Thursday, December 30, 2010

End-of-the-Year Report for JMM Holders

Look at this!

Are you seeing what I'm seeing?  It's me!

This is a chart of my value as determined by how many people visit my blog.  When I put up a good post, which I apparently did around October 1, my efforts are rewarded by many visitors.  When I put up a less interesting post, as I've apparently done every day since, fewer people are interested in viewing it.

It's funny how linear it is, how it's moving almost predictably toward the asymptotic ZERO mark.  What am I to conclude?  I won't list all the possibilities, because I've already decided on the correct answer. 

I am a stock, and people want to make money off of me when I get big, so they are selling me off now so that I lose value and they can later buy low, sell high.  They expect to anticipate my overnight rise to stardom and jump on the train at just the right time.  It's a classic capitalist game (like Monopoly, or electing a president, or, say, buying and selling stock).

To prove my point, let's look at some other stocks.  You'll see that they are also going down.  See:

Wait.  That's a bad example.  Try this one:

Crap.  Those are both going up.  All of these stocks I'm looking at are going up.

I'm a lonely little stock.  Wait.  Here's a stock that's declining like I am!



Wednesday, December 29, 2010

The Blair Witch Entry

The following journal was found scrawled in blood on my computer screen.  I have typed it here as best I can decipher.  The handwriting at the end gets pretty awful.


12/26, 12:01 AM . . . Christmas Day has ended beautifully!  Despite having to leave my parents' house earlier than expected to avoid a snowstorm, I had a beautiful day and arrived safely in New York.  Having received presents in abundance, I was forced to mail my bounty home to Boston, where it will meet me upon my return from the isle of Hispaniola!  I have here with me a tupperware of leftovers from Christmas and some Bojangles biscuits that I bought at the Charlotte airport. I'm looking forward to eating them tomorrow.  Good night!

12/26 12:02 AM . . . That's odd.  My room has no refrigerator. 

12/26 12:06 AM . . . I've constructed a makeshift refrigerator from some ice, a plastic bag and the bathroom trash can.  Satisfied that my food will keep, I'm going to sleep.

12/26 1:57 AM . . . Almost 2 AM.  Can't sleep.  Strange haunting feeling that this is all going to go terribly wrong.  Oh well.  I'm sure it will pass. 

12/26 9:22 AM . . . Just returned from breakfast.  Managed one of the last pieces of sausage before the breakfast bar was closed promptly at 9 AM.  Wanted a waffle, but the line was too long for the waffle maker. Still a little hungry. I wonder if that forebodes anything.  Probably not. 

12/26 12:49 PM . . . I've reheated my Christmas leftovers, and they look delicious.  Not going to eat them all at once, though.  Instead, I will ration them so I don't have to eat out while I'm here. 

12/26 1 PM . . . I've eaten all of my Christmas leftovers.

12/26 1:12 PM . . . Delta has canceled my flight for tomorrow morning to the island of Hispaniola.  Looks like I'm here for a little longer.  At least I had time to write a funny blog post.  And I reserved my hotel room for another night on, so I'll have some place to stay while I figure out what's going on with Delta.  No complaints here!

12/26 1:14 PM . . . The Delta web site is unresponsive, like it's getting a lot of hits or something.  I wonder what's going on outside. 

12/26 1:15 PM . . . Delta isn't answering their phone.  Is there something I should know about? 

12/26 1:16 PM . . . Just got word from Jolizabeth, my traveling companion, that her bus has broken down in Connecticut.  At an Arby's.  No news on when they'll be moving again. Also, she tells me it's snowing outside.

12/26 1:17 PM . . . My God.  It is snowing outside.  The snowstorm found me.  I don't know how, but it found me!

12/26 3:45 PM . . .Took the airport shuttle to JFK and back.  Talked to a very nice ticket man, who helped me rebook my Delta flight for Tuesday morning.  Jolizabeth called, said the bus is fixed.  She's moving again.  All should be well now, as I'm sure the snow will clear up any moment. 

12/26 3:47 PM . . . Jolizabeth called.  She's sitting in heavy traffic and may not arrive until 6 pm.  Well, what's an vacation without some adversity . . . right? 

12/26 6:13 PM . . . Jolizabeth called.  She has reached Manhattan!  I'm going to go meet her there.  Wow, the snow is really falling out there. 

