Reality of Life Under Obama

Straight out of Curb Your Enthusiasm

So I'm sitting on the subway playing Angry Birds: Halloween Edition on my iPhone, when a Cute Black Child sits down next to me. He starts watching me play and then asks, "can I play?" and with every guilty white liberal bone in my body I proudly exclaim, "Sure!"

Now I'm holding the phone while the kid plays Angry Birds. I show him how to play, but he's not doing so well. Then I explain to him that you have to pull the bird to the left in order to make it go to the right, and he's starting to get the hang of it. He beats a level and I give him a high-five. I feel like fucking RFK and MLK rolled into one for all the good I've done for racial harmony in this country. The kid starts getting so good that my hand holding the phone is obstructing his shots. So he asks if he can hold the phone himself. "Of course," I reply as I hand him the phone. As he plays, his Mom, who has been standing there the whole time, chats with me about how he really loves games and I tell her that he is very precocious and talented. If my heart were any more warmed they'd have to send in the Fire Department.

But just then, Mom jolts to attention as she realizes it's their stop and the doors just opened. She thanks me and walks to the doors. "It's our stop, let's go!" she cries out to her son. But my Cute Black Child friend is in the middle of an Angry Birds level and is solely focused on beating it (we've all been there). So I politely say, "Sorry buddy, you've gotta go with your Mom now," and put out my hands for him to give me back the phone. But he's got laser-focus on the game, and ignores me.

By this time, the doors are only 10 seconds from closing. I've got to do something, or either a) the kid will take the phone with him in his hurry to get to Mom, or b) the doors will close and I'll have to get the kid back to Mom somehow, neither of which are very appealing options. "You've gotta go!" I repeat. No reaction. So I take the only action I think can solve this morass - I reach for the iPhone. As my hand touches the iPhone, I realize this kid is not letting go. He's 100% focused on playing Angry Birds. So I gently try to pull the phone away from him, figuring this might make him understand the situation. But he just pulls the phone back toward him and tries to keep playing. Now there are 5 seconds to go until the doors close, and I've got only one, horrible option left.

And that's how I ended up grappling over an iPhone with a Cute Black Child on the subway, with him screaming "NO! IT'S MY GAME!"as I pulled on the iPhone with all my might. Finally I wrested control of the phone and the kid ran out of the train just in the nick of time, leaving me to stew in the disgusted stares of the white liberals and old Hispanic ladies around me. Somehow I'd gone from RFK to KKK in the blink of an eye.

Another WaLuigi Interview

[Interviewer From Nintendo Power, a mid-20s dude, sits across from WaLuigi. A gruff 40-year-old Cameraman films them]

Interviewer: So WaLuigi, how much do you hate Luigi?

WaLuigi: You know, in my old age, I've realized that my anger toward Luigi was unjustified. The real deserving target of my anger is the Wall Street banks, who are giving record bonuses this year even as average Americans face the highest unemployment rate in decades and most of Wall Street's profits are thanks to government largesse.


Interviewer: CUT! WaLuigi, what're you doing? It's a simple question, just answer it like the script says and we'll be done here. This isn't fuckin' Charlie Rose.

WaLuigi: I'm not that guy anymore. I'm a public intellectual now. Thurman Thomas and I published an article in the Huffington Post supporting the creation of the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau that very well may have pushed the legislation over the edge in the Senate.

Cameraman: We gotta get movin'. We got Yoshi across town in half an hour.

Interviewer: I tell you what - let's record the stuff from the script super quick, and then we'll get a bunch of footage of whatever you want to say after that.

WaLuigi: Alright, alright.
[Cameraman turns on camera]

Interviewer: So WaLuigi, how much do you hate Luigi?

WaLuigi (shaking fist): I-ah hate him so-ah much-ah! (pause) Now you also have to realize it's not just the banks - Bernanke and Geithner are using the government to help the banks--

Interviewer: And that's a wrap.
[Interviewer and Cameraman pack up]

WaLuigi: But I haven't even explained how TARP is only one tiny sliver of the government's propping up of the banks

[Interviewer and Cameraman walk away]

WaLuigi (shaking fist): You'll rue-ah the day-ah you crossed-ah WaLuigi!

