually in Virginia at the moment," I told him, not seeing why he needed to know this information.
He shook his head. "I ain't supposed to hook up the cable widdout a TV."
I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, I guess you'll just have to come back then." It was like he was trying to get me to admit I was hiding a TV, but I called his bluff. He backed down, peering around as if someone might be listening.
"All right. I'll hook up the cable. But I ain't s'posed to."
"Whatever you want to do, man."
So we got the cable, thanks to this gentleman's magnanimous nature. Then a couple weeks ago I got our first bill: $224.67. This includes $89.43 for our monthly rate, and $135.24 for our "Previous Balance." Being that it's our first bill, I'm not sure how we have a previous balance, so I did what anyone would do in this situation: ignored the bill and figured I'd deal with it later.
Well, I just got a message from RCN wanting to discuss my account, so I tried calling back. A recording told me the number I dialed was invalid. I checked it again. Dialed again. Invalid again.
I looked on the bill for the Billing Support number. Same number. For whatever reason, I dialed it again. Same result. I even dialed the Technical Support number. A different recording told me that number was also invalid. No further information was offered.
This is a new one for me. With Time-Warner, they keep you on hold for three days, but at least they acknowledge it's the right number. This bastard of a company just provides you with numbers that don't even go to anything. That's one way to cut down on your tech support payroll.
I guess I'll just keep putting this off until they call back. Although I'm a little worried: Curb Your Enthusiasm starts soon, and we don't have HBO.
It began when the cable guy first came to install my cable. My roommate Rob had not yet moved in, and he was bringing his TV, but I wanted to have the cable hooked up and ready to go when he got here. The cable guy marches in, a stocky, goateed New Yorker, looks around and asks me in his thick NY accent, "Wheh's yeh TV, bro?"
"Oh, it's not here yet," I replied.
"Wheh is it?" he asked again, more pointed this time.
"Uh, it's actually in Virginia at the moment," I told him, not seeing why he needed to know this information.
He shook his head. "I ain't supposed to hook up the cable widdout a TV."
I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, I guess you'll just have to come back then." It was like he was trying to get me to admit I was hiding a TV, but I called his bluff. He backed down, peering around as if someone might be listening.
"All right. I'll hook up the cable. But I ain't s'posed to."
"Whatever you want to do, man."
So we got the cable, thanks to this gentleman's magnanimous nature. Then a couple weeks ago I got our first bill: $224.67. This includes $89.43 for our monthly rate, and $135.24 for our "Previous Balance." Being that it's our first bill, I'm not sure how we have a previous balance, so I did what anyone would do in this situation: ignored the bill and figured I'd deal with it later.
Well, I just got a message from RCN wanting to discuss my account, so I tried calling back. A recording told me the number I dialed was invalid. I checked it again. Dialed again. Invalid again.
I looked on the bill for the Billing Support number. Same number. For whatever reason, I dialed it again. Same result. I even dialed the Technical Support number. A different recording told me that number was also invalid. No further information was offered.
This is a new one for me. With Time-Warner, they keep you on hold for three days, but at least they acknowledge it's the right number. This bastard of a company just provides you with numbers that don't even go to anything. That's one way to cut down on your tech support payroll.
I guess I'll just keep putting this off until they call back. Although I'm a little worried: Curb Your Enthusiasm starts soon, and we don't have HBO.
Friday, July 1, 2011
This is What Happens When I Get a Middle Seat
I just took a flight on JetBlue. The flight attendant did her shpeal, saying "My name is Claire, and it's a pleasure to be serving you today, with my colleagues Jeff Blume and Robert Richardson. The co-pilot is Michael Anderson, and the pilot is Curtis McGee."
One question: Who gives a shit?
What is this, a Broadway play? Are you going to tell me who the stewardess's understudies are, too?
"Oh, Curtis McGee, he's the best. This is gonna be a great flight."
