Class of '99...

This year marks my 10-year  high school reunion.  I couldnt be looking less forward to an event.  I along with 423 other seniors (thats a public school for you) are the proud members of Nova High School's Class of 1999.  Growing up in South Florida, my high school was a mix of wealthy Jewish japs and ESOL kids straight from Asia and Cuba.  ESOL stands for English as a second language, I have no idea with the "O" is- but what I do know is that they would come to school wearing party dresses. Kinda weird. 

I practically grew up with 50% of my graduating class, as we all attended elementary and middle school together.  I attended Eisenhower Elementary while the other half of my friends attending Blanch Forman Elementary.  It was a bit like West Side Story- those that went to Eisenhower thought those that went to Forman were trash (I mean who even knows who "Blanch Forman" is- Eisenhower...thats a president).  

In elementary school, I was taught hot to snort cocaine with breadcrumbs and a juice box straw. My mother was not thrilled when I demonstrated this act at the dinner table.  Billy Ford taught me that life tip- he also vomited on my mother while she was helping out in the classroom.  Im sure she was again less than thrilled, those Unit's numbers were not cheap. Middle school was marked by a series of brawls between the dominating girls of the 7th and 8th Grade.  It wasnt uncommon to see weave being pulled out and thrown in the air.  What an education I received.  There were also the bomb threats, the math building which was covered in asbestos (my math tutor died as a result) and those S.A.D.D presentations (Students Against Drunk Driving).  Who didnt love presentations in the auditorium, great for making plans regarding where you were going to drink that weekend.

High School meant that you were finally the big-shots at Nova.  By the time I entered high school, Nova was renamed The Nova Center for Applied Research and Professional Development, Main Campus- one would think that I was graduating from Harvard with a degree in Physics.  To be considered one of the "cool kids" you had a parking spot in the front- with crappy graffiti all over (mine read "Popular Club") and you sat on the bench outside the Science Building.  Senior year meant AP Classes, Internships and well for me- 3 totaled cars (Ill discuss later in another blog).  

One of my favorite classes was Debate, which really was a cover for an extensive money laundering scheme.  As part of our grade, we had to sell a certain number of candy bars, cheesecakes, donuts or those annoying 15 pound coupon books.  While in class one day my friend Melissa and I, in a sugar rage- raided the "candy closet"; this closet was basically the entire candy aisle of Costco.  This operation was run by our debate coach- a slim 220 pound 5'5 woman.

Other highlights of senior year- lunch.  At Nova, you were able to go out for lunch in high school.  Now all the jews went to Bagelmania- which was far enough from school that you were only able to get the bagel and egg plater if you were the first 3 in line and a bagel with cream cheese if you were anywhere after that number.  Of course it was cool to pretend that you were in the Indy 500 to get there first.  My mother, of course was totally against this "open lunch" for fear of accidents- none of my three totaled cars were during lunch. 

Every year concluded with the standard yearbook and a video yearbook.  The yearbook was boring- and no one ever looked good.  I look like an uptight reject from Gossip Girl.  The video yearbook now that was something- it basically made my school look like Dangerous Minds meets Clueless.  One moment you were watching the Step Team (very competitive) the next you were watching Seniors Painting there parking spots (with a plethora of new Acura's, Honda's and SUV's in the background).  I would still watch this video but who owns a VHS player anymore?

So 10 years later, I am sent an email asking for my help (I was on the class board) with our reunion.  Reflecting back on my fond memories of high school and prior, I have little desire to reconnect with my peers.  Lets be honest, Facebook has taken the excitement out of seeing anyone in person.  Why do I need to see anyone in person, when I can see their pictures, status and relationship status at a moments notice?  I have learned that while I dont think that I have changed, time has not been good to my peers; there is hair loss, weight gain and I think a couple of divorces.  Ill stick to being single and unemployed.  I would however, like to thank Billy Ford for his tips in elementary school...but I forgot, he didnt graduate.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

From the Faucet

Growing up I used to love the show, "The Golden Girls."  I remember running home to catch the show on Lifetime, which was also coined as Women's Television (oh, brother)  I always related to Rue McClanahan's slutty character, Blanche.  Seemed like while the rest of them were playing bridge she was hooking up with every elderly guy in Miami.  

