the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Author: Neil Kramer (Page 84 of 187)

New Chapter

As I begin this new chapter in my life, I promise to be honest and open with you, hiding nothing, although I will leave it to your imagination to figure out if I am wearing pants or not.

Northern Exposure

After telling the whole world on my last post that I was going to New York for a month and staying with my mother, I forgot to tell one person — my mother. She sent me an email complaining that she was the last person to know, and had to read about it on my blog.

“Sorry about that, Mom. I was going to tell you. But, it should be fun. We can do things together.”

“Actually, the first weekend you are here, I’m going to a Mah Jongg tournament in Atlantic City with Shirley.”

“Well, then… when you come back.”

“Don’t you remember. I’m going on that eight day cruise to… Alaska.”

“Alaska?! What are you going to do there?”

“To see the glaciers.”

“Oh, and hey, even better… fresh Alaskan lox!”

“Exactly. I’ll bring the bagels with me. In case there are no Jews up there.”

“There’s that guy from Northern Exposure. Did you know he was supposed to be from Flushing? He went to Columbia, too.”

“Yeah, but unlike you, he was a doctor.”

“What a Jewish mother cliche, Mom. You know, doctors don’t do as well as they used to. All the HMOs.”

“Still better than blogging, right?”

“Yes.”

Truth Quotient: 89%  — 1)  I already knew that she was going to Alaska.   2)  I made up my mother’s last comment about blogging.   Maybe I should have just ended it after the “doctor” line.    3)  Oh, she didn’t really say that “doctor” line, either.

Everything else was true.

One Month in NY?

This week, my posts will be piss poor.   I may just skip days.  Hey, it’s just a blog. 

Why am I being such a downer about the quality of Citizen of the Month?  I’m always so good with my blog — I hardly missed a beat in three years.

The answer is — I’m currently in the process of running away from my life. 

Just for a while. Nothing dramatic.  No drugs or alcohol.  Maybe a little Manishevitz now and then, since I will be staying with my mother.   Actually, she likes Kahlua, because it is as sweet as Manishevitz.  Maybe I’ll learn to make some cocktails for us!

I just bought a one-way ticket to New York.  It’s for next Monday.  Oh, sure — I’m coming back.  Don’t worry, dear Californians.   I’m hoping to make money on this screenplay I’m working on.  Besides, New Yorkers are a bunch of snooty jerks.  But it’s my childhood home.   What can I do? I was born there.

I probably will stay for a month.  I figure I’ll buy another one-way ticket back to Los Angeles when I’m ready to return to the real world and start my new life.  This may screw up my BlogHer plans.

There are several reasons for going.  I will avoid having to move to another apartment in Los Angeles… just yet.  With Sophia’s rent going up next month, we need to figure out the best way of paying for everything.  Sophia and I agree that we can both “think” better if we’re apart for a month — 3000 miles apart.  I will be able to finish the first draft of this award-winning sex comedy screenplay.  I will celebrate my late father’s birthday on June 19th.  I will see friends.  And most importantly, I will eat pizza that doesn’t contain pineapple.

I don’t make rash decisions, but I saw the ticket to NY online, and whoosh — I bought it.  It was difficult to find an inexpensive one-way ticket, so I have to switch planes in Salt Lake City.  I’ll be there for at least an hour, so this would be a great opportunity for Heather and I to  grab a cup of coffee together at the airport. 

Darn it, I promised that I wouldn’t make anymore Dooce jokes.   Sophia is right.  I don’t keep to my promises.

Earlier today, Sophia presented me with a list of “must-dos” before I leave next week.  She is nervous about me leaving.  When she started showed me the list, it was like one of those documents that unravel and roll down the steps, a royal declaration of chores. 

Who is going to set up the wii fit?  What if I get a computer virus?  Where is the fan in the garage?  Who is going to massage my leg when it cramps?

I understand all these needs.  I have plenty of them myself.  One of our main problems is that we are at the point in our relationship where we “need” each other more than we “give.”  I’m saying that about BOTH of us.

