Zev's Crib

by singerz

Last week, I was watching MTV’s Cribs and decided I would write about what my “crib” would be like if I was rich - or even just had more than $629.87 in my bank account. (NOTE TO IRS: Just kidding, I don’t really have anything in my account. NOTE TO VIOLENT BOOKIE MAN I OWE MONEY TO: I know I know, I only have until next Wednesday. But the joke is on you my friend, my fingers are already broken.)

First and foremost, if my house was on MTV Cribs, I would buy an actual baby crib. Then, I can say to the camera: “Wanna see my crib?” And then I will show them my crib. And then I will say “OK that’s it, you saw it, please leave my house now.”

Next, there would have to be a room in the house with tons of books, scrolls, maps and other various academic things. Oh and a kaleidoscope too. I feel like all fancy smart-people’s rooms have those expensive kaleidoscopes in them. I call this room the “Fakeout Breakout Room” because it’s only there to fake people out to make them think that I’m smart and read the academic books. And breakout rhymes with fakeout and reminds me of camp so I’ll call it that. Shut up, it’s my house and I can call the rooms whatever the hell I want.

I’d have a 35 person kitchen staff. In charge, clearly, is a fat black woman named Betsy who loves me and reminds me of the cook from Billy Madison. I’ll hire a man to taste my food before I eat it to make sure my enemies didn’t poison it. If it is poisoned, I’ll only eat it if I’m really hungry and Betsy tells me its going to take a while for other food to be ready. Also, I don’t think I have many enemies (though I may after this post).

The Candy Room is just what it sounds like. Except no Willy Wonka cause he freaks me out. In the candy room, you are allowed to take candy from strangers and babies. (As a side note, there’s nothing wrong with taking candy from a baby. They don’t even eat it, they eat like applesauce and shit like that).

Finally, my favorite room will obviously be named “The Best Room Ever.” This room includes: a hot tub, an automatic brick pizza-oven, a ping-pong table, a soda fountain with: Cherry Coke, Dr Browns Cream Soda, Sunkist fruit punch soda, and single malt scotch. I’ll hire Dr. Brown and build him a laboratory so just in case I run out of Cream Soda, he can just make more in his laboratory.

The wall-paper will be Far Side cartoons and the floor will be that bubble wrap paper that is changed and put in every day. Instead of a juke-box, I’ll hire Jimmy Page and Carlos Santana to hang out there so when I want music they will just play. They can use the ping pong table and step on the bubble wrap floor if they want, but are not allowed into the hot tub because they are dirty musicians.

The Blog in Trouble?

by singerz

We know what many of you are thinking. Where have the bloggers been? Also, why did Fruity Pebbles add that new pink color? And for those of you who aren’t thinking that, suck it.

The truth is, the Garbage Dump is at risk of being canceled. Our ratings are down, our morale is low, and the Aschen family is threatening lawsuits (for those you who don’t know, Mink made fun of a dead guy).

There have been talks with Google and Yahoo! (I badly wanted to write that exclamation point) about having them pick up the blog, but the CEO of Yahoo goes to the steam room naked and was offended by my last post. The CEOs of Google are apparently “too cool for school” and our blog doesn’t “tickle their tootsies.” NOTE: I don’t ever want to tickle anyone’s tootsie.

In other news, we are proud to report that here is a direct quote from a Rabbi writing about our blog: “the blog of someone in our Jewish sphere posting about things that seem a bit juvenile.” He thinks that is an insult? HA. That may very well be the greatest compliment I have ever received (aside from the time that girl on the subway told me that I have gorgeous knees).

Until next time, I bid you adieu. (I’ve always wanted to bid someone adieu and never knew how. Thoughts?)

High School, Take Number Two

By Mink

With little better to do this past Saturday night, I attended a high school basketball game between two Jewish rival schools in Baltimore. Beth Tfiloh (my alma) and Rambam (a newer Jewish school commonly mistaken for a Flintstone character)....It was a heated battle, too close for comfort, that the good guys squeaked out by 8 (after trailing by 12 late).