Just shut up and unfreeze my little tv so I can get on with watching fat babies on Maury Povich, using the headphones I had to purchase for two dollars. Why you can't just charge me an extra two dollars for my ticket and pass out "free" headphones is beyond me. But I imagine it must be just to make me feel even more like a chump than you already do.
One question: Who gives a shit?
What is this, a Broadway play? Are you going to tell me who the stewardess's understudies are, too?
"Oh, Curtis McGee, he's the best. This is gonna be a great flight."
Just shut up and unfreeze my little tv so I can get on with watching fat babies on Maury Povich, using the headphones I had to purchase for two dollars. Why you can't just charge me an extra two dollars for my ticket and pass out "free" headphones is beyond me. But I imagine it must be just to make me feel even more like a chump than you already do.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Guest Kvetches!
What a banner day it is over here at KK headquarters. I actually got sent two guest kvetches! So without further ado, enjoy the literal stylings of Jonas Wadler, my Hollywood Regis neighbor/Wii Tennis protege; and my mother, lovingly known throughout the family as P-Furmz. (Just kidding. Nobody calls her that.)
JONAS'S KVETCH
Dear Members of the National Public School Auditorium Naming Center,I'm a local, upstanding, tax-paying member of the greater Hollywood community. I'd like to address the naming board about the "Michael Jackson Auditorium" that has been christened at the local elementary school down the block from where I live.
It has come to my attention that the Jacksons attended this elementary school and you have decided to honor the fallen singer with an auditorium so that in death he can still touch the hearts of young children.
Now, litigiously, Michael Jackson was not convicted of his crimes against children, but nor was Orenthal James Simpson, yet I don't see any government offices naming their institutions 'The OJ Simpson Probation Center.' You know why? Because by naming an auditorium after a highly suspected pedophile, it is an easy way to outrage and concurrently drive away potential parents who would want their children attending this school. Now maybe you're saying, "Enough, let the guy live peacefully in death," to which I say, look at Macauley Culkin. That muthafucka hasn't done anything since Home Alone besides Party Monster which I put up there with my first album post-American Idol: hovering right above the trash bin, but not in it. Macauley even let Mila Kunis run away. That's how fucked in the head he is by Michael. Why? Because he's still got visions of Michael Jackson's hands cavorting around his private parts like it was his own, private Idaho.
Selfishly, I'm conflicted. While this can't help the re-assessed value of my apartment, maybe it can help lower my property taxes.
MA'S KVETCH
I went to Sam's Club this afternoon for a few necessities. Among them, toilet paper. After I got home I looked at the packaging. It says "Charmin -- Soft, Absorbent, Long Lasting." Really? Exactly how long do you want your toilet paper to last???
Monday, June 13, 2011
Light of My Life
This is a picture I took of the lamp I bought from Bed, Bath & Beyond for my room:
Admittedly, I suck at putting things together. Being handy is not one of my strengths. That being said, I have never paid money for a bigger piece of junk than this lamp.
You can see those poles, right? Those poles are supposed to screw into each other with double-sided screws. Well, they don't. They don't screw together at all. I stood there with each pole, twirling them around absent-mindedly for a dozen minutes, before coming to the realization that it just wasn't going anywhere.
Determined to get my money back, I marched out into the hallway, where 5 minutes earlier I had thrown away the box for the lamp in the recycling bin. But alas, in that 5 minutes, the garbage had been collected. So now I'm stuck with this modern art.
I think I'm going to set it on fire and throw it out my window. People do stuff like that in New York, right?
Admittedly, I suck at putting things together. Being handy is not one of my strengths. That being said, I have never paid money for a bigger piece of junk than this lamp.
You can see those poles, right? Those poles are supposed to screw into each other with double-sided screws. Well, they don't. They don't screw together at all. I stood there with each pole, twirling them around absent-mindedly for a dozen minutes, before coming to the realization that it just wasn't going anywhere.
Determined to get my money back, I marched out into the hallway, where 5 minutes earlier I had thrown away the box for the lamp in the recycling bin. But alas, in that 5 minutes, the garbage had been collected. So now I'm stuck with this modern art.