12/26 6:14 PM . . . The front desk informs me with a laugh that, no, you can't walk to the metro from here.  A cab ride is the only option, which would require a significant tariff.  I guess I'm staying here until Jolizabeth arrives.  You can check out, but you can't ever leave, right?  Ha.  Ha ha.  Ha?  Stomach rumbling.  Going to order some food for delivery instead of going out.  That way, I can have it waiting for Jolizabeth.  

12/26 6:54 PM  . . . I've been calling places that deliver food.  None of them will come here.  Carry-out only.  Beginning to wonder how I'll eat tonight.  

12/26 7:11 PM . . . Jolizabeth called.  She's now at the end of the A-line, only two miles from here.  I didn't tell her about the food. 

12/26 7:12 PM . . . Jolizabeth called.  Apparently, the AirTrain at the airport isn't running, but there's bus service to make up for it.  She should be here shortly.  

12/26 7:33 PM . . . A glimmer of false hope.  I was told there was a Burger King within walking distance.  Venturing outward, I found this to be a lie.  A cold, cold lie.  There is nothing near here.  Nothing but 50 mph winds and barren highway.  

12/26 7:37 PM . . . Jolizabeth called.  The bus just threw her out at the long term parking lot, JFK airport, promising another bus to come.  The snow is really coming down now. 

12/26 9:31 PM . . . DEAR GOD HAVE YOU NO MERCY!  Jolizabeth called.  She is still at long-term parking, one stop away from where the hotel shuttle picks up, under normal conditions.  If only . . . Wait.  Not that it matters, because the hotel shuttles are stuck in the snow.  

12/26 10:02 PM . . . Calling taxi companies.  They won't even answer their phones.  The shuttle drivers are booking rooms and hunkering down for the night.  Even the front desk is ignoring me.  Beginning to think Jolizabeth might die out there. 

12/26 10:16 PM . . . Jolizabeth called!  She is saved!  

12/26 10:34 PM . . . Jolizabeth arrived.  She looks terrible, and I am working to revive her.  Together, we ate some leftover pizza scraps two British Oxfam workers gave us.  Half-eaten crust never tasted so good, and I won't ignore those Oxfam collectors on the street ever again. 

12/27 8:36 AM . . . Morning.  Next door, a child is screaming.  22 hours until we leave this frozen hell hole. 

12/27 9:02 AM . . . Managed a waffle and some fake eggs and cheese at today's breakfast, which was significantly more tense than yesterday's.  Most of the meager breakfast bar had been grabbed by 8:30, and the staff isn't restocking.  In fact, right now, they're unstocking.  People are clinging to their waffle batter and tap water like I cling to my mini-muffin.  A tall black man is complaining that people have to eat.  He is correct.  My stomach grumbles, even post-waffle.  An uprising may begin. 

12/27 9:17 AM . . . Checked with the front desk on my reservation for tonight.  It's not in the hotel's computer.  I don't have a room for tonight!  3 hours to fix this problem before the hotel kicks me out in the cold.  First food, now shelter.  I'm wondering when we'll run out of air.  My stomach grumbles again.  

12/27 11:55 AM . . . Just fought with for over an hour . . . over a discount hotel rate, too . . . almost exhausted the last of my energy . . . but I have a room for tonight . . . feeling feeble . . . need vegetables . . . fruit . . . looking hard at the chimichangas you can buy in the vending machine here . . . if they're not sold out . . .

1:07 PM . . .  Local news reports that the JFK airport has run out of food.  That's good, because I was entertaining thoughts of pillaging it.  Why do I feel so . . . basic?

2:07 PM . . . Jolizabeth uses the phone.  The phone laughs in Jolizabeth face.  No deliver food.  Room spinning.

3:30 PM . . . Where am I?

3:33 PM . . . Jolizabeth say food come soon.  No believe. 

4:00 PM . . . Where food?

4:22 PM . . . Nice man come from India.  Bring spicy spinach.  Tomorrow Ra bring me big metal bird.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

New York (Heart) Me

If you're New York, or if you live in New York, or if you're good friends with New York (Newark!), don't read this.  It might hurt your feelings. 

*ring*  *ring*

Hello?  Dominican Republic?

Of course I recognize your voice.

Just let me explain okay? 

Okay.  Here goes.

First of all, I'm so, so, so, so sorry.  I will be there as soon as I can.  What?  Late at work?  No, I'm not late at work.  Traffic?  No.  No traffic.  Well . . . it's . . . you're not going to want to hear this. 

. . .