Besides providing a Saturday night activity for my bored and lazy self, the game and the festive environment gave me a chance to reflect. And no I don't mean reflection about the high school girls in the stands, although there were certainly more future stars in the stands than on the court. What I mean is that I began to reminisce about high school, which is natural when one enters his home gym. But this nostalgia did not take me back to missing the glory days or the old high school gang. Instead I was consumed with a new dream that at 25, I could head back this minute to high school and do it all over again. I would get out there and atone for the lackluster high school career I had on and off the court.

They say everyone should have a dream, some people want to be doctors, I want to spend my mid twenties in the hallways of Beth Tfiloh, throwing paper airplanes at substitute teachers and cracking perverted notes to my neighbors (Oh wait I might be confusing this with law school). So here are a few reasons why I would love to do it go back and rewrite history knowing what I know now as a 25 year old goof:

1. Varsity Basketball: Ok this is the main reason, I'd go back. The team needs a big man, and although I miss many a layup these days, I would like to think they could actually a 6'3 210 lb center. When people ask me my number in high school I can only respond "yellow" which was the color of my warmup shirt which never came off.....The "well disciplined" team didn\'t have much use for 6'1 160 lb scrawny, poor shooter.....But now I could start as a freshman and that will make anyone cool no matter what they look or smell like.

2. Acutane: In 1997 if you spotted me from far away, it was sometimes possible to mistake me for a tomato patch. One upper class-man even nicknamed one particularly red and oily visitor, who prominently parked himself on my beak for 3 weeks, as "Binky." Well that was before I took those crazy pills with the picture of the pregnant silhouette with a big red X over her on the outside of each individually packaged capsule. The dermatologist (or "pimple popper" as Seinfeld calls em) told me it reshaped the sebaceous glands or something. All I know is that after 6 months of nose bleeding, face peeling, and my lips nearly falling off I stopped having to wash my face ever.....Bottom line is that in 2006 I will no longer have to try to make my "I'll let you pop my pimples" pitch to secure a prom date....Although inviting 17 year olds to prom just may invite some legal drama, but that's another story.

3. The Beard: I, like most men my age, don't like shaving, its annoying and time consuming. But in high school its damn cool. When I was in high school I was just dying to shave. I didn\'t need to at all until I was 18 which worked out nicely because I would just borrow my 12 year old neighbor's norelco to trim my peach fuzz.....Anyway this would be a great deal for me, as I would instantly transform from "lazy" and "shlumpy" (my mother's term) to "cool" and maybe even"intriguing."

4. My Post Graduate School Credentials: I would enter with a law degree so the kids and teachers would be intimidated as I rattled off some of the few Latin words I remember from law school like "Mrs. Schultz this equation really reminds me of a res ipsa loquitar." or "Ms. Levine did Macbeth have the requisite mens rea? (As I purposely and repeatedly drop my pencil on the floor in an attempt to view some cleavage when she picks it up for me---ok maybe this part of the dream already happened)".....

5. New Pranks: I've always enjoyed a good prank but in High School the wildest things I did in class were hiding and coming out of closets or snorting dental floss and making it come out of the back of my throat. I would love the challenge of scheming up some new pranks (i.e. faking a heart attack during class) and setting up online chat rooms like we did in my first year Constitutional Law class.

6. An Experienced Drinker: At least for me, consumption of alcohol in High School was like my pursuit of females; unfruitful to say the least. But these days a Miller Lite can in my fridge is just something to wash down my burger and fries. My female adventures, while not as plentiful, at least have made strides since the 90's. This would be make me moderately cool as a high schooler today. Although after coaching JV basketball last year and hearing some of their alleged tales, I still think I would be getting the education in these regards.

7. The Cassanova or the Ladies Man: This is what we strived to be in high school and where I failed so miserably. Back then I learned the harsh reality that a girl who says she " just wants to be friends" really means "don't call me, don't touch me." But ooh how the times have changed, I mean what high school girl would not come running to a Bearded and Pimple Free/Juris Doctor/Prankmaster/Beer drinking/Varsity Basketball player? Is that not every teenage girl's paradigm of a hunk?