[WaLuigi is now alone]
(WaLuigi sighs)
WaLuigi: Ah well, at least I have my driving shoes.

A la recherche du temps poo-poo

[10-Year-Old Dan is in the bathroom]

10-Year-Old Dan's Inner Monologue: Well, I have to poop and I have to take a shower. Why don't I take a shower and then poop? Then I'll feel all clean when I poop!

[10-Year-Old Dan takes a shower. He dries off, then sits on the toilet and takes a poop and starts to wipe up]

10-Year-Old Dan's Inner Monologue: That was completely insane! I just did the cleanest thing in the world and then the dirtiest thing. Ah well, life lesson learned. Poop and then shower. Better tell Rich.

[10-Year-Old Dan picks up his pants and is about to open the bathroom door]

10-Year-Old Dan's Inner Monologue: Wait a second, I'm not telling Rich. Let him figure it out on his own. I mean he doesn't tell me how he does that NHL '93 juke move to score all those goals. Screw him.

[10-Year-Old Dan opens the bathroom door. 10-Year-Old Rich is on the other side]

10-Year-Old Dan: Hey Rich, bathroom's free! You can shower, and poop. In any order you want, yep.

10-Year-Old Rich: Uh, what?

10-Year-Old Dan: Oh nothing. Doo-da-doo-da-doo

[10-Year-Old Dan walks off to read The Indian in the Cupboard but really just fantasizes about Rich screwing up the shower/poop order]

Alpha and Beta Water

Future Economics Class Scene

Professor: Let's take Tom Schmidt. Now of course he has an absolute advantage in every task- he's better than you at everything. But it would be beneficial to him to trade with you, who are worse at everything than he, because of the principle of Comparative Advantage- you do the task that you're RELATIVELY better at, he does the task he's relatively better at, and you both win.

Student 1: I don't believe you. Tom Schmidt should do all of the tasks.

Professor: No, you see he should focus his resources on the task he's relatively best at and use the wealth he gains from that to trade for goods from other parties.

Student 2: What if we cloned Tom Schmidt? 

Professor: You can't clone Tom Schmidt! It's not part of the example!

Student 3: Why isn't Tom Schmidt teaching this class? He'd be better than you at explaining this.

Professor: BECAUSE I HAVE A COMPARATIVE... just, never mind

Scene from a 1993 Hanukkah

Jared's Mom: And I saved the best gift for the last night!

[Jared's Mom hands Jared a small gift-wrapped box. Jared's eyes light up, as if he knows what it is]
[Jared rips open the box. Inside is the SNES version of Mortal Kombat]
[The excitement evaporates from Jared's face]

Jared's Mom: It's exactly what you wanted! You excited to play?

Jared: Mom, I wanted the Genesis version

Jared's Mom: Genesis? Super Nintendo? It's all the same

Jared: No, it's not the same. There's no blood in the Super Nintendo version. You did this on purpose!

Jared's Mom: On purpose? Jared, you're giving me far too much credit - what do I know about video games? It's not like I leaf through your little Nintendo Powers while you're at school

[Jared grabs a VHS tape labeled "60 Minutes 11/12/93 - Violent Video Games and Your Kids: What You Should Know/Cheers Final Ep."]

Jared: This ring any bells?

Jared's Mom: You don't need to see all that blood! You're very impressionable at this age - I've read studies!

CUT TO:
[Later that night]
[Jared's sitting in front of the TV playing Mortal Kombat for SNES, slack-jawed, clearly not enjoying himself. Jared's Mom walks in]

Jared (sarcastic): Wow Mom, thanks so much. This is exhilarating

Jared's Mom: Jared, I'm letting images of a ninja beating up a woman into my home - what more do you want?!

Jared: I. Want. BLOOOOOOOOOOOD!

Scene from the Early 90s

[Pete Pierson, CEO of K2 Skates sits on his porch with his wife Debbie and 5-year-old daughter, Jenny]

[Pete hands Jenny a box, which Jenny opens to find... a pair of brand-new K2 Girls' In-Line Skates!]

Jenny: Thanks Daddy! I always wanted rollerbwades!

Pete (putting his hand on his temple): They're not rollerblades, sweetie, they're in-line skates. Rollerblade is just a company, a bad company that's daddy's enemy

Jenny: OK Daddy. I'm gonna go rollerbwading with my fwiends now!

