Yet again, for work I got to do something pretty cool. Every year, KCET puts on a fundraiser at Bouchon Bistro. This year, I got to produce two videos with the staff at Bouchon.
I love this one, because he and David Hands talk about sourcing local food from a very different perspective than usual. Enjoy this. You even get to see my head at :25
as I left the can, you wrapped yourself around me and laughed into my hair, like I was four and I’d just told a knock-knock joke at a company picnic. “Adorable!”, you’d exclaimed, saying you’d never heard anyone sing while they pissed. A girl feels special in those moments,
this is why he loves me,
this is why they’d all love me,
this is what I have to offer that only he can see. And you’re sure you’re full of all that sorts of stuffing that’ll make the man tick.
If you’re impressed about me singing on the toilet,
wait til you get a load of me murmuring about all you can eat pasta in my
sleep. Sometimes I walk around with only one
sock. I can’t properly pronounce marsupial. I tap my finger when I’m angry.
This morning I hummed while I arm wrestled the wind out the passenger seat of your car window. You rolled your fist into itself and made crescent moons of purple on your palm, angry Elvis-lipped and full of detest. You rolled the window up at the stop
light and turned on the radio. News. No way to sing along.
I am reminded, crustily,
that this happens to adolescents as well. One day the world is ruffling your moptop, in love with every silly notion that slips out your baby-toothed head,
and then you hit the awkward, ugly years.
Difference is, with this-
with us, I will not come out the other side full-grown and learn-ed. The only thing that’ll change is I won’t have the heart to sing in the bathroom anymore.
Which is too bad, because I really enjoyed it
Got your heart stuck in some lucky chump’s molar,
-now it’s rotting in there.
Everyone can smell it when he opens his maw,
He’s too used to the stench.
You do clinical trials
You have to. You need
A hundred to talk to a research scientist about your
Hundred fifty and drugs
for your participation in a sleep study.
Focus groups on anxiety. They’re filming you. This makes you anxious. How can you focus?
“Do you suffer from…”
That’s how the headlines always read.
Yes. You suffer. You suffer from all of it.
In fact, everything
makes you suffer. It’s the suffering
that chews at you the most.
But you’ll never read the headline
“Do you suffer from having a cunt and a heart that both need too much? Participate in our study. We can help you.”
It’s far too easy
to list all the things you suffer from,
and far too hard
to say what you suffer for.
It’s not the end of the world, you’re not dead, you have plenty of time and everything is gonna feel better as soon as you have a drink.
— Delicious Tacos (@Delicious_Tacos) May 2, 2013
Animated by Henry Cram and hand-lettered by Alex Savakis. Voiced by me and Henry. We needed a better post roll for our online video. We had so much fun.
I have been Yelping for years now. I recently got invited to be Yelp Elite, and it’s all I could talk about for a week. My Yelp reviews once got me a marriage proposal.
A bar in South Carolina printed out my Yelp review and hung it on their wall. That’s not just a South Carolina tradition, by the way. They just liked the review that much.
And so I’m finding it really hard to deal with the email I just received from Yelp. And I’m finding it really hard to deal with me trying to access their site to try to contact them and getting this:
The email, short and sweet, says,
I’m writing to let you know about our Support team’s decision to close your user account. Your account has been closed because of Terms of Service (http://www.yelp.com/static?p=tos) violations, including using your account for commercial or promotional purposes.
Please note that we do not provide further details on account closures.
In other words, “We decided to close your account and we don’t need to tell you why. Oh, and since we decided that, we’re blocking your IP so we never have to talk to you again.”
Can someone queue that Gotye song, please? Yelp just dumped me and I’m feeling fragile. No explanation. No talking about it. They just peaced out on me, and they could care less.
I checked out their terms of service from another IP to try to see what they were on about. The infractions they eluded to are explained as such:
And I just don’t get it. I’m not impersonating anyone. I’m not promoting myself. I’m clearly who I say I am. I had a bunch of friends on Yelp. I checked in at places I was at. I reviewed regularly. What did I do wrong?
And I don’t take issue with them trying to make sure there aren’t any fake accounts or people dogging other businesses to try to make their own look good. But I do take issue with them not even bothering to consult me about it. They could have cleared this up with one email. “Hey, dog, are you real? Are you a business owner?” I know they have employees. Have the asshat who sent me the kill email instead send me a preliminary email explaining the concerns.
But now I’m left with nothing. And just as I used to love Yelp; as much as I was a huge supporter and defender of Yelp? I now hope they burn to the ground. I spit on them. I hope one of the many lawsuits regularly filed against them takes them down. And I will miss them very very much.
I think I start at least three sentences a day with “When I was little..” I guess a lot of weird stuff happened when I was little. One guy I dated (a lot of sentences start that way, too) would physically brace himself when I started a sentence that way, because who the hell knew what would be coming out of my hamburger-stuffed mouth if I started out that way. Could be some dark stuff. Could be how I ate a bug. Luck of the memory draw on that one.
Anyway, when I was little my mom used to leave us with different people fairly often. She’d call them our relatives, but we weren’t related to them at all. This one woman, Aunt Jane, had hair like a horse’s main and hips like a freight train. She was mean and crude, and she gave people tattoos in her living room with india ink.
So, once Jane and her husband, Greg, who I remember little about other than white t-shirts and a mustache, took us out to run some errands and on the way back to their house, we picked up McDonald’s. Man, did I love McDonald’s. My whole body would shake as I stuffed all my fries in my mouth at once.
So, we get to McDonald’s and Greg asks Jane what she wants and all she wants is a hamburger. Which, what? A woman that size? Didn’t add up to me. So when Greg ran into the McD’s to order our food while we sat out in the car, I asked Jane, “Why are you only getting a hamburger?”
Jane told me she was on a diet. I kind of knew what that meant. My mom was always on a diet. I was 4 years old at the time, so my definition of a diet was a thing that fat women did where they ate less for a few days. But, I gotta say, I didn’t see much point in it. Why would you do that to yourself? And I also thought that any food was going to turn into fat, anyway.
So, I said to Jane, “But if you eat that hamburger, you’re still going to be fat.”
I probably deserved that massive swinging slap on my face. I didn’t even get to explain myself, but what would I have said?
We got back to the house and Jane and Greg made me stand in the corner and they wouldn’t let me eat my happy meal, but my brother and sister sat there crying and eventually they joined me in the corner and protested by not eating their meals.