The Rube

This week's wrap up------the search continues.

Fri, 22 Feb 2013 13:26:00 -0500

First—I’m done with Winter. I just want to be pretty and sit in the sun. Shallow, but I’m over 40 so who gives a shit. Plus, my skin is as dry as a bowl of chopped up hooves. I need to find a new apt. that doesn’t involve someone renting out for their Aunt in Nigeria.

I realized I am also great in person. A regular hoot. But on paper I sound like a dishrag. Hi—my name is Jenny. I’m in my early 40’s, comedian and have two cats. Should be the name of the next best horror film. I have received wonderful responses. Sublets where people refuse to remove their serial killer stained beds. Strange men telling me I can keep my cats in a yard and play with them from time to time. The search continues. Honestly, I thought I would be settled down with a man in a Heather Grey J Crew cable knit sweater by a lake somewhere at this point, but after currently going through my 86th breakup, I see that search also must continue.

I also realized I have grown accustomed to the show “Girls”. I don’t know if I finally realized it was comforting, even though I am 42 and they are two. Maybe it’s the New York vibe, although quite different from my New york 20’s vibe, but yet not, because I liked to flash my tits then too. It could be that I am a sucker for a show about a bunch of chicks going through some shit, or it could really just be the sweet scene with the dog at the end of the last episode. Whatever is———-I may just celebrate by getting naked in the months to come. Gotta flaunt it before I am nothing but an Aligator trudging through gutters, to get to my next comedy show.

Life is just a bowl of cherries---

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 11:10:00 -0500

——I wrote this awhile back——but I like it so will share again.

And if I’m going to be poor, I want to look like this. The brooding Flapper. A cute pixie cut and an empty bank account. A flask instead of a gun to shoot myself because times are so tough. I don’t want to go the local bar and try to sip other people’s drinks because I don’t have enough for my own. I wanna hit up the old Speak Easy on Charles St.-I wanna smoke 18 cigarettes and talk about books, while sipping gin, that was made in some old attic. I want a Jazz Band—I wanna sing. I wanna wear my slinky emerald green dress with tiny raindrop beads and I wanna sing! Some smokey tune about how some old drunk left me —headed west for a better life and left me behind—I wanna sing! and maybe some liar of a man in a tattered suit will slip me his business card. He’ll tell me he’s got a a little joint in the South of France where I can go sing all night in the bars on the beach and live for free. I’ll be tan all day so it won’t matter that I’m aging. I’ll be the envy of all at this old Speakeasy. It will almost seem like I’m a somebody for a minute. I’ll stay there all night singing, smoking, drinking and being the it girl of the daunting depression. Then I’ll slink out in the early hours, squinting, because I’ve forgotten my glasses. I’ll saunter on home, strappy heels in hand, feet calloused and torn. I’ll sit on my little window seat covered with lace I stole from some dressmakers shop. I’ll sip strong hungarian coffee and write another chapter on the Underwood. It won’t matter that I’m poor. It won’t matter at all.

Top Ten Things I want in 2013--

Mon, 31 Dec 2012 12:49:34 -0500

I’m usually pretty humble-but these are just a few little things that I would like for the New Year.

1. Fame

2. TV Show

3. Published novel

4. My own farm

5. Expensive scented candles for life

6. People hit in the face with a small brick every time they say, LOL.

7. To find out exactly what it is The Kardashians really do

8. An unwanted hair machine that I step in and it rids me of what is unnecessary.

9. An 8th day of the week to just get back to basics.

10. Yes, the perfect under eye cream.

One last thought for 2012--

Sun, 30 Dec 2012 17:42:00 -0500

This post will be brief and to the point. Perhaps—after New Years, I will have something more to say. As of today—this is is all I got.

It’s wonderful and touching when you see a couple that’s been together for like 50 years. And they are still smiling together. Somehow- they got through all the bullshit and everything is ok. Because- when it comes down to it— there’s just so much bullshit that blurrs our vision and hearts.

And what a week it was...

