the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Month: December 2008 (Page 2 of 2)

The Conclusion to the JCPenney/Dockers Free Round-Trip Ticket Saga

Back in July, I had plans to go to BlogHer in San Francisco, living it up with hot mommybloggers from across the country.   Since I was already in New York, I intended to use this free round-trip ticket that I was promised because I bought $125 dollars worth of Dockers products at JCPenney.  The tickets from this promotion never arrived.  Phone calls were never returned. Thousands of other customers complained to the Better Business Bureau.  The phones to the marketing company handling the promotion went dead.  I wrote six posts on my blog cursing out both JCPenny and Dockers.  I mockingly wrote about an annoying customer service guy and was criticized by a blogger from India for my lack of sympathy.  I fought with blogging friends for accepting $500 gift certificates and writing glowing reviews of JCPenney after the company became BlogHer’s SPONSOR!

This afternoon, five months after my original flight, I received a call from the “new” marketing company running the promotion.  A sales manager was NOW ready to give me a free ticket.

“Hello, this is Jane calling about your JCPenney/Dockers free round-trip ticket.  Where would you like to go?  And what are your departure and arrival dates?”

“Huh?!  What?!  Now?  I don’t know.  You want me to tell you now?  You’re ready to give me a reservation NOW?”

“First, can you tell me your full name?”

“Neil Kramer.”

“Do you remember who you first spoke with and what list number you were assigned?”

“I don’t know.  What list?  This was months ago.”

“I found you on our list.  You are on List 17.  Do you still want to a trip from Kennedy to San Francisco?”

“Not now!  I wanted to go July 16th for this BlogHer conference.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“I don’t know.  I didn’t know you were going to call today.  Can I think about it and call you back?”

“I have a very long list to cover today.”

“Can YOU call me back?”

“We really need to do this now.  Your last day for making reservations is on Monday.”

“On Monday?  Says who.”

“That is the last day to make reservations.”

“How was I supposed to know that?  No one ever called me back.  I figured you were never going to call.  I haven’t been sitting here for five months waiting for you.”

“In the original instructions, you were supposed to present us with a destination and a date.”

“I did!  I gave you a destination.  San Francisco.  It was on July 16, 2008, five months ago.  But the specific reason for going to San Francisco isn’t there anymore.  You can’t just call me on Friday afternoon to tell me that Monday is the last day to make reservations?”

“If you want a flight, you really should make reservations now.  It might be difficult to reach us on Monday.”

“Understatement of the year.  OK, where can I fly again.”

“Boston, Washington D.C. Chicago, Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Miami, and Dallas.”

[this is where I pause for a moment to think about which bloggers I know in these locations, and who is most likely to put me up for a few nights]

“OK, I know where I should go.  I’d like to go for two week in January to…”

Ta-dah!  My free trip — is to Los Angeles.  January 6 – January 20th.  I know… I know… weird choice…

Now I need to tell Sophia.  Stay tuned.  This is when the blog gets interesting.

Wednesday Night Fever

Queens, Dec 10, 2008

Neil’s mother is cooking in the kitchen.  Neil is in the bathroom, combing his hair.

Mother: “Where ya going?”

Neil: “Out.”

Mother: “Where ya going?”

Neil: “I said out.”

Mother: “I know what you said.  I wanna know where you are going!  I wanna know who you’re gonna be seeing.”

Neil comes out of the bathroom, his hair slicked back.

Neil: “None of your f**kin’ business, Mom!  I’m going out.  Jesus.  What am I a prisoner here?”

Mother: “You live here, you live by my rules.”

Neil: “What are ya gonna do, throw me out?  You want me to leave?  You really want me to leave?  Cause I’ll walk right out and never come back?  Is that what you want?!”

Mother (crying):  “No, no, no.  I’m sorry, Neil.  Go, have a good time. (handing him ten dollars)  Here’s some money for you to enjoy yourself.  Just don’t stay out too late.”

Neil: “I’ll be home when I WANT to come home.”

