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Wednesday, August 31, 2005


T-bone's grandad gets inducted into the Hall of Fame.

F-Train's brother checks-in from the frontlines. Money quote: I just wanted to give youll a heads up on what is going on in my neck of the sands. [I suppose there are no "woods" over there.]


On Monday morning, I left East Coco Beach for the Upper East Side to wait for UPS to deliver my new computer.
I got there just in time for alternate side of the street parking/street cleaning, so spent the first hour and a half double parked and listening to Poddy as I kept an eye out for the copper with the ticket writing powers.
Of course, my apartment on the UES has nothing, except shiny wooden floors, a light bulb in the bathroom, a can of tomato soup and lots and lots of cat food.
I came prepared though.
I brought my Treo, my portable DVD player, five movies, three books and speakers for my ipod.
I was ready for the day.
I finally finished ‘The Nanny Diaries.’ Is it wrong that I hated Nan just enough to be rooting for Mrs. X to actually chain her to a radiator? Man, I hate the stupid writers of that book. (This will be important later.)
I listened to a couple of hours of my ipod on random shuffle – man I always forget what an awesome singer Paula Abdul was. “Take a take another 'nother look into his eyes/
And you will on-ly see a rep-tile” Ain’t that the truth.
Around four I decided to ask Karol to see if she could tell where my computer was.
“It says it’s ‘On Time’
“But ‘On Time’ for when…grrr.”
“Umm…August 30th. Tomorrow.”
“Yeah. It’s coming tomorrow.”
By now, the hours of surfing and playing cards on my Treo have taken the toll on the battery. It’s flashing red: “Power low. Recharge immediately.”
Yeah, if only I had the charger.
I hang up with Karol and contemplate my next move. The car is parked in a spot that’s legal until Thursday – so I’m not moving it.
I go downstairs and get lunch completely without the fear that UPS will come in that two minutes that I am gone from the apartment.
When I return, I decide to stay in Manhattan for the night and resume my UPS vigil first thing in the morning.
I call Karol back and make plans to stay with her and Peter.
“We should do something tonight,” I stealthily suggest.
“I don’t know, but since I’m staying over, it can run late.”
“You’re staying over, are you?”
“Stay over? Sure, I can stay over.”
Damn, I am so good.
She decides to host a poker tournament to help teach her little brother how to “play poker better,” and gather the old crew. Especially NYC Smurfette, who is very, very old today.
“What time?”
“8…no 8:30”
My phone was really spazzing the hell out now.
“OK…8:30. I gotta run, my cell phone is Dyyying.”
Not having any idea what to do with four and a half hours on a Monday afternoon, with no cell, no TV, no internet, no car, no bed, no couch, no chair, no blankets, no food…basically, your typical stranded on a desert island nightmare.
I crossed my fingers and took a chance to one more google search on the fading Treo. I located the phone number of the New York Public Library.
“Hi, I’m wondering what the nearest library to the UES is.”
“Well, we’ve got two locations near you…one is eight blocks away, the other is nine blocks away.”
“Locations,” now the public library is Starbucks.
Ok…eight blocks away it is. I ain’t no hero.
I get to the steps of the library. The wrought iron fence is chained shut. This “location” is closed on Mondays.
She could have mentioned that while giving me my two options.
I made it to option two in about twenty minutes.
“Hi…can I sign up to use the computer.”
“Sure, I can get you in a 6:45.”
I looked at the clock, eh I can wait an hour.
“OK, I’ll take it.”
I grabbed a couple of magazines: something with Angelina and her new baby on the cover and another with “Buy a Home with Zero dollars down,” splashed on the front.
When I looked at the clock again, it said 5:12.
Ohhh…come on. The only library open in the neighborhood and time runs backwards here?
Another woman…or man…or anyone else, really, would have just walked back to the monastic apartment and returned later.
But I decided to make a mental note that, indeed, it’s the little hand that denotes the hour, and find some way to amuse myself in the library.
After perusing some books in the travel aisle and wishing I had a passport, I stumbled upon “Citizen Girl” in the “recent fiction” section.
Ahhhh, yes, not only did those two annoying “Nanny Diaries” girls get a book and movie deal outta that tripe, they also got to publish a second novel, the “follow-up to their New York Times bestseller The Nanny Diaries.’
I was transfixed. I took the book off the shelf and started reading.
Ok, so this is “The entry level office worker Diaries.”
Clock check: 5:42.
Still more than an hour to go, but at least I was back in my own dimension again, with time moving steadily forward.
I plowed through TELOWD until I came to a word I didn’t know. Hating these stupid women now even more, I skipped the sentence and moved on, but then I was struck with the thoughts that: 1) I am in a library, 2)with time to kill, 3) might as well “grow the vocabulary.”
And really, as you shall see, there are no better blog stories than the ones that emerge from setting a simple goal like looking up a word in a library.
“Um…excuse me. I need a dictionary.”
“Please see the librarian.”
“Um…hi. I’m looking for a dictionary.”
Without so much as glancing up at my shining pearly white smile of politeness, he points a finger toward the middle aisle.
I run through the familiar rows of travel books that I had poured over earlier…ah…dictionaries? Yes. What I need? No. It’s not going to do me any good to find out how to say insouciance in French, German, Spanish, Hebrew, Chinese or Arabic.
Just need to know what it means.
I return to the librarian.
“Hi…again…I was actually looking for an English only dictionary, to…um…look up a word.”
Now, he looks up at me.
Shit, wasn’t ready, I plaster the smile quickly and stand up straight –seems like the librariany thing to do.
“You need to go the information desk.”
His finger, at the ready, points me in the direction of a very young woman sitting way past the computer terminals.
“Hi…can you tell me where the dictionaries are...English ones, for word… looking… up….”
She walks me over the rear of the library and shows me a stand, upon which sits the grungiest, brownest, most diseased book I have ever seen in my life. It is open to Ea words.
She backs away slowly and returns to her station.
Well. I have come this far.
I walk up to the dictionary and using the sides of my fingers, flip to the Letter I.
I find my strange word and after reading all five definitions of it, I am surprised that I’d not learned the word before.
I mean, you don’t get much more insouciant than Dawn Summers, let me tell you. Of course, I am so insouciant, I never bothered to learn the word to describe my insouciance. (There. Mrs. Dreitzer always said ‘use a word three times and it’s yours.’ So, you are all warned, you use insouciance or any derivative thereof, you owe me a quarter. It’s mine.)
I go back to my book…the story not at all improved by my newly grown vocabulary.
As the big hand crosses the 6 on the giant clock face, I begin my staring countdown.
I watch the man standing at my computer terminal.
Hand is on the 7.
He is laughing at something on the screen.
Hand is on the 8.
I close TELOWD.
Hand is on one dash past the 8.
I put the magazines back on the rack.
I now hover directly behind the man standing at my computer…ready…to…pounce…the…very…second…the….hand…hits…the…
“Hi. I have this computer NOW!”
“Oh…is it 6:45?”
“Yes. YES IT IS.” Move it, grandpa.
“OK, I just need to print this page.”
I glare at him long enough that he finally gives up trying to figure out the printing.
I check my site, as I always do after being away from the computer for a while…nope, no new posts.
I log in to my emails and see a “No Subject” message from Karol.
“I have no work late. No game.”
Mother&@$%# You’re a temp at the largest, most nameless, faceless law firm in the history of this city, what could possibly need your working late.
And she sends an e-mail to cancel? When last we spoke I didn’t even have electricity or a cellphone, much less access to email.
Not cool.
I log out and decide to quickly blog, it’s bad enough I have plummented to rodent status in the Ecosystem, no need to lose all readership too.
I am mid-way through a post, when a woman taps me on the shoulder.
“Miss, I have this machine at 7.”
I look at the clock on the wall and indeed all hands indicate it is 7 o’clock.
“I just got here at 6:45.” And no way did I just wait TWO AND A HALF HOURS for fifteen minutes on a computer.
“My appointment is at 7. We get fifteen minutes.”
I quickly save my post and log out of blogger and my mailboxes. I lingered just long enough to equal the time the old man took trying to figure out how to print. Fair is fair.
It was 7:02 and I was stranded.
Oh, how I hate the UES and all that it stands for. Sure, the ECB sucks, but there I have a bed and TWO interneted computers and a library, on my block, that gives you –oooh, craaaazy--- half hour blocks of time on their computers.
I stomped back to my apartment building, pretty much cursing all of humanity and its Atlantic City trip canceling, stealth emailing, Dawn inconveniencingness.
Even my ipod needed charging now.
Unable to face the four-story climb up to my very empty and probably very dark apartment, I decided to sit in my car, recharge my ipod and fume.
No sooner than I had turned the key in the ignition, did a Trailblazer pull up along side my car and back up – the driver readying herself to take my spot when I pulled out.
I sat there for a good five minutes before she pulled her car level to mine.
I rolled down my window.
“You coming out?”
“Nope,” I said suppressing the glee. That’s right Ms. Fancy SUV, life is disa-fucking-ppointing. I thought I would be playing poker and sleeping on a couch tonight. You thought you’d miraculously found non-metered street parking. We were both wrong.
After she angrily zoomed off, it was a few minutes before another-about-to-be-disappointed motorist pulled over, getting ready to take my spot.
This one was much more patient.
It took her almost twelve minutes before she asked the $50 a day question.
“Are you leaving?”
Yes. On Thursday.
After having this conversation about five more times, I was in much higher spirits. I looked at my watch – it was 8 o’clock. Right about the time I had planned to leave for Karol’s.
Huh. I decide that since she could not have known that I got that message, I was going over there anyway. That’s right. And there’d better be poker.
Although she also lives on the UES, the walk took a lot longer than I had anticipated, by the time I got to the driveway of her building, I needed a bed. All the bitterness now replaced with exhaustion.
I didn’t really have a plan for getting in, since Karol wouldn’t be there and all, but I hoped that maybe Peter was home. Or, failing that, there would be the sad sight of a sleeping Dawn on the doorstep. The first hurdle would be getting past the doorman.
He was engrossed in conversation with some kid --- preseason, schme season – I slipped by unnoticed. HA!
I am a genius.
I got upstairs and rang the bell.
Karol answered.
Since I had settled on a firm “e-mail? what e-mail stance?” I couldn’t very well be surprised to see her there.
I casually took off my shoes, leaving one for collateral, as I rented a pair of “Karol apartment shoes” for a small fee, as is the custom at Che Sheinin and bowling alleys across America.
As she sprayed the rental pair with disinfectant and took my seven dollars, I saw her brother, Ron Lad, waiting on the couch.
Ok…this is so …America’s Funniest Home Videos or something…Karol is home and there will be poker? My plan of guilt tripping for thoughtless betrayal is just not going my way.
I logged on to my e-mail, using Karol’s computer (see, Gib, everything’s all friendly-like…no bodies anywhere…) and found that after her “no subject”, I’m working late email, there was another “no subject” “game back on” email.
I would not be denied my anger.
“Dude…you’re emailing me? I am in an empty apartment, how was I supposed to get these?”
“How did you blog?”
D’oh. Damn her and her evil troll logic.
“Umm…you’re stupid.”
Before long, Ari, NYC Smurfette, Karol, Ron Lad and I, were playing a spirited game of NLHE. The previously advertised as needing “to learn to play better poker,” Ron Lad, took the vast majority of my chips in back to back perfect slow plays of a full house and then pocket Aces against my pocket Jacks.
After he scooped up that last pot, by making a two dollar bet on the river, that I thought was suspicious because no way did that 4 of clubs helps anybody’s hand, Karol said that he should have gone all-in.
Ron Lad, completely nonplussed by the criticism, replied:
“Why? Dawn is a Jew, I bet two dollars and she folds.” (Please send all Anti-Defamation League mail to Ron Lad P.O. Box 14 Brooklyn, NY)
Ari, then proceeded to take the rest of my chips. Sure, it took her three buy-ins to do it, but she did it.
I spent a restless night on Karol’s couch, afraid I wouldn’t wake up in time to get back to my apartment by UPS’s 8 a.m. delivery start time. And as Karol and Peter are both ninjas, who vanish from the apartment in the morning without making so much as the sound of water running, a guest can easily oversleep.
I stayed up watching poker and then woke up in time for Robin Roberts’ emotional breakdown on GMA about the devastation to her home state of Mississippi.
At around 7:30, I left the apartment, hair smooshed on one side, clothes disheveled, an inexplicable limp, and sleep still blurring my vision. Can there be a walk of shame when no sex is involved? Is it a walk of shame so long as the doorman chuckling under his breath, as you limp by, thinks it is?
I find getting a cab at 7:45 in the morning as hard as it is at night –I’m not even going to Brooklyn people!!! I finally nab one stopped at a red light and make it back to my place by 8:10.
No sticker! I haven’t missed them.
I ball up my shirt and fall asleep on the floor.
The buzzer jolts me awake.
Wrong apartment.
Well, at least I know the bell is working and that I’ll hear it even while sleeping..
I go back to sleep.
The sound of drilling wakes me next.
Up, I wash my face and resume reading TELOWD, which I borrowed from the library in protest of their fifteen minute Internet rule.
I make a mental note to send a letter to the publisher:
Dear Diary Publishers,

