tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55195190320977846192010-03-05T18:33:50.472-05:00Jennifer MyszkowskiJennifer Myszkowski is a corporate drone by day, a popular radio personality by weekend and stand-up comic by evening, trying to do more comedy and less droning.Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.comBlogger173125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-1309389492167132962010-03-05T18:33:00.001-05:002010-03-05T18:33:44.275-05:00This blog has moved<br /> This blog is now located at http://news.jennifermyszkowski.com/.<br /> You will be automatically redirected in 30 seconds, or you may click <a href='http://news.jennifermyszkowski.com/'>here</a>.<br /><br /> For feed subscribers, please update your feed subscriptions to<br /> http://news.jennifermyszkowski.com/atom.xml.<br /> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-130938949216713296?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-86034390903899048842010-03-05T18:22:00.004-05:002010-03-05T18:32:01.575-05:00'Padlock' Podolske needs your thoughts, prayers-equivalentMy dear friend and comedy colleague <a href="http://apodolske.blogspot.com/">Ann Podolske</a> requires your good thoughts, healing energies, and whatever else you can muster. If you can spare a moment to think kindly thoughts of her, she'd sure appreciate it.<br /><br />I started calling Ann "Padlock" a year or so ago on account of Word spell check offering it as an alternative to her last name. Firefox's spell check just asked me if I wanted to change it to "Poolside." It doesn't quite have the same ring.<br /><br />Cancer took her beloved wife just this past September and it seems cosmically unjust that she should be fighting it now herself, hardly six months later. <br /><br />Padlock, we love you and are rooting for you!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-8603439090389904884?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-20850919520093441142010-01-30T17:31:00.004-05:002010-01-30T17:52:51.232-05:00Bang the gongs! Ring the bells!Our laundry room is officially done.<br /><br />With the help of a handyman, the folding-folding tables are now mounted on the wall, and this concludes the laundry room project that began in August. Yes, they're folding-folding tables. Because our new laundry room is also the pass-through to the attic and kind of narrow, I bought a couple tables that fold down that we will use for folding our clothes instead of letting them pile up on the guest room bed. And the handyman also built a little shelf in the guest room closet that is adjacent to the laundry room to hide the pipes that go through it to the laundry machines.<br /><br />Do you smell that smell? It's the smell of victory.<br /><br />Verily, verily, it took a long time. It is so hard to get anything done when everything you need to do has something that needs to be done before it. Home ownering is like that, it turns out. Holy.<br /><br />Next stop: kitchen. But while we're prepping for that, I need to ask the Universe to help me find the strength to persevere. Also, I need the Universe to know that I want some shelves for the living room.<br /><br />With the completion of this laundry room project, I'm starting to regain strength. Scott and I spent several hours today trying to organize the basement, and that helps a person feel like they're moving in the right direction. I just want to continue this forward movement. I want to feel excited about our house. Universe, will you help me?<br /><br />While I was napping the weekend before last, Scott rearranged the furniture in the living room in such a way that there is room for a couple proper bookshelves. If I can acquire the bookshelves that will fit, I will be able to unpack my books, which have been in the basement since we moved in. And I will feel more at home. Here's what we need:<br /><br />Two bookshelves made of solid wood. Maybe even three. We prefer mission style, if possible. We have dark red furniture, so I think darker wood would be nicest. I'd like them to be about five feet tall and two to two-and-a-half feet wide and deep enough to hold your average book - no more than a foot, I'd say.<br /><br />I have such a specific vision because I saw what I wanted on Craigslist about a month ago, but didn't realize we had the room for them until Scott worked his magic. He is extremely magical.<br /><br />Anyway, that's it.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-2085091952009344114?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-29036167173949934482010-01-25T19:42:00.004-05:002010-01-25T19:47:50.561-05:00Making reparations: An updateSo I was a total chicken shit and couldn't bring myself to apologize to the Dunkin' Donuts crew at first, but because I said publicly that I would apologize, before I left for the radio station on Saturday morning, I penned an apology note in a blank-inside card. When I got to the drive-through window, I gave it to the lady and asked her to pass it to the manager who I could see clearly behind her. She looked at me like I was a madman. I said to her, "I was in here a couple weeks ago and I acted like an asshole and I'm sorry. This is an apology note." And then she looked at me like I was crazier, and I drove away.<br /><br />As I drove away, I cried a little bit, but then pulled myself together just fine.<br /><br />I had a lot of mixed emotions about the whole thing. I was worried about embarrassing myself further by making a too-showy apology or accidentally crying in front of the crew. Passing a hand-written note with my name attached I think made a statement. I'm not quite sure how it went over, of course, because I didn't stick around to find out. But I feel better about the whole thing knowing I made it right.<br /><br />The end.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-2903616717394993448?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-72232594838852969012010-01-14T23:37:00.004-05:002010-01-15T08:50:23.773-05:00For the recordIn this whole Leno v. Conan bullshit, I'm rooting for Conan. I think he and his staff are a bunch of comic geniuses. I'm not really anti-Leno because I think he's getting screwed in all this too. I guess I'm mostly anti-NBC because they're the ones doing the screwing. It's sad, really.<br /><br />I read an interview with Conan about 10 years ago. In it, he talked about how he watched the Tonight Show and other shows like it and knew he wanted to be an entertainer. The one thing he noticed about entertainers was that they could all tap dance, so he asked his parents for tap dancing lessons. I wish I could remember where I read that. I love that guy.<br /><br />For a while I fancied that I would marry Conan on account of a giant crush I had on him. Then he married someone else. I read the news on the Internet and was really quite sad about it. I didn't think I was actually going to marry him or anything, but it was nice to think about sometimes. I didn't cry or anything. In any case, as soon as I read it, my phone rang. It was my mother. She asked me if I was sitting down because she had some bad news for me. Then she said, "Conan got married."<br /><br />**Updated on Jan. 15, 2010 to add**<br />We stayed up late last night to watch Leno and Conan. I'm hella tired today, I'll tell you what. But what I saw was Leno acting desperate. His jokes were not funny; they were angry and painful to watch. Conan, on the other hand, was a class act. He addressed the issue, but then said that he was just an entertainer, and while all this bullshit was going on, there were real issues in the world. Then he talked about Haiti and what people could do to help. And then he went on and had a great show. He was totally hilarious.<br /><br />I can't help thinking of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Judgment_of_Solomon">old King Solomon</a> at a time like this. Who does this Tonight Show baby belong to? I can't help thinking it's the mother who does NOT want to cut the baby in half is all I'm saying.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-7223259483885296901?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-8252636387943836692010-01-12T23:00:00.006-05:002010-01-12T23:24:56.361-05:00One American dollarLast night and tonight we watched a film called <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0477139/">Wristcutters: A Love Story</a>. We watched it in two nights because we couldn't finish watching it last night on account of being old people who like to go to bed sometimes. I'll cut right to the chase (ha ha): we didn't love it. I don't think we hated it either, but if it didn't come so highly recommended by colleagues, we would not have finished it, I don't think.<br /><br />I said something in an off-hand way to Scott about the guy in Wristcutters being the same guy from <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0477139/">Almost Famous</a>.<br /><br />At this juncture it's important to note that I am not a betting lady. I do not bet for money. I will very occasionally bet for friendly bets where we just shake on something and nobody wins anything. I am powerfully anti-gambling. It's leftover from Jesus and reinforced by my belief that a state-run lottery is the work of Beelzebub himself (he's got a devil set aside for me) and it causes me to refuse even the simplest and most pleasurable forms of betting, including scratch tickets. Although I must admit that on the rare occasion I'm at the Big Y, I will play their fake-o slot machine game. I never win a coin. Never. I think they know that I am disgusted by their jingoistic bullshit.