We’re so different than when we married over ten years ago.  I think I’ve changed even more than her, because I was a total nudnik back then, someone lucky enough to catch such a hottie.  What did she see in me?  I have no idea. 

Years later, we are both stronger.  I feel more competent and manly than I did before meeting Sophia.  But we’re also become weaker in many ways.  We depend on each other too much — even for our own happiness.  It doesn’t make things easier.  If you think meeting Mr. and Mrs. Right is a pain in the ass, it is absolutely FUN compared to the confusion of the same couple separating, something we have been doing… forever…

I’m curious what Brenda, my therapist, will say about me skipping town for a month.  Is it irresponsible?  What will I do for money?  Am I avoiding life?    I’m wondering if I should still have therapy with her via phone once a week?  It probably isn’t as effective.  Or fun — I wouldn’t be able to look at her shapely legs in those cute summer dresses that she wears!   I could ask her — over the phone — if she’s wearing a dress that day, and what type of shoes. but I think that may be inappropiate.  Don’t you think?

I’m Back to Being a Man

I’m sorry I was such an insecure woman yesterday.  I’ll try to be a better woman next year during “Write Like the Opposite Sex Day.”   A woman that will make you proud.  That you will want to befriend.

Next time, maybe I’ll be Janet, a strong-willed female poet, a single mother living in the South. 

“I come from from Mayflower stock, but there are demons in my past.   I live in a great big ‘ol house that my late father owned.  I loved my father and was heart-broken when he died.  I dote on my son, watching him grow up to be a man.  My best poems are about death.”

Another possibility is Kendra, a fashion model living in Paris.

“I’m very flamboyant.  I’m cold to other women   I’m confident, knowing that I’m idolized by everyone.  I’m knock-out gorgeous and my face is on magazine covers. Even though I’m not supposed to,  I eat pastries.   I have two big secrets — I don’t like people.  Or modeling.” 

 I’d probably be most happy as Angie — a playful, small town waitress in Vermont. 

“Some may say I am a child at heart.  On Fall mornings, I run outside, still in my pajamas, and jump into the colorful leaves, much as I did when I was a tomboy at seven.  I’m plain-looking, but don’t worry about it.  I have a “good personality,:” as my mother would say.  I  have three lovers.  I have sex five times a week.   Last night, I was with Tom, the chef from The Tamarick Cafe.  I loved feeling his calloused hands on my ass as I moaned deeply into his strong manly chest.  In the morning, I drank my coffee, rode him again until I came, and then went to play in the leaves.  If I had more money, life would be perfect.”

On Friday, several of you wrote blog posts “written as the opposite sex.”  They were all funny.  But we all made the same mistake — we reached for stereotypes.   I’m curious if we would have had more realistic results if we just wrote our regular blog posts, then changed a few gender-specific words here and there?   

Are we really that different in the way we write?

And seriously — do women really see men as such gruff horn-dogs?! 

For me, Christine’s post came “closest” to being one actually written by a man.   As the winner of my first real “contest” on “Write Like the Opposite Sex Day,” she wins a DVD of  the movie classic, Tootsie!

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  Good Humor

Today I Am a Woman


My name is Neilochka.  I am a mother of two living in Los Angeles, who doesn’t really feel like she belongs.  I am insecure being around some of my more successful friends and wish that my husband was more attentive to me.  I like to bake scones, play board games, and kiss by the fire.  I miss my parents back home.  I am size 12 and trying to lose some weight.  I am from Wappinger Falls, NY, a small town upstate New York.  I graduated from SUNY Albany with a degree in Psychology.  I was working in marketing when I met Josh.