I too have wacky anecdotes that I could stretch into an unbearably silly book or two (or three or four.) I will happily throw an insipid, utterly forgettable love interest into the mix, as this seems to be an important element in these “books.” (There is a guy who folded pocket queens after the flop, that would fit nicely into this role.)
There is only one of me, so it will cost you only half of what you pay the Diary Girls. I have the next 26 days off and imagine I could get you five of these “books” in that time. I have recently entered into a contract to buy a two bedroom co-op and could use that kind of cash infusion, so please let me know.


Dawn Summers

I take a break from the juicy details of life of an entry level twenty-something to watch ‘The Interpreter’ on DVD. By way of a review, this is the worst Sean Penn movie ever made. Oh, and yes, I have seen Shanghai Surprise and Fast Times.
Still no UPS.
I am hungry, but no way am I leaving,
I open the cabinets…as tasty as some of the cat food sounds, I settle on the tomato soup…poured into a cup and warmed in the microwave, because I do not have pots or bowls.
I return to the book. Then the ipod and now back to the DVD player.
I nap, I sing, I dance around. Still no computer.
I call Karol to get the tracking number.
My cellphone is running on fumes.
It takes three calls to get the whole number.
I scribble it on a piece of paper and run downstairs to the payphone.
“It’s scheduled to be delivered today by the end of business, ma’am.”
“Ok…and what time is that?”
“7 p.m.”
It’s only 3:15.
I run to the grocery store across the street and throw enough ingredients to make a sandwich into a basket, and arrange to have them deliver it.
I get back to the building. Still no notice or sign of UPS.
I go back to my place and take another nap.
It’s interrupted by the buzzer.
It’s only my sandwich ingredients.
Sigh…well, at least I’ve got food now.
I finish TELOWD.
By way of a review, ummm…only read this book, if you are trapped in an empty apartment waiting for the UPS guy. And even then…it’s a struggle, so have other options.
I make a sandwich and start “Get Shorty 2”…I mean, “Be Cool,” I fall asleep twenty minutes in.
I wake up and start the movie again. This time I fall asleep thirty minutes in.
Back to the ipod.
It’s now 6:15.
I am livid.
I sit, in a state of catlike readiness, by the door.
I pack up my purse, grab the book and all the garbage I can shove into the grocery store delivery bag and bound downstairs. (Interesting fact: In TELOWD, the Diaries Girls use the word ‘pad’ as a synonym for walk. As in, “I pad over to Guy’s office.” I make a mental note to alert the Diary publishers that I too can make up words and use them in my novels.)
I push the front door open and see a yellow sticker on the front.
I grab the notice off the door and head to the payphone.
“Yes ma’am, well our records show that delivery was attempted today at 5:30.”
“Bullshit. I was sitting in that apartment all fucking day. I did not leave, except to call you five hours ago to ask where my package was and the whole time I had my eye on the front door. I WANT MY PACKAGE NOW.”
I am yelling. The patrons sitting in the “outdoor café” next to the phone are all staring.
I could not care less. I had not yet begun to tell him exactly what Brown Could Do For Me.
Oh, yeah, turning back time. Look that up in the customer care manual, motherfucker.
He offers Friday. I think he’s crying. Still, look at me not caring.
We negotiate down to a set block of time: 2-4 p.m.
Audibly weeping now, Jeffrey bids me a good day. I slam the phone into the receiver and head for my car.
I am steaming, I take care to drive extra, extra, extra carefully. As I’ve learned from playing poker, just because one bad thing has happened, there is no need to worsen the situation by rear ending the cab stopped in the middle of the damn street and probably amputating the legs of the punk ass loser that is taking his own sweet time getting his shit out of the backseat, so that the cab can drive off and traffic can resume its natural flow.
Nope. Don’t do it. Even if you really, really want to.
Feel free, however, to lean on the horn and yell obscenities at him and his young child until you finally get moving again.
Fair is Fair.
Anyhoo --- I’m off to AC to see Clay Aiken. If we opt for the Vegas wedding, blogging probably won’t resume until Friday.
In the meantime, feel free to read the Clareified archives and leave nasty comments for Ari about taking my money.

Monday, August 29, 2005


If I was an asshole like Fred Phelps or Jerry Falwell, I'd assume this has something to do with their red state voting patterns.

But I'm not.

So I don't.

Nature sucks.

Sunday, August 28, 2005


GILES: Can you move?
BEN: Need a ... a minute. She could've killed me.
GILES: No she couldn't. Never. And sooner or later Glory will re-emerge, and ... make Buffy pay for that mercy. And the world with her. Buffy even knows that... (reaches into his pocket, takes out his glasses) and still she couldn't take a human life.

Shot of Ben listening.

GILES: She's a hero, you see. (Giles puts his glasses on) She's not like us.
BEN: Us?

Giles suddenly reaches down and puts his hand over Ben's nose and mouth, holding them shut. Ben struggles weakly as Giles keeps him still.
Zweig: Marge, there's nothing to be ashamed of here. Today, male flight attendants or "stewards" are common.
Marge: They are?
Zweig: Yes, thanks to trailblazers like your father. You might say he was a pioneer.
Marge: Yeah...you might even say he was an American hero.Zweig: Let's not go nuts.

I'll be the first to admit that everything I know about heroism, I've learned from TV. Xena, Buffy, Michael Knight, the A-Team...you know, the men and women who go that extra mile to protect the child of the single mother and beat the bad guy -- never kill...ok...sometimes kill, but mostly beat the bad guy until the authorities can deal with it. They didn't have pension plans or uniforms, just a developed sense of right and wrong and a willingness to give everything to make sure the one wins out over the other.
But even in real life there used to be something extraordinary about heroism.
Heroes were stronger, faster, braver, cleverer, tougher, yes, better than the rest us.
But something’s changed.
I guess I could blame the local news. In search of a catchy headline they turned everyone from athletes to mangy mutts into modern-day heroes. ‘Hero dog survives trip to the dump’ ‘Hero toddler dials 911’ ‘Hero grandma wins cookie bake off.’
Heaven help us if someone dies: the heroes of Columbine, 9/11, Oklahoma City – oh is there any room left in the Elysian Fields?