<br /><br />Anyway, coming back.<br /><br />So Scott says, "That's not the same guy." I said, "It certainly is. Don't you recognize him?"<br /><br />I mean, that kid's mouth shape is uniquely his. How can a person not remember it after that goofy grin he has in Almost Famous?<br /><br />Scott said, "If it's him, I will give you a dollar." See? He knows better than to try to engage me in a bet. In fact, in all the times he's tried to engage me in a bet, I think he's only succeeded once.<br /><br />I advised him that <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0297578/">the Internet was available</a> to help him on his quest. He went upstairs, returned a short time later, and handed me a dime - this to try to convince me that I was wrong and he was right. But I knew that I was right. I have eyes, for christsakes! I said, "Where's my dollar?"<br /><br />"Oh, you still think you're right?"<br /><br />"I know I'm right!" Incidentally, the guy's name is Patrick Fugit. The Internet just told me he was also in <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0283139/">White Oleander</a> and - attention, please, mother - a few episodes of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0108968/">Touched by an Angel</a> (he was not an angel, sint frum Gud).<br /><br />I'm the proud owner of a dollar coin which once belonged to Count Scottula himself!<br /><br />Victory is mine.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-825263638794383669?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-63989456461050373202010-01-09T18:01:00.003-05:002010-01-09T18:30:23.143-05:00Public apologyThis morning, I went through the Dunkin' Donuts drive thru right down the street from our house. On Saturday mornings, I have to leave the house at the latest by 7:20 to make it to the station by 7:50-ish to be on the air by 8 a.m. It's a hard life being a popular radio personality. I cannot get it together to eat breakfast at that hour, so on Saturday mornings I choose to have my breakfast passed to me through a window. Don't judge me for this.<br /><br />Here's where you can judge me:<br /><br />This morning I acted like a total fucking asshole to the Dunkin' Donuts crew. I was running late (my own fault) and I ordered my bagel sandwich and decaffeinated coffee. When the lady asked for the money, it was 44 cents more than usual. "Did the prices go up?" I asked. She replied, "You ordered a large combo." Like I didn't know what I ordered. "Whatever," I said and handed her a a five-dollar bill. "It just seems like a lot to go up in one week." In my vast Dunkin' Donuts experience, they usually raise the price by like 15 cents at a time. It just seemed like a lot. She handed me back my change, my foodstuffs and I was on my way.<br /><br />I was at the light at Dwight and Northampton and opened my sandwich to discover that it was a ham, egg and cheese. I ordered an egg and cheese. No wonder!<br /><br />Even though it was 7:33 (I monitor the time closely on Saturday mornings), I U-turned in the middle of the road, parked my car and went in to resolve this sandwich debacle. I tried to tell the man at the counter that I didn't order ham, egg and cheese - I wouldn't even order that on account of being a vegetarian - and that I wanted a new sandwich. He left me and came back with the manager. "What's the problem?" she asked. It seemed ridiculous that I would have to explain it all over again, but I did and I added (and this is the part that I sore ashamed about), "I really don't have time to fuck around here. I'm going to be late for work!"<br /><br />It was at that point that the people started to look a little frightened of me. Certainly, except for my sailor mouth, I am gentle like a lamb, but they didn't know it. They handed me a bag with a new sandwich and the manager handed me a dollar. I said, "I don't want a dollar." She said, "It's the difference in price." I said, "The difference in price is less than 50 cents." She said, "Just take it." And I couldn't, so I just left it there.<br /><br />And then I left. And all I could think about is the olden days when I worked in the bakery and how bad it would feel when someone was completely unreasonable - and I realized that I was that unreasonable this morning.<br /><br />Quite a few years ago now, I was in a comedy show with some people I didn't know very well. I ended up going out with them and this one guy's family. They were from the south. The mom was telling a funny story about the brother-in-law's bad behavior in traffic. She said, "Man, he was really showing his ass." I didn't get it. I made her repeat it. I still didn't get it. I said, "How could he drive and moon at the same time?" Turned out it was an expression I wasn't familiar with. Showing your ass means showing your worst side.<br /><br />Scott has a friend who would say, "He wasn't representing himself very well."<br /><br />This morning, I did not represent myself well. I showed my ass in a big way at Dunkin' Donuts.<br /><br />I'd almost rather have shown them my actual ass than my behavior this morning. I'm writing the Dunkin' Donuts morning crew an apology note and hand delivering it tonight so they'll see it first thing in the morning.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-6398945646105037320?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-91963225283318474762010-01-02T21:10:00.004-05:002010-01-02T22:36:47.651-05:00To: Sworn enemies. Return address: UnknownScott (the Count of Counts - Hallelujah! Hallelujah!) gave me a copy of George Carlin's autobiography (or sortofbiography, as Carlin called it), <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/18-9781439172957-0">Last Words</a>.<br /><br />It is dynamite. I love it. I'm on page 178. I like it so much better than Steve Martin's stab at the same, <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/2-9781416553656-4">Born Standing Up</a>.<br /><br />Both talk a lot about their early lives and stand-up. <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/18-9781439172957-0">Last Words</a>, though, actually includes pieces of material written out, including how the pieces changed over time. I'm finding this way more enlightening as a comic. Both are good stories, though, and worth reading. <br /><br />One part of <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/18-9781439172957-0">Last Words</a> has kept me laughing since I read it. George Carlin starts the book with all that David Copperfield kind of crap (sorry, <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9780316769488-6">Holden Caulfield</a>). In the section about his maternal grandfather, he begins to talk about his mother, Mary Carlin:<br /><blockquote style="font-style: italic;">Mary was the first of his six children, all born in either Greenwich Village or Chelsea. She was frail as a kid and among other things was given a glass of Guinness stout each night to build her up. It worked. The physical strength she ultimately developed was matched by mental toughness. When she was ten she sent a box of horseshit to a girl on her block who had neglected to invite her to a birthday party. She was small, vivacious, made friends easily, played piano, was a great, dancer, laughed loudly ... and you didn't want her for an enemy.</blockquote>I read this aloud to Scott in bed. I said, "Can you even believe that? She was 10! Incredible!" and he replied, "I can't believe you've never thought of sending anyone a box of shit."<br /><br />I really hadn't. And once he suggested it, I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it either.<br /><br />We proceeded to talk about how a person, in this modern age, might send shit through the United States Postal Service without being detected. A ziplock bag would not be enough. Tyvek? Maybe. But under no circumstance should a person include his or her return address or apply his or her handwriting to the box. Certainly, the box would be full of his or her DNA, but the federal government has bigger fish to fry than to run a DNA test on a box full of feces. And anyway, even if they did, they'd have to have another sample of his or her DNA to make a match, and they wouldn't, so he or she'd be home free!<br /><br />My god! It almost seems too easy!<br /><br />We got ourselves laughing so hard about this that I had to get out of bed and cough vigorously while Scott shook quietly in the bed making his laughing-really-hard face.<br /><br />I guess there are a number of points here. The first is I wish I had the courage to shit into a box and mail it to someone. Incidentally, I can't think of a single person I want to mail my shit to. And what if I thought of someone, but then I changed my mind after it was mailed? It's just mortifying to think of - and at the same time hilariously funny.