Another piece of childhood. RIP Maurice Sendak.
From my earliest memories, I’ve adored the name Max. I named a cat Max—I had a comedy show named, Max. I even had a dream I was in a movie once— and when the credits rolled, it said Max Rubin instead of Jenny. Anyway—-here’s to all of you that still have your child, Max present in your hearts and imaginations.
Ok so it’s like way back- circa ‘86. High school trip to Florida. We’re staying at a Holiday Inn or something with basically all of Stuyvesant ( but they let other schools go too). Late night- my friend and I sneak into one of the boys rooms—- bunch a passed out drunk HS football players——- we tip toe over beer cans and find the boom box. Beastie Boys cassette on deck. We put the volume up to 10 (or 11) and cue Brass Monkey up and place the boom box up to some random dude’s head——- then we press play. BRASS MONKEY comes blaring and we run out door — looking back we see guys looking around for us. See ya! And we skip back into our hotel room. Never forget that stupid moment. What can I say? 16 years old.
And when I think back to old school teenage years in New York City, Beastie Boys are almost always on that life soundtrack. And yes, it’s true. Everyone knew someone who knew them.
Always thankful for my youth. And everyone I know. Xo
I’m 41 and will probably never have kids. I have to give up my dogs that I love dearly. My parents are homeless and I really need a good new eye cream. And I know, as always I will muddle through, but these days just don’t seem to be going as best they should.
Be positive, they say. Sure- I will be positive just after I ram your face in with a large mallet. Not that anyone can do anything - they can’t hand you that little hammock on the beach. That’s what ya need. But ya can’t take time off because ya don’t want to waste your vacation days on a minor nervous breakdown. And it takes a lot to let people know you really need time off. You basically gotta be missing a goddamn leg to allow people to realize you need a break. And I’m pretty sure ya gotta go to work these days with that leg in hand anyway.
Here’s a tip. When you are on the verge of a nervous breakdown, maybe save the quitting smoking bit for a finer day. Because believe me, we only love crazy and disturbed people in movies. Sure, we root for the woman screaming and telling it like it is in that little indie flick. But in real life, you’re two steps away from the snake pit.
But- what can you do right? You gotta keep going. You cry a lot and want to tell most people to go fuck themselves. Hopefully- in time and with strength (and a therapist and Thorazine) you will be better in the end. Because let’s face it guys—- I’m basically 50.
And on that note- I’ll be performing tonight at Three of Cups. 8pm. Free. East 5th and 1st.
XO
It’s interesting when people say, “They died an untimely death” -Like what death is timely? We just found out so and so died and I gotta say, it was the perfect time. No, there really isn’t the perfect time for a death in life. It is going to come one way or another and it is going to be someone you know and love. It’s plain and simple and it sucks. And there ‘aint a damn thing anyone can do about it.
An old friend died a week ago. His name was Jaik Miller. He was a talented artist and one of those special people you can’t help but love right away. As well as touching many a heart, he had touched the New York music scene with his beautiful music for many years. I had only seen him a handful of times over the years and granted he was much closer with some of my other close friends, but I always loved him and we shared enough moments for his life and death to have an impact on me. Plus, we all know you don’t always even have to know someone to be affected by them, including their death.
I went to his funeral a few days ago and as far as funerals go, it was a good one. It was deeply moving, sad and awful, but there were smiles and laughs shared and actually, these are the few moments in life when there is no bullshit. In times of grief, people tend to just let it all hang out and be raw and honest. I do wish we could be like that all of the time. We all keep saying those old infamous words, “Life is too short”—no, but really. The older I get, the more these words ring true. It is unfortunate that life these days seem so stressful for most. I only wish we could all realize what we have and who we have, before it is too late. But I am guilty myself. We sweat the small stuff. We worry who is following us on social media sites, we worry we’re getting ugly. Oh, wait maybe that’s just me. We just plain worry. Then suddenly a catastrophic event occurs, whatever that may be and we all realize, wait, a minute—we are idiots. And this we are. Sometimes, we just really are too self involved and blind to see things until after they are gone, or after the party is over.
