Hangin' with Bradley Cooper

Last night I was watching last week's The Office, and they did something that kind of chaps my lips. There was a running bit about how the gang was watching the movie Limitless, and talking about the film's star, Bradley Cooper.

The problem with this is that Ed Helms, one of the actors on The Office, famously starred in the movie The Hangover with Bradley Cooper. So for Helms, as his character, Andy Bernard, to be discussing Bradley Cooper on The Office, it calls attention to this whole paradox. Namely: does The Hangover exist in the world of The Office? Certainly it must, because without the success of The Hangover, Bradley Cooper would never have been catapulted to the stardom that made it possible for him to be in Limitless. But if The Hangover does exist in this fictional world, then who played the part of Ed Helms's character, Stu?

I've often wondered about this subtle phenomenon in the past. For instance, in a Tom Cruise movie, you can create a perfectly realistic fictional world, except for the fact that the actor Tom Cruise doesn't exist. There can be no Tom Cruise in that world, because then your protagonist would look exactly like Tom Cruise. And we buy into that, because we know we're watching a Tom Cruise movie. That's all well and good, but then you can't exactly have people in that movie start talking about how great Top Gun is.

I've always thought that would actually be a funny thing to do in a movie - reference other movies that the star has been in, to intentionally draw attention to this paradox. But on The Office, they didn't really do that. They just kind of annoyingly skirted that line, making me think about this glitch in their matrix for the rest of the episode. Which, by the way, wasn't that good. The whole show has predictably gone downhill since Steve Carrell left.

Kvarma

Last night I went to dinner with two of my compatriots, Bobby B and Lance Ford, who was in town visiting from LA. We went to a restaurant down in Gramercy Park called Rolf's, which is a bizarre German place decorated so extensively with lights, ornaments and creepy dolls, it's like you're eating inside a Christmas tree (so you know I loved that).

Our table wasn't ready yet, so we decided to get a drink at the bar up the street, which was very crowded, filled with financial-looking people. As we were waiting for our drinks, Lance turned to me. "I hate these Wall Street types," he said. "What do you think of them?"

I looked around. "Eh," I replied. "It's not my scene. But they don't bother me."

Ten minutes later, we're back at Rolf's, which is such a shitshow, Lance and I wait outside the entrance while Bobby B goes to check if our table's ready yet. I'm still struggling to comprehend what happened next.

Three guys walked by us, into the restaurant. The first was the epitome of a "Wall Street type": tall, pinstripe suit, slicked back hair. He looked like Luke Wilson playing Patrick Bateman. Behind him was a preppy guy in a sweater and a hipster Asian guy wearing sunglasses. As they walked by us, in rapid succession, all three made snide, sarcastic comments to us. I don't remember exactly what they said, because it all happened so fast, but it was something akin to this:

Wall St. Guy: "What, are you guys just gonna fucking stand here? That's great."

Preppy Guy: "Early bird catches the worm, guys."

Asian Hipster: "Don't hurt yourself out here."

I swear to god, this happened. Lance and I looked at each other, completely flabbergasted. The whole thing seemed totally rehearsed, like we were the dorky extras getting picked on in the scene introducing the bully antagonist and his cronies in an 80's movie. Even if there had been time to respond, I don't know that I could have come up with anything in the next fifteen minutes.

Fast-forward to after dinner. I get up to use the restroom. I go in, pee, wash my hands, and come out. There are a couple people waiting outside the door to use the bathroom - which, by the way, is not a single bathroom; it has a urinal and a toilet. One of them is a different Wall Street type, and as I walk by him, he says: "Hey, that was really quick in there."

I stopped and looked at him. "What?" I asked.

"I said thanks for being so quick."

Again, I was totally stunned. "What are you talking about?" I asked, becoming confrontational.

"Nothing," he said, getting defensive. "I'm just saying, you took a really quick piss." And with that, he walked into the bathroom.

I came back to the table and relayed what had just happened to my friends. "Maybe he was being sincere," Bobby B said. I explained that that was impossible, because I had not been exceptionally quick in the bathroom; I had taken a totally normal amount of time. And even if I had been fast, who would say that sincerely? That's even weirder than being insulting. "I think he was just paying you a compliment," Bobby B insisted.

I rolled my eyes. "Bobby B, I know when someone is making a sarcastic quip. I do it all the time." We left the restaurant, and I have been contemplating this bizarre phenomena of Wall Street jerks insulting me, unprovoked, ever since. I can come up with no plausible explanation for why...

Oh, wait. Now I get it. I would like to take this moment to apologize to begging vagrants everywhere.

