I was sandwiched between two bleach blonde nightmares on a crowded train this morning. "Girls", I guess you'd call them. Both had far too much makeup caked over their fake tans; MAC foundation packed into the crevices of their faces like peanut butter on celery sticks. (That sounds so good right now. I'm totally having it for a snack before lunch.) Both were dressed far too cutesy, in a way that was not remotely cute in any way. They were probably about 35, but looked more like 55 trying to look 16. In lieu of a better description, they looked like if Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen were buckets of fried chicken. (Actually, that's remarkably accurate, except they looked more like if buckets of fried chicken were Mary-Kate and Ashley.)
So there I was, stuck between a breast and a thigh, trying to ignore the obnoxious simulation of a conversation being spat back and forth over my head, when that announcement came on; the one about sexual harassment on the subway: "Ladies and Gentlemen, a crowded subway is no excuse for unlawful sexual conduct...yada-yada...Don't grab people's balls...yada-yada...Hands off the boobies...yada-yada...penises...yada." The girls paused to giggle at the bulletin, both catching my eye at the same time. "Don't worry, Ladies," I said, "You're safe with me."
They laughed at my adorable homosexual affability and impeccable comedic timing. I remained expressionless, slipping back into a safe denial of their existence, when suddenly I heard the wretched one say to the horrible one, "Isn't Whoopi soooo nice? She's always super nice to me... And did you hear what Sherri said to Joy yesterday during commercial?"
Naturally, these two schmucks work on "The View".
"Why aren't Iiiiii on my way to the set of 'The View'?" I thought. If I could just get a foot in the door over there, I'd be one step closer to my ultimate goal of being one of the ladies on the panel. That's all I want in this life! Can it really be THAT unattainable??? One of the black ladies.
Had it been an episode of "I Love Lucy", there'd have been a closeup on my face lighting up mischievously, followed by a quick cut to a long shot of the train pulling into the station, the doors parting, and me getting off wearing one of the girls' hideous outfits and a bloody wig of blonde human hair, with both girls beaten, scalped and dead on the floor of the train behind me. (I miss Lucy's quirky antics.)
New Paragraph: Last night I was at Barnes & Noble in Union Square to hear Sarah Silverman talk about her new book, "The Bedwetter". I never go to those book appearances, but I think I'm gonna start. They're cute, and even better - free. She read a chapter from the book and then did a Q&A, during which she managed to use the "C" word four times and even compared herself to Elaine Stritch. (Both of those things were exclusive of one another, but now that I'm thinking about it, didn't necessarily need to be.)
She was hysterical, of course. And even a little inspiring. I won't tell you exactly which words of wisdom she imparted, because they were spoken in a very private moment between Sarah and myself and like six hundred other rabbis, white college kids and a few Asians with cameras who had no idea who "Sah-la Sirrverman" is (she has a very diverse fan base.) I'll just say that I related to her on a number of levels. Not only because of the Jewishness, but also because she said that she's only able to write or perform when she's happy, and that she's "good-for-nothing" when depression strikes. Which is something I've always found to be-
Fuck this. I have nothing else to say.