Mother: “Sure, sure…”

Neil slams the door behind him, and leaves his apartment building wearing his tightest jeans, sexiest shirt, and disco shoes.  He confidently walks down the boulevard, in rhythm to Britney Spears latest single.  As Neil walks down the street, all eyes are on him.  Everyone in Queens knows, wants him, or wants to be like him.  Neil enters Valentino’s, the hottest pizzeria on Kissena Boulevard.  Everyone shouts his name.

Everybody:
“Neil!  The King is here!’

Neil has arrived and the party can get rolling!

Neil: “Yo! how ya doing, everyone!  Joey!  Tony!  Raj!  Bagel!  Mr. DJ!  BigBoy!  Donna!”

Donna comes up to Neil and rubs against him, like a lonely little kitten.  She is wearing the tightest dress imaginable.

Donna: “So, Neil, are you finally gonna f**k me in the back of your car tonight?  Cause I will do anything you want, even the crazy shit from behind.”

Neil: “Donna, ain’t you got any self-respect?”

Donna: “I do have respect  I respect ya a lot.  That’s why you don’t have to buy me a slice of pizza before you do me like a dog!  So, is your car outside?”

Neil: “Are you f**kin’ stupid, Donna!  My car is in LA, and even it was here, I’m not gonna be humpin’ some easy whore like you in the back of my new Toyota Prius.  It ain’t environmentally sound.  Now if I had my gas-guzzling Hyndai Santa Fe SUV, that would be a different story.”

Luigi, the Pizza Maker: “So, Neil, what do you want to eat — the usual — a plain slice?

Tony: “None of that pineapple shit on the pizza like those yuppie assholes in Redondo Beach, right Neil?”

Bagel: “Those California phonies are idiots.  We should bash their heads in.  Hey, let’s do that.  Let’s go over there right now and f**kin’ bash their heads in!”

Neil: “Bagel, California is 3000 miles away.”

Bagel: “F**k that!  F**k California!  F**k the LA Dodgers!  Brooklyn Dodgers!  Brooklyn Dodgers! Those Dodgers belong in Brooklyn!  Assholes.”

Luigi, the Pizza Maker: “So, how many slices, Neil?  And no money from you.  It’s on the house.  You’re the King here.  You’re the most famous person to ever eat in this pizzeria other than Fran Drescher (showing Neil the photo of Fran Drescher on the wall for the 100th time).”

BigBoy: “I’d f**k Fran Drescher.  I like her voice.”

Raj: “She sounds like a goddamn hyena!”

BigBoy: “My mother sounds like Fran Drescher, you dolt.”

Neil (to Luigi the Pizza-Maker):  “You know what, Luigi.  I’m watching my cholesterol.  I’m not going to have a slice at all.  I’m probably just gonna go home and watch “Top Chef” with my mother!”

Donna: “That is so sweet. I like a man who loves his mother.  You sure you don’t want to f**k me in the back of the pizzeria?  I’ll be loud if you want.”

Neil: “Not tonight, Donna.  “Top Chef” is gonna be on in ten minutes.”

Donna: “You son of a bitch, Neil. No one turns me down.  You’re gonna regret it.  You know why?  Cause I’m gonna f**k every guy in here tonight, every way, every position, and then you’re gonna regret it.

Neil: “I saw the promo for “Top Chef.”  It looks like a good chef challenge.

Donna: “Yeah?  OK, then maybe I’ll go home, too, and watch “Top Chef.”  There’s really not much doing on Kissena Boulevard at night anyway.

Neil: “No, it’s pretty dead.  See you, everyone!  Luigi!  Joey!  Tony!  Raj!  Bagel!  BigBoy!  Donna!””

Everyone: “Bye, Neil!”

As Neil walks down the street, back to his apartment, all eyes are on him, mostly from the two thugs sitting on the ledge by the bank, drinking some cheap stuff out of a paper bag.  Neil walks a little faster, remembering that somebody got mugged on Kissena Boulevard last week.

What Type of Holiday Card Should You Send Me?