<br /><br />Another point is that when I met Scott, I couldn't possibly have foreseen that we'd both find shitting in a box and mailing it to another person so hilarious. We are so perfectly suited to one another that it probably makes people want to hurl a little bit. And I can't blame them. If it was four years ago and I saw a happy couple like Scott and me, I would barf a little bit myself - a jealous and angry barf, certainly, but barf nonetheless. (Would it help the barfing people to know that being happy with another person takes work and often involves the help of a qualified professional? Because it does.)<br /><br />Finally, if you have delivered - or if you plan to deliver - a Mary-Carlin-style box of feces to another person, I kind of want to know how it went/goes - just so long as you're not sending it to me. I promise I won't tell (unless a subpeona is involved).<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-9196322528331847476?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-92055910307998037602010-01-02T20:50:00.003-05:002010-01-02T21:01:34.413-05:00Happy New Year!Ah, 2010. Have you decided if you're calling it Two Thousand and Ten, Two Thousand Ten or Twenty Ten?<br /><br />I'm calling it Twenty Ten, for the record. Join me if you want to be cool.<br /><br />I'm not big on resolutions, but I'm making one. Here it is: I'm going to write on my blog at least once a week. Here's why: I miss writing here. It helps me sort out hilarious things that have happened and turn them into material, it helps me sort out terrible things that have happened and turn them funny, and it's a nice way to stay connected with people (including my identical-twin grandmother, who is not pleased by the dearth of posts here (sorry, Grandmother)).<br /><br />In any case, I'm going to try.<br /><br />Remember the olden days when I blogged multiple times a day? How did I have that kind of time? <br /><br />Oh, right. I didn't have a Count.<br /><br />I guess this is a good trade. Even so, I am striving for balance. Join me.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-9205591030799803760?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-80197103558829916772009-11-08T16:31:00.005-05:002009-11-09T07:20:00.864-05:00Yes, I have a jobI got a note from a friend who didn't realize I have a job. I announced what happened on Facebook, I think, and didn't update here. Many apologies.<br /><br />So August I got the can. I was bereft, truly, because I really liked my job and my work people. Shortly, though, I started to think that my job loss was happening for a reason, that there was something better out there for me, and I was hoping that the something better was comedy-related. <br /><br />I became disabused of the notion, however, in September when I was given my job back. I didn't exactly have a choice in taking it since not taking it would mean that I wouldn't get a severance or be able to collect. I was inconsolably upset about it for a couple reasons, the main one being the disappointment that the "something better" lined up for me was my same old job, which didn't seem "same" or "old" before I got the can, but my perception was changed. I was supposed to be so happy and relieved to get my job back and I wasn't, so I looked like a total fucking asshole at my job. For real. People would come up to me to congratulate me and tell me how happy they were that they got to keep me and I would burst into tears like an ingrate.<br /><br />Honestly, I was furious for having been dicked around (or at least I felt like I had been; in truth, there were people pulling for me in a big way behind the scenes, which is how I ended up with my job back), disillusioned by the whole process (the internal workings of a giant company are a real sausage situation; the less you know the better) and really, really, really sad that I wasn't moving on to bigger and better things.<br /><br />Distance and reality glasses allow me to know and appreciate the value of being employed in a down economy. I've been unemployed before and while it was great - splendid, really - at that time I did not have a mortgage or any other real responsibility outside of a very inexpensive rent. I am truly glad and feel blessed that I am not in any fear of losing my house and that I will be able to continue supporting the Count in the lifestyle to which he's grown accustomed (bon-bons and diamonds for everyone!). <br /><br />I'd be lying, though, if I said that everything is back to normal. It's not. Some of my relationships have changed. I don't trust people the way I want to trust them. I feel alternately bitter and jaded and then lucky and grateful. I'm trying to focus on the lucky and grateful part. It doesn't always work, but I try.<br /><br />One thing that the whole situation really brought to the forefront for me, though, is how important my radio life is to me. Especially since starting this job, I've thought about giving it up so many times. It brings me so much joy, yes, but it also means I only have one day truly off each week and I can almost never go away for a weekend. A person can understand why I'd consider giving it up. When I got the can though, one of the first things I thought of was, "Thank god I never gave up the radio!"<br /><br />Another thing is that I really do want to make a go of the comedy. I don't exactly know how, but I'm going to do what I do know how to do and trust that the Universe is lining things up for me just right.<br /><br />So I have a job. Christmas is saved!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-8019710355882991677?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-4748543763385801842009-11-06T10:38:00.002-05:002009-11-06T10:41:33.377-05:00Mental health dayI decided to take a mental health day from work. I'm frazzled. Instead, I've been catching up on Internet goings-on and stumbled upon this:<br /><br /><table style='font:11px arial; color:#333; background-color:#f5f5f5' cellpadding='0' cellspacing='0' width='360' height='353'><tbody><tr style='background-color:#e5e5e5' valign='middle'><td style='padding:2px 1px 0px 5px;'><a target='_blank' style='color:#333; text-decoration:none; font-weight:bold;' href='http://www.thedailyshow.com'>The Daily Show With Jon Stewart</a></td><td style='padding:2px 5px 0px 5px; text-align:right; font-weight:bold;'>Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c</td></tr><tr style='height:14px;' valign='middle'><td style='padding:2px 1px 0px 5px;' colspan='2'><a target='_blank' style='color:#333; text-decoration:none; font-weight:bold;' href='http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/thu-november-5-2009/the-11-3-project'>The 11/3 Project</a></td></tr><tr style='height:14px; background-color:#353535' valign='middle'><td colspan='2' style='padding:2px 5px 0px 5px; width:360px; overflow:hidden; text-align:right'><a target='_blank' style='color:#96deff; text-decoration:none; font-weight:bold;' href='http://www.thedailyshow.com/'>www.thedailyshow.com</a></td></tr><tr valign='middle'><td style='padding:0px;' colspan='2'><embed style='display:block' src='http://media.mtvnservices.com/mgid:cms:item:comedycentral.com:254892' width='360' height='301' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' wmode='window' allowFullscreen='true' flashvars='autoPlay=false' allowscriptaccess='always' allownetworking='all' bgcolor='#000000'></embed></td></tr><tr style='height:18px;' valign='middle'><td style='padding:0px;' colspan='2'><table style='margin:0px; text-align:center' cellpadding='0' cellspacing='0' width='100%' height='100%'><tr valign='middle'><td style='padding:3px; width:33%;'><a target='_blank' style='font:10px arial; color:#333; text-decoration:none;' href='http://www.thedailyshow.com/full-episodes'>Daily Show<br/> Full Episodes</a></td><td style='padding:3px; width:33%;'><a target='_blank' style='font:10px arial; color:#333; text-decoration:none;' href='http://www.indecisionforever.com'>Political Humor</a></td><td style='padding:3px; width:33%;'><a target='_blank' style='font:10px arial; color:#333; text-decoration:none;' href='http://www.thedailyshow.com/videos/tag/health'>Health Care Crisis</a></td></tr></table></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />It made me laugh and laugh. Just what I needed!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-474854376338580184?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-32873391429779185202009-11-02T19:00:00.003-05:002009-11-02T19:26:44.572-05:00Halloween: A washoutIn my ever-continuing quest to be the coolest neighbor ever, I purchased full-sized candy bars again this year for Halloween. On account of last year being glorious Halloween weather, we blew through our 120-bar stash. This year, I was determined not to run out, so I bought:<br /><ul><li>one box of full-sized Snickers</li><li>one box of full-sized Hershey's Milk</li><li>one box of full-sized M&M with Peanut pouches</li><li>two boxes of full-sized Skittles/Starburst combo</li></ul>And then it rained. Oh, but it rained. And we maybe had 40 trick-or-treaters. Towards the end, I was giving every person who came to the door one of each. I said, "You have to take these. You have to save us from ourselves."<br /><br />And still there are leftovers. Mostly M&Ms, Snickers and Hersheys. I don't know what it is about kids and Skittles-Skittles-bite-sized-candy-taste-a-rainbow-of-fruit-flavors, but it's all they want. It was the older kids who took chocolate.