A person doesn’t become a hero because they enlist in the armed forces, if we don't wait to see how they do when they're done, we'd be putting laurel wreaths on Lynndie England's head.
Nor does death a hero make, we all die. Unlikely, it'll make my chicken shit ass a hero, even if it happens in a terrorist attack.
A hero's death involves saving lots of people with no regard for onesself, not just dying.
It's like we've forgotten the words "lucky" and "unlucky" and replaced them both with "hero" depending on the context.

"Hero survives plane crash in Peru"

"Hero killed in copter crash over Afghanistan."

Call me crazy, and people do, but when the ordinary becomes extraordinary, we all become less than.

Ummm...he had Dr. King's back too

Jesse Jackson offers support to Venezuelan President.


It's time to set up a tip jar.

Friday, August 26, 2005


It's real easy to be all fiscally responsible when you live with your mom. I've had my own apartment for two days and already I'm in debt until 2007.

Let me take this opportunity to take back everything bad I ever said about credit.

Oh, and I got a plasma.


Congress calls emergency session; President Bush returns from vacation.

What? No...didn't happen?


My bad. Totally thought they were all over this kind of thing.

Thursday, August 25, 2005


Now, I don't know why people actually feed cats, but the previous owner of my apartment has left like 30 cans of (what looks to me with no experience in such things) pretty high end cat food in the kitchen cabinets. Some of it was labeled "for older cats," while some was just Organic 'Frisky.' Anyway, I plan to throw it away, as no cats are allowed to cross my threshold, but if you live in Brooklyn/Manhattan and want it, either for your cat or yourself, send me an email.


Karol wrote:

Elections are easier to win when the other side seems so deranged. But their behavior offends me as an American and as a human. They're disgusting, tripping over themselves with glee at her protest and writing things like 'An arrest will be a disaster for Bush. A growing crowd through the month will be a disaster for Bush. His only way out -– given his refusal to meet with Cindy -– is to hope that people get tired and go away.' Their gross strategizing on the back of this woman with a dead son is a new low, even for people who make a lifestyle of hitting below the belt.

Suddenly, I agree.

Exploiting one woman's personal sacrifice for a political agenda is a "new low, even for people who make a lifestyle of hitting below the belt."

Except for the 'new' part.


1500 troops head to Iraq to replace the 1500 that have left.


Are they trying to have me go to hell for laughing at the deaths of a nine-year-old and her father?

Because I did and now probably will.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005


Well, I won just enough in the lottery to pay for the ticket, but still.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

How bad could life in a bubble be?

My allergist is a mortician. I mean, he is an allergist, with degrees and a sign out front that says 'allergist', but once you descend the two stories into the dark, clinical basement where his office is and he greets you in a black suit and a eerily white shirt...well, funereal for $500, Alex.

I've only seen him once before, that year I realized that I had $1500 in my flex savings account with only two weeks left in the year. And, having left New LLP with something like $400 in my medical savings account, I am, once again, trying to buy as much medical attention as I can before August ends.

All that to explain why I found myself waiting at the banks of the river Styx for the undertaker...um...allergist.

"Hello, Dawn Summers. Dawn, come in."

I swallowed hard and followed him to "the back room."

He took his seat behind his desk, opened my embarassingly thin folder and began to recap my respiratory/allergy history.

"When you were last here, Ms. Summers...Dawn, you reported mild asthma symptoms and sneezing, particuarly during the Spring time. Is this correct?"

Brief flash of lawyer mode: "Is this correct" currently? or is it correct that that's what I said when I was last here?

But creeped out patient mode easily overwhelmed any bantering impulse.

"Uh..yeah...but the asthma has been getting worse."

"I will get to that, Ms. Summers, Dawn."

I imagine that he had recently come back from some medical seminar, probably titled 'How to seem less like the harbinger of death,' where the instructor suggested putting the patient at ease by using their first name rather than the formal title. However, since he was the actual harbinger of death, this was most antithetical to his very nature.

He continued to repeat, one ominous paragraph after another, all the things I had told him on my last visit. And I continued to supply him with compliant "yeses" and suppress the urge to run.

"Now, tell me what brings you here today?"

Obviously, insanity.

I explained about my recent difficulties breathing.

He then led me to another room where he administered a breathing test.

Although I didn't think it was possible, his face contorted into an even bleaker expression.

"Let's try that one more time, shall we Ms. Summers, Dawn?"

After my second test, he disappeared into the back room for a moment.

He returned with my chart.

"Please follow me, Ms....Dawn."

Soo, close.

We went back to the first room and he returned to his chair behind the desk.

"Have you started smoking?"


"Has someone in your family started smoking?"


"Well, your tests are troubling. Your lung capacity has decreased significantly in two years. At results in the 80s, we are looking for permanent lung damage. You scored a 90 the first time and a 92 the second time."

Woo hoo, A-!

He continued.

"It appears, you have become sensitive to the air, which is," and here he leaned back in his chair "problematic."

Grreeeeaaaaaat. To think, I thought avoiding peanuts was hard.

The list of things a person with "air sensitivity" needs to avoid is long and humorous. Oh and I suggest all of you buy stock in any company selling hypo-allergenic products, because they cost an arm and a leg, but the people who need them have to buy them or they die.

But my very favorite of the list of things I must do now: wearing dark glasses whenever I go to prevent air particles from entering my body through my eyes.

That's right. Who wears sunglasses at night?


What's the difference between mental health and mental illness? Sometimes the answer is relatively clear. Sometimes it isn't.

People who hear voices in their heads may have schizophrenia, for instance. And those with grandiose ideas — who believe they can run the United Nations, even though they have no applicable experience — may have a form of bipolar disorder.

And other signs of mental illness...except I really could.

Yeah, we agree, she totally could.

No, she couldn't.

Shut up, bitch.

C'mon, bring it.


Pat Robertson calls for assasination of Venezuelan President.


Me: ooh, now that I have my own place, should I buy a poker set?

Karol: umm...as soon as you get a table.


63% amorality, 45% passion, 72% spirituality, 18% selflessness
Interesting. Do not be fooled by his rough exterior; Adam was much deeper than most have given him credit for. Like most, he sought answers to the harder questions of existence: who am I? what is my purpose? You might ask those same questions, yourself. Like Adam, you're calm, and dispassionately work to achieve your ends. Also, you may just have a nuclear core. Congratulations!

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 99% on morality

free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 99% on repose

free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 99% on spirituality

free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 99% on selflessness
Link: The 4-Variable Buffy Personality Test written by donathos on OkCupid Free Online Dating

Monday, August 22, 2005

Quick question

How did Ken Wheaton manage to trick me into reading the words "heft of my cock," not once, but twice?

And now that pearatty is getting shout outs all over the blogosphere, I think it's time she started her own blog...or at least guest blogs sometime soon.


After seeing a commercial for Alyson Hannigan's new show "How I met Your Mother," I predict that she too will be on board. So, I once again renew my pledge drive.

Oh, and this show will apparently feature the first blogger on primetime. Neil Patrick Harris' character shouts out "I am so putting that on my blog," during the commercial.

I wonder if a voiceover will read his posts out loud at the end of every episode.


I need Fantasy Football picks and quick! Gib has completely dropped the ball this year...else my league is starting ridiculously early with the draft...

Sunday, August 21, 2005


To the East Side.

Anyone know any reputable moving companies in New York City?


I am trying to get a new passport, but for reasons that I will never be able to comprehend, I do not have the old one.

So, in order to prove U.S. Citizenship, I must go, in person, to the nearest passport office with untold sums of money, pictures, a current photo id and my birth certificate.

I can't imagine who thought that a person who can't manage to hang on to their passport, would have any idea where a 30-year-old birth certificate is, but needless to say, I went straight to New York City's "how to obtain a replacement copy of your birth certificate" FAQ.

Of course, in order to obtain such a replacement, I need to provide untold sums of money, a current photo ID and a copy of my passport.

So, that's that for Dawn Summers international woman of mystery.

It's all national travel for me from here on out.


Karol and Iocaste agree.


When I was in law school, a bunch of us East Coasters decided to accompany a friend on her trip back home for Spring Break.

She lived in Las Vegas, so it actually was a pretty cool trip.

However, one of the women in our crew, let's call her pre-Angel/Buffy Seasons 1&2 Cordelia, just to put her level of annoying in some easily understood context. Well, P-A/BS1&2 Cordelia, spent most of the time unfavorably comparing Las Vegas to New York.

Too new, too hot, too borrowed culture, too neon, etc., etc.

However, there's one comment she made that struck me as true and sticks with me still.

Our host, for laughs, took us to the New York, New York casino on the strip. We all ordered slices of the "New York pizza," actually, make that the "New York" "pizza." On all scales of pizza eatability it was awful.

And, of course, P-A/BS1&2 Cordelia, said so.

"Pizza everywhere else sucks. I think it's something about New York water which makes the dough taste just right."

Now, whether or not she was right about cause, I think she is most definitely right about the effect.