I watched my friends pick up shovels and bury their dear friend the other day. Their brother and their son. There are no words to describe seeing this true type of moment. I cried for my friend who had gone. I cried for my friends who were grieving. I cried because then I thought what if this was someone even closer to me that had gone. I just cried. And it was okay. Everything is okay, as Jaik, himself would most likely say.
The sun shined throughout this dark day regardless. For even in the hardest and darkest of hours, there is always a little bit of light. Life does go on, as shitty as it can often be, it does go on. I just wanted to pay my respects in some way, through a small note to the passing of an old friend. To share a word of love for all of my friends that have touched my life in one or another over the years. As much as cell phones give me a headache and I don’t feel like always talking unless you are standing in front of me, I have been touched by so many people in my life, it is simply insane. I don’t want to get all hippy dippy on ya, but I do only wish we could realize the effect we have on this world while we’re in it.
As I was drawing to a close here, “Daydream Believer” came on the radio. This has significance because of the recent passing of Davy Jones from The Monkees. I do believe, too many people to be passing away. I feel like every week, someone in pop culture who defined my youth is leaving. I feel soon, nothing will be left of the artsy backdrop of my youth. I know you can say, screw you Jenny, you don’t even know these entertainers personally. Well, they seemed to show their faces quite a bit on television and on the radio as I grew up and since I am a die hard fanatic of all things in entertainment, screw you. It matters to me.
So that’s it—go back to your Friday plans—-Just wanted to say a few things. I shall now go back to being cynical and sarcastic.
xo
I also recently stumbled onto this little gem. Someone out there re-edited our “Shit Native New Yorker’s Say” video and has given me the title “My Favorite New Yorker”. Thank you so much whoever you are. I kinda like this title. :)
Check out my latest video ——I am sort of proud to be a New Yorker. This video was created by myself along with my fellow comedian and friends, Carolyn Castiglia and Anthony Devito.
It is this time of year I start to get a little down. It is dark. People look like a whiter shade of grey. I travel to work and everyone looks like a dusty old newspaper. Nobody looks really excited to be going to work or wherever it is the subway is taking them. Is this anyway to live? Day in day out. The same old thing. Everybody I talk to- they don’t really speak words. Just muttered garbles and grunts. I think someone just sorta said the word- tired.
Maybe it’s a New York thing. A bitter January in New York thing. I don’t even need the Sun right now. Fuck the Sun. Perhaps just a walk to the general store in the morning. I would even wear these same Hunter boots on that walk. “Good morning Mr. Johnson” I would say, as I gathered my Asian Pears and nice bag of fresh country coffee beans. The day would seem quaint. And everyone in town would seem happy. They wouldn’t look like rotting wood. They wouldn’t exude a lifeless air of doom. I don’t even know if that made sense. You get the gist.
Now I know after awhile, I would want to punch Mr. Johnson in the face. He may get dull- with his oil paintings and his poetry about boats. I get it. The town would eventually seem small, compared to the big city. But for this moment we’ll stick with the cozy small town in the country, J Crew wearing, smile having, everybody gather some wood for the fire, fantasy. Ya got me?
So, now let me shove off back to my travels to a land where everyone is slowly dying. Good morning.
I have connections to some of the nominees this evening. In 1994—-DiCaprio critiqued my book of arty doodles while I was slaving as a Coat Check girl at a popular nightclub in New York City. I sat there, probably smoking a cigarette. It was then that you could basically give open heart surgery, with a cigarette dangling out of your mouth. I waited as he gave his opinion on which doodle looked like I had spent time on it and which one looked like I phoned it in. He was a tad snarky, but seemed pretty cool and I liked him because he had been quite endearing in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. I think I referred to him as a kid, but in reality he was probably only two years or so younger than me. He didn’t tip well, but he was cute. I still send him doodles every Christmas.