I had plans to go see “Sex and the City” with Megan and her friends tonight, but I wasn’t in a Carrie and Miranda mood.  Do I really want to sit through two hours of self-absorbed women negotiating relationships, looking absolutely terrific, AND living in NEW YORK?  As a former hipster gal myself (I lived in New York for six months after college before I moved back home), now mother of two — who now finds herself shopping at Costco! (can you believe it?), I have nothing in common with the Sex and the City gals anymore.  My life has not been “Sex and the City” for a long, long time.  Will someone please buy my book, “Diapers and the Poop?!”  Seriously,  I wouldn’t even have the time to write it with Kyle jumping on the couch every minute, making believe he is Iron Man (although he calls himself “Iron Chef” — hee hee).

Megan and her friends are nice,  and the screening was at the movie studio, but I didn’t feel like fighting the traffic.  I’m also a little insecure around Megan’s friends.    Last week, Erin had a birthday party for her seven year old at — get this — the Pantages Club in Burbank!  A nightclub for a child’s party!  I remember my seventh birthday party — at the Wappinger Falls bowling alley.   We had a Carvel “whale of a time” birthday cake.  Remember, this is LA.  Even Chuck E. Cheese has valet parking.  Now I’m worried about where we should have Kyle’s birthday party.  Josh suggested we rent out the Griffith Observatory.

Sometimes, I wish we had never moved to LA.  Josh says I’m just being silly… or depressed.  He means well.  I mean, I know there are a lot of cool Moms who live in town, who are able to juggle being a Mom and still being hip and trendy, like Rebecca from Girl’s Gone Child and Stephanie from Baby on Bored, but they are superstars compared to me.  I’m just a small town girl at heart. 

I’m thinking of going to synagogue on Saturday for the first time in twenty years.  Josh says he won’t go with me.  He doesn’t believe in any of that.  But I spoke to my sister, and we agree on one thing — I hit the lottery with Josh.  He is a darling.  Today, he sent me flowers from the office.  I think he’s a keeper.  Or he wants sex.  Bad.  Ha Ha.

I know work is everything to Josh, but with the internet, he should be able to write his animated cartoons anywhere he wants, even from upstate New York, near my parents.  I could even go back working with the marketing firm.  I need to look for freelance work.

Well, listen to me.  Blah blah blah.  I know… always complaining when I should be telling you how lucky I am.  I am lucky, knock on wood.  I even lost those extra three pounds this month.  I looked at myself in the mirror this morning and said to myself, “Not bad!”  I hope I win that wii fit on Redhead Momma’s blog.  I have a long way to go before I reach my ideal weight goal.  Soon is high school reunion time… and BlogHer.  Does anyone need a roommate on Saturday night?!

Are you guys going to watch “Lost” tonight?  I know I am.   Sarah B. was so funny on Twitter today. 

“If Sawyer takes his shirt off once more, I’m leaving my husband and marrying him.”

Sorry, Sarah.  He’s already taken.  By ME!

Toots, y’all.  xxxooo — Neilochka

(This is a project of “Write Like the Opposite Sex Day.”  Please comment on this post as if you were of the opposite sex)

Others changing their gender for one day:

Memarie Lane is a man.

Finn is a man.

Anymommy is a man.

Melanie is a man.

Christine is a man.

And check out the amazing haikus written for Haiku Friday  (also here) by women… writing the haikus as if they were men.

Tell All

via Publishers Weekly:  In the tradition of the tell-all, screw the loyalty, backstabbing, I wanna write a book and tell the truth now that I have a book deal, even though I was too wimpy to do so when I was there sucking up to the Man, tradition of “What Happened — Inside the Bush White House and Washington’s Culture of Deception,” by Bush spokesperson Scott McClellan, “Behind the Oval Office” by Clinton aide/prostitute-lover Dick Morris, and countless other memoirs by bloggers lucky enough to obtain impossible-to-get glamour jobs in law, publishing, and the entertainment fields, who then turn around and betray the trust of their former bosses and co-workers, comes Neil Kramer’s new book, “Behind the Blogosphere:  What Other Bloggers Really Tell Me.” 

In his three years of blogging, Mr. Kramer, or “Neilochka from Redondo Beach” as he was known online, kept backup copies of every IM conversation, Twitter, email, and blog comment he was ever involved in — right on his computer in his office in Chicago, discussing the intimate details of the lives of his “blogging friends.”