There's no pizza like New York pizza. (And yes, I have had pizza in Rome, Naples, Chicago and New Haven, so no need to email me directions to Pepe's or JoJos or whatever that place is called. )

Like Champagne and Feta, the word Pizza should be applied only to the New York version. All others should get some generic "flat bread with sauce and cheese" name like "sparkling wine."

How about "cheesy bread?"

But my snobbery does not end at the borders of the Empire State. Oh no.

I hereby do you one better, and localize it into the very teeny-tiny borders of the borough of Brooklyn.

Obviously, I grew up on pizza from local shops in the ECB and shops around my high school and junior high. But after four years of free nightly Domino's pizza in college and three years of Harlem's V&T or Patsy's (or heaven forfend, midtown's John's), I had forgetten the awesomeness that is Brooklyn pizza.

So, for those of you in the area (or who may visit the area), here are the final results of Clareified's recently completed tour of the best Pizza. And by that, we mean strictly New York pizza and by that, we mean Brooklyn. (All pizzas consumed were pepperoni.)

1. Hands down...or more accurately, hands covered in sauce, the best pizza is DiFara's on Avenue J.
Each pie is made by the very old hands of the shop's owner, Mr. Difara himself. He has been making pizza for (I'd guess) 200 years and, wow, does the experience show....er...taste?
Sooo....yummy. Three cheeses, premium pepperoni, sliced by hand...(insert image of Homer, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth.....peeeet-saaaaaaa)
The only downside is that the guy makes every pie by hand, he's a million years old and has lots of customers, so the wait...you can imagine. Plus, it is super, super pricey. No kid should have to pay twenty bucks to get a couple of slices of pizza at a local shop...but, again, see previously invoked picture of Homer with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

2. Grimaldi's. Mmmm....under the Brooklyn Bridge, chased by a scoop of Cookie Dough ice cream at the Brooklyn ice cream factory. The prices are cheap, the wait can be long, but the pies are perfect everytime.

3. Totonno's. Great pizza...helluva trek. The problem with Totonno's is that since they are now a chain that will deliver pies straight to you in sweat pants in your living room, when you actually drive out to the Coney Island location, you kind of feel like a sucker. (Although I did run into former blogger and rock star Mike D. when I went Saturday.) Also some of the slices in the pie were burnt -- a problem that also plagues their East Side location. When I got there, we had to wait for about fifteen minutes before getting a table.

4. Any neighborhood pizza shop. Look for placards advertising Italian ices and there should be a huge window that opens horizontally in the front. Also, it must also only sell pizza or pizza like things -- do not trust pizza shops that also sell Chinese Food or (heaven help you) sushi. It's Brooklyn, it'll be good. And if you're buying, I'll meet you at Gino's anytime. Cora I am looking at you.

5. The worst, and no, I don't say this just because I despise Karol and everything she stands for (which I do by the way), is L&B Spumoni Gardens. First off, their pizza is square and that's just wrong. If the moon hit your eye like a big square pizza pie, you'd be blind and no one sings love songs about blind people. Except Lionel Richie and his daughter's a freak, so do we really want to emulate him?

Plus, the L&B stuff is too doughy, lacking in sauce coverage and AND they have no idea what to do with the pepperoni -- which, by the by, was the cheapo kind they use in public school cafeterias. I mean, seriously, I would rather have Digiorgno's if the delivery is gonna be L&B's.

I will add the caveat that, unlike all the other pizza joints on this list, I ate "take out" L&B. However, I took it out myself, and ate it ten minutes later, so I doubt sitting the crowded parking lot, which serves as the dining room during the summer months, would alleviate any of my complaints about L&B.

So, there you have it, Clareified's pizza best of the best.

Here's the best of the rest:

If stuck in Manhattan without a metrocard:

John's Pizza (not to be confused with John's Pizzeria)
John's Pizzeria
Two Boots Pizza (after which, run, do not walk, for a Magnolia cupcake (shut it, Ken Wheaton.)
Pizzeria Uno's (shut it, Rick Blaine)
Rando pizza shop's in the ghetto areas...i.e. there needs be a bodega in stone throwing distance.

Outside of New York

New Haven
California (although, California style pizza is soooooo bad, you might as well order like Pizza Hut or something.)

Outside the U.S.

Saturday, August 20, 2005



I'll admit that somewhere around forcing myself through episode four, I was absolutely certain that all of you were in cahoots in perpetrating the best/worst practical joke in Dawn's life.

"No, Dawn, don't worry. It gets better. Just put in another nine hours of your life. Snicker, snicker."

But, by the middle of Disc 2, I was kinda into it.

I don't know what the hell was going on in 'Jaynestown' and I was tired of the whole doctor/Kaylee song and dance by the pilot...oh, and were we really supposed to buy that whole Wash/Zoe marriage?


And what's up with the Chinese...or should I say really bad Chinese? And don't get me started on that theme song...

But that's neither here nor there, it is too bad we'll never know what was up with Shepard Book or that crazy masochist bad guy, Nishka.

So, all in all, Firefly is no Angel and seriously, no need to spit on all that I am and believe in, by comparing it to Buffy, but it isn't the worst.

"If someone tries to kill you, you...well...you try and kill them right back."


Friday, August 19, 2005


Yes, Yes I did.


Trishelle (from Real World Las Vegas): Omarosa is calling someone not nice?

Phil Gordon: Maybe she has mellowed after her time on ---

Trishelle: No, I think she's still a bitch.


Governor Weld to run for Governor...of NEW YORK.

In unrelated news, Eliot Spitzer starts measuring the windows at the Governor's mansion.

Thursday, August 18, 2005


It shouldn't be too long before I get that blog money!


Eminem enters rehab.

Clareified, all about information and education.


That's in Georgia, right?

Wednesday, August 17, 2005


Eminem cancels European tour citing 'exhaustion.'


The last coherent sentence I uttered was: "I am allergic to pain."

It was followed by Doogie Howser, DDS squeaking "Penicillin? You're allergic to penicillin?

"No, PAIN. I am allergic to pain."


Did he just giggle?

No one who giggles and looks like they're twelve is going anywhere near my mouth with power tools.

Alas, it was all too late. Before I knew it, he was shoving fourteen inch long needles into the four sides surrounding "Tooth 20A."

"We call it 20A because even though it's an extra tooth, it's right next to tooth 20."

Yah. Figured that out guy. Thanks. I think they handle that in tenth or eleventh grade, just wait, you'll see.

With each searing razor blade slash into my gums, he would then utter some ridiculous

"Oh, I know that hurts. Shhhh....it'll be fine. Just three more," as I not so subtly flipped him off.


Dentists know what they're doing with the putting you in the long recliner chairs that swallow your legs. Goodness knows, if I could have accidentally kicked him in the shins I would've. Frankly, if I could have accidentally stuck a knife in his belly and gutted him like a fish, I woulda done that too.

After enduring the most irritating countdown of all time: "Shhhh....it'll be fine. Just two more....Shhhh....it'll be fine. Just one more."

He leaves the room, while his assistant hands me a "consent form."

Yeah, cause after all that, I am going to decline the procedure and go home with a mouthful of needle sticks and numb jaw.

Despite intentionally not reading the form, I did catch key phrases to set my mind at ease: "jaw fractures," "bruising," "excessive bleeding."


Dr. Howser returned.

"You may hear a sound," he said right before knocking the instruments off the tray.

"Ooops. Not that sound."

giggle, giggle.

His assistant audibly sighed as she went to retrieve new instruments for the extraction.

A few moments later, the drill was whirring away. Why can't they make a dental drill that plays Lite FM? I heard cracking and felt my jaw rattle as he tugged away at the little tooth that shouldn't.

"There. All done. I'll put in a couple of stitches and we'll be finished."

The assistant brought over the needle and thread.

He started sewing.

"Hmmm...alright, a few more stitches and you'll be done."

"OK, just a couple more."

"Umm...ok, this one should do it."

Is he making me new gums using needlepoint? Martha would be proud.

After he left I went to collect my tooth.

"Umm, we're not supposed to let you have that," his assistant said.

Look lady, I came in here with this tooth, I'm leaving with it.


"Alright. Let me get you an envelope for it."

Out in the hall Dr. Howser was waiting for me with prescriptions.

Motrin, Vicodin, and antibiotics. He handed me the prescriptions and at the top, the pre-printed doctors name and address had been crossed out in pen and he had added his name and ID number below.

Dear lord, the boy doesn't even have his own prescription pad yet.

I am so getting gangrene and my mouth is gonna fall off.

I dropped off my makeshift prescriptions at the pharmacy. It would be a forty minute wait. Since my mom worked across the street, I decided to go over there for some sympathy befitting one who had had her essence removed my drill and pliers.

"Stop drooling!" She said when I finally found her in the exam room hunched over a stack of medical charts.

She handed me a box of tissues and a fistful of gauze.

"And wipe your shirt."

This was not at all how I had imagined this.

I showed her the envelope with my still bloodied tooth -- there was even a bit of my gums still hanging from the root -- certainly that'd provoked the mothering instinct!

"Gross," she said recoiling a few inches in horror.

Hmmmphhh. Well, I never.

I went back to the pharmacy to wait for my medicine. About twenty pages of 'The Nanny Diaries' later, I heard a familiar voice.

"You're still waiting here?"

It was my mother.


She went to the counter.

"Excuse me, my daughter has been waiting here for twenty minutes. She just had dental surgery and is in A LOT of pain."

"Yes, ma'am. Right away, we didn't know."

She came over to feel my face, which was actually still pretty numb. I think that dentist injected my eye sockets.

"It looks swollen. Put ice on that when you get home. You want money for a cab?"