<br /><br />A man came dressed as Sherlock Holmes with a young daughter. He was collecting candy for his son who was sick at home. I said, "Swine flu?" He said, "Nope, just a head cold." Then he turned to look at our glorious display of candy and he said, "You guys always have the best candy - full-sized bars and everything!"<br /><br />And then I began to weep quietly, totally by accident, because I was so happy that the reputation I've been fostering is catching on. Scott mercilessly made fun of me for crying. That's okay. I still love him.<br /><br />(Aside: Last night we watched a terrible film, Away We Go. Save yourself the trouble of seeing this. You think it's going to rock with Maya Rudolph and the guy from the Office since they're awesome. The part where it was written by Dave Eggers and directed by Sam Mendes means it should be out of the ballpark, right? Wrong, my friends! In any case, Maya Rudolph and the guy from the Office were talking about how they are more in love with each other than the other people are, and I was shocked to learn that people besides me believe this about themselves. I always exclaim to Scott, "We love each other so much! We are, like, so much more in love with each other than the other people who are in love with each other!" And it turns out I've been living a lie. Well, not living a lie, exactly, but really telling myself a story, that's for sure.)<br /><br />The young people from down the street who have been pulling up our plantings? They came buy. I addressed about half of them by name, which seemed to scare the pants off of them. "How do you know my name?!" I said, "Uh, you told it to me and I remembered it?" I didn't remind him that it was when we called the authorities on them, because I was giving them candy and I'm trying to foster friendship.<br /><br />I think it's working. I don't want to get too over-excited about it, but we didn't get vandalized at all this Halloween. And everyone was so nice! I love being a part of a neighborhood and community. It makes my heart happy.<br /><br />In other news, our upstairs washer and dryer are installed and working. More on house projects on a different day.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-3287339142977918520?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-42684596734599655032009-09-04T17:08:00.004-04:002009-09-04T17:48:43.748-04:00E.coli, E.coli everywhere...Okay, so we're in the middle of a giant (for us) house project. We're moving the washer and dryer out of the kitchen and into the little room above our stairs on the second floor. Second-floor laundry is everyone's secret fantasy and it will soon be our reality. Oh, yes!<br /><br />Our house has been a total sty for a few weeks because a plumber pal is doing this job as a side job (thus the ongoing nature) and the plumbing is coming up through the only two closets of consequence in the whole house and so the contents of the closets have been flung hither and yon. This has been trying for my spirit. I'm nothing even close to a neat freak, but I do have a problem with ongoing chaos. I was okay for a while, but now it's getting to me, for real.<br /><br />Now, for some background:<br /><br />When we first bought this house, we ripped out all the carpeting and the linoleum under the carpeting. As you may recall, there was carpet, pad and linoleum even in the bathroom. In several rooms, there were two layers of carpet and then two more layers of linoleum. As I've said before, I fucking hate everyone who ever owned our home, both as a group and as individuals. You know that I'm a lover and not a fighter, and yet I would be happy to punch every one of those motherfuckers in the face, dead or alive. That is the level of my fury.<br /><br />(Aside: According to Froofy von Doofy, at a certain point, anything that's wrong with your house is your own fault. I am not sure I'm at that point yet. We're on the second major house project our budget allows, and we just keep uncovering former owners' bullshit.)<br /><br />One thing we discovered upon pulling up the carpet, pad and linoleum in the bathroom is that there were water stains on the wood floor. We could see no evidence of current water leaks, and so we assumed that it was from times past and had the floor sanded and refinished. Great! There's still some staining, but it's not as obscene.<br /><br />Now, this past Sunday, our plumber pal busted into the drain pipe in the basement to connect everything up proper from our laundry room. I'm telling you, this was a huge job. He estimated it would take 8-10 hours total and it's taken 17 so far. Fucking nuts. Yes, he's very nearly done. In fact, we're so close we could taste it. Still.<br /><br />So he was here last night putting some finishing touches on the basement action when he feels drips of water on his arm. He wonders where it's coming from and sees that it's coming from the shaft up through the middle of the house that harbors all major water and sewer piping. Awesome.<br /><br />As he's shining a light up into the shaft, I, not knowing what was going on, went to the bathroom and flushed the toilet. And there was a splash in the basement.<br /><br />Oh, yes!<br /><br />Naturally, he shouted for us. We all ended up looking into the shaft and it looks like there's been an extremely slow leak in our toilet pipe area for basically ever. There's all kinds of madness up there. He suspects that when he was busting into the pipe on Sunday that he loosened things up and it turned into more of a trickle than a slow leak. He suspected our toilet seal might be to blame. As I continued to stare up into the shaft, a big drip of water and god knows what rained upon me or, to be more precise, upon my face. That's when I started to gag.<br /><br />We immediately stopped using the toilet. While I was out on my walk for serenity, I used the toilet at Friendly's. <br /><br />At this point, it was nearly dark time, so we had no choice but to send Scott to the Home Despot for a new wax ring. There was a bit of drama in that when they pulled the toilet off the floor, there was all kinds of bogusness. Our plumber pal said, "Listen, there's a serious chance that we might not be able to get this toilet back tonight." There was a serious rust and grossness situation. Holy hell.<br /><br />We made an action plan: if we couldn't resolve this, we were going to camp out at Margaret and Jeremy's.<br /><br />By the power of Grayskull (and a whole lot of near-hyperventilation from nerves), our plumber pal was able to rig it back up so that the leaking ended and we were able to sleep in our own bed. But this rigging might not hold, friends. This rigging includes pieces of wood wedged into the space between the toilet and the floor. It looks like a crack house in our bathroom!<br /><br />We were planning to replace the toilet as part of the ongoing house project, and so it seems we will be doing this sooner rather than later. While our toilet isn't the source of the problem this minute (it's actually the flange and the pipe directly underneath the toilet), if we're going to fix all that up proper, it's a fine time to get a new toilet that doesn't empty the resevoir with every flush (we've become an if-it's-yellow-let-it-mellow family -- plus we keep a couple bricks in the tank to reduce the water usage, but still!).<br /><br />I started doing some online toilet research and stumbled upon a story in Mother Earth News that linked to a <a href="http://www.motherearthnews.com/uploadedFiles/articles/issues/2006-08-01/Besttoilets.pdf">PDF of best-toilet research</a>. It's stunning. Anyone in the market for a toilet that wants to know how to get the most efficient bang for the buck will find this 100% useful. Anyone else interested in how independent toilet rating companies rate toilets will be fascinated. I highly recommend that you at least look at the photos of the toilet-testing laboratory and how they make the fake poop that they test flush. Awesome.<br /><br />All this to say that the strange moisture problem in the basement is now explained. Also, that our bathroom has moved up the priority scale. I will not let it derail the kitchen project. I will not.<br /><br />The new washer and dryer are being delivered on Wednesday. Once the plumbing inspector gives us the all-clear, we'll be in good shape. Once we pick out our new toilet and have it installed, we'll be golden. I'm considering <a href="http://www.buyplumbingdirect.com/gec002750.html">this one</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-4268459673459965503?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-80314244390552596882009-08-15T16:31:00.008-04:002009-08-15T17:04:51.722-04:00SmartsI know I'm all inspiration and everything with my hope for the future, but you should know I'm having a very hard time right now - crying by accident in public, on conference calls, etc. In short, I'm becoming the person you've known and loved for some time, but that corporate American has only heard tell of. <br /><br />The first couple days post-canning were basically awesome. Yeah, I was getting the can, but everyone loved me! Yeah, I was sad, but I was surrounded by people speaking superlatively of me! I felt really hopeful and excited! A few days in though, everyone had said all they could say and I was forced to reckon with the painful reality.<br /><br />Oh, the painful reality. It smarts so!