Pete: Jenny, you're not ROLLERBLADING! You're IN-LINE SKATING!

Debbie: Peter, leave Jenny alone. I'm sure she's just repeating what she heard at school

Pete: Deb, this is a crucial time in our company - if they become the generic word for in-line skates, that's it - K2 will always be an also-ran

Jenny: Mommy, did you xerox my permission swip for the trip to the science museum?

[Pete grabs Jenny's in-line skates and throws them on the lawn]

Pete: GODDAMNIT, JENNY! It's photocopy! Photocopy! There are good men, friends of mine, working their asses off over at Canon. But do you care? DOES ANYONE CARE????

[tears well up in Pete's eyes]

Debbie (smirking): Hey Peter, looks like you need a Kleenex

[Pete shoots Deb a death stare]

Product Review on Amazon

Rarely do I feel compelled to review a product on Amazon, but the Adidas Men's No Show Athletic Sock, 6-pack was that once-in-a-blue-moon product that required sharing my feelings with the internet. Here is the text of my review:

LIES LIES LIES, August 30, 2010

By	Daniel Berger (New York, NY) - See all my reviews

This review is from: adidas Men's No Show Athletic Sock, 6-Pack (Apparel)

"No Show Socks"? More like "The Scarlet Letter of Betaness." This product just breaks my heart. I lived under the Ankle Sock-ocracy for years, decades, accepting that I was forever doomed to be branded with that glaring white material covering my ankle and upper foot, proof for all to see that I would never be "a cool, chill guy." Then I discovered No Show Socks.

No Show Socks opened up a whole new world to me. Suddenly I felt more carefree, more confident. I got better at sports, using all the energy I'd previously wasted worrying about my socks to focus on the game. Women who wouldn't have given me the time of day in the Ankle Sock era were all of a sudden striking up conversations with me, and I was bantering back effortlessly.

My first foray into the No Show Socks market had been a generic brand from my local department store. Drunk on the success of that purchase, I figured any product that had "No Show Socks" in the title would be similarly transformative. And when this 6-pack of Adidas Men's No Show Athletic Socks arrived in my mailbox, I tore the box open like a kid on Christmas. I ripped off the ankle-high socks I was wearing around the house (don't currently have enough No Shows to waste on sleeping) and put on a pair of my new Adidas socks. I was in such a hurry that I put my sneakers on as I was opening and shutting the door behind me.

Leaving my apartment building, the sun shone brightly and I paraded around the neighborhood like a peacock in full strut. But slowly I started noticing that people weren't treating me the same way as they had with my generic brand No Show Socks. Men my age ignored me instead of admiring my style. Teenagers giggled to themselves. And women studiously avoided eye contact with me, let alone conversation.

What was going on? I was baffled. And that's when an elderly gentleman shuffled by me and gave me a knowing look, as if we shared something, were part of the same club. I smiled and nodded at him, a bit confused. Then I looked down at his feet. He was wearing Adidas Ankle Socks - not only white, but emblazoned with a giant three-striped logo. OK, so he was wearing Adidas too, but how did he know that I was, or even that I was wearing socks? I was wearing No Shows. That's when I caught a glimpse of my own feet. Staring back at me was not a sliver, not a slice, but a WEDGE of white material stretching nearly to my ankle. How could this be?! I thought I was done with socks showing! And then, then I looked closer. And I discovered the coup de grace. Not only was the white of my socks showing, but so was THE BLACK ADIDAS LOGO! A logo showing on socks, the only thing that can one-up the horror of the white material itself.

Suffice it to say my psyche has been ruined by these socks. No longer do I consider myself a virile, athletic, confident young man. I now have more in common with the mindset of my grizzled, beaten-down-by-life fellow Adidas sock wearer - accepting the limitations of my existence, merely seeking the crumbs this world will throw me.

I looked into a class action lawsuit against Adidas, but was told that the lawyers usually take all the fees and you end up with nothing. How fitting. That's what you'll end up with if you buy this product - nothing. No money, no success, no friends, no lovers. Just the Scarlet Letter of Betaness, that white strip of material and the black stripes of the Adidas logo. Everything in this world is Black and White, and this product is no different. There's a bright line separating No Show Socks from Show Socks, and Adidas Men's No Show Athletic Socks are firmly on one side. The Show Side. The Dark Side.