Now, we're talking. That's the kind of fawning I expect from the woman that raised a thirty year old who still lives at home.

Turns out I got the bum's rush because the clinic doesn't really visitors anymore, but my mommy still loooooves me.

Well, I'm all hepped up on pain killers now, so I am going to sleep.


I saw a well-dressed Hasidic man, complete with three piece black suit, side curls and a top hat, picking up Metrocards from the subway station floor and swiping them, one by one, at the turnstile looking for one with money left on it.

Duuuuude, your people's reputation is worth more than two dollars.

What are you doooooing???


I got up early this morning, basically to stuff as much food as possible into my body before my essence is removed. I turned on Good Morning America at 7:01 a.m.

Charlie Gibson and Robin Roberts were giving a preview of the days' news. Gaza evacuation, deadliest day in Baghdad, Gossip is Good for you, Cindy Sheehan: Day 9.

Robin kicked it over to the news desk where that fake George Stephanopolous guy began his report on "the heart wrenching images from Gaza." The tape began to roll of a screaming Israeli woman holding up a baby to Israeli soldiers and pleading.

Suddenly, the tape broke away.

The familiar: Breaking News alert flashed.

I was certain there was an explosion, crash, assassination...NOPE! SPEED CHASE!!

A stolen Jeep Liberty SUV was tearing through Newark's city streets.


The Channel 7 Chopper was flying after the Jeep as it tore down one way streets going the wrong way, flipped donuts across lawns to evade the six police car blockade up ahead.

He sped through an underground parking garage as he eluded two police cars behind him
and made it to the highway.

When it looked like the cops might have him cornered, he took an exit and headed down the industrial section of east orange.

We saw two pedestrians dive onto the sidewalk as he went screaming down the streets. He jumped the curb to avoid hitting a vehicle in the turning lane.

At one point the news anchor breathlessly said "Of course, we don't want to glorify this guy...but Man, he is making some AMAZING moves out there!"

Take that OJ.

In the end, the car thieves drove to a huge state park, jumped out OF THE MOVING VEHICLE and ran into the park.

The chopper followed the driver as the police tackled him to the ground, handcuffed him behind his back and...wait for it...kicked him in the ribs while he was down.

Why coppers go that one extra step from definitely good guys to 'what? did he just kick that guy on the ground?' I'll never know.

The traffic reporter, who I guess is from Jersey, added the legal analysis:

"Man, this guy was all over the place, Newark, East Orange, South Orange, back to Newark..."

"Yeah, well, from the prosecutor's standpoint, this guy made it very easy. He stayed in Bergen county."

The whole "Breaking News" report took half an hour.

I love this country.

Umm...so...what's going on in Gaza?

Tuesday, August 16, 2005


I wonder how Ally McBeal is doing? Is she married yet? Has her kid become anorexic? I she still practicing law in micro minis?

Random Thought #178, 545

Whoa that was a completely random number.


About two years ago, an x-ray turned up an abnormality in my bottom jaw.

An extra tooth.

The dentist had quote never seen anything like it unquote.

Could be a baby tooth that never emerged or a third set of permanent teeth.

Which was perfectly fine, since at the time, it was all shadowy theory...

That was then.

About a year ago, the theoretical tooth began to emerge as a real enamel presence protruding from the middle of my lower gums. Which again, would be perfectly fine, if it wasn't trying to displace an already existing tooth.

A veritable civil war rages now as the tooth, about half-way out, now demands its own place in the mouth.

The center cannot hold, and tomorrow, it will be displaced by force.

As I sit, on the eve of the surgery to remove a tooth that should never have been, my mind can't help but turn to the philosophical.

Is this tooth somehow the key to my very Dawn-ness? A la Chandler's third nipple?

Will its removal result in damage to my personality, my core?

Will the laughing gas really make me laugh?

Should I keep the tooth on a string around my neck?

Will the tooth fairy give me a dollar, if I put it under my pillow?


About combining your personal cellphone with your professional PDA device.

When you leave, they will disconnect your phone from the network on which all your contacts, e-mail messages and calendar dates are saved. Now, they will do this despite the promise that such disconnection will not happen until September.

This is because they are assholes.

Nevertheless, here you will be, with a phone -- with no phone numbers and five weeks off, with no record of the things you had made appointments to do.

Funnily enough, Karol recently gave me the perfect way to handle this situation:

A guy, who lost his phone during a drunken brawl, posted the sorted story about losing his cell on his blog and then added the note that his friends should "e-mail their contact information, or take this opportunity to wrap-up the friendship."

Seems about right.

So I look forward to your emails (firstnamelastname@gmail.com or click the link on the top left) otherwise, great knowing you, take care.


"When Martin Luther did [the Protestant Reformation] in 1964 and then he was shot."

-Ace of Spades


After reading my live-blogging of the Family Research Council's Justice Sunday event this weekend, Dawn Summers realized she has been going about these weekly exercises all wrong.

Before we get started bringing you today's awesomely terrific show hosted by the wonderful Ace of Spades, who I have met on a number of occassions, I would like to disclose that I am also the co-host of the show. So, my live-blogging will no doubt be influenced by that fact. But, you should not assume that just because I am live-blogging my own show, that I am not willing to criticize it, because I am, even though we have a super fantastic guest and amazingly terrific hosts.

(Wheeeeeerrrrreeeeee'ssssss mmmmyyyyyyyy pplluuuuuuugggggggg?-ed.)

I am talking about the very conference that inspired Dawn. Basically, I said the conference was about "Christianity and what role the church plays in life." Essentially, abortion is the key issue, it reminds me of working with Herman Cain in Georgia, my mentor and hero and all around super amazing deity.

I also love Zell Miller so much, I could hug him. It was a super, great, terrific time.

The guest today is the lovely Heather MacDonald.

She is lovely and I am so excited to talk to her, but I have been distracted by shiny objects and am not paying attention at all to what she is saying, so I will just link to other people who are actually live-blogging the guests' remarks.

Oh no. This is so not terrific or wonderful. It turns out that there is no one else live-blogging this broadcast.

So, I will have to summarize Heather's lovely, wonderful comments.

Heather MacDonald: "It's easy to get worked up over a government privacy scare."

She was so great.

The Director of Jihad Watch is now our awesome guest.

Robert Spencer "Political activity and violent activity is part of Islamic practice. We have to call for moderate Muslims of good will to acknowledge that... You're not free to preach against the United States in the mosques."

"This is not a war on terror. Terror is a tool, it's a silly lack of focus. What we need is a global focus against jihad."

(Karol points out to all the jihadis out there that Robert Spencer's full name and picture is on his website jihadwatch.org. -ed.)

Diana from San Francisco: Asked a great question about Islam. She was so wonderful with her terrific question.

I asked a great question about where we will draw the line on threatening America and where are we going to send these people? My wonderful guest answered that we should take our cues from how we handled communists in the 1950s. This guest is such a genius. I mean, that whole period was not at all a black eye in American history. Oh, I hope he also mentions that we should relocate all Muslims to internment camps.

I really hope John from Greenville calls in soon, the show is almost over and I miss him ever so much.

(Did Ace just burp? -ed.)

Fantastic! John made it, just under the wire. This has to be the best show ever, even though Ace doesn't understand me or my jokes. It's so hard being a Jewish Republican in New York.

Well, that's our super great show. Thanks to all you out there in listener land.


If you are saving substantial sums of money, you should be saving it in an ing account.

They have the BEST, BEST, BEST interest rates EVER, with no fees and fairly easy access to your cashola (but seriously, once you put it in ing and start seeing the monthly interest returns, wild boars won't be able to persuade you to withdraw...)

Drop me an e-mail if you'd like a referral link (it'll get you an extra $25 once you deposit and I also get a little sumpin sumpin.)


As always, I'm a sucker for daddies and daughters, but this is good advice about money, God and the credit card demon.

My favorite part:

Since it's unlikely I will have any money to leave you, advice and education will have to do.

Monday, August 15, 2005


My mother, at approximately 1 p.m. Eastern Standard, decided she was not going to physical therapy today. The rest of the post, in her own words:

"I'm not putting on clothes to go anywhere at 7 o'clock tonight. Dawn, call the clinic and tell them that I have an appointment with Clyde at 7. But tell them I am in the emergency room with a heart attack and won't be able to make it. No, wait, say asthma attack, I don't want any hassle when I go back on Wednesday."

Sunday, August 14, 2005


Does anyone out there with nothing better to do with $1700, well, $3400, wanna sponsor me and Esther?

She'll write all about it for you and I will...um...spell check her article to make sure everything is spelled correctly.

Seriously, best friends forever we'll be...or, if it's more preferable, I will never speak to you again.


I can already see the picture of me and Michelle Trachtenberg captioned "Will the real Dawn Summers please stand up!"



A woman gets a place in the kitchen.

Oh, and she's a minority.

So, just to recap: Lincoln freed the slaves, Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act, Nixon initiated Affirmative Action -- The Bush White House?

Gets a Asian woman to cook its meals.