Now that I am home during most of the day, I have come to realize a couple of flaws of the show. For starters, I think they are trying to butch up Lifetime- now I am not a network executive, but its not working.  People watch programming on the channel to see movies about cheerleaders that kill other cheerleaders and daughters who give birth at 12.  Now on to the actual show...For starters, why is Dorothy always wearing lesbian outfits with boots?  Growing up in South Florida, I can tell you first hand that it is hot and no one woman can own that many jacket-potato sack looking numbers.  Secondly, why is it that no one ever had a health issue on the show- aside from a minor heart thing, they girls were constantly eating cheesecake and italian food.  More importantly, seeing that they didnt have a dining room- shouldnt they at least have four chairs at the kitchen table?

I never did see the series finale of the show, so they will be forever in nightgowns around the table (notice that one is always standing) eating cake in my mind.  

Hollywood's Biggest Night...

Last night, like most of the country (and apparently India), I wasted four hours and watched the Oscars.  "Hollywoods Biggest Night" began with endless hours of red carpet interviews on the E! Channel.  The highlight of the "pre-show", which began at 3 pm- only 4 and half hours before the main event, was Jay Manuel's Glamaramacam (who knows), where he proceeded to draw blue lines all over everyone and anything that walked down the runway.  Jay- we can see the 45-carat emerald earrings on Angelina's neck, thats kinda the point of them being so big.  I must admit at certain points, I thought I was watching a Bridal trunk show- what was with all the long white wedding dresses?  

After watching Ryan Seacrest's awkward interview moments with Brad Pitt- who clearly wants nothing to do with him and with the kids from Slumdog Millionaire- where one of them informed Ryan that the little one doesnt speak English, it was time for the night to begin.  (At this point, I was already over the entire event.) 

The night got off to a high note, Hugh Jackman's (wearing enough bronzer to cover the front row) opening skit was funny; I mean who doesnt like a people dancing in spandex.  And then it got boring. I mean I wasnt winning an award and I certainly didnt care about who was winning the sound mixer Oscar.  (Side note: At this point of the evening, we were alerted that someone was having crazy sex down the hall by a friend who left the Oscar bash.  Hearing this, the entire part- all 4 of us, ran down the hall to proceed to listen at the door of the apt.  What fun it is living like rats in apartment buildings!  Whatever was going on in that apartment was award-winning.)

A highlight of the night for me was watching Sophia Loren present the best actress Oscar- she looked like a hot tranny mess that worked at a second-rate gay bar.  Her wig was off center and her make-up looked as though Jay Manuel drew it on with his blue pen.  I could see the terror in Kate Winslets' face as she leaned in to kiss that caked on face.  

For the winners, this night will change their lives; however it did nothing for mine.  I do hope that Brad and Angelina adopt those Slumdog Millionaire kids- doesnt seem fair to go from the Kodak Stage back to the slums.  Might be a good subject matter for the documentary winner?

I look forward to watching E!'s coverage of the red carpet for the next week- I mean lets face it, although boring, its addicting.  Who doesnt like to watch a bunch of queens pick apart the stars and what they were wearing.  Lets hope Jay leaves his Glamaramacam pen on the red carpet.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

One night only...

The one-night-stand isnt a rare occurrence in New York City.  Typically, these hook-ups happen between the late hours of the night/early morning- when you forgot that you have a credit card at the bar and your coat in coat check.  (FYI- if you leave a nice jacket at Hiro on a Sunday, dont look for it 3 weeks later, its gone.)  When I get drunk and initiate a one-night-stand I am usually found uttering the following word, "no, I really love ___, like this is the one."  More often than not I have no idea who I am in love with, but I am sure they shared a drink or two with me at the bar.