Master's Tea with God

(polite applause)

Master G: Alright now does anyone have any questions for God?

(dozens of hands shoot up)

Master G: Hmm, let's see... Kevin

(Kevin is in front row, wearing black Patagonia vest and black hiking boots)
Kevin: Hey I was wondering - how did you decide to become a deity?

God: Just seemed like the natural thing to do.

Master G: Well that's it for the evening - God has to get to dinner with an old friend in Waterbury. Let's give God a big Pierson round of applause!

(polite applause)

(Patrick, a Divinity School student sitting in the back, holds a 3x5 notecard that reads, "My question for you is this - why have you introduced such astounding beauty in the world, yet also such astounding ugliness? Joy, but also suffering? Love, but also hatred? Life, but also death? Is there a lesson you want us to learn from the dark side of your Creation? What is that lesson?" He looks up and sees Kevin chatting with his friend)

Kevin: How do they find such interesting people to speak at these things? That lady who wrote Eat, Pray, Love was here last week!

(Patrick quietly seethes)

Scene from a Hollywood Hills Party

Fat Asian Chick: Hey yo it's McLovin'!

Christopher Mintz-Plasse: Hi, nice to meet you. My name's actually Christopher

Fat Asian Chick's Equally Fat Sister: Holy shit, it's really McLovin'!

Christopher Mintz-Plasse: No, as I said my name's Christopher

Fat Asian Chick: Yo get a picture of me wit McLovin'

Christopher Mintz-Plasse: Please stop calling me that

[Fat Asian Chick's Equally Fat Sister snaps a picture. She shows it to Fat Asian Chick on the digital camera's LCD screen]

Fat Asian Chick: Let's get one more. Come on McLovin', smile in this one!

Christopher Mintz-Plasse: My name is Christopher!

[Fat Asian Chick's Equally Fat Sister snaps another picture. She shows it to Fat Asian Chick]

Fat Asian Chick: Eh, that'll do. But yo McLovin', you could've at least flashed some teeth. [turning to her sister] Looks like they're running out of Patron - let's down some before it's all gone!

[Fat Asian Chick and her sister waddle off to the bar, leaving Christopher Mintz-Plasse alone]

Christopher Mintz-Plasse (sighing): Why do I keep doing this to myself?

Guy Who Regrets His Epitaph

The Lamest Generation

Grandson: Grandpa, just accept it - you're a little beta bitch

Dad: Grandpa is not beta - he fought in the war. That's a bit more alpha than fighting in your little World of Wizardcraft, wouldn't you say?

Grandpa (showing his disfigured hand): I lost both pinkies to the Nazis. You call that beta?

Grandson: Ooh.... pinkies! Call me when you've got a severed limb. Look, when you guys are deciding your schedule, who has ultimate authority? Grandma. When you pull up to our house, who's driving? Grandma. You should get a license plate, I AM BETA

Dad: GRANDPA IS NOT BETA! He is an Alpha Dog! He killed six Nazis!

Grandpa: SEVEN NAZIS! That last one was point-blank range! STOP SAYING I'M BETA!

Grandson: Well Gramps, when you stop asking your little health aide Kyung Sook, "Is there anything I can get you for your birthday, I know it's coming up soon?" I'll stop calling you beta, OK?

Grandpa: I'M NOT BETA!

Grandson: YES. YOU. ARE.

Dad: Alright that's it, we're playing the silent game. Go!

(beat- everyone's silent for a good minute. Grandpa starts to nod off)

Grandson (whispering into Grandpa's ear): Betaaaaaaa.....

Uday's Interior Monologue: "Damn it, all the women are dancing. I hate dancing! When I actually deign to try it I feel Beta because I look clumsy. Why won't any women just sit at my table and talk, so I can show off all my charm and cultural capital. Jesus, even Qusay is dancing! Fucking Qusay. Alright that's it, I know what'll break up this dancing - a couple shots from good ole Mr. AK.

There we go, there it is - come on ladies, come to Uday. Ugh, even that didn't work. I guess I'm gonna need to take some dance lessons. Or get some concubines. Hmm... definitely concubines."