<br /><br />I think all the kind words from my colleagues sort of covered up the part where I'm wounded right now. My pride is hurt. I was working really hard and facts are facts: What's happened feels really bad.<br /><br />Also, I get a lot of self-esteem from my work. Even though, in my heart of hearts, I know my colleagues value my work, there's a pretty big part of me that doesn't feel very valued. Man, this is fucking hard!<br /><br />Whenever there's a decision to be made, my mother always says, "Go with your peace." I.e., Do whatever thing feels peaceful, not fearful or anxious. When I think of all my options, there's only one that I have any peace about. I think the Universe is pointing the way.<br /><br />More to come when I know for sure.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-8031424439055259688?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-87273085551959271322009-08-13T22:04:00.003-04:002009-08-13T22:24:02.679-04:00Canning seasonI got canned from my day job on Monday. I got a 60-day notice, which is hella generous, so I'm still working. I'm hoping that my current status of networking like a maniac will land me a job before my notice is up. I'm a little frazzled, but confident that everything will be fine for a number of reasons, which I might list, but they would make me sound like I was full of myself, which I am a little bit, but I'd prefer not to appear that way necessarily. At least not this minute.<br /><br />I'm so vain.<br /><br />Seriously, I've never had more people coming up to me to tell me what a pleasure it is to work with me. Several of them seemed to be nearly rending garments and ready to take to the sack cloth and ashes!<br /><br />If it takes getting canned to be surrounded by so much love, I'll get canned every day!<br /><br />Okay, not really. I'd prefer to feel the love without being shown the door. Still, you understand.<br /><br />If you know anyone looking for a fine writer who is hardworking but a whole hell of a lot of fun to work with, give them my name. And then tell me about it so I can follow up with them and set myself up a lunch or beverage or something. Because that's what I do now.<br /><br />There are few things that make me feel more like an animal than networking on purpose. I'm a natural networker. I'm constantly hooking people up with other people. It's what I do. But when I <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> to do it, it can feel a little more like work and a little less like fun. But I'm choosing to have fun with this. I'm meeting people I wouldn't have otherwise met. A lady cannot have too many friends.<br /><br />I am taking some quiet time on Saturday to really think about what I want to do next, to visualize it happening, to plan my next steps, etc. I may even convene a meeting of trusted friends to weigh in. A crossroads has been presented to me. I am taking it as the gift that it is and I am going to make the most of it.<br /><br />I will appreciate your positive thoughts during these times. Thank you.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-8727308555195927132?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-15580659326274355802009-08-01T19:14:00.000-04:002009-08-01T19:14:43.985-04:00My identical-twin grandmother - plus a few other thingsGrandmother Myszkowski, my identical-twin grandmother, will shortly be having a birthday. I'm making her a proper cake next week. I can't wait! I asked her what kind of cake she likes. She said, "Any kind of cake is fine." And then said, "Surprise me!" And then added, all casual-like. "Carrot cake is nice."<br /><br />She's visiting the north country for the summer, but no one told me she's been up for a month, so I only just saw her last weekend for the first time. Oh, I've missed too much! Last year I saw her a total of once due to moving mayhem and this year I need to catch up. I get such a kick out of that lady. She's a sassy broad who is happy to tell you just what she thinks. Calling her candid would be a bit of an understatement. It's pretty hilarious.<br /><br />If we're Facebook friends, you've seen her. She's in my current profile photo. That's how fucking cool she is.<br /><br />Speaking of my grandmother and Facebook, I have a few updates.<br /><br />Grandmother complained that I'm not updating my blog as much as I used to. (See? I told you she is cool.) She's right. There are a number of things going on here.<ol><li>One of them is that when something funny or exciting happens, I make it a status update on Facebook. Then I forget about it and I don't write a blog about it. It's Facebook's fault. For example, the Prairie Home Companion live at Tanglewood? That would make a great post! Too bad I wrote all about it already on Facebook. (Summary: I shook Garrison Keillor's hand.) See what I mean?<br /></li><li>Scott has rearranged his work schedule to be off on Saturdays, so we could be together more on the weekends when I'm not working. This has been going on for a couple weeks now. Generally, I spend the most amount of personal time online on Saturdays, and if I had something to say would say it then. So there's that.</li></ol>The other thing is that a fellow friended me on Facebook because he subscribes to my blog! But I didn't accept his friendship because I didn't know him. Then he friended me again, so I gave him the third degree, and then, since it turned out he came in peace, I accepted. I guess my point here is that if you should friend me on Facebook, mention this blog so that I don't treat you like a stranger. Also, I wish I could find out who was subscribed to this blog. Is that something I can find out? Who knows about this stuff?<br /><br />We will shortly begin a giant house project, which will likely suck my will to live, but will ultimately improve my quality of life so much that I won't even be recognizable. If you happen to notice radio silence around here, drop me a line and remind me to blog about it. It's going to be madness!<br /><br />Today we bought a new mattress. It's being delivered on Monday. We were just walking on Main Street in Greenfield this afternoon and suddenly found ourselves in Mattress Outlet. We've gone mattress shopping a few times without really falling in love with a mattress and we had no plans to buy a mattress today. Then we placed our bodies upon the most comfortable bed I've ever, ever been on and we had to have it. Plus, since it's from Vera Wang, you know it's stylish. I cannot wait for it to arrive. I'm going to have to rearrange my schedule a bit on Monday to be here when the nice men arrive, and that's fine by me. I can't think of a better reason to rearrange a work schedule, honestly.<br /><br />The final update is that today I was recognized at my favorite farm stand, Golonka Farm Stand, in Whately. They have such glorious produce and the sweetest corn you will ever taste. Oh, it's so good! We're having some for dinner tonight. In any case, while I was checking out, one of the ladies said to me, "Are you Jennifer?" Indeed, I was Jennifer, and so I told her so. She told me she got a kick out of my radio program. I said, "I get a kick out of doing it, so it all works out." Then I told them that theirs was my favorite farm stand, because it's true, and the lady who never smiles smiled. How about that?<br /><br />The world, it's our oyster, isn't it?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-1558065932627435580?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-75950707368318178032009-08-01T18:08:00.004-04:002009-08-01T18:38:46.182-04:00MisrepresentationI was just rereading <a href="http://www.jennifermyszkowski.com/2009/06/not-amy-ray-other-one.html">this post</a> about when the Indigo Girls came to Northampton because someone added a new comment yesterday.<br /><br />I'm a little bit offended that the person who commented (scroll down to the comments) felt like she had to tell me that not all lesbians wear khaki, like I might be some kind of lesbian-hating, Indigo-girls-concert-attending nutjob. Which is fine, I guess, but even after I wrote her that mostly friendly reply to her comment, it's sticking in my craw.<br /><br />Oh, I have a <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/craw">craw</a> all right. And it feels weird to me that I feel like I need to defend myself. Like I have to prove that I'm not a total bigot-asshole or something. WTF is wrong with me?<br /><br />Me and some of my ladies were talking about how we don't think anyone is all the way gay or all the way straight, blahblahblah, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kinsey_scale">Kinsey Scale</a> blahblahblah. I said something along the lines of how when push comes to shove, I really am only interested in men, but I've had crushes on a few ladies. J. Bo said something along the lines of, "The real test is if you've ever acted a fool over a lady." We all took a moment for introspection and I had to admit, I've acted a fool a fool over one lady, and I acted borderline a fool over another.<br /><br />I was performing at a women's comedy festival some time back and I was made an honorary lesbian the other ladies in the show. Does that count?<br /><br />(<span style="font-style: italic;">Aside: </span>I was made an honorary Jew once too, but that was separate.)<br /><br />Also, I host and produce all-ladies comedy shows. I mean, come on!