That's all I got for now, but at least for me this admittedly disturbing daydream sure beats the alternative of being a pseudo-functional grownup about to begin his first full time job ever.

Who Loves Being Nude

by singerz

Ever notice that little kids - say 2,3,4 year olds, hate wearing clothes and love being naked? (In some cases, 10,11, 25 year olds, ahem Mink ahem). I have seen many little kids with huge grins on their faces running around their homes buck naked. They’re at the age where they are well-aware that they are naked, and simply love it. I envy them. People just comment: “Oh he’s so cute.” The one time I ran around my apartment in the nude with a huge grin on my face, needless to say, no one commented: “Oh how cute.” (which reminds me, I need to find a new apt, anyone know of roommates? My roommates said that they and I have “irreconcilable differences” and I have no idea why).

It has come to my attention in recent days, as I have been spending more time in the sauna, steam room, and men’s locker-room at my gym (not to see the men, to do that I can always just go see Brokeback Mountain), that the “loving being nude” trend returns at about the age of 63.

I understand that it’s a men’s locker-room and so many people go with the “why-the-hell-not-be-nude” lifestyle philosophy. But no, this is different. Coincidentally being nude for a moment or two while changing, showering, etc, is fine in a men’s locker-room. But these men, these old men, LOVE being nude. Support:

(The scene: steam room. Zev is the only one below the age of 67 and, interestingly, the only one wearing a bathing suit)

Old man 1: Sonny, why are you wearing your bathing suit?
Zev: Errrrr…
Old man 2: I bet he’s embarrassed of something.
All old men: (raucous laughter)
Zev: NO not true.
Old man 3: So then take off your bathing suit! None of us are afraid of showing off our goods!
Zev: (runs out of steam room crying)

Maybe it’s the fact that they just don’t care anymore. They’ve seen it all, done it all. What’s one more set of genitalia to these guys, yaknow? I can’t imagine that I will ever enjoy being nude as these guys do. But you never know, there was a time that I never thought I’d even be sitting in a room with scalding steam pouring into my face and loving it.

Year Fetish

By Mink

For anyone who is still reading this blog (and I'm assuming its just the 3 of us: zev, myself and anoynmous) I would like to wish you all a happy new year. I can't believe its already 2006 and I will refuse to believe it all the way up to August 1st which is normally the time that I start dating things with the correct year (Although I take even longer to adjust to the drastic year changes such as 1999-2000 where I continued to date things as '99 well until the spring of 2001.)

I think New Year's excites me more than it does most people because among my many issues, is what I guess I would describe as a "calendar year association fetish." To clarify, my sick little brain enjoys using calendar dates to remember and understand stuff. For example, when I am introduced to someone who I know I have met before (and he or she of course has no knowledge of my existence), instead of acting like a normal person and either biting my tongue and saying "nice to meet you" or "I think we met at Joe's house," I will say something like "Oh yeah didn't we meet at a party at Joe's house back in the fall of 1999?" or "we met right after they announced the major league baseball strike of 1994."

Obviously such statements are percieved as weird, creepy, or autistic. And this person I am speaking to either honestly doesn't remember me or more likely once made a concious choice to erase me from their memory. More problematic is if the person I have remembered happens to be a girl and she now believes I am an obscessed stalker who has forever stored the date of our first meeting in the recesses of my brain.

A girl's perception of stalking is a whole nother ballgame. If you show up at a girl's door with flowers, sing her lullabies, remember exact calendar dates, and send her candigrams you very well could be labeled a stalker. But that same girl could also very well find the same actions to be "cute" or "sweet" if she is somewhat attracted to you. So I guess what I'm saying is, I really struggle with that fine line between "cute" and "dangerously stalkish."


P.S. I will only respond to Zev's cheap behind the back attack by saying that while he wrote it, my albino body was enjoying the 80 degree sun and black jack with Ken Griffey Jr......And one more thing Zev, your fingernails are gross and you eat fried farmer's cheese.