“I carefully created this “Neilochka” personality,” said Mr. Kramer, “using the the Britten-Margolis Personality Quadrant, making sure that this character seemed open, friendly, and sensitive to the needs of others, especially to that of women.  In fact, one of my first posts was about “Neilochka” vehemently insisting that women who are size 14-16 were just as sexy to me as the truly attractive women who are size 0.  And my readers believed it!   Combined with other little details, like an unstable marriage where my wife was completely at fault, humorous jokes stolen from obscure Japanese comedies, and hints that I was pretty well-endowed, was enough to get women to tell me anything!”

And tell me they did.  In complete confidence, they talked to Neilochka, thinking him safe, like the gay friend in a chick-lit novel.  After three years of blogging, he KNOWS everything. 

And now YOU will too.  In Neil Kramer’s new book, “Behind the Blogosphere:  What Other Bloggers Really Tell Me,” the author takes no prisoners.  Nothing is off-limits. 

Some highlights:

  • Which bloggers don’t look like their photos AT ALL because they always use a high angle to hide the double chin?
  • Who are the blogging perverts, sending “Neilochka” photos of their bras — and worse? (including some men!)
  • What anti-depressant each blogger is taking, and who has completely lost their libido because of it?
  • What “really” goes on behind the closed doors of Room 1243 at the Westin St. Francis Hotel during BlogHer?
  • Who is the quiet, shy “cat blogger” in Toronto who has slept with every male blogger east of the Mississippi, and has made sculptures of their privates which she sells on a secret Etsy site?
  • Which female blogger never has anything to wear for her high-profile job as a social media specialist because her “wonderful” husband insists on wearing her clothes around the house, stretching the fabric?
  • Which mommyblogger actually thinks her new baby is “sort of ugly?”
  • Which “Momocrat” is really voting for McCain and thinks her other friends are “liberal pussies” who hate America?
  • Which “good friend” of Dooce said “her favorite blog is “Citizen of the Month,” but Heather “Dooce” is so insecure she would never say so publicly in fear of losing her own “standing?”

And so much more.

Soon, at a bookstore near you.

Remember:  Tomorrow is “Write Like the Opposite Sex Day.”  If you so choose, write your post as the opposite sex and then tell me about it in the comments.  I’ll put up a link.  Hell, I’ll even give you until the weekend.

And if you comment on my blog tomorrow, make sure you do so as the opposite sex.

Masculin, Féminin


(how I visualize myself as a woman)

I’ve given a lot of thought about masculinity and femininity in the last few days, since I first mentioned this idea for “Write Like the Opposite Sex” Day.  This week — my blog, my therapy, my marriage, and my sex life all converged at a point somewhere in my brain. 

I’ve come to a definite decision about something.  I am a man.  I’m a man despite being pegged as a “female writer” by the Gender Genie (thanks Schmutzie).  That’s right.  I’m a man and I’m proud.   Even when I watch “All My Children,” I watch it like a man.  Sophia and I watch it completely differently.  I pay attention to the ridiculous plot.  Sophia notices that “Kendall is anorexic.” 

I’m honored that so many women choose to read this blog, but I’m not really sure I would ever want to be one of you.  Sure, it would be nice to be allowed to speak at BlogHer, but who the hell needs it?! 

I like being a man.

Men, we’re the lucky ones!  Sure, the women can have babies and be all “nurturing,”  but WE have our penises, and they can’t take that away from us.  I guess they can try to take them away, either physically or emotionally, but when I say penises, I don’t just mean our large and strong c*cks.  I mean the penises in our hearts.  The ones that makes us MEN.  You know what I’m talking about.   The woman NEVER will.

That said, I would make one helluva woman.  Just like the Michael Dorsey character in Tootsie.  If you are a male reader, do you think you would be a good woman?