The Holiday season brings up some uncomfortable issues. Several women, both Jewish and non-Jewish women have spoken to me, unsure what type of card to send to me.  Do I only celebrate Hanukkah?  Will I be offended if I receive a Christmas card?  Is a simple “Seasons Greeting” too lame of a Holiday message?

I cannot answer these questions for every Jewish male.  Each of you will have to make your own choices.  And rather than offering any guidelines, I have come up with a few copywriting ideas for the type of seasonal cards that I find both enjoyable and appropriate.

Hanukkah Cards

I want to light your menorah, Neilochka, eight days a week.

Let’s meet at my place.  You’ll eat my latkes, and I’ll spin your dreidel.

Who needs a Christmas Tree when you have my Hanukkah bush?  See you on Saturday night!

Christmas Cards

Card-giving is much more complicated for my female friends who celebrate Christmas. You want to share your holiday with me, but knowing that I am Jewish, don’t want to make me feel uncomfortable. Here are a few non-religious Christmas cards ideas that would definitely put me in the holiday mood:

It’s Christmas.  A Day for Loving A Jewish Man.  Again and Again.

I Know You Don’t Celebrate Christmas, my dear Jewish friend, but I Would Like to Get Laid By You on New Year’s Eve

Forget Santa.  I’d Rather Have You Coming Up My Chimney.

Email me for my address. Happy Holidays!

Even Darwin Loved to Sing

In the past, I’ve complained about BlogHer excluding the men.  Recently, I railed against the Mommy and Daddy Bloggers who ignore the childless.  I preach inclusiveness on the blogosphere.

But am I really that inclusive, or am I a red-faced hypocrite?

Just look at the entries so far the The 2008  Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert that will be held on December 23, 2008:

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas — Saucybritches

Hayo, Haya — Otir

Silent Night – Torrie

Little Drummer Boy – Abbersnail

Dreidel Song — Memarie Lane

Greensleeves – Whoorl

O Holy Night – Maitresse

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel —Suzanne

Hava Nagila – Fancy

Baby, It’s Cold Outside – Hilly and Shiny

O Come all Ye Faithful – Loralee

Whatever Happened to Christmas — La Framericaine

The Christmas Song – Assertagirl

Jimmy the Elf — Mama Ginger Tree

S’vivon – Danny

The Christmas Song – 180/360

The Gift – Astrogirl

Santa Baby — I am the Diva and Saviabella

O, Holy Night — MommyMae

Mary Did You Know – Ginger

Grown Up Christmas List – MapleMama

Merry Christmas Darling – Laurel

— and Christmas songs by

Ingrid

Balou

Not Fainthearted

Ms. Sizzle

Aimee Greeblemonkey

KateAnon

Are you seeing how I am being a hypocrite?  How I am discriminating against some of closest blogger friends?

Yes, I am talking about all of those bloggers who are godless heathens and indecisive waverers, those stubborn Atheists and Agnostics who strongly disagree with celebrating holidays based on so-called fantastical myths, who pooh-pooh these opiates for the week-willed, but still like to party as much as their fun-loving, faithful, religious brethren.

Who doesn’t like to sing?  Recent research from Oxford University shows that even Charles Darwin loved to do karaoke at a tiki bar in the Galapagos Island as a way to relax after a long day developing his theory of Evolution.

So, before I am sued by the ACLU for excluding the non-religious, let me reveal that, for the first time in the history of Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concerts, I will be accepting songs of Atheistic or Agnostic nature, as long as they are celebratory about life, nature, winter, or the beauty of the female body.

An example of an atheist song —

An example of an agnostic song —

As for everyone else who believes in some sort of God, or at least Santa Claus, a sign-up sheet is still available.  The songs/videos must be sent to me or published by December 22 in order for them to be ready for the concert on December 23.  If you have any technical questions, please email me.

Also, — and this is open to anyone — please send me a holiday photo of your tree, menorah, or family, so I can decorate the Holiday web post.  If they want, the atheists can send in a photo of a rational polar bear playing in the snow.