Mega Man at His 5-Year College Reunion

[L-R: Mega Man '05, Brad Jenkins '05, Mike Killingsworth '05, Raja Khan '05]

Mega Man (so drunk he's slurring his words): Guys, guys, seriously OBAMA IS SUCH A FUCKING CORPORATE HACK!

Raja: Um, Mega, you know that Nita works in the Obama Press Office?

Mega Man: Well SORRR-Y! Your fiancee working for that scumbag means we should cut off all debate in this country apparently! (turns to dance floor) Hey EVERYONE, NO CRITICIZING OBAMA, OK - DO IT FOR NITA! Jesus look at Jenny Linden - is she auditioning for Nutty Professor 3: The Klumps Go To College or has she just put on 100 pounds?

Mike: Dude, Jenny is a good friend of mine. Not cool.

Mega Man: Looks like the No Fun Police are in full force - I'm gonna get another drink. But the next time you chumps need to be saved from Tsunami Man or whoever the fuck, don't come crying to me. And Mike, that widow's peak really suits you.

[Exit Mega Man]

Brad: See, I told you you were balding too!

(beat - Mike and Raja glare at Brad)

Brad: I mean, uh, fuck that guy. Never liked him.


*DISCLAIMER: All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real Not About Delino DeShields bloggers or events in their lives is purely coincidental.

Quotes from a Future President Who's Obsessed with His Boyhood Discman

Civil Rights"Society's a lot like a Discman. There are all these moving parts, and sometimes the weakest of the parts, well it just gets pushed around so much it can't function anymore. Civil Rights are society's Skip Protection"

Education"I worry about the future of America if we fail to keep up with the dynamic education systems of the emerging nations in Asia. We can't become Aiwa to China's Sony"

Environment"Like the lens on a Discman, we've got to keep our oceans and skies clean and clear. This climate bill is the saline solution and non-scratch cloth for the Earth"

Government Accountabilty"My administration has worked tirelessly with Congress to make sure that the laws we pass are written in clear, easy-to-understand English so that Joe Q Public can read them just as well as any K Street lobbyist. We want the model for our laws to be the instruction manual for the Sony D-E905 350 Discman, not the instruction manual for the Sony D421SP Discman"

War
"My mama had a saying back when I was a boy - 'If you break it, you fix it.' It being a Discman"

From My Outbox

Separated at Birth Returns

Solace of the Elderly

Politics, Outside and In

Beta Guy at Woodstock

[Beta Guy stops his 1960's Toyota Camry-equivalent in a field relatively far away from the concert site, hesitantly gets out of his car but does not lock it]
[Some attractive hippies are walking by him, toward the concert]

Beta Guy: Hi I was thinking of parking here and I was wondering I guess I have two questions - one, is it legal to park here, and two, is there some sort of shuttle bus situation because I have this back thing and it looks kinda far?

[Attractive Hippie Girl blows weed smoke in Beta Guy's face]
[Two Attractive Hippie Guys lock arms with Beta Guy and start skipping toward the concert with him in between them]

Beta Guy (looking back at car): I, uh, I don't think I locked the car so maybe I should just--

Attractive Hippie Guy: --Just follow the music, man




[Beta Guy and Attractive Hippies arrive at concert]
[Attractive Hippies leave Beta Guy]
[A Hippie Scalper approaches Beta Guy]

Hippie Scalper: Hey man, a hundred bucks for a ticket. Face value.

Beta Guy: Well, seeing as how it's the last day of the festival and that ticket price is supposed to cover three days, why don't we say thirty-three dollars?

Hippie Scalper: A hundred bucks - it's face value, my brother.

Beta Guy: Right, but it's face value for three days and I'm only getting one day.

Hippie Scalper: What's your problem, man?

Beta Guy: Alright, fine. Here you go (begrudgingly handing Hippie Scalper $100 bill)
[Hippie Scalper gives Beta Guy ticket]

[Beta Guy enters concert grounds]
[In front of him is an orgy of sex, drugs, and rock n' roll]

Naked Hippie Woman: SOMEBODY FUCK ME! I NEED TO GET FUCKED RIGHT NOW!