Another Open Letter to Begging Vagrants

Dear Begging Vagrants,

Just a couple tips for you riff-raffians begging for money on the streets of New York:

1. Come up with something a little more original than just standing there and shaking a crumpled coffee cup at people. I get that you're inherently lazy, or brain-dead, etc., and that you're just trying to do the minimum to garner whatever coinage you can from the thousands of people walking past you on Fifth Avenue during this busy holiday season. But you have to understand that you have a lot of competition. There are a lot of you characters out there, and that's in addition to the Salvation Army people who are asking for money for a real charity. You can't expect people to be walking around with enough goodwill and spare change for all of you.

Try standing out a little bit. Make a funny sign, learn a magic trick, do some sort of a jig. Offer something in return for people's money. This sort of entrepreneurial spirit is what normal people do to get ahead in society. It can work for you too.

2. You gotta meet me halfway. Just this morning, I passed by a begging vagrant limply holding out a cup. As I walked by her, I looked down and noticed no less than four pennies on the ground within ten feet of her. Are you kidding me, vagrant? You're asking me for money, and you're too lazy to pick up the coins laying on the street right next to you? You're just insulting the world at that point. Incensed, I myself picked up the four cents, walked over to her and held out my palm. "These were laying right here on the ground," I said. "And now they're mine." I put the money in my pocket and walked away. I hope my point was well received.

Anyway, that's all for now. I'll deliver more pointers as I see fit. Merry Christmas.

Love,

KK

Things Change

Never in my life did I think I would rejoice about it being over 50 degrees outside.

Christmas Jeer

As much as I enjoy living here in New York City, the fact that it is the absolute uber-mega-epicenter of Christmas is really starting to fray my nerves. I mean, it is everywhere, all the time. Even now, sitting here in my living room, I have to stare at this goddamn triangle tree my gentile roommate insisted on defiling our apartment with. I can practically hear each individual pine needle in my sleep as they fall off and hit the floor.

I've always hated Christmas, as I have the misfortune of being a Jew born on December 25. I won the Powerball lottery of shitty birthdays. Imagine if, on your birthday as a child, every other little kid also got presents! Still feel special? Too bad, because also you can't have a birthday party because everyone has plans, and oh yeah, most establishments are closed, in case you wanted to have fun. Hope you like Chinese food and Narnia movies.

So yeah, I'm a Grinch. But back in LA, Christmas was easier to ignore. Here, it is an absolute nonstop fucking bombardment. Fifth Avenue is like a colorful, upscale war zone, culminating at Rockefeller Center, where millions of idiots from around the world push and shove each other to gaze up with wonder at a tree with lights on it. Every 20 seconds there's a Salvation Army guy shouting and ringing his little bell incessantly, sometimes while he dances. And the music...oh god...the music...

Christmas music is on my short list of most reviled things ever. I probably rank it in between genital warts and sit-ups. It's not that it's unapologetically cheerful, or corny, or just all-around bad for my ears. It's that, from Thanksgiving until Christmas, it is playing everywhere you go. There is simply no escaping it. It's even in the lobby of my building. And just because it's upbeat and gleeful doesn't mean that it isn't brainwashing us. The whole thing is an Orwellian nightmare. I fill with shame every time I find myself humming "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."

Eleven more days. Jesus Christ...why did you have to be so damn worshippable?

Kvindle

All I ever heard about was these tablets. The Kindle, the iPad, they're so great, I love mine, we're getting married in the spring, on and on and on. So when Amazon announced they were releasing their new Kindle Fire at the hard-to-beat price of $199, I finally relented and ordered one.

I have to admit, I was into it. I could download books in seconds, read magazines, get the newspaper on it every day. I could stream movies, surf the web, and play Scrabble with my Facebook friends. It really was a pretty sweet little gadget.

And then yesterday, two weeks after it came in the mail, I tried to turn it on, and nothing happened. Figuring it was out of juice, I plugged it into its charger, but the charging light didn't come on.

As far as fixing electronics, that's pretty much all I've got.

So now what? Go online, figure out the return policy, take it to the post office, ship it back, and wait for it to return, weeks from now? I'd almost rather just buy a new one than go through all that. And I'd rather French kiss a dude than give Amazon more money after purchasing this aggravation from them.

I can feel myself turning into an elderly person when I complain about the pitfalls of these newfangled gizmos, but it has to be said: never, ever have I been halfway through a real book, only to pick it up and have it be "broken," unable to read it anymore. I've never played an actual game of Scrabble with someone, only to have the board suddenly disappear. What an age we live in, where you can spend 200 bucks on a futuristic coaster. Because that's what I have now.