I used to have rules about leaving a bar with someone, but the problem was, when intoxicated I forget the rules and just left with the random regardless.  I never was a fan of going back to the other persons' apartment, I always feared that I would be robbed of the dollar or two that I have remaining in my wallet and cut up into little cubes and placed in their freezer.  The fun part about sleeping at a randoms apartment is actually seeing a new space in the city.  

I have been to a number of very nice apartments- lofts, two-bedrooms, classic 6; been in some of the newest properties in the city....I have seen it all and have gotten some good decorating tips in the process.  The best experience is when you walk into a building (with the sun rising in the background) and you turn to _____ and it hits you!  You have been to this building before! And I of course, think its appropriate to mention this to ____, as if this is a turn on?  Yea- its not.

Once in the apartment, it seems common to be offered a drink (as if anyone needs one), a snack or a pair of shorts ("do you want to be comfortable") when you make the awkward entrance into the apartment.  I once watched someone pour an entire glass of cheap vodka in a glass and then proceed to pour a huge glass of water for himself.  I promptly poured the glass on his carpet-Im not that easy, bitch.  Aside from being offered a drink, I have had some weird experiences: someone wanted to do a portrait of me naked (I said no); someone once played the piano for me naked (baby grand in a studio-not normal) and finally someone once asked me to put together an ikea bookshelf (no comment).  Typically, you just get down to business, this is the standard one-night-stand.  Those are the hook ups that I signed up for when I stumbled out of the bar.

In my younger years, when I did the one-night-stand a bit more frequently, I had a theory: you might not know where the hell you are in the city, but once in a taxi, you always made your way through Union Square.  Try it next time you wake up and stumble out of a random apartment...unless you are on your block (which has happened to me before).  

Logistics are a big deal in arranging a one-night-stand.  I ended up in Brooklyn once and was informed that I couldnt just catch the subway home-or catch a taxi for that matter; I had to go to a kiosk to call for a taxi.  I might as well been in Arkansas.  The litter of cats in the apartment also made a return trip to Brooklyn unlikely.  I have now established a rule, that I do not blindly go to someone's apartment- they need to either live downtown or all bets are off.

Now once a hook up has concluded, I do not want you touching me.  I cannot stand people cuddling with me throughout the night.  I get hot and you are a stranger.  Do not hold my hand, tickle my back (this isnt a spa), or spoon.  Here is another thing I cannot stand: talking.  We met at a bar and we probably spoke about Ketel, shots and Amstel Lights.  You arent interested if I am an only child, what I do or where I went to school.  Of course I will tell you all of those things and probably show you pictures on my phone- but that because I am a bit self-centered.

Finally, I do not want to sit in your apartment until 2pm the following afternoon.  I am out as soon as my eyes open up and I realize that this isnt my apartment.  Typically, I tell the random that I have a gym class that starts at 8:37 (I mean what class start at :37?) and I have to attend. Finally, please do not offer to make me breakfast (I am sure a traditional Portuguese breakfast with an organic smooth is amazing- but I want a black coffee and to get the hell out of there.)

I always appreciated my girl friends that do the one-night-stand deal.  With guys, we typically wear a t-shirt and jeans, so a walk of shame is less noticeable.  I love sitting at brunch with girls that have massive amounts of makeup smeared on their faces with a short beaded dress on, complete with 3 inch heels.  Oh and girls, when you lie and say that you didnt have sex with the guy- we all know you did.  You didnt go back to his apartment to kiss and talk about your childhood.

I dont feel guilty about hooking up, as long as you are safe and ensure that you are not going home with a serial killer, you should be good.  I have found that my desire to have a one-night stand has lessened in the recent year or so...maybe I am growing up? or maybe I have lost my touch.  To be honest, going for pizza at 3 am is a lot more satisfying.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

My Mother is Never Wrong...