[A smile crosses Beta Guy's face]
[Beta Guy takes his pants off, folds them. He begins to take his tighty-whities off when... a Male Hippie starts having sex with the Naked Hippie Woman]
[Beta Guy sheepishly gets dressed]

[Two young guys stumble Beta Guy]
Beta Guy: Hi, um excuse me. I was wondering if, since you guys seem to be "trippin' balls", you knew where I could, perhaps, procure a couple tabs?

Young Guy 1: Dude, what the fuck is this guy talking about?

Young Guy 2: Just feel the music, man.
[Young Guy 2 flashes peace sign and the two Young Guys walk off]

[Onstage, Jimi Hendrix is performing "The Star-Spangled Banner"]
[Beta Guy walks closer to the stage]

[An Athletic Hippie Guy starts crowd-surfing. He's being passed around, and is headed toward Beta Guy]
[Beta Guy tries to move out of the way... no luck. Beta Guy tries to support the Athletic Hippie Guy, to no avail. Athletic Hippie Guy falls on top of Beta Guy]

Beta Guy: My back!

Hippie Girl: Far ouuuuut. Pile on!

Beta Guy: That may sound like fun, but I don't think it's a very good idea bec--
[dozens of Hippies pile on Beta Guy and Athletic Hippie]

Beta Guy: OK, THIS IS NOT COOL! WHERE'S MY FUCKING CHAPSTICK?! WHERE IS IT?! MY LIPS ARE GETTING SLIGHTLY DRYYYYYYY!

First Date with a Na'vi Princess

[I have phone to my ear]
Me: This is fucking amazing! I can't believe I'm going on a date with a Na'vi princess! What? Oh yeah, I'll give you the deets on that crazy ponytail-docking sex for sure. Oh dude, I think she just got here - later.

[Na'vi princess is looking around the restaurant]

Me: Hey, are you Neytiri?

Neytiri: Yep. And you must be Dan.

Me: It's great to meet you.

[I stick out my hand for a handshake, then decide that a hug is in order. Neytiri and I do a distant, butt sticking out half-hug. We both sit down at the table]

Me: So you went to Brown, right?

Neytiri: What? No, I've lived my whole life on Pandora. I just got to Earth a few months ago.

Me: Oh, got it. I just thought that might be where you knew Anna from.

Neytiri: No, Anna and I are in the same yoga class.

Me: Downward Dog!

[long pause]

Me: How's Anna doing these days? I heard she was gonna do the whole corporate law thing for a few years, pay back the loans, and then move to a non-profit like she always wanted. Greenpeace, I think. No, no - the ACLU.

Neytiri: Maybe - we don't really talk about that stuff in class.

[long pause]

Me: Isn't the decor here cool? The floorboards are from an old warehouse.
[no response]
Me: In Brooklyn.
[no response]
Me: It's a meme!

Neytiri: What's a meme?

Me: (sigh)

Alex Jacob Resurfaces!

He has long been presumed dead, but my sources in Hollywood tell me that poker ace and former Delino contributor Alex Jacob is alive and well... and starring in a new NBC comedy series this fall. It's called et Al, and Alex apparently plays a Latin teacher (named Al, of course) who gives up his high-flying poker career to teach Latin in a small Kansas town. Check out the one-sheet:

Guy Who Was Late in Getting Around to Organizing Haiti Relief Benefit Party

Guy Who Was Late in Getting Around to Organizing Haiti Earthquake Relief Benefit Party: Alright guys, I know I should have done this like weeks ago, but whatever. This Saturday, I've rented out the entire back room at Dive Bar for a kick-ass benefit party for those poor Haitians who lost everything in the earthquake. We're gonna have a sweet time, and help some Haitians!

Friend 1: Uhh, dude. Did you not hear about this? There was an earthquake in Chile two days ago. Fuckin' 8.8 on the Richter scale. One of the biggest ever. Over 700 dead already. They're the ones who really need help now.

Guy Who Was Late in Getting Around to Organizing Haiti Earthquake Relief Benefit Party: Are you fucking kidding me?! Can't one fucking 3rd-world shit-hole stay on the minds of these ADD Millenial motherfuckers who comprise my social scene for more than a couple weeks. I mean Jesus! I had a lot of shit to take care of what with the ski weekend at my parents' house in January, and then February there was the Super Bowl and President's Day - it's not my fault I didn't throw this thing earlier. Fuck fuck fuck! I already made the deposit at Dive Bar, which is nonrefundable of course, and I bought all these Haitian-themed decorations. Goddamn these Chilean motherfuckers!!!