If I were a woman, I have no doubt that every male reading this right now would be killing himself to get to know me.  You would totally want me.  I would be such a sexy woman.  I would show cleavage, but not too much.  I would know exactly when you are looking at my ass.  I would surprise you with my off-the-cuff remarks.  I would be funnier than you are.  You would say to yourself, “I have never met such a f**king amazing woman in all my entire life.  She’s as cool as a MAN, but he’s a woman!”

Sure, I know I sound like the ideal woman to you.  But don’t waste your time thinking about it.   If I were a woman, I would not go out with any losers like you!   Bloggers – heh.  A waste of my feminine time.  A woman like me deserves better.  I expect better.  I mean,  I can hang out and bullshit, and be one of the guys, but I also want to be treated like a princess.

And don’t try to use any two-for-one dinner coupons at the Olive Garden with me, you cheap assholes.

The plan is still the same for Friday — Write as the Opposite Sex Day.

“Write Like the Opposite Sex Day” – A Question

Note written an hour later after emailing with Jane:  OK – forget this post!  Write Like the Opposite Sex Day will go on like I said in the last post.  But I’ll keep this post up anyway just so you can see how neurotic I am, and how quick I am to change ideas when I hear criticism, although she was completely right on.   But who cares!   Gotta have balls, like a male writer, and stick to my guns!

Jane made an interesting comment on my last post.  I decided to quote it as a separate post. 

Not meaning to critique your idea, my dear Neil, but stereotypical behaviors and expressions are probably not that involved, outside of some comedy, in the true-to-life expressions of most modern male and female characters. . .they just perpetuate the stereotypes. 

Maybe for your next contest, you could consider blind entries — people writing  characters — and then guessing whether the author is male or female.  That would go above stereotyped expressions into who really might understand the opposite sex more.

(Please don’t hate me.  I adore you!  [she said that, not me])

Perhaps she has a point.  If a writer tries to “write” like the opposite sex, won’t the results be characters who are stereotypes?  Sure, it may be funny, but it won’t help us understand the other sex any better, or create strong characters.  After all, not all women think about shoes all the time, like the gals on “Sex and the City.” 

I’m a man, right?  I don’t watch football.  I rarely drink beer.  I watch “All My Children?”  How do I fit in?  I worry that if we try too hard to write like the opposite sex, the results will suck.

If I am going to write like “a woman,” maybe I should avoid thinking of her – first and foremost — as a woman.  She is a human being.   A mother in North Carolina might have more in common with a male Eskimo than another mother down the block.  Maybe the mother and the Eskimo both have phobias about snakes, or both had a controlling father!   I can delve into a female’s character motivation and emotional state without even thinking about her gender.  Wouldn’t this be the best way to make a female character three-dimensional?

When I talk to you on IM, I don’t say to myself “this is a woman.”  OK, sometimes when I look at your photos on Flickr I do, but that’s for another reason.   And it usually sounds like “This IS a WOMAN!” and my mouth is hanging open.  You are a person first, a person with neurotic character flaws — before you are a woman.    Some of you like to cook and some of you play roller derby.  Some of you do both.  And what’s wrong with me watching “All My Children?!”  And most of these external things are just the surface of the real person.

Of course, there are some stereotypes that exist because they are true.  Men and women act differently.  Our brains are different.  And there are differing social constraints.  But real character is internal…. what goes on in the brain.   Honestly — I have this strange feeling that some of you nice mommybloggers who write about knitting and cooking, are way more kinky and perverse in your minds, than any of us guys talking about our “dicks” all the time.

So, what do you think?  Should I continue my contest the same way I outlined it earlier?  Or will we just get stereotyped nonsense without stretching our writing skills?  Or should I change it to Jane’s idea? — you send me a paragraph of something you wrote as yourself, and then something written “as” the opposite sex.  Anything you want.  I will post them without revealing the author’s name.  Others will then vote on each piece — was it written by a man or a woman.   It would be like in the old “To Tell the Truth” game show:  “Will the real man or woman please stand up?”  Later on, I will reveal who wrote each paragraph, with a link to your blog.  The one who fools the most people wins!