Growing up, my mother was always right.  

Like the time she told me not to climb the tree in our front yard- ignoring her, I did and ended up in the hospital with a broken arm.  Or when she told my father that I needed more driving lessons and I went on to total two cars.  The only time she wasnt right was when it came to cooking.  My mother made this dish called "Mystery Meatloaf", which consisted of whatever meat is used to make meatloaf and a hidden surprise tucked inside the dish.  The winner of the dinner wouldn't end up with a prize-but with the thrill of eating a hard boiled egg and meatloaf. Vomit.

When I was about 10 my parents took my sister and I on a 2-month vacation across the country. My father loved to drive, so my sister and I were subject to 5-hour car rides in the family's Lincoln Town Car.  Now, I dont remember much of this car, but it did have some fancy electronics involving the trunk automatically lowering itself- we of course, always over-packed so it because a battle of man vs. electronic locking mechanism. Remember in the early 90's, my sister and I were not sitting in the laps of luxury watching Beverly Hills 90210 on DVD or playing Playstation in the backseat of the car- we had eachother and the game "I know you are...But what am I."  The game is very basic, it involves one person putting the other down, until my parents would interrupt and demand silent time.  The highlight of these car trips would be the occasional prision break siren that you would hear while traveling in the remote roads of Nevada (temperature over 100, which meant my father would turn off the air in the car for risk of overheating the vehicle) and thinking that the Friedman family would be the center of a "60 Minutes" special about the "Murder in the Desert."  This never happened.

After a visit to Mount Rushmore, while leaving the National Park (I have practically been to every park in the US) my sister decided to take off her seatbelt and throw the buckle in my face (to this day I am not sure if this was intentional).  As one could imagine, this split my lip and caused a great deal of pain.  Luckily for me we were low on gas, so we stopped at the finest gas station one could imagine exists in South Dakota- this would be where I would address my wound.

My mother insisted that my father take me to the restroom to make sure that I was ok and help me wash the blood that was streaming down my face.  My father and I couldnt disagree more, I was fine (as I saw 3 of my father) and my dad needed to pump the gas so we would be god-know-where by night (how can you top 4 stone men).  I dont remember much of what happened in the next 5-10 minutes, but here's how the trucker painted the story to my parents: apparently after washing my lip, I decided to use the urinal (Friedman rule: never turn up a bathroom stop) and passed out, hitting my head on the base of the fixture.  Imagine my Jewish mothers' face, seeing her son being carried out of a gas station bathroom by a trucker.  To this day I wonder if my fly was still down (maybe this is where a different type of "60 Minutes" story should play out?)

What I do know for certain, is that my mother made it very clear to my father that once again she was right, he should have taken me into the bathroom.  In all of my 27-years my mother has never been wrong...well, unless it comes to sticking eggs where eggs dont belong.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

Table for one...

I have been debating whether or not to post a negative blog about Valentines Day.  Truth of the matter, I am not sure I want to be in a relationship, but it would be nice to have some annoying guy harass me for plans tonight.  My track record with Valentines' Day (or relationships, for that matter) isnt that stellar.  

Its not that I dont want a relationship, it just seems that everyone that I want a relationship with doesnt want to be in one with me.  I admit that I am terrible with first impressions, but I would rather have a point-of-view and personality over being boring and agreeable.  I dont like to "date", I think its really annoying to sit at a dinner or drinks and talk about yourself as if you are on "Inside the Actors Studio".  I love the point that you know that you are not interested in the person with whom you are dining with- at that point you need to make the decision to get wasted or to be responsible and get the hell out of there.  I typically get wasted and see what outrageous things I can get away with.  