New York has fallen in love with me.  And no one can separate us.  No.  One.  Not even Delta. 

I didn't say I loved her! 

I don't care what my shirt says!  New York (heart)ed me first!  I swear.  She's the one who initiated this long-term thing.  She wooed me here with US Air, then she closed down her car, train, plane and bus routes.

I swear!  All of them!

Well, no, I haven't actually tried catching a train to come see you, but I'm pretty sure the logistics don't work.

Thank you.

I don't know!  She probably sent those low pressure zones down south, just to get me up here.  I swear, baby.  It's not my fault. 

Look, if you really want the details . . . 

The Big Apple was a short-term thing, a one-night stand . . . nothing like the five days I wanted to spend with you . . .

Well, of course I'd rather be warm and country than cold and urban!

Because I didn't mean to.

Why?  Well, it's just that . . . I guess I just had this connection here . . . and then -- wait, no, let me explain -- not that kind of connection.  I swear.

When?  As soon as I can.  Tuesday.  I'll be there Tuesday.  I'll get out of here at 7 am.

I'm telling you the truth, baby.


Say again?

You forgive me?

. . . good.

My voice?  There's nothing about my "la voz."

. . .

Okay.  One more thing. 

. . .

I don't have any protection with me. 

my junk, small and dark and lacking protection

Hello?  Hello?  DR?  Uh oh.  

*camera pans out on a lonely hotel room at JFK airport*

*SOUND: "Let it Snow" plays softly as I, in shorts and a t-shirt, weep*

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Christmas Wishes

Please stop asking me when you'll get my Christmas card this year.  The answer is "YOU'RE NOT!"

I'm sorry to shout, but I don't have the time or energy to buy real Christmas cards, or to stamp them, or to mail them, or to choose e-cards, or to take a picture of my young son and / or daughter and put them in a Santa hat, or whatever you people do these days.  I'm trying to start losing touch here, okay?

What I do have time for is a blog post in which you can search for your name and see if you would be receiving a Christmas card, if I were to do such plebeian things.  You can also read what I would say to you this holiday season.  This includes my wishes for the new year, because honestly, who knows when I'll write again.  I have so much else to do.  Like . . . never mind what like.  Just, stuff.

I encourage most of you not to go searching for your name unless you want your hearts broken.  Reading further is probably a futile effort, as I've almost certainly started to forget you as a person, even at the holidays.

But on you go . . .


First, generally:

The Boston Phoenix: I would like to vote for myself as Man of the Year for 2010.  Merry Christmas!

Time Magazine: I would like to vote for myself as Man of the Year for 2010.  Merry Christmas!

Highlights Magazine: I would like you to institute a Man of the Year poll, and I'd like to win it for 2010.  Merry Christmas, kids!

To the dozens of organizations that email me hourly asking me to sign this petition or call this representative or come to this emergency meeting or freak out about tomorrow because if I don't then wolves won't have civil rights in two years: here's $4 so we can keep Christmas.

President Obama:  Thank you for extending tax cuts for the mega-wealthy.  I want them in place when I get my first billion.  Happy Ramadan! (That's now, right?)

To the Boston school board:  Thank you for proving that democracy doesn't work.  рождество!

To the outgoing Democrats:  Thank you for proving that democracy doesn't work.  圣诞节快乐!

To the incoming Republicans:  Thank you for proving that democracy doesn't work.  Hilaris Sarcalogos!  

To jets, cars, factories, and sheep : Thank you for our unusually warm summer and deep-freeze weather in the Midwest and Europe.  Happy flying, driving, emitting, and farting!

And on a more personal note:

The man who was rapping loudly on the train: People don't think you're awesome.  They think you're mentally ill.  Merry Christmas!

To the guy in "The Crying Game:"  Please don't turn out to be a woman.  Happy Holidays!

To the man who was collecting money in a Santa suit at the corner of Mass Ave and Melnea Cass under pretense of being poor: How did you get a Santa suit?  Merry Christmas!

To the annoying orange: You are a group.  You can't get fans.  Moron. 

To my 47 "like"-ers: Your reward is in Heaven, and your ranks shall soon be great. (I think that's from the Bible.  That or I made it up.)

To everyone I've forgotten: I forgot you on purpose. Should Old Acquaintance be forgot . . .  sing along . . . and never brought to mind . . . Happy New Year!  Good luck riding someone else's coattails in 2011!