Sun, 04 Nov 2012 12:19:00 -0500

In the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, I find myself feeling out of sorts. I have the what day is it feeling. The what happened feeling. But, none of my little feelings compare to the ones that have experienced such great loss this week. It was as if one minute, we were secretly excited for a day off. Perhaps a day to rest, bunker in, watch TV—a sort of “snow day” in a sense. However, within an instant this excitement was gone. As the days set in, that little kid feeling of getting to stay home was gone. I was lucky to only lose power for one day. I now reside in Staten Island, “the forgotten borough”, as it is so sadly called. Who doesn’t make fun of Staten Island. I grew up in New York, and until now, I found myself there, maybe twice. But now—and again through tragedy, do we develop a new sense of love for things and for little ‘Ol Staten Island. I can see the massive trees that have fallen around my neighborhood. But I cannot imagine what people are going through in the neighborhoods where there is real devastation. I am truly sorry about that.

I want to dedicate this post to all of the people that have suffered throughout the week. I want to dedicate this post to all of my friends and loved ones that I thought about this week and wanted to hug, or share a laugh with. I was lucky to have power and therefore I could still make dumb jokes on Facebook and Twitter. I could still reach out to people even though the phone didn’t work. (but who really uses the phone these days anyway) But overall, I feel very fortunate to have what I have. The hardest thing is watching people cry about not only losing their homes, but their memories and pictures. In the end, that is all you want. You want your loved ones and you want those old photos and cherished mementos. I know what it is like to lose your things like photos and memories in boxes from your childhood and it hurts a great deal. You can always buy another Ikea Desk, but ya can’t replace that stupid picture of you and your Father, sittin’ on a city stoop.

And so what a week it was. Hurricane Sandy blew in strong and kicked our asses. The Halloween parade was canceled. I hope all the Trannies around the city are not too pissed about that. The New York Marathon was canceled. This was not only the right thing to do, under the circumstances, but it made me feel it was okay that I had spent the year drinking wine and and partaking in limited exercise. I lost an old friend, Larry Bloch, who not only founded and and ran one of my favorite old New York haunts and workplace, Wetlands Nightclub—-but was like an Uncle to me. We lost a great man to that bastard Cancer. But we will always remember him and all the wonderful ways he tried to make this place a bit better.

I bid you all a better week. I am happy to be here and able to write this to all of you. It’s the little things.

All my love,

Jenny

and P. S. Please Vote!

This is Horatio St. I grew up on this block. I sold Lemonade on...

Thu, 12 Jul 2012 18:14:00 -0400

This is Horatio St. I grew up on this block. I sold Lemonade on this block——Yeah———for 25 cents. (No, it wasn’t the forties) I walked to school from this block. I threw pomegranates out a window on this block. I carried a Christmas Tree home with my father on this block. I wore my first pair of high heels on this block. I listened to music blaring out of boom boxes on this block. I played with some of my best friends in the world on this block. This was my block. I can’t afford to live on this block now. I can barely afford these cute shoes in this arsty picture-of this block. I can’t afford to live in New York City. It’s ok though.

We need to stop worrying about the following-

Fri, 29 Jun 2012 12:02:55 -0400

1-Getting the perfect Profile Picture

2-How many “likes” we get for that particular update.

3-If he “liked” it, it doesn’t mean he wants to marry you.

4-If he didn’t “like” it, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you.

5-What you see in the mirror is not half as bad as you think. However, do not look in a magnifying mirror.

6-Just because they got famous doesn’t mean you’re a loser. (This only applies to paranoid actors and comedians)

7-If you do not participate in Social Media for a week, you will not be forgotten. There is still life out there.

8-Take it personally whenever some shmuck says, “don’t take this personally”. You’re human. it’s ok. Fuck ‘em.

9-Don’t worry about using that Splenda shit. It tastes awful. Anything fake sucks.

10-I will come up with a number 10 later. But basically—-let’s all try to relax.

Happy Fathers Day

Sun, 17 Jun 2012 08:03:37 -0400

Happy Fathers Day

Things people say that we loathe--

Wed, 06 Jun 2012 11:42:49 -0400

1. “I’ll keep you in mind”. Most likely they will not.

2. ” I’m busy”. No, you are not. You are on Facebook.

3. “I’m so broke”. Unless you’re depositing one dollar because you have 19 in the bank and you need to withdraw 20, you’re not totally broke.

4. “I’m really trying to get things together”. Are ya though? Or are you just watching Netflix?

5. “Just out of curiosity…”. This really means “why the fuck did you do that?