Confidence

If you read the truly popular and influential blogs, you will notice a distinctive voice coming from each blogger and a confidence in their words.  These writers never mention the names of run-of-the-mill bloggers as friends, only other important bloggers — and usually by their first names, as if everyone in the world should know their first name, like Oprah.  These bloggers have a hundred projects going on, just to remind you of their busy schedule.    I eat that stuff up.   I learn from it.  In the competitive field of blogging, where there are hundreds of thousands of writers each competing for attention, it is important to present an image of strength.  If you announce yourself as important, even if you’re a scrawny guy who usually gets sand kicked in his face, then the world starts following.  No one wants to see the emperor without his clothes.  People respect leadership.  We all want President-Elect Obama to stand in front of America and say to the American public that he will solve all of our domestic and international problems.  No one wants him to step in front of the podium at the press conference and say, “Uh, I’m not really sure what the f**k we’re going to do about Pakistan.  Why do you think I’m sending Hillary there?”  That would not be presidential.

I like blogging and I enjoy writing, so I feel the need to make believe that I know what I am doing here on “Citizen of the Month,” partly to fool you into coming back, and also to make you feel safe getting involved in blog activities like the Holiday Concert.  I am not a born impresario.   The trick is to ACT confident, or else you would be too afraid to trust me with your squeaky singing of “Jingle Bells.”

I try to be open with you, but I’m afraid of getting down and dirty with “emotional stuff” here on this blog.  I’m not sure you want it.  I see all the other blogs that you love and admire.  You seem to want a blogger with a sense of confidence.  Maybe it gives you something to shoot for.  Am I wrong?  Sometimes, a new blogger will make a comment on my blog, and I will immediately email her back.   And then something odd happens.  I seem to lose this person’s respect for me, as if I showed my cards too early in the game.

“Jeez… and I thought he was an important blogger.” I can hear the person saying.  “Dooce would never email me.  If he is emailing me, that must mean that he isn’t… that important… shit… why I am reading his stupid blog anyway!”

OK, enough… let’s get to the point of this post.  There’s something about this online life that is depressing to me.   I wish I could say it was because you were a bunch of assholes, cause then it would be easier.   The truth is — most of you seem like really cool people.  It is just these tiny little moments of interaction that I have with some of you each day makes me sad.  Recently, I have NOT been READING my favorite blogs because I get this “what’s the point” feeling the minute I click on the link.

“I’m never going to know this person in real life.” I think.  “It’s just frustrating.”

I guess I am feeling a little lonely here in New York. And who wants to admit that?  That’s like showing your cards.

Blogging is easier when you have a significant other, or a demanding family life, because they bring you back to reality by demanding you take out the garbage.  The trouble begins when you forget that blogging is really just about WRITING and not an alternative, equally-satisfying way to connect to other people.  You cannot touch a computer byte.

New York City is a special place, especially on the busy streets of Manhattan.  I love to walk down the crowded avenues, people-watching, letting all the energy wash over my body.  That is how the Internet should be.  It is a vibrant virtual city, with unlimited neighborhoods of information, stories, and drama.  But to enjoy it, you need to have a strong sense of self, to separate yourself from the information overload of the masses, to walk with a sense of belonging.   If you think too much about the others all around you, and your place among the mob, you lose your sense of self.  You start to judge yourself, wondering if you are good as the businessman in the tailored suit.  You begin to see yourself as small, as one of the other twelve million other suckers with the same unfulfilled dreams.  What do I have special to say?  Why should anyone give a shit?  HE is the important one… the one everyone knows.  The one on Page Six of the New York Post.  The one who who knows the other important people by their FIRST names.