(Guy Who Was Late in Getting Around to Organizing Haiti Earthquake Relief Benefit Party notices his friends are staring at him in shock)

Guy Who Was Late in Getting Around to Organizing Haiti Earthquake Relief Benefit Party: No, that's not what I mean. Of course we all know the real tragedy is this earthquake in Chile, and the one in Haiti. It's just so sad to see these poor people lose everything. Lose it all. Everything they have. Much, much sadder than, say, losing a deposit of a grand. Or blowing two hundred bucks on voodoo dolls and cocktail umbrellas. Yes, infinitely sadder, certainly.

The Hipster-i-fication of working class professions

So I went to a butcher shop in Williamsburg the other day to get some meat for a little gathering at a friend's house. I walk in, scan some meats, and when I look up at the butcher to order some chorizo, I see a fucking sub-Wesleyan hipster. "Hey dude, what would you like today?" he asks sweetly. "We have some culatello from Northern Italy and a fine capacola sausage from the isle of Sicily. Try some - no charge, bro." You're telling me what to do?

Here's what I want you to do, bro - I want you to stop taking a job in a working-class profession, and for all your hipster buddies to do likewise. When I walk into a butcher shop, I want to be greeted by a gruff, brusque, downright scary guy who stopped going to school in 10th grade and couldn't tell the difference between Flaubert and Clifford the Big Red Dog, who doesn't have a fucking clue where any of the meat comes from but can cut a perfect slice of meat in the way that trade workers for centuries have learned one physical thing really well but have no pretensions to being engaged with the world of ideas. While you're at it, tell your hipster bartender friends that I want my bartenders to be named Jack and say, "the usual, Danny?" even if I lose out on learning about some great microbrews (which seriously crushes my inner yupster spirit, but so be it). Try it- no charge, bro.

Story about my Roots

My Great-Great Grandfather Jakov Berger was a peasant in a shtetl on the Polish/Russian border. One time when he was about my age, a friend of his told him the adage that successful Jewish businessmen of the day were fond of bandying about - "Dress British, think Yiddish." Jakov was dyslexic, hard of hearing, and not terribly bright, but he had big dreams, so he tried to take this lesson to heart:











He died penniless, but he was buried in one of the heaviest, wooliest, Jew-iest coats ever produced at that time, so he was a happy man.

Sexually Repressed Guy Writes Origin Story for his Small Business's Web Site

One summer day, my buddy Jeff and I were paddling down the Connecticut River. Just a coupla dudes with a coupla brews, and a canoe. Yep. Breezin' down the river, chillaxin'. Scopin' out babes, definitely doin' that too, for sure.

The current was strong that day, and Jeff used all of his might to steer us away from some trees that had fallen the night before. A powerful thunderstorm had left branches and trunks strewn all along the river, but that day there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The sun was beating so strong that Jeff shed his cut-off tee-shirt, exposing all six-foot-four of his sinewy frame. Water splashed over the front of the boat, covering Jeff's upper body. His pecs looked like a pair of sizzling porterhouse steaks, ready to be taken off the grill and devoured. Sweat glistened on his flaxen mane, the individual hairs like stalks of hay in a Millet painting. Jeff was rowing so hard he began grunting: UNHHH! UNHHH! Like the calls of a wild animal in heat. I hurried to the seat behind him and we began rowing together, rocking back and forth in unison, our grunts synchronized along with our strokes. Forward, Backward UNHHH! UNHHH! Forward, Backward UNHHH! UNHHH! Forward UNHHH! UNHHH! UNHHH! UNHHH! And then it hit us! Why are canoes made out of heavy, old-fashioned steel? What if canoes were made out of titanium?

Titanium is ultra-lightweight, durable, and strong - heck, it's even waterproof! Golf clubs have been made out of titanium for years - why not canoes? So with a little research from some eggheads at the Dartmouth Physics Department and some seed money from a few relatives willing to take a chance on a coupla young guys with a dream, we founded TitaniCanoes. Now that you know our humble beginnings, explore our site and check out our full line of TitaniCanoes... They're Titanic!

Eat Richly 1943