Suck it, Dr. King.


create your own personalized map of the USA
or check out ourCalifornia travel guide

via Karol


While I bought Noah’s wedding gift well in advance of the festivities thanks to the magic of online gift registries, my friend Lola (who is so being dubbed mostly because I’ve always wanted to know someone named Lola and not because her name or person in any way resembles a Lola) and her husband Polo (who is so named for what I say every time I hear his name) waited until the day of, to do their gift shopping.
“I’m sure we’ll find something in the Mall of America,” she said to me over the phone a few days before I left for Minnesota.
And boy howdy.
The Mall of America starts off quite innocuously when you enter from the parking lot.
Sure, it’s a Bloomingdale’s department store that leads you from the car to the main mall, instead of say a Macy’s or a Payless, but nonetheless it’s just a department store.
Fortunately for Mr. & Mrs. Johnny Wait Till the Last Minute, the happy couple was registered at Bloomingdale’s.
We headed for the registry section and thanks to 1) the fact that Minnesota evidently has no sales tax and 2) that the Bloomingdale’s we were in was having some crazy incredible sale, they were able to get a full set of Chinese salad and dinner plates for way less than I had paid for what I think was a 200 dollar paperweight.
After enduring the snickering and finger pointing, although, as I said in my own defense, if they didn’t want a $200 paperweight, they shouldn’t have registered for one, we stepped out into the main mall.
All the usual suspects (Gap, Express, Lane Bryant, Payless) lined the walls. Lola was not impressed.
“It looks just like a regular mall to me,” said the Long “I Know me some malls” Island native.
I was about to agree, when I was overpowered by the smell of chlorine.
“What the hell is that?”
They smelled it too, and so we headed in the general direction of the scent.
When we stepped off the elevator, we were greeted by the sight of a man and his daughter, drenched in water, shooting out of a pipe, in a log.
Huh. Yeah, not so much with the regular mall.
In addition to the log ride, there was a huge 50 foot roller coaster, flying swings, a climbing wall, and a Legoland — we had walked into MOA’s “Camp Snoopy” Amusement park.
We walked around the park, watched a terrified pre-teen dangle from the climbing wall and debated whether Snoopy was actually a dog.
“I’m not going anywhere near that pond. There’s a huge dog in the middle of it. And that yellow bird looks a little shifty,” I said, expressing a perfectly sensible, not at all unreasonable view.
“That’s not a real dog, Dawn.”
“Oh. Snoopy’s a dog.”
“No, I agree. Snoopy’s totally a dog – but that’s not the real Snoopy,” he explained, in the tone he has no doubt been practicing for the baby that he and Lola will welcome into the world next month.
“Hmm...ok...good point. That’s probably just a life-like rendition of Snoopy. But still...looks dangerous.”
When Lola said she was hungry, we quickly made a beeline for the food court — I didn’t wanna find out just how long it takes an eight-months-pregnant woman to resort to cannibalism.
Over lunch, Lola said that the baby already weighed almost five pounds, and since they tend to double in weight by birth, she was in for a mighty scary delivery.
“It’s all his fault,” she said glaring at her husband, “he was nine pounds at birth! NINE! I was a perfectly normal, regular sized baby, but no, I’ve got to be punished with his gigantic baby genes.”
Polo looked away shiftily. Later, he would tell me that his grandfather was actually TWELVE pounds at birth...hmm...he might have also said something about not mentioning that to Lola.
My bad. Eh, she probably doesn’t read the blog anyway.
After lunch we decided to tour Minneapolis’ skyway system — think Futurama — without animation or flying cars.
Skyway life was actually pretty appealing.
You’re hovering way above the noisy streets, the floor is carpeted and the air is perfectly conditioned for comfort.
As we made our way from one street to another, we definitely noticed varying levels of quality in the skyway. The ones leading from Target and Barnes& Noble were all cool and plush, while the one leading out of JC Penny’s was tattered and oppressively warm. Draw your own conclusions, but if Al Sharpton shows up demanding skyway equality, you know who tipped him off.
After much pleading to be allowed to make my home in the skyways, Polo and Lola convinced me that I probably should put in an appearance at the wedding.
OK...fine...I said grudgingly agreeing to return to street level like a common commoner.
Noah and his fiancee were to be wed inside a library in St. Paul.
Lola and Polo had dropped me off at my hotel so I could change into wedding attire, so I had to walk to the library from my hotel. Although I had figured out the hour difference thing, I still didn’t have a watch with me, so when I spotted a bride standing in the middle of the courtyard in front of the library I panicked that I was somehow late.
Oh no, I thought as I crossed the street and tried to avoid crossing into the eyesight of the bride, who as I have said before, frightens me...something about her utter intolerance for immature antics makes me a little jittery. Goodness knows, I am nothing if not immature antics. Well, I used to be immature antics and extra tooth...but now...)
As I got closer, I realized that I didn’t recognize anyone in the wedding party gathering together to pose for pictures.
I crossed the street onto the library side and saw two tuxedoed men standing on the steps.
Whoa. Two weddings on the same block?
I amused myself with thoughts of the two brides coming face to face with one another and then engaging in a deadly battle of lace and satin until one was no more.
“Battle of the Bridezillas” This Fall on Fox.
Immersed in drafting my television pitch, I didn’t even notice that the groomsmen were all lined up and the bridal march had begun.
Lola and Marco chose this moment to enter the library.
Noah sent his brother into the pews to find a seat for her and the gigantic fetus, but it was too late, the bridesmaids had started to walk in.
Mercifully, the service was short and before we knew it, we were enjoying cocktails out on the green where I had seen Bride number 1 earlier that day.
“Hi, Dawn.”
Who the heck was this guy?
“Oh my gosh, hi! Long time no see!”
“How have you been?”
Uh oh...can’t go much further down this road without knowing how he knows me or um...what his name is.
“Great. You?”
“Fine, I am back in New Haven.”
Ok...that would be helpful if this wasn’t a wedding of people I know from New Haven.
“That’s great...so...umm..how do you know the bride or the groom?”
“I was on the Daily News with you guys.”
D’oh. Busted.
“What’s your name again?”
“Isaac Wilkens?”
Turns out he was editor in chief of the Yale Daily News three years after I graduated. OK...dude, writing an article as a freshman, when I am a senior does not “on the Daily News with you guys” make.
“And you kept in touch with Noah? Is this some kind of editor in chief thing?”
YDN editors in chief can be a strange, insular lot.
He explained that he and Noah ended up working together for a television network in New York before he left to go write a book in New Haven about...a past Daily News editor in chief.
Told ya. Weird and insular.
I introduced him to Polo, Lola and the gigantic baby.
“And this is my namesake, Little Dawn.”
Isaac was impressed.
“Wow, you guys are that close?”
“Yes, we are.” I answered before Lola could finish swallowing her water.
“We are very close and therefore she is naming her firstborn child after me.”
After drinks we were directed to our tables for the reception.
Lola and Polo, who were the only people I really knew at the wedding that weren’t in the wedding party, were seated at table 10.
I was at table 6.
I wandered over to table 6.
Isaac was already there.
“Hi, again!”
This guy has waaaaaaaay too much energy.
As the other three seats were filled with the PG&E guy from Noah’s birthday party and two other guys I had never seen before, I began to feel like a contestant on the dating game.
Behind fork number 1: Bitter friend of groom’s from high school. Hates conversation, people and life. (To be fair, he was the only one who didn’t go to Yale, at a table where that was only thing the rest of people had in common, so this may not have been his element...but still the “I hate the bitches in L.A.” remark was still uncalled for.
Behind fork number 2: Happy divorcee, content to sleep his way through all races of women in the world to make up for marrying too young. (In fact, toward the end of the wedding, I watched him disappear behind the library stacks with a bare foot wedding guest.)
So, I spent most of my time talking to the PG&E guy and the energizer bunny, who is writing a book about one of the Daily News’ former editors in chief who co-founded Time magazine, but was then pushed out by the other co-founder. He promised me a shout out during his ‘Today Show’ interview.
I also made a mental note to hurt Noah when I next saw him outside his wedding context.
At dessert, Polo and Lola came over to the table and Isaac told them about his book.
“Tell them the title,” I prodded.
“The man that Time forgot.”
They nodded.
“Get it? The guy co-founded Time magazine, but then got pushed out by Luce?? The man that TIME forgot.”
“Yeah, we got it,” they assured me.
“But...but... “time” like a play on Time magazine.”
We. Get. It.
Am I the only one who loves a good pun?
Noah came by to say hi and find out “how the table seating went.”
I glared at him.
Polo asked Noah if there was anymore wedding cake because the baby ate all of Lola’s.
“Wow, I thought people always hate the wedding cake,” he said shrugging his shoulders.
Ain’t that the truth.
Lola, who had been seated at a table with two pediatricians, which I guess was good planning on the bride/groom’s part, said they gave her three pieces of baby having advice.
1. If the baby gets a fever take it to the hospital immediately.
2. The baby should not watch TV at all for the first two years.
3. Anyone touching the baby in the first six months should wipe their hands with Purell anti-bacterial; thereafter, the baby should eat dirt to build an immune system.

I then mentioned that the pediatricians also told me to pass along one final piece of advice:

Noah, being completely unhelpful, asked
“If they name the baby after you, will they have to misspell her name too?”
Why, oh why, do people treat their very lives so carelessly?

(Oh, and I was introduced to the wonderful world of “core blood.” Apparently, new parents now have the option of saving the umbilical cord when the kid is born and storing it for future use should the child need a blood transfusion or something like. They are charged for the preservation of the cord and then pay a monthly fee to rent the space where it is kept. They can also choose to donate the cord blood to some kind of public core blood bank for use by any kid that the blood may match. Say it with me: Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.)