I never get going to the movies with a date.  Doesnt seem to make sense, sitting there in complete silence next to a stranger watching a two-hour film.  What makes this experience even worse is having to hold someones hand for the entire film.  The thought of it makes me insane and gets my hands sweaty.  The dinner date is a bit more my speed, however this becomes a game, I sit there and analyze their every action.  All I know is that there are a few types of people that I will not date: vegans, people who dont drink and anyone who is ugly.

In my 27 years, I have had a series of relationships, obviously none of them have worked out. However, I believe that you grow and learn about yourself with each experience and person that you are in a relationship with.  I have learned that I hate Britney Spears and thinks that no grown man should own her calendar (let alone hang it on his wall), that I liked receiving flowers on my birthday (and then later calling the florist to find out how much the arrangement was- $225), that you should never date a psychiatrist because they are much crazier than you will ever be (and constantly being told medical terms is not a turn-on).  And finally, I have learned that it is ok to fall in love and maybe even better to have your heart broken.  

So this Valentine's Day, I am not going to be bitter, maybe I will just go see a movie and take myself out for a drink.  I wont have to worry about holding anyone's hand or telling them that I was born and raised in Florida- like I get it, your grandparents live there.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

Aqua Net...

These horrific looking people are my sister and your favorite blogger.  Aside from my sister having a corsage attached in her hair (located behind her bangs, which held the record for world's biggest at the time) there are so many things wrong with this picture.  Lets move on to me- now I have been told that I do not take insults very well, but can dish them out quite nicely.  I think I was pulling a Madonna with the lovely gap between my front two teeth and my hair- well, it appears that my mother prefers volume and height over style and sparing her only son's dignity.  I think it is revenge for all the nonsense I put my parent through that this large 

photograph still hangs in our house.

I do recall one story for this famed weekend back in late April, while we were gearing up for the big night and heading to the ballroom to enjoy the easy sounds of "Drew T" (the best band in South Florida) a racoon or a cat (probably someone's from Match.com) made its way into our garage.  My mother told me not to chase it or what not- but of course I didnt listen.  In my final act of animal control, my tux pants split right down the middle.  I laughed, the animal ran off and an emergency stop was made to Gingiss Formal Wear.

Funny thing about Bar/Bat Mitzvah's, kids get all dressed up to immediately take off their dresses and ties to change into the Bar/Bat Mitzvah Shirt (a crappy made shirt with basic graphics and 3-4 colors) that was standard at any decent over-the-top affair for obnoxious 13-year-olds.  Once this shirt was on along with huge oversized socks- the games began...

Who didnt love the awkward "tie-dance" which consisted of guys throwing a tie over a girls neck and having an awkward dance for about 30 seconds, before the girl chooses another victim.  Then there was scotch and soda a game named for alcohol-no wonder so many of us are programmed to drink.  This game involved running back and forth to sit on your partners' lap.  Last one to the other side is the loser.  It was always a big deal to be partners with the Bar/Bat Mitzvah guy/girl- because the game was rigged and you were always the winner (except at my Bar Mitzvah, where I didn't win- the prize: Mariah Carey's Hero Single).

Another tradition at these events was the making of the "Memory Glass".  This was usually fashioned out of a glass stolen from the event space filled with crap from the party- lord knows what kind of fumes we were all inhaling.  This trend was regulated after a number of small fires were set by budding Jewish-arsonists.  

My Bar Mitzvah's theme was "A Knight to Shine with Danny." (The right picture marks this event- notice the hair.) Notice the play on words that my mother came up with- the affair was a royal one.  I paraded in to "Let's Hear it for the Boy", fitting for a spoiled brat like me.  My entertainment was the Heart to Heart- a group of young college guys and girls that danced like they were on MTV's "The Grind", which seems rather inappropriate seeing that they were dancing with and in front of 12 and 13-year-olds.  The routines the did involved those big foam hands and mexican hats.  I am sure that rabbis two-thousand years ago would feel that no Bar Mitzvah wouldn't be complete without the macarena and a tie-dance.  

Clean it up kids,

Dan