Tag Archives: Zach

Obama O’Clock

obama-smoking

First smoker president, I bet

Well, we did it. Not me, I mean. I didn’t do anything except create viral ideas and launch them into the blogmosphere, like any patriotic young American would have done in my stead. Now it’s all over but the screaming — and boy, is there a lot of screaming! The entire borough of Brooklyn (well, everything north of Division Avenue and the BQE, which is as far as I was willing to bike drunkenly in circles in the rain for the last two hours) has devolved into one hugging/honking/shouting “woo” at passers-by festival, which is just terrific fun. There was one black person at the bar, and all the hipsters kept spontaneously hugging her, which must have gotten awkward after Hour Six. But it’s okay to be patronizing when shit is awesome.

Think of it! Although my loudly pronounced prediction that Obama would win Georgia did not, so much, pan out, I am fairly confident that (1) Sarah Palin will be on The View by next fall (2) I am going to get so sick of looking at photos of Jesse Jackson crying and (3) everything is perfect forever.

This was a good night. Beer was half off (yo, Miller High Life for $1.50 within the five boroughs, you can’t even get that kind of deal in Real America), everyone was optimistic, and the most conservative guy in the bar had voted for Obama — but got pissy when people booed McCain, which in Brooklyn places you somewhere to the right of 99% of the population, who are in favor of booing and of throwing batteries at the Democratic caucus because they won’t impeach the other 42 senators and all that. But hey. We’re excited. Look. Barack Obama stands for a better America. An America where anyone can make out with Katherine Heigl, if they want. Our long national hangover begins apace in the morning — when we realize that, despite how bitchin’ this all is, we are still completely fucked — but for now I’m going to bed in a good mood. SO LONG, HATERS! See you in 2012, when the remainder of Obama’s hair will no doubt have turned that sad grey color that most of it already is.

244082katherine-heigl-posters

“I voted for John McCain, but only because I can’t afford the
airfare to Brooklyn to make out with random bloggers”

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Are We Dead?

Nope! But I’ve gone off to Montreal for several days, and Honor’s still going to work, the sucker! But the updates are visible on the horizon. If you put your ear to the ground, you’ll hear the sound of their hoofbeats. If you’re also an Indian.

NOTE: Indians never do this, it was put in movies to trick you. If your ear is to the ground, horses will trample that shit. Word up. See you next week.

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Across The Sea

Not so long ago, I found out I was a Dutch citizen! In addition to being an American citizen, I am now Hollandaise like Eggs Benedict, my friends. And you know that that means:

That’s right: it means you are a racist.

In all seriousness, there are a lot of benefits to dual citizenship. For example:

  1. Being treated suspiciously at airports
  2. The opportunity to pay more taxes
  3. You can blog about it, like this
  4. Europeans are not asked or expected to see “The Happening”
  5. Extra taxes
  6. Wooden shoes… you racist
  7. Taxes

There are downsides, though. For example, if I get bored, I can just move to Spain. That sucks. And America has its charms: Big Macs, war, terrifying social conservatism, your choice of Dakotas or Carolinas…

Another downside: Amsterdam is the damn devil. I may be the only American in the history of the city of Amsterdam to travel there in order to specifically not sleep with prostitutes or smoke unfiltered marijuana, or buy Marijuanette gum, which I guess helps you quit. I was the American that showed up, tried to speak Dutch to everybody (failed), tried not to spend $6 on a slice of pizza (failed, TWICE), refused to go to the Van Gogh museum, and got unbelievably pissed off. When I ended the trip, I’d been sitting in Schipol Airport for seven hours because I was too angry at Amsterdam.

Still. I am learning the language (“Excuse me hello sir can I purchase a ticket for metrotrain backwards Amsterdam with happiness?”). I have a little button on my web browser bar that tells me when the flights are. And I live in New York, which used to be called New Amsterdam, duh. And “Brooklyn” is Dutch for “Brueckelen”, an old Dutch word meaning “City where everyone gets a stupid haircut or becomes ostracized.” And “New York” is a Dutch word too, but you don’t even want to know what it means.

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My Family Is From Alabama

I know, I cannot believe it either.

One of my tackier interests is genealogy. Genealogy, if you haven’t heard, is the ability to delude yourself into thinking that, even though you hate all your living relatives, your dead relatives were fascinating. Every three or four years, I sink into a genealogy K-hole, emerging two weeks later covered in dust and full of boring facts. Last month was one of those times.

Unfortunately, I’ve gotten a little too good at research: and now I know that my great-grandfather was born in Alabama! Ask me where his father was born. Alabama. I can go on. Ask me where his father was born. Alabama. How about his mothAlabama.

ALABAMA.

I don’t know if you know me, but if you don’t, I am from the North. Not even the wussy North (e.g., Philadelphia is not the North). I am a New England Yankee. I eat pie with every meal, vote for George McGovern, officiate at gay weddings, listen unironically to Jonathan Richman and the Standells, say “wicked” and drop my r’s (when I’m in the mood), drive on Route 128 like a psychopath, go to town meetings, reinforce the existing class structure, curse, and take salvia at Dispatch concerts. I would’ve gone to Harvard except I was too stupid. Most of my ancestors were drunken Irishmen, and I am fine with this.

ALABAMA.

Let me tell you, I’ve never even been to Alabama. I haven’t set foot in South Carolina. When my plane touches down in Florida, I head straight for the deli and don’t speak to anybody until I leave. One time I went to Texas, but I threw up for 24 straight hours afterward. (True!)

What am I going to do? Well:

  1. I am going to drive to Alabama, to my ancestral home.
    (photo by jimmywayne22, cc-by-nc-nd license)

    That’s an actual photo, from the actual town where my actual family is actually from.

  2. I am going to spend 18 minutes talking to people, then get pissed off and sweaty.
  3. I’m going to play that Bob Dylan song that has the line “I’m going back to New York City, I do believe I had enough” with the windows down.

Then it will be over. Holy fuck, Alabama. I voted for John Kerry, goddammit!

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