<br /><br />And not to put too fine a point on it: I own a pair of khaki pants. Granted, the zipper busted out of them about four years ago. But I've kept them! Indeed, I intend to repair them (or pay a lady to do so).<br /><br />Meanwhile, in rereading that post, I realized I made an error. I have actually seen the Indigo Girls three times. Once at the Mullins Center in Amherst like 10 years ago with a Jesus-lovin' lady I grew up with who didn't believe me when I told her the Indigo Girls were lesbians ("They can't be," she said. "They're Christian!"), once at the Newport Folk Festival (I can't remember exactly when, but I was with <a href="http://nextvoiceyouhear.blogspot.com/">Sunni Zuniga</a> at the time, if that's any indication), and once at the Pines Theater at Look Park with I-have-no-idea-who (sorry if it was you). The Pines was the last one, the one where I gave up on ever hearing them play Galileo live. I really like them, just not enough to go to a crowded show. I don't have that in me anymore.<br /><br />I hope this gives me the street cred I need to not have to feel like I have to defend myself to that lady anymore. I mean, she's a stranger and you are my friends! Why am I even doing this?<br /><br />Thank you. That is all.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-7595070736831817803?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-66616366331829237552009-08-01T17:04:00.005-04:002009-08-01T17:45:59.570-04:00The sincerest form of flattery.My elderly aunt, No-legs' sister, is really sick right now, but nowhere near as sick as No-legs was. Still, she's in a bad way, so my mother and sister picked me up after work on Thursday and we took a car trip to see her in a hospital in Connecticut.<br /><br />I never see my mother or my sister without other people around anymore. It kind of sucks because I really like them one on one. It's when it's everyone all together that I start moving myself slowly (and then more quickly) towards the door. I'm a delicate flower. Also, I think my whole family, when together, brings out the worst in each other.<br /><br />But just the three of us together was really nice. And even though our mission was pretty depressing (visiting a sick old lady), we ended up having a glorious time. Oh, the laughter! Oh, the tears from laughter!<br /><br />One of the things that drives me the craziest about my mother is that it seems like she thinks everyone around her is a moron ; she's constantly explaining things to people - or maybe it's just to her kids - that they know already. I don't know how to explain this well, but it's maddening and it's been going on since I was very young. I've had actual fights with her that have included me shouting, "Why do you assume I'm a moron!? I am NOT a moron!"<br /><br />And it's funny how my mother explaining something to me like that will turn me almost instantly into a raging lunatic. Everything will be fine and then I'll be ready to resort to fisticuffs, like, thatfast.<br /><br />We were in my mother's new car. Tesia was driving, I was the passenger due to my tendency towards carsickness and my mother was riding in the back seat. Tesia asked me if I knew that bastard is a really bad swearword. "It's as bad as asshole," she said. I said, "No way. Maybe it's the same as ass, but it's nowhere near as bad as asshole." She said, "I had no idea it was a bad word until, like, five years ago." I said, "I still don't think it's that bad."<br /><br />My mother chimed in, "It just means a child born to an unmarried mother."<br /><br />My sister and I instantly were all, "Yeah. We know what it really means, Ma. Gimme a break!" and etc.<br /><br />In our family hierarchy, I'm the sister who makes fun of people, so when my sister turned to me and said, all casual-like, "You know, Jennifer, your asshole is just a hole. It's in your ass." I came unglued. We were all laughing and laughing. Tesia and I were crying. My mother was laughing and also seemed miffed at the same time. Tesia was laugh-shouting, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" And I said, in a mocking way, "Yes, I'm so sorry that I'm laughing at my mother that I can't stop laughing at my mother!" Oh and that just kept it going.<br /><br />When my mother doesn't like something going on, she'll start talking in a higher-than-her-own-voice sort of voice, and she always starts with, "Well..."<br /><br />For example, "Well...I didn't know you felt that way and I guess I'll just ..." whatever.<br /><br />I do a dramatic interpretation of it that I think is dead on. It makes Tesia laugh really hard. Scott says it sounds like Cartman.<br /><br />I came home and relayed the whole story to Scott. We laughed and laughed.<br /><br />For this next part of the story, you should know a few things. One is that I talk in my sleep. A lot. I complain about Scott snoring and everything, but I snore too. My snoring doesn't keep him awake (or me, incidentally), though there have been times when I've woken him up and asked him to roll over because his snoring has woken me up and he has and I've fallen back to sleep and started snoring like a chainsaw before he's fallen back to sleep. Why does this guy live with me? In any case, now I sleep with earplugs. Also, I drool like a faucet. But the talking is the thing that wakes Scott up.<br /><br />Last night, he woke up because I was talking in my sleep, but I wasn't talking in my real voice. I was talking in the voice I use to imitate my mother. On and on I went, imitating my mother in my sleep. So Scott had to wake me up to get me to stop.<br /><br />(<span style="font-style: italic;">Aside:</span> Earlier in our relationship Scott tried to engage my sleeping self in conversation, but I never went for it. I woke up and became embarrassed by my sleep-talking, not realizing he was trying to egg me on.)<br /><br />I called my mother to tell her about it. She said, "Oh, well, you must have been dreaming about me." I said, "Not <span style="font-style: italic;">about</span> you, about <span style="font-style: italic;">imitating</span> you!"<br /><br />Well, you know what they say about imitation.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-6661636633182923755?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-73797254539508211742009-07-04T19:06:00.009-04:002009-07-04T19:39:50.693-04:00Taste the old El PasoA while back, I followed a link Ann and Linda posted to a site that rated the <a href="http://www.cosmeticsdatabase.com/">toxicity of personal-care products</a>. You might consider following that link; it's pretty eye opening.<br /><br />I, being a delicate flower (and on account of my many allergies), am bothered by most fragrances. As such, years ago I gave up on most fragranced products. I use mostly all-natural personal care products, some with botanical oils that give it a smell, perhaps, but none with synthetic fragrances, which, incidentally are not regulated by the FDA and regularly contain known carcinogens. Just saying.<br /><br />I say mostly because I still used <a href="http://www.cosmeticsdatabase.com/product.php?prod_id=98377">Arrid XX Dry roll-on</a>, and I've never found a fragrance-free version of it. I started using it about 15 years ago when I found that I sweat through every other deodorant I used in short order. A couple hours in and I would smell start smelling like Campbell's chicken noodle soup from a can; by the end of the day it would be full-on taco seasoning packet. It was rough.<br /><br />Thing is, I'm skeered of the toxicity of the deodorant/anti-perspirants and I'm trying not to die. So I found a non-toxic, fragrance-free <a href="http://www.cosmeticsdatabase.com/product.php?prod_id=24066">Kiss My Face</a> product and have been using that for a few months. It's been great! It's not an anti-perspirant, but it is a deodorant. I generally shower every other day and I found that by the second day, a shower was definitely in order armpit-wise, but it was nothing anyone who wasn't me looking for a bad smell would notice.<br /><br />And then, last week I was working out in the garden for a while and really working up a sweat and caught a big whiff of something. Whoa! And now since it's been warmer out, I've been cooking up a few Ortega meals under my arms. Yikes!<br /><br />I've decided I'm going to strike a toxicity balance, I think, by going out and buying another Arrid for use during summertime months only, and recommencing use of the Kiss My Face product in the fall.<br /><br />I believe the lawyerly types call this mitigating risk. I think this is okay.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-7379725453950821174?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-76325502339696833052009-06-24T17:36:00.006-04:002009-06-24T18:03:12.467-04:00Aging gracefully a la chin hairI'm turning 34 on Saturday. At the precise moment of my birth, 7:43 p.m., I'll be ushering in my 35th year by enjoying a <a href="http://prairiehome.publicradio.org/">Prairie Home Companion</a> live from the Koussivetsky Music Shed at Tanglewood in Lenox. PHC is at Tanglewood every year on my birthday weekend, but I'm usually too busy throwing myself a party to go. This year, the party is going to be later in the summer (invitations forthcoming) and I, finding that I had nothing planned for my birthday evening, went and planned something for myself. If you listen to the broadcast, imagine me crying in the audience, because I will surely be crying. Uh oh, I'm getting choked up right now just thinking of it.