New York is especially horrendous when you have a lonely heart.  The crowds lose their romance.  It is not like a movie at all, with the horse-drawn carriages, Central Park, and Gershwin.  When you are yearning for love in a large city, each passer-by becomes a possibility for human contact, but it rarely happens.  The pace of the city is too fast.  You take a quick glance at a fashionable woman, and all you can see is her face, her clothes, and the posture of her walk.  Sure, sometimes you can catch the title of the book that she is gripping.  Or the brand of purse.  But what does this tell you about her?  Not much.  Is she even reading the book in reality or just carrying the latest non-fiction best-seller for show?   Is the purse from Bloomingdale’s or is it a knock-off that she bought in Chinatown?   You have to be satisfied with your limited amount of superficial contact with this individual, because she’s already passed.  And there’s no time to fret.  Every second there is another potentially interesting person walking by, and then whoosh, she is never to be seen again.

The Internet can be like that.  Thousands walking by.  I guess the only solution is to start tripping people.

Mothers, Food, and Sex

Don’t live in the same apartment with your mother after the age of thirty.  It’s sort of weird.

Don’t accidentally call you mother your wife’s name during dinner.   It’s a bit odd.

Don’t go with your mother to a Jewish Deli and think it would be “fun” to sit at the same table where Sally had her fake orgasm.  It can be embarrassing.

Don’t assume your mother is sleeping in her bedroom during your imaginary passionate tryst with a hostess from the Food Network in your living room.    Don’t ask.

Doing Things Backwards

I had a dream last night, a plan for online success.  In the dream, I quit Twitter and Facebook.  I delete everyone from my blogroll.

Except for one woman.

I use my blog to woo her, day in and day out.  I close my blog, focusing instead on writing only to her, composing a new, passion-filled love letter each and every day.

This woman, a beauty beyond words, can not resist the attention of a man who has picked her over all the others, like a Prince choosing his Princess.  She invites me to her apartment.  We make love.  We make love for days.  By the end of the week, I move in with her as her permanent lover.  I continue to compose beautiful love letters for her each day, placing one on our King-sized bed in the morning, along with a freshly-cut rose.  In each letter, hand-written on the finest paper, I speak openly of how much I love her eyes, her lips, her breasts, her sense of humor, her creativity, her soul.  We make love again each morning, and as my head is between her thighs, kissing the very center of her womanhood, I think about strategies for monetization.

For Gorillabuns

Sometimes, I feel like a phony online.  There are just too many people out there, and my superficial interactions are not satisfying.  When I get in this mood, I think I should just focus on a niche — like only reading ultra-serious “writer” types who see their blogging as career-building.  My first instinct is always to drop the traditional mommybloggers out of my life.  What do I have in common with them?  Nothing.  If we met, what could we talk about?  Nothing. All they care about is their children.

But then I remember that half of the people who I love and admire — and enjoy — online are these exact types of mothers.  How did it turn out this way?

Gorillabuns is a blogger from Oklahoma.

She and her husband, Rich, are about to have their third child, and I am participating in this surprise baby shower  for her (yes, a baby shower!) along with —

I’ve never been to a baby shower before, so I am very excited.  Do we do anything really fun, like get naked or give each other sex toys?  This is my chance to learn.

Like with most bloggers, I don’t remember how I met Gorillabuns.  Probably through Ms. Sizzle.  Blogging creates weird blogfellows.  What I like most about Shana is that she is funny.  There is nothing sexier to a man than a funny woman.  Some of the best moments with Gorillabuns did not occur on our blogs, but in emails — we’ve had some amusing discussions about subjects such as marriage, her obsession with rock bands, and especially — juicy blogger gossip.

Why do we connect to one person and not another?  Is it random?  Timing?  Or does each individual have a unique spark that you either see or you don’t?

If I were to follow the advice of ProBloggers, I would not have befriended Gorillabuns.  She is not in my “niche.”  I’m not sure I  even want my manly Citizen of the Month “brand” to be associated with a bunch of girls involved in a surprise blogger baby shower.

But, you know what — if I was practical about using blogging for career advancement, I would have missed out on the friendship and humor of Gorillabuns, who is one of the coolest people I have met online.

Gorillabuns, may your birth be an easy one (you certainly are experienced already!) and your baby as beautiful as the rest of your family.

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