New York – millions of people and millions of stories. Having lived here for many years now, I’ve seen some crazy things. Every once in a while when I’m out and about, I snap a picture to share along with my friends. Now, I’ve sharing them with you! It was a random Wednesday morning and I was walking to work. While stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, I looked down and found this…! I’m sure these Chicken McNuggets didn’t really fall from the sky like rain, but it looks like someone lost more than half of their 20 piece order. I don’t know about you, but I usually don’t see the sidewalk littered with deep fried chicken parts often. Last month, I spotted this sign posted in a Jersey City bar, just across the river from Manhattan.  Read the last line very carefully… Doesn’t consuming beverages at a bar make you hydrated — or less thirsty? Apparently not here! So, come in thirsty – because you’re going home even more dehydrated!   We’ve all heard about the chicken that crossed the road… well, here’s the pretzel that crossed the subway tracks.  Somehow, I don’t think this story would be good for children, especially when the 3 train comes barreling on in!   Yes, this giant cockroach was recently caught in a Manhattan high rise! Feel secure that a few hours earlier, it was crawling across somebody’s desk. You should have seen my co-workers freak out when I carried this thing around!   How would you like to drive this van with a giant hot dog on top? This thing blew past me at about 80 MPH on the Garden State Parkway, heading south of the city.   No, this is not a prop from Saturday Night Live… this...

When I want to sound cool and mysterious, I say I was raised in the desert. When I want to explain why I’m loud, stubborn, cynical, opinionated, dramatic, charming (in an overbearing sort of way), and obsessed with protecting my territory and feeding everybody hummus, I say I was raised in Israel. And when I’m listening to Californians whine like babies about the weather, I say I was raised in Albany. (Not to mention how I was shaped by all the crazy years spent on the New York theatre scene trying to “make it there” and, ipso facto, “anywhere”  during which time I worked as an Elf at Macy’s, cleaned up vomit at comedy clubs for stage time and tips and gave out sandwiches and fruit on the subway in the South Bronx for $50 a day + “donations” – but I’ll save all these tales of struggle for my motivational seminars: “Reach for the Stars — Fall on your Ass — Get a Real Fucking Job with Some Health Insurance” and “Artists Starve – Arts Administrators Get Fat, So Come to the Break Room