The marriage was a mixed religion one, so although the ceremony was performed by a minister/preacher/pastor of some kind, the guests initiated that whole Jewish chair dancing thing. I laughed as the bride gripped the sides of the chair for her dear life as it bobbed up and down above the heads of the guests.
They then coaxed a reluctant mother and father of the bride up there.
It was good to see the usually picture of pessimism, you can’t spell Noah without No, actually beaming on his wedding day. Although, he did remark that he was “ruining [his wife’s] gene pool,” as we watched the bride’s blond haired blue eyed, straight out of a Abecrombie & Fitch catalogue nephew run by pursued by his equally blue- eyed curly blond haired sister.
As the reception came to an end, I joined Lola in a few rounds of very tasty, but alcohol free Shirley Temples, while Polo and I tried to figure out how the candles, floating in the jars of water on the table, went out.
One of the groomsmen, who also worked with me on the YDN, came over — no doubt drawn to the heated debate about whether the flame had burned through the candle causing water to seep in or if a guest had bounced the table causing a wave to out the flame.
He and I used to watch results together on election night...a joyless event for almost ten years now.
But tonight he was optimistic.
“I think we’re going to pick up 60 seats in the House! It’s going to be like 1994.”
“Let me see that glass? What have you been drinking, mister?”
He laughed.
“Ok...maybe not 60, but it’s going to be big!”
“I don’t know. Who do you like for ‘08?”
“Actually, I don’t care who it is or what they believe, I just want to win.”
We laughed. I told him about my blog in the way I always mention it to non-bloggers.
“Ok...can you remember the word blogspot?”
“Yeah...like a spot where one...um...blogs. Blogspot.”
“Ok. Yeah.”
“Ok, add the word clarified. Spelled like the word and you’re there...www.clarified.blogspot.com”
“Do you write about politics?”
“Not anymore...I used to...right up until November 3rd.”
Polo, who said that he reads atrios and kos, said that politically, things were changing for the better, citing the Ohio race.
“You should go back to politics!”
As the band struck the chords for the last song of the night and the couples paired off to sway back and forth to the music (and the lecherous divorcee climbed out from behind dusty bookshelves), I thought, perhaps it is time for more political blogging. Alarming News has been growing too strong.
I must be the balance of good to her evil.

Friday, August 12, 2005


1. Why am I not sleeping?

2. Do I have to personally say goodbye to people at New LLP, or will a mass email suffice?

3. In 20 days I'll be just rows away from Clay Aiken.

4. Dawn Aiken.

5. Dawn Summers-Aiken.

6. Dr. Dawn Summers Aiken.

7. Why don't I use ebay more often?

8. Am I ready for the 2006 World Series of Poker?

9. Angel will be back on Tuesday nights...but he's not a vampire anymore.

10. Why do birds suddenly appear?

11. I hate that freaking commercial. Why do movies have commercials now?

12. Doo doo doo, sha la sha la sha la.

13. Does it mean something when the only cold beverage in the fridge is beer?

14. Can I really drink beer just to quench my thirst?

15. Someday I am getting my own place. And then I will have wine coolers to quench my thirst.

16. Is anyone ever going to read any of these thoughts past that doo doo sha la one?

17. I should probably throw a smart thought in here

18. E=MC squared.

19. That should do nicely.

20. I'm only adding a 20 because 19 is just an odd place to end.

21. Oh no. Am I OCD?

22. Nah.

23. See? 23 is even odder.

24. But here I am back to even...

25. Will make appointment with OCD specialist.

26. But, ha!

27. Odd.

28. Can't stop.

29. Karol's brother's name is Ronald. But I call him Ron Lad. Actually, I call him Donald, but I will start calling him Ron Lad. First opportunity I get.

30. Who am I kidding? I'm so OCD. But the one where you're totally messy, but evenly divisible by 10.

Thursday, August 11, 2005


Man dies after 50 hours of computer games.

But...50 hours of TV fine, right?


Is this thing on?


Dawn 2 and Alceste got me the bestest headphones ever for my birthday. At first, I was just happy to be replacing the horrible black headphones, with the metal cradle that goes over your head and the disgusting circular spong-like materials that cover each metal earpiece -- you know, the ones you get free on airplanes and the like.

But yesterday, when a "street performer" got on the Q train at the last stop in Manhattan, and started accompanying his own trumpet playing, with a foot pedal drum, the whole way across the Manhattan bridge, I developed a new appreciation for my new Sony noise reduction earphones.

I didn't hear a single note he was playing, and instead, happily drowned him out with a little 'Proud Mary' by Tina Turner.


* Please forward to the good people at Sony.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005


Or...um...Boy Scout Camp


Microsoft wins $7 million settlement against spammer.

''People engage in spam to make money,'' Brad Smith, Microsoft's chief counsel, told The Associated Press on Tuesday. ''We have now proven that we can take one of the most profitable spammers in the world and separate him from his money. And I think that sends a powerful message to other people who might be tempted to engage in illegal spam.''


If you were a single woman in your twenties, with six weeks off (starting Monday), what would you do with the time off? Specifically, where would you travel to and for how long?


And promptly having it revoked.

It's been a long road for me and 'gangsta rap.' It started some ten years ago in the Yale Daily News layout room where sometime reader and commenter, Troy, would play Biggie's 'Ready to Die' CD, just to watch my horrified reaction at that track where the two guys are walking around and see red dots flash across their body. As soon as they realize what the dots are, you hear the explosive gun shots and the track is over.

"What the hell? Did they just get killed?"

And then he would laugh and laugh. Between that, and mangling the lyrics to Alanis Morissette's 'Jagged Little Pill,' it was years before I could listen to CDs in computers.

But last night, I broached that final frontier, I went to a rap concert!

For a review of the show click the link above and read the New York Times' piece, for a review of why Dawn Summers thinks we need to give the police state 'another look-see,' see Karol's opening paragraphs. I mean, not only are people in the audience carrying blunts around behind their ears, the rappers themseleves are lighting up on-stage shouting 'fuck the police,' and "I'm rich enough to post bail."

Funnily enough, said rapper was arrested on gun possession charges last night. Unfortunately, they let him out without asking for the bail that he is all rich enough to post.

And there were parents who brought their children with them! And I'm not talking "the cool mom" bringing her teen-aged son...no, like eight year olds. My lord.

Oh, but I did learn that when people are rudely blowing second-hand smoke, with no regard for asthmatics around them, and flicking ash onto your clothes, dropping your discarded chewing gum onto their seat, will make you feel better.


I am recently recovered from my most expensive wedding attendance to date -- and that's counting my stint as a bride's support person. When you don't have anyone to split hotel and rental car costs with, these out of state dealios can kill ya. Who knew that of all the pressures toward couplehood, it looks like the economic one will be what finally sends me over the edge.
But I got to see some of my favoritest people from college, so it was more than worth it.
Well, just about worth it -- no need to go crazy here.
Inexplicably, my flight out to St. Paul, Minneapolis [insert wide grin] left New York at 6 in the a.m. So, as per my routine whenever I fly first thing in the morning, I stayed up all night. I took another crack at the two-part Firefly pilot, which almost did me in; but thankfully, I found a freeroll poker tourney and managed to stay in for a few hours before finally being knocked out 145/1700+ players. Not too shabby for Dawn.
Of course, when I usually stay up all night because I am flying first thing in the morning, it's usually because I plan to sleep on the plane (sleeping being preferable to the knuckle biting and panic screaming.) Unfortunately, my flight to St. Paul was only about three hours, with a half an hour layover in Detroit. So, the flight out to Detriot was only about an hour and change and the final leg to St. Paul was also only slightly mor ethan hour. Not too conducive to sleeping and I was renting a car when I got there.
I stumbled off the plane, still groggy from my mini-nap and went to the rental car counter.
The lady was babbling all kinds of things, while I struggled to keep my head from hitting the counter. Must. Stay. Awake. Finally, she gave me the keys, I got directions to my hotel and I was off!
The drive was a quick one, I pulled up to the hotel, left the car and went inside. I was seven hours early for my reservation, but I desperately needed a bed. Thankfully, had a room ready and I headed upstairs.
I slept until 11:30 -- basically, just long enough to miss breakfast at the hotel.
The front desk lady told me that I could go to "Mickey's," a "greasy spoon place." Mickey's walking distance from the hotel and I couldn't miss it because "it's shaped like a trolley car."
Ok, armed with this description and an American Express card, I set out for Mickey's. I looked diligently for a red San Francisco type trolley car. Nothing. Instead, I as I approached the corner, I saw a very normal diner shaped diner. In fact, the diner was so very regular diner shaped, that I wasn't surprised when the description in the menu said that the owners had shipped it straight from New Jersey on a flatbed truck.
Trolley car. Where is this lady from? Oh, right.
Unfortunately, Mickey's didn't take credit cards…or specifically, my American Express.
So I walked back to the hotel and drove back. The waitstaff was actually rather surly for (what I imagine of) Minnesota. So, when she gave me back $10. 85 change for my pancake breakfast, I was too scared to ask her for singles for the tip. Instead, I pocketed the money and fled.
Thanks to the manager of the bastard Scalia Lions which have just overtaken the ECB Mets in my Fantasy League, I got a list of things to do in the Twin Cities so as not to waste a perfectly good roundtrip ticket just to celebrate other people's love. First stop was Lake Calhoun. The weather in Minneapolis was perfect -- something like 74 degrees and not a cloud in the sky. The lake glistened beautifully in the sun and I thought, "man, who knew Minnesota had lakes?"
I lounged on the dock with my feet in the water for a few minutes; basically, until I felt something swish by my toes. After that, I just lounged on the dock with my feet in my hands searching for signs of bites or missing toes.
Having survived what could only have been a vicious shark attack, I moved on to my next "Must-See-Site," St. Anthony's Falls. Admittedly, this was less impressive than Lake Calhoun. When I brought my friend and her husband back the next day, he described it best when he said "Falls? Don't you mean water washing over a ramp?"
Finally, I drove out to the Walker Art Museum where I saw an original Yoko Ono and the Chuck Close self-portrait exhibit. Across the street, at the Sculpture Garden, I saw a cute sign that said: "Please do not climb on the sculptures." I stopped to snap a picture of it, when a passer by very kindly informed me that "It's just a sign. It's not one of the sculptures."
Ohhhhhhh. Well, I'm so glad you happened by, or else I might have ended up writing a paper on the symbolism of the gold, east-facing arrow with the "entrance" inscription. Or walked briskly across the grass to get a better look at that post-modern "Do not walk on the grass" placard.
Tourists. Oh…wait.
By now, I was starting to feel tired again, so I left the garden and headed back to the hotel. I had plans to meet the Jakes at 7:30 at the St. Paul Grill, so I set the alarm to go off at 7:00…just to make sure I was on time.
When I got to the restaurant, my cellphone clock said 7:32.
"Yes, I'm meeting the Jakes here for a 7:30 reservation."
"Ah, yah. But you're early arentcha!" The greeter cheerily greeted.
My cellphone clock is about five or six minutes fast, so I took a seat the door and waited. I became concerned when I saw 7:43, then 7:49.
I went back to the greeter.
"Is there another St. Paul Grill or someplace that sounds like St. Paul Grill?"
"No. You're at the right place, but your reservation isn't until 7:30."
"I know, but it's 7:45 now and I don't think they'd be late."
She laughed.
"No, it's only 6:45. Are you from the East?"
Son. Of. A.
"Yes," I said glumly thinking of the many minutes of sleep I had squandered. I thought about walking back to the hotel, but it was too late for anymore sleep and I would just have to walk back here in half an hour. So, I walked around the neighborhood a bit, to kill time.
St. Paul is a beautiful city, very clean, seemingly well organized and pretty peaceful.
I went back to the St. Paul Grill in time to meet and out of breath Mrs. Jake at the door.
"Our car ran out of gas on the way here!"
"Oh no, that’s my nightmare! That's why I fill up my tank every night before parking it."
But they had Onstar and luckily, they were just blocks away from a gas station. I have got to get me one of those onstar thingies!
Dinner was wonderful, they brought me presents for me and the other blogger girls, but when I tried to give it to them Sunday night, none of them were home. Since I could not possibly imagine where they could have gone without me, I figured they had been mauled to death, and kept their presents for myself. It's what they would have wanted.
Also, they are currently looking for a name for their soon-to-be-built estate in Montana, so we may have another Clareified contest very soon. I plan to submit "Falcon Crest" as my suggestion. I figure winner gets to be adopted by the Jakes and live in the Cowboy Room! Well, only if I am the winner. And well, with Falcon Crest as my submission how can I lose?
I was supposed to meet up with the groom and his friend's for drinks at the St. Paul Grill bar, but when no one showed by 10:30, I went back to the hotel to sleep.