<br /><br />You may become jealous when you learn that Martin Sheen and Steve Martin are both on the show Saturday. I'm just saying.<br /><br />About a year ago or so ago, I noticed that I had a small, black chin hair. I thought it was an errant eyebrow hair, but it didn't brush away. I plucked it instantly. It grew back a few months later. I plucked it again and began a vigilant search for it. Basically, I rub the area of my chin with my thumb in a sweeping motion a couple times a day looking for it. I've been finding it a little more regularly than I was initially, and I'm not all that pleased about it.<br /><br />About a month ago, I plucked it and it was back in a week. I freaked out a little bit.<br /><br />One thing about me that I may never have made clear here is that sometimes when I think about shaving my face, I get the anxiety. My great-grandmother shaved with an electric razor every day, and the thought of such a fate fills me with the dread and the full-on anxiety so much so that I have to force myself not to think of it.<br /><br />The thing is, I realized that it wasn't the same hair. Now I have two chin hairs! Sweet god! The humanity!<br /><br />On Sunday, I was rubbing my chin, felt a chin hair, moved posthaste to the bathroom mirror, brandished the tweezers and basically stared at my chin. I couldn't see anything. I moved to another mirror and different light. I still couldn't see anything, but damn it if I couldn't feel a wiry little hair. Finally, I trained the tweezers upon it and pulled.<br /><br />Friends, what I pulled out of my chin was a white chin hair. Oh. My. Fucking. God. It was white. And just a tiny smidgen of the end was black. So my former black chin hair is now white.<br /><br />This is great, because now it's way harder to see and there's little risk of anyone observing my chin hair with their own eyes. But I'm not sure white chin hair is what I'm ready for at this juncture.<br /><br />Luckily, I don't have a choice. It's just an extra-special birthday present from my waning hormones to my face.<br /><br />Awesome!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-7632550233969683305?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-67962291542050594552009-06-17T21:11:00.003-04:002009-06-17T21:28:16.831-04:00Jennifer "Jennifer Myszkowski" MyszkowskiDamien brought <a href="http://www.politico.com/blogs/anneschroeder/0609/No_namecalling.html?showall">this story</a> to my attention, which I'm sure will entertain you.<br /><br />As a person with a name that has many popular nicknames, I can relate to this lady's frustration. While she takes it a bit too far, I understand her pain.<br /><br />I have given up trying to insist that people call me Jennifer. What I started doing is referring to myself only as Jennifer Myszkowski. If people try to shorten Jennifer Myszkowski, they will end up with Jennifer. Or JMysz. Both of these are fine things to call me. I have many colleagues who call me JM as well. I like all of these. I just hate Jen - and especially Jenn - as <a href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5519519032097784619&postID=7719906076562158922">Damien was so kind to point out</a>.<br /><br />Damien and I met at work a long time ago. I can't remember if the fellow this coming story is about was there when Damien was there, but perhaps our other colleagues may recognize this story (if, indeed, they read this blog).<br /><br />There was a fellow whose name was Michael. Naturally, people called him Mike. He would reply, "ULL!" <pause> Then he'd look up all casual-like, "What?"<br /><br />It was so annoying that I vowed I'd never, ever reply to Jen with, "IFFER!" I didn't want to be that guy. I just make it my business to make sure everyone around me knows what I prefer to be called. Some even take it upon themselves to politely tell people, "Jennifer prefers to be called Jennifer."<br /><br />Now if anyone has any ideas about how I can get a lady at work to stop calling me Julie, I'm all ears. One day she came up to me and started telling me how great I looked, what amazing weight loss, etc. I assured her I was not thinner - in fact I was fatter - but thanked her just the same. She said, "But Julie, you look great!"<br /><br />How do you tell a lady who is layering on the flattery that she just called you the wrong name? I didn't know how. I went directly to my team and told them what happened and asked them what I should have done and they all told me I did the right thing and it would resolve over time. Now we're about six months into the Julie-athon. I thought that after I won the award in my department and cried in front of everyone that it would be done - I mean, my bosslady gave a speech about how great I am and kept calling me Jennifer right in front of her! No dice. <br /><br />On the bright side, at least she's not calling me Jenn.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-6796229154205059455?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-20788066230266658702009-06-17T19:29:00.004-04:002009-06-17T19:55:50.561-04:00Not Amy Ray. The other one.This afternoon, I was walking down Main Street in Northampton. There were two girls behind me. I'd say they were about 20. One said, "I can't wait until I'm 21, because by then, I'm going to be so hot. And I'm going go to the Dirty Truth every weekend until he sees me."<br /><br />"I was trying to think about where I could go in town so I could guarantee that he saw me," she continued, "And, like, I couldn't think of where I could go, then I realized, duh, bars."<br /><br />And the other girl said, "He'll really be sorry when he sees how hot you are."<br /><br />By this time, we were at the corner of Main and Pleasant. I was crossing over to King, so I was standing at the curb. I sort of stood sideways so I could get a good look at them. The one who will be so hot when she is 21 was kind of skinny and pale and the other one was sort of fat and pimply. They kept talking about how he was going to be SO surprised to see her and and when he saw her, he would just know and blahblahblah she would show him. Then, a silence fell. Not-21 absentmindedly said, "Blahblahblah the Indigo Girls tonight blahblahblah." She was just reading the Calvin marqee. Fact: the Indigo Girls are at the Calvin tonight.<br /><br />The other one said, "I saw them on the Today show a few days ago and they were so good."<br /><br />The not-21-year-old said, "Yeah, I really like them. I think they're, like, as good in person as they are on a CD." And then she went on like a not-21-year-old might go on not paying attention to her surroundings at all.<br /><br />So here they were prattling on like morons, and they have no idea that Emily Saliers is standing right next to them. She was looking at somebody's dog and talking to a woman who I assume was her lady. She had on dark glasses and whatever, but I'm not even that big a fan and I recognized her from her scraggly hair.<br /><br />In any event, I ended up going over to the courthouse to sit on a bench because I had time to kill. A while later, I watched her walk by with her lady and go behind the Calvin to the tour bus. I'm so glad she had an opportunity to take in the sights and sounds of Northampton. Particularly those two morons.<br /><br />The thing is, I couldn't remember her name. It was driving me nuts. Until just now when I googled, "Not Amy Ray" and her name came up third.<br /><br />Incidentally, I've seen the Indigo Girls twice and they didn't do Gallileo either time, so I gave up.<br /><br />Also, their fans are a walking stereotype. It's almost painful. The courthouse parking lot was swarming with them. One Suburu had a NH vanity plate: PWROF2. It was no surprise to see the khaki-pantsed ladies getting out of that car.<br /><br />I say that with love.<br /><br />But I'll tell you what, I can't wait until I'm 34. God, I'm going to be so hot! And I'm going to roll over in bed and accidentally elbow Scott in the head and he's going to wake up and look at me and just know.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-2078806623026665870?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-77199060765621589222009-06-04T22:28:00.003-04:002009-06-04T22:56:47.963-04:00'Heh, what's goin' on here?'I had a crazy dream over the weekend. I was walking in my backyard, but it was really the back yard of our house in Connecticut that I lived in until I was 12 (but it was connected to my current house in Holyoke in the fashion that dreams sometimes connect things). I noticed in the next-door neighbor's driveway an R.V. that was shaped like a regular R.V., but had a metal exterior like an Air Stream. <br /><br />Stamped in the metal was, "Laura Bush," in a font that looked something like the old Ford stamp for the tailgate of trucks. I thought, "Oh my god. Is Laura Bush my new neighbor?"<br /><br />I was really excited, but confused, because I didn't know my neighbors had put their house up for sale. I was also secretly kind of relieved because they had been a bit of a problem. I went to knock on the door to welcome Laura Bush to the neighborhood. She answered and was a total delight.