Friday, December 17, 2010

I Hate You, Me

Jamaica Poor, MA 

December 17, 2010

JMM of the Future
Richland, USA

To my future famous self:

I know you're reading this.  And I hate you.  A lot.

It's true.  You know it's true.  You remember.

But do you remember why I hate you?  Because you're there.  You've made it.  And I'm . . . just . . . waiting.

You've probably forgotten waiting.  You're famous now, and you don't need patience any more.  You haven't waited on anything for decades.  Not meals, not rides, not money.  You don't even wait in line.

That's exactly why I'm writing to you, to remind you what it was like to wait.  (In fact, reminding you about me was the point of this whole blog.  Or had you forgotten that, too, you famous prick?)

Right now, it is almost the winter solstice.  It's almost the first snow of the year.  It's almost Christmas.  It's almost 2011.  The world is at a precipice and, even though you know what happens next, I don't.  Not.  Fair.

What do I get for Christmas?  Is it an agent?  When do they get me published?  Do I make a lot of money right away, or does it take a whole 6 months?

How does my second novel turn out?  How many millions read it?  How many enjoy it?

Do the Cubs ever win the World Series?  Will I care?  (woohoo, baseball!)

Does Kyrie Irving's toe heal before the end of the year?

What do I do tomorrow?

Will I find something more worthwhile to blog about, or will I forever write meaningless crap about waiting to my future self? 

Waiting sure is boring.  I wouldn't even dedicate an entry to it, except that I want you to suffer reading about it.  So . . . I hope you're suffering.  Are you suffering?  I guess I'll find out one day.  One . . . day.

Until then . . . I'll be waiting to turn into something I hate.  See you there.

Sincerely you,


PS Please write back, or just time travel in the new Delorean and say "Hi."  

Friday, December 10, 2010


I'm going to guess that most of you* who read this blog have heard of me.  If not, you should start at the beginning

I'm also going to guess that most of you haven't heard of Kyrie Irving.  If so, you should start at the beginning.

Kyrie Irving is a college basketball player (I can't seem to remember who he plays for).  He is a projected top 3 pick in the next NBA draft.  He may be the most talented point guard to play college basketball since. . . ever.  Time will tell.

Scratch that.  Time ain't no f'ing snitch. Mr Irving has a stubbed toe . . . a sprained toe . . . turf toe . . . a torn ligament . . . no right foot?  He's out for a few minutes . . . a few games . . . a few weeks . . . a few -- the season? 

People want to know what's wrong and when he'll be better.  They really want to know.  Some would say they're obsessing.  They're watching ESPN, reading blogs, following Kyrie Irving's twitter feed. (16,161 followers).

Add this to the fact that he's 18, he already has more facebook "like-rs" than me, has more people paying attention to him than me, his future full of millions is closer than mine . . .

. . .and now people are more interested in his toe than my entire career?  It should all make me pretty angry. 

But I have to be honest. 

I think I'm more interested in Kyrie's toe than my entire career.  I know, what a pessimistic thing to say.  But it's true.  Here I am writing an entire blog entry about a young man's toe instead of working on a second novel or fixing my near-perfect screenplay.  Even while I write this entry, sugarplum visions of healed ligaments and non-surgically-repaired feet are dancing^^ in the front of my brain.  I am neglecting my future self^ for these obsessions, and why?


Will I snap out of it, or will podophilia derail me, consuming my thoughts and deeds from now until the end of the "season?"  Stay tuned.  I'll let you know in 7 - 10 days.

*Mom mom mom mom mom!
^ Hi future self.  Please, please come back in time and tell me how Kyrie's toe is.
^^ Mambo #5

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Buy Me Things

In all this madness, I've forgotten to prepare for Christmas. 

Here is the stuff I want.  Sorry I didn't get this out in time for Black Friday.

Happy shopping!

1. A tv less then 7 years old (preferably without a pock-marked screen)
2. A pair of shoes with tread left
3. A t-shirt that was not given to me by a relative, comedy festival, or student organization
4. A desktop computer with the capacity to run two programs at once
5. A pair of dress socks without hearts on them
6. A pair of regular socks without holes in them
7. Scuba gear
8. A cow box
9. Some pizza ("some" as in a quantity, not as in "just an ordinary pizza that you found on the street")
10. Neil deGrass Tyson
11. A Delorean that travels through time (NOT using plutonium)
12. Perspective on all the good things in my life that money can't buy

My shipping address:

Jamaica Poor, MA