I think I'm going to set it on fire and throw it out my window. People do stuff like that in New York, right?
Saturday, June 11, 2011
I HEART NY
A whole new city. A whole new world of bullshit I never imagined having to deal with before.
My first day here, I bought a mattress. Imperative to buying a mattress in New York City, the salesman told me, is also buying a mattress cover, to prevent being infested by bedbugs. Interesting. That's something I never thought about in LA.
So I buy the mattress cover for an extra 100+ dollars. Fine. When the delivery guy comes, he tells me I have to wash it first. Fine again. I take it down to the laundry room in my building.
Here's where shit starts getting annoying. When I lived in an apartment building in West Hollywood eight years ago, it cost me 75 cents to do my laundry. Now it costs $2.75. Thanks, Obama. But the machine doesn't even take money. It only accepts a prepaid laundry card that I have to get from a machine on the wall.
Not only do I have to load money onto this card in advance to do my laundry, I also have to pay for the card itself, which costs four dollars. I actually have to pay $4 just to simply earn the right to do my laundry in my apartment building.
And even that alone would only be a giant scam I could go about my day cursing under my breath...except the machine only takes ten dollar bills for the purposes of buying this sacred laundry card.
That's right. It accepts ones, fives and twenties if you want to add money to the card...but only tens to buy the card. I stare at the instructions on the machine, flabbergasted.
Since ten dollar bills are the rarest of all American currency, next to Sacajawea dollar coins, I did not have one on me. So that meant I had to go out into the city, into a grocery store, ask for change for a twenty, get denied because the girl couldn't figure out how to open her register without me making a purchase, wait behind someone else in another line, ask that cashier to break the twenty............................kjsbfsjkdbjkbgjdwo4utiOWUI4T0.........
It all turned into a blurry haze. I understand now why people in New York are so busy. Even the littlest things here take the most maximum effort.
My first day here, I bought a mattress. Imperative to buying a mattress in New York City, the salesman told me, is also buying a mattress cover, to prevent being infested by bedbugs. Interesting. That's something I never thought about in LA.
So I buy the mattress cover for an extra 100+ dollars. Fine. When the delivery guy comes, he tells me I have to wash it first. Fine again. I take it down to the laundry room in my building.
Here's where shit starts getting annoying. When I lived in an apartment building in West Hollywood eight years ago, it cost me 75 cents to do my laundry. Now it costs $2.75. Thanks, Obama. But the machine doesn't even take money. It only accepts a prepaid laundry card that I have to get from a machine on the wall.
Not only do I have to load money onto this card in advance to do my laundry, I also have to pay for the card itself, which costs four dollars. I actually have to pay $4 just to simply earn the right to do my laundry in my apartment building.
And even that alone would only be a giant scam I could go about my day cursing under my breath...except the machine only takes ten dollar bills for the purposes of buying this sacred laundry card.
That's right. It accepts ones, fives and twenties if you want to add money to the card...but only tens to buy the card. I stare at the instructions on the machine, flabbergasted.
Since ten dollar bills are the rarest of all American currency, next to Sacajawea dollar coins, I did not have one on me. So that meant I had to go out into the city, into a grocery store, ask for change for a twenty, get denied because the girl couldn't figure out how to open her register without me making a purchase, wait behind someone else in another line, ask that cashier to break the twenty............................kjsbfsjkdbjkbgjdwo4utiOWUI4T0.........
It all turned into a blurry haze. I understand now why people in New York are so busy. Even the littlest things here take the most maximum effort.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
I Know, I Know...
...I haven't kvetched in awhile. I get it. You can stop reminding me. I've been busy moving from LA to New York, via Lafayette, CA. I've been a little crazed. Rest assured that plenty of things are still annoying the piss out of me, and I'm sure that will continue in a whole new New York state of mind when I arrive on the East Coast next week. But for the next few days, go find someone else's misery to delight in.
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