More to come. Have a nice day! ( do we really mean that - probably not)

The Curse of The Only Child-

Wed, 16 May 2012 23:39:41 -0400

In a perfect world, our parents would always take care of us. They would offer us a little money (every week) and possibly even ship us off to Greece from time to time. In a perfect world, these parents might have even decided at one point to have another child. We’ve all heard of brothers and sisters, right? Try them—they’re quite nice.

Growing up as an only child was wonderful when I was young. I received all of my parent’s attention. I, for the most part had everything and anything I needed. I was spoiled, but not in the negative sense where I turned into an asshole brat. I grew up in the West Village in New York City and my parents were cool and intelligent hippies, that still remained responsible and always made me feel safe. Our house was very eclectic, filled with animals, plants and music and plenty of laughter. I never felt lonely and learned at a very early age, how to be quite independent. However, I only wish that among all the independence and art talks and the discussions of Bob Dylan being a genius—-that maybe my parents would have used their creative brains a little bit more and made another kid. So again— while it is great when you’re young, the hard part is when you get older—when your parents get older. When people start to get sick. When your parents get older and are poor and they come knocking on your door. When your father gambles away your family’s life savings and comes to you for extra dough from time to time. These are the times it would help to be able to call brother Joe or sister Sally and tell them they need to take the next phone call from the folks. Possibly, they could be the one to take in the parents when they get evicted later in life. That helpful sibling could accompany you to the hospital or perhaps even go by themselves and talk to countless and heartless doctors about your father’s tumor or mother’s mental health.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my crazy parents, but we all need to live our own lives and when your parents take over your life, it can lead to a nervous breakdown before it’s time. The curse of the only child is having to bear the weight of the world and your parents all at the same time. You are the only one that is there to deal with the frantic phone calls, the trips to the Medicaid office and the change of the colostomy bag. I have always envied my friends, as they pass off annoying parental tasks and requests to their beloved siblings. You don’t even have to love your brother or sister. You can loathe them and still they have to at least listen to you. I have grown tired of listening to myself express my woe regarding my parents to others. With a sibling, I wouldn’t have to preface each story with an, “ I’m sorry I’m going on about this”. They would already know about your degenerate parents stealing all the joy you have left before are actually the same age as them!

So, while it was always great kicking back with my folks as a kid—hearing stories about the sixties and listening to actual full length albums—-I only wish that I had someone to turn to, to discuss the decline of my parents and maybe get some assistance. Can a kid get a break around here?

I am an only child and I must deal with the cards I was dealt. But I want to offer a word to the wise for future parents out there—or the parents that have a toddler. I order you to have another. I know the world is falling apart and you’re not sure if you want to bring another child into a world, where soon there may not be Polar Bears left, but trust me-your child may love you when they are young, but by the age of 40, they will be hating your every move. They will be turning off their phone. They will be cutting you off financially. I know this world is for the rich now and it may seem insane to have even one kid, let alone two, trust me. Rob a bank if you have to—steal a loaf of bread and eggs to feed the kid, but have that second child. You don’t need to have the bible belt 19 kids—but at least two. This especially goes for the parents that did not save for that rainy day called old age and may even lose everything they own. While it may sound humorous to listen to your dad sing show tunes and dance with nurses in the hospital—I assure you, this all soon fades. And to all the other cursed only children out there—I feel your pain and can only hope someone somewhere has started an only children’s anonymous group, because god knows we could all use the help.

Another piece of childhood. RIP Maurice Sendak. From my...

Tue, 08 May 2012 10:35:28 -0400

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.

End of an Era--- Kick it Root Down-

Fri, 04 May 2012 18:27:19 -0400

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

These Days

Wed, 28 Mar 2012 10:18:24 -0400

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.

The Death in Life~

Fri, 02 Mar 2012 15:39:00 -0500

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.

I also recently stumbled onto this little gem. Someone out...

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 16:13:00 -0500

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...

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 16:06:44 -0500

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.

The Grey January-

Mon, 23 Jan 2012 11:52:02 -0500

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.

DiCaprio, Pitt and Clooney.

Sun, 15 Jan 2012 13:08:00 -0500

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.

This week on trips to the doctor-

Sat, 14 Jan 2012 00:36:00 -0500

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