<br /><br />I started introducing her around the neighborhood. She was just so charming. We bumped into <a href="http://www.votelisi.com/">Rebecca Lisi</a> and it turned out they already knew each other. In the dream, Rebecca lived on our street, and we all went over to her house to work on our campaigns (I was running for charter commission in the dream), making posters, etc. Laura was there helping and just being so friendly.<br /><br />Then, suddenly, George walked into Rebecca's apartment. He said, "Heh, what's goin' on here?" and then I woke up.<br /><br />The end.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-7719906076562158922?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-48290305541257989242009-05-23T18:13:00.006-04:002009-05-24T01:07:33.933-04:00Can it be three whole weeks since my last post?That's it. I'm fired!<br /><br />Okay, not really.<br /><br />So much has been going on, most of which is not blog fodder, so I must abstain. But here are a few things that are worth sharing.<br /><br />First, I did several hours of yard work today and if I didn't know I did it, I wouldn't notice I did it. There are many parts of home ownership that suck. This is one of them.<br /><br />While I was working on the yard, I applied some sunscreen so I could try to avoid premature death. I bought some sunscreen at the Greenfields Market that is all-natural, so it's not as bad for the environment or anything (because some of them are pretty bad). It was made with zinc oxide, so it made me sort of white and pasty (or should I say, "whiter and pastier"?) than normal. When I was finally done being outside, I went into the shower to return to my normal human state, and I could not wash that stuff off. It took a ton of soap and water and actual, factual scrubbing and carrying on, and the water was still beading up on my skin like I had been freshly waxed. It was like tar.<br /><br />(Aside: Remember <a href="http://www.berenstainbears.com/actual.html">Actual Factual Bear</a>?)<br /><br />Part of what I did was clean up some leaves that were leftover from fall. I found a whole bunch of them in my brassierre when I took a shower. Awesome!<br /><br />This week was the best week I've ever had at work, ever. I got nominated by my peers for an important and prestigious award - and then I won it. And all of this happened without anyone spilling the beans to me, so that when they announced it in front of everyone in my division (100 or so people), I was so surprsed that I instantly started weeping and walking around in a daze like Miss America.<br /><br />Now, I know what some of you are thinking: Jennifer always cries. And it's partially true, but I really try to keep the out-loud-and-in-public weeping to the minimalest minimum at work. They don't smile kindly on ladies in career separates getting their weep on in earnest 'round about my corporatey-corporate workplace. But I did it. And it was on a teleconference too! I was pretty embarrassed. But afterwards, everyone was coming up and hugging me and congratulating me and it basically didn't matter at all. In fact, my old bossidy-boss came up to me later to tell me how touched he was that I was so surprised and happy about the award.<br /><br />My crying brought people together! Even so, I'm going to try not to do that again.<br /><br />In the bastard plantar fasciitis news, it went away for about a week, then came back again, but I'm confident I can get it to go away again. It's so frustrating. But I've been taking short walks and basically giving it a giant middle finger, so that helps. In a related story, I bought another pair of shoes in an effort to fit my foot and my orthotic into a shoe at the same time. Upon wearing the shoe for one work day, I discovered it doesn't actually fit me. Fucking yeah!<br /><br />I had a membership to Planet Fitness. A few weeks ago, Scott helped me face the reality that I never go. Not just seldom. Never. So he drove me over there and I cancelled my membership easy-peasy. It was nothing. But I wouldn't have gone over there without his urging. And because he was there, I didn't get caught up in feeling like a loser for quitting the gym. Honestly, I couldn't stand it in there. It was a lowest-common-denominator playground, as far as I could tell. When I was going regularly for a while there, there was a series of nutso people basically parading around me the whole time. This one insane mother in particular screaming at her son for about a thousand hours while I was just trying to exercise for about 30 minutes set me into a bit of, oh, I don't know. If it weren't so goddamned funny, I might have had the panic. When did mothers start screaming at their kids like dogs in public? My mother always had the courtesy to whisper-shout at us through gritted teeth. If you weren't right next to her feeling the anger radiate off her like thermo-nuclear waves and experiencing her death grip sear your arm fat while her growly whisper-shout singed the extra-fine cilia in your inner ear, you might not even know she was angry. (I'm not sure I've adequately thanked her for keeping the public mortification to a minimum.) In any case, the number of people working out in their pajamas was basically stunning. Also, teenagers getting their pose on in earnest. It was madness is all I'm saying.<br /><br />You might be thinking, "Jennifer, the common denominator in all this is you." And indeed you may be right. But no self-respecting establishment purporting to be a health and fitness gymnasium should have a weekly all-you-can-eat pizza night. Just sayin'.<br /><br />This morning, my mother called my very popular radio program to put on Grandpa No-legs's Bass Boat. It was sold within a very short time, which gratified me to no end. In any event, there was a glorious moment while we were on the air when I asked my mother what the boat was made of, aluminum or fiberglass. She approximately replied, "Whatever Bass Boats are made of." I approximately said, "They can be made of either." I only know this because of the show that I host. We talk about these things. She approximately said, "People who know Bass Boats know what they're made of," like she was some kind of person who knew Bass Boats, which she couldn't be because she didn't know what it was made of. I approximately said, "Yes, of course, ma, either aluminum or fiberglass." I added "approximately" in there because I didn't record it. I only wish I had so I could get those quotes exactly and so I could listen to it in perpetuity and laugh and laugh. We raised the curtain on our relationship to the listening public. When it was over, my bossman at the station popped into the studio and said, "You've gotta have your mother call in more often." I said, "I wasn't sure if that was funny to outside people or not." He said, "Oh, it was."<br /><br />It is a radio program on public air waves, so my mother can certainly call in whenever she wishes to do so.<br /><br />I think we're all caught up now.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-4829030554125798924?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519519032097784619.post-24803342196566341822009-05-02T17:42:00.002-04:002009-05-02T18:30:55.929-04:00The Pride Day highlights reelI didn't realize it was Pride Day today. I was on my way to the farmer's market to procure for our little patch of land a few more herb plants. I remarked to myself, "What's the deal with all these people." Then it slowly dawned on me that it was the first weekend in May, and all these people I'm seeing are gay-gay-gay and that means only one thing: Pride Day. So I decided to stroll around and look for my friends.<br /><br />One thing that really fills me with untold amounts of joy is seeing my friends by accident. I would find a friend, turn away from them and immediately find another. It was glorious! I was living the dream.<br /><br />Sure, there were accidental tears. It happens. I'm me after all. And there was a moment when I realized I didn't want to talk to a person just a split second after I shouted the person's name. But other than those small bumps in the road, I had a lovely time.<br /><br />There were drag queens and men in dresses (and men in dresses who thought they were drag queens). There were friends, there were strangers, there was the person dancing like no one was watching (like the lady from the Green River Festival, only not very graceful). I saw our friend performing in a band. I saw a few people from my day job, which is always refreshing (I mean this without irony, because it truly is refreshing to see your work friends without their robotic career separates). I saw a few neighbors. I saw a few people I recognized from back in the day, but I have no idea where I know them from, or what their names were, so I couldn't even say hello.<br /><br />I find it comforting to be able to go out and see friends and people that are familiar to me. It makes me feel like I'm in exactly the right place, surrounded by all the people I want to be surrounded by.<br /><br />I really love Pride Day.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5519519032097784619-2480334219656634182?l=www.jennifermyszkowski.com%2Fnews.html' alt='' /></div>Jennifer Myszkowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17138962381807636970noreply@blogger.com0