My second and probably most highly discussed meeting with a star, took place in 1999 in Los Angeles. I had been living there about a year, performing in bad theater, selling antique furniture on Melrose and taking the bus with the other hookers in West Hollywood. Things weren’t too bad. I was always tan, fully bleached blonde and I drank lattes at Fred Segal. Overall, it was a satisfying experience living there, if you like living as if you’re dying. With a great tan, of course.
Cut to —-going to a Birthday party at The Beverly Hills Hotel. I was invited by a friend of mine, who just happened to know The Pitt. Ya know, sometimes ya just happen to know people. I attended the soiree with one of my best friends and her husband. We tried to pretend we weren’t scanning the room for Pitt, when we arrived. But deep down, our little starry eyed hearts were fluttering. We headed to the food right away, got a drink and then sat on the couch. “Wait, who is that drunk guy sweating?” “Is that Judd Nelson?” I asked. It wasn’t exactly Pitt, but I loved The Breakfast Club, so things were looking alright. At least for a goof. After about an hour, our little hearts were breaking, as we realized The Pitt might not actually be showing up. When suddenly, with a full chicken crostini suffocating my gullet, I muttered my typical deep voiced, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god” The Pitt had arrived. He was in a suit. A good suit.
We subtly watched every move he made, until he made his way outside. This is where the degenerate smoker in me came in handy. It was time to casually saunter outside and smoke about a carton, somewhere near The Pitt. I’ll cut to the chase. Before ya know it, I was standing with three people. My friend, her husband and The Pitt! We were all talking. And we were laughing! Yes, Virginia—even famous actors laugh! Everything was just as it should be. Life was good. The Pitt was smart, cool and normal, with a sense of humor. It was at this time, that someone busted out the “stuff’. I am not saying I smoked the “stuff” with anyone with the last name, Pitt. I will leave it up to you to decide. But it all goes down in the books as a pretty feel good moment in time.
The last connection I have is not as full of rainbows and kittens as the prior two. But I needed to tie it all together. As they say everything comes in threes. In terms of my connection to Clooney—Well. I used to live in Weehawken, NJ. Clooney was in a minor motorcycle accident, in fact, of all places—-Weehawken! (exciting things happen there too) So there ya go, folks. That’s it. Enjoy the award shows.
Next on Random stories of stars———the time my friend and I were given cigars by Adam Sandler.
So I finally went for a mammogram today. After turning 40, I wanted to take care of everything in terms of health. I quit smoking. I got a colonoscopy. I even got a yoga mat. Meanwhile, I’ll probably get hit by a bus now, but I least I can die healthy and all checked out. I was told the mammogram would feel similar to my head not quite getting cut off by a guillotine. Ya know, like it’s just still kinda dangling by a vein. That must be painful. For some reason I am not that worried about hearing I have cancer but then again ya just never know. The office was empty. I almost had the run of the place. There was end of the day receptionist chatter happening at the desk. A few chuckles about football this weekend, along with other Friday banter. I just wanted to start dancing around singing, “I Am Woman” and I’m getting a goddamned mammogram. But I laid low and skimmed through In Style, hoping to get a tip on a new product that might just make me look 5 again. Let’s face it, looking twenty is a thing of the past. Looking infant is the new black. I was soon escorted by a lovely little nurse to the dressing room. The usual - undress, put on the robe, leave open in the front. It’s similar to a spa day, except I was about to get my tits shoved in a vice. When I was ready and finally in the vice room I tried to act normal. “First time?” asked the nurse. I guess I had that look. That kill me now look. She told me it all depends on the woman. And it doesn’t matter if you have breasts like Kate Hudson or Jennifer Hudson. But it will be uncomfortable. Uncomfortable? Ya ever try flushing a tit down the toilet? But that said, I didn’t cry. I have a high threshold for pain. It’s from all those root canals I’ve had in the past. After numerous trips to marathon man dentists, I’m a rock. So- it’s done. Results next week. I feel better I got it over with. Hopefully- everything will be good and I can move on to the next thing——-full blown vulvaplasty. I’m kidding. Here’s to being over 40 and beautiful. As I am coining the new trendy store—-“Forever 41”. Stay tuned for more stories soon. XO
