Day 47

I've become confused about the meaning of the word "modern." What's Modern Art? Colorforms stapled to a pineapple. Modern Dance? The spastic flailings of an anorexic on a coke high. ("I'm telling you, there's a story to it!") In fact, I think the word "modern" actually means "not at all." Case in point: Upper West Siders who call themselves Modern Orthodox.

Day 46

Crazy Carl: "Do you keep mementos from old relationships?"

Me: "Sure, I keep it all in a box. What about you?"

Crazy Carl: "Yep, I have a girlfriend box too."

Me: "And that's where you store presents from your ex-girlfriends?"

Crazy Carl: "Nope. That's where I store my ex-girlfriends."

Day 44

This one is hot off the press. I'm watching "My Antonio" (which is a dating show like "The Bachelor" except without all the intrigue). One of the female contestants was just hypnotized to believe that she was an foreign reporter doing a newscast in her native language - Italian. Except that this particular woman does not speak Italian. What was her top story? "Rigatoni spaghetti rigatoni." When asked how long she'd been a news reporter, she answered, "Calzone."

This has been a true story.

Day 43

The meanings of certain terms have changed over time, and my parents have not kept up with these changes. "Josh," they'll say, "you're going to Canada? At some point in your trip you should try to hook up with your cousin Rachel."

"Mom!" I would exclaim. "Of course I'm going to try!"

Day 42

Day 41

Aliza: I love sitcoms! Friends is great.

Me: Friends ARE great, I think you meant.

Aliza: No, Friends is in the singular.

Me: Maybe that’s because you only have one.

Day 40

Upon signing up for a social-networking site, I was asked to fill out a profile. The questions asked were fairly routine; I simply had to describe my personality, looks, and marital status (e.g. whether I'm "single" or "looking"). I didn't really know what to say, so I took a stab: I wrote "nice butt," "kind," "funny," and "looking." The next day, I checked out my page; to my dismay, my description was listed as "nice but kinda funny-looking."

This has NOT been a true story. I would never ever try to impress women through the use of a website (except, of course, for this one).

Day 39

My synagogue decided that its current funeral announcement system was too slow. Instead, they're switching to Twitter:

Funeral 4 P. Cohen, Belov'd mom/sis of J & T. Cohen, bff of H. Schwartz, a true A"C, tmrw @ 260 Grant Blvd - Regrets to all :(

160/160.

Day 38

A friend and I were looking for a fun, free activity in New York City, so we went to the Met Museum of Art. We greeted the ticket seller, who very politely said, "Okay, two at general admission," and then rung us up on the cashier: $40.00. (Of course, in tiny letters at the bottom was the word "suggested.") My friend and I looked at each other, and then at our wallets, and then at the word "suggested," ...and we just burst out laughing. My friend reached into her pocket, and pulled out a handful of change, dumping it all over the counter; I reached into my pocket and pulled out a handful of lint, and a button, and put THAT on the counter. The ticket seller was not impressed. "Please keep your change... and your lint." We threw up our hands apologetically as we walked by. "Sorry," we yelled, "we're students!"

This has been a true story.

Day 36

On where to eat dinner:

Ben: I don't care where we go, as long as the portions are big.

Me: Amen to that. I want my steak to weigh more pounds than it costs.

Ben: ...What?

Me: Ugh, that joke works better in London.

Day 34

Day 33

My (very religious) aunt was telling me about a friend of hers with a very unfortunate last name: Dick. "What is she supposed to name her child?" she exclaimed! I nodded in confusion; it was not in my aunt's character to note such a vulgar happenstance. "The names would all be ridiculous," she continued. "Pesach Dick, Shabbas Dick..."

This has been a true story.

Day 32

Pierce Brosnan has become so associated with his role as James Bond that it becomes difficult to conceive of him in any other way. I recently asked some girl what her favorite Bond film was, and she said, "Ooh, I liked that one where he steals from that art museum." I answered, "Yeah, that's not James Bond. That's The Thomas Crown Affair." She paused with a blank stare on her face. "Oh," she finally said, "well then I guess my favorite Bond film would be that one where the villain disguises himself as an old Swedish housekeeper." (I didn't have the heart to tell her that she was thinking of Mrs. Doubtfire.)