I’m all about destroying gender stereotypes!  Would Jane’s idea be a better way of doing this?  What do you think?

And yes, Tootsie DVD will still be given to the winner.

“Write Like the Opposite Sex Day” on Friday

Over the weekend, I mentioned that I was struggling with trying to make one of my female characters believable.  No matter what situation I put her in, she seemed to always be taking off her blouse, rubbing against the male lead, and saying “Take me now, you hot-blooded schmuck.”

When I asked for male writers who can “write women,” you gave me a whole bunch of cool suggestions, from Wally Lamb to Stephen King.  Thanks.

On a somewhat related note, the director Sydney Pollack died at the age of 73.  He was a very classy Hollywood professional, director of such mainstream classics like “Out of Africa.”  He directed my mother’s favorite movie — “The Way We Were.”  Redford?  Streisand?  Is it surprising?  He also director one of my top five movies of all time — “Tootsie.”

In Tootsie, the Dustin Hoffman character dresses like a woman to get a soap opera job, and does such a good job that he/she becomes a star.  It is a very funny movie.

Maybe I need to be a little like Tootsie in order to write like a woman.  BECOME the WOMAN!

In celebration of Sydney Pollack’s work, Friday will be “Write Like the Opposite Sex Day” here on Citizen of the Month.  I will write my blog post as if I were a woman (even more so than I already do), just to have you judge my ability to see my own life as a woman.  On Friday, please also comment on my blog as if you are commenting as the OPPOSITE SEX.  That means, men should be giving me the “hugs” and the women should be making sarcastic, unemotional, unrelated comments.

I will also run a little contest here on Friday.  Write your own post like a member of the opposite sex!  

Can you do it?  Would you write about your day differently if you were a man?  Would you curse more? 

Can a guy find his inner woman?  Would he be all emotional if he was a woman with PMS, crying because he was stuck in traffic?  Can you see yourself as being a member of the opposite sex? 

I will be the judge. Whoever I deem to be most in touch with their masculine or feminine side, will win a prize.  Usually my prizes are zilch.  This time, it will be a brand new DVD of Tootsie!  Hey, so it isn’t a wii.  At least, I’m paying for the damn prize with my own money, you ungrateful…! 

Wait, wait…how would a woman handle this situation?   “I hate you!  But I love you too!  Waaaaaa!  I am having the worst period EVAH!  Oh, did I tell you about my new shoes?!”

The Ram

When unconditional love fades, it doesn’t melt away like the Wicked Witch after she is splashed with a bucket of water.  It happens slower, in a more painful way.  Like the drip drip drip of Chinese water torture.

I was in the laundromat.  It was Saturday night.  It was quiet except for the sound of the the dryers.  There was one other customer.  He was about 60.  Joe introduced himself.  He said he played the mandolin, and gave me his card.  He lived in some trailer park. 

“You mind if I change the channel?” he asked. 

I shrugged.  In the right corner of the laundromat was a small TV that was playing the Dodger game.  The Dodgers were losing.  Joe turned the channel to one of those “America’s Funniest Home Video” rip-offs.  I hate these shows.  I don’t find kids falling into mud or dogs biting their own tails funny.  Ever.  And I consider myself to have a sense of humor.  Since when is pain, shown out of context, funny?

On the TV, a ram was butting his head into a children’s swing set. The bench swung in an arc and then hit the ram back in the head.  The ram showed no fear.  He pushed to the other side of the swing set, and then rammed his way from the opposite side.  He banged his head a second time.  He was relentless.  He attacked the swing set over and over again, each time with the same result.  I know rams do this naturally, but I was worrying about the animal’s health.  Was he damaging his brain?  Was he trying to forget about something?  About someone?  Was he in and out of love?

The onscreen audience was laughing and cheering.  Joe was cracking up.

“Are you watching this?  Man oh man, this is hilarious!”

I went to fold my laundry.  This stubborn ram doing stupid things to himself was not funny, even if he was deceiving himself into thinking he was being productive.  He was in pain.  Emotional pain.

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