{The rest of this post was eaten by Karol's horrible, horrible laptop...but until it's recreated at some point this weekend, assume that hijinks ensue, but our heroine, Dawn, is victorious in the face of all dangers.}

Tuesday, August 09, 2005



Well, if they can come back from hiatus, so can I.

4:05 Ah, too long since I've heard that Ace yeeearrrgghh.
4:06 Ace: Live and unplugged.
4:06 "It makes the show look bad that we only have one caller." HAHAHHAHAAH
4:07 Wait. What? This is not radio???
4:07 If I don't get a plug for Clareified, as the girl going to the 50 Cent concert with Karol, right now...
4:08 An Air America borrowed money from a charity? Ooohh, Aaaahhhhh.
4:09 Ummm...ok...woo hoo! New York Times! But Ace didn't call it "the bastion of liberalism" yet.
4:09 "Anybody who adopts kids is gay," is that what [the left] is the saying? Yes, that's exactly what we're saying. Doof.
4:10 Roberts' work on the Romer case may not bother Ace, but seems to have bothered Rush.
4:11 If the mainstream media is going to engage in these tactics, they need to realize that they themselves are public figures, maybe the emdia better consider if they want that to apply to them.
4:12 "If we call for dirt on any media figure, we'd get it" Yeah, watch out! Karol's army is coming for ya!
4:13 "They seem to be stepping over the boundary of what is permissible."
4:14 "there is a shadow media out there that hates the media." oohh, bloggers lurk in the shadows. Actually, I am a little afraid. What was that sound?
4:14 AHAHAHAH Suspicious behavior: "They were talking to each other...between classes!" Drinking alcohol. And asking how long they were in the air.
4:15 The FBI said teh air crew did the right thing and this was probably a dry run, just like the dry run before 911.
4:16 "Had this been drunk white guy, it probably wouldn't have raised alarms." Greeeeaaaat.
4:17 Does Ace know that aircrews can racially profile all they want? Of course, the racially profiled can sue the airline all they want, but that's neither here nor there.
4:17 Karol: "Perhaps you just don't read my site." Ace: "I don't." Meee--oooow.
4:18 Ace: I wish she'd show up for rehearsals every now and then. Karol: Some of us have jobs.
4:19 "Story has had a slow build...Michelle Malkin and I have been writing about this "scandal" for two solid weeks" Whoa...really? TWO WHOLE WEEKS?? My God, and still no one cares? Give it anotehr week, my man.
4:21 Radioequalizer.blogspot.com Go there to find a complete documentation of this ground shattering scandal.
4:23 Ace: Say you're working on a radio station and they are not paying you, like rightalk, do I have a cause of action against them? (Yes, Ace, but only if you worked for a radio station, not internet station.)
4:24 Ace: Our producer has just said she will double our salaries! (I'm no mathematarian, but isn't double of nothing, nothing?)
4:29 Unofficial "third co-blogger, John from Greenville" That was my idea! I want my dollar.
4:30 I wonder what poor John did last week during the re-tooling.
4:31 Wait...I thought we were talking about ADP...what does that have to do with Air America?
4:31 Ah, Ace to the rescue. See, folks and you thought the hosts didn't do anything.
4:32 If the company issues a statement to him and provide evidence (because he has a "genuine memo," not no Dan Rather forgery, bub) he doesn't know if that's worth spending a great deal of time on.
4:33 "I can't hold theri hands at Air America. We are trying to get these guys to be open and honest about it."
4:34 Karol: I haven't been following the scandal, is this just open embezzlement?
4:34 Guy pitched his broadcast as an investment and said that if the charity invested it, then they would get more money back. We're talking about $875,000 in three checks.
4:35 We are really starting to see that the left has an attack plan to go after us. "I've had other information leaked to me of an effort to undermine us who are reporting this story." "A real effort to turn the table against us because they are not going to let Air America go down in flames and let the conservatives have that victory." Dude, you guys run the House, Senate, White House and have the majority of appointees on the Supreme Court, you really think the "Air America" battle is where our focus is?
4:38 Ace: Can we say that Hoist the Black Flag is doing better than Air America? Karol: uhhhh...no. Ace: Shut up Karol, I want to hear from him. Guest: Umm...if you want to.
4:39 Guest: you have a niche format that works in a half dozen cities which is not enough to keep advertisers. You need at least 100 affiliates. tehy are soo tiny and they don't have anywhere near what they need to attract national advertisers. Unelss there is a huge cash infusion for Soros or Gore, I think they'll be winding this thing down."
4:40 Caller, the man of substance, a lightning guy for Paul Anka. Karol: Who? (Indeed. -Ed.)
4:41 "Before I was Paul Anka lighting guy, I was a DJ in Las Vegas"
4:42 Ace and Karol banter. Ace: Let's just say it was your fault and be done with it. We'll be back afetr these messages, unless Karol screws up majorally again.) (Is it just me or is Ace growing on everyone?
4:46 A lot of what we're trying to do now, is keep up the pressure "We need you guys to keep up the pressure on your blogs." Wait. For. It.
4:47 "where the bloggers really come in in the next few days is to really back us up. It's not going to be just the mean spirited attacks. They're panicked, they're about to lose Air America." Yes. Panic. Oh. Ah.
4:48 "Cute little puppies were also beneficiaries of this charity." Great.
4:48 Ombudsman for NYT has respodned that "we're watching it" They are not going to allow the blogosphere to lead the way. "They really want to get us." Dude. Who is this guy? And why is he not on medication to control this paranoia? Actually, if he says people are out to get him one more time, I am going to be out to get him.
4:50 Bloggers had a lot of early success, but we're about to hit a tougher path. "are you in this for the long haul? We need more readers first." (I agree, I definitely need more readers.)
4:51 I don't have anything against liberal talk shows. There are lots of liberal talk shows that are not Air America that I don't write about.
4:52 "I can't explain how she had any kind of career at all," yeah. He's got nothing against them personally.
4:53 If you have any questions for Karol and Ace, call in "to talk to us." On it. Running. Look at my fingers dial.
4:57 Karol: We always have intentions. Ace: Yeah, good intentions. (She didn't say good.)
4:58 She stole my and yet...and yet, I still didn't get my plug.
4:58 "The physical act of love?" Somebody missed a couple of sex-ed classes, eh?
4:59 "When we don't acknowledge that you're talking, we don't have the urge to kill you."
4:59 Ace: I'm not justifying it, but as Chris Rock said, I understand. (Okay, I have this whole thing about Chris Rock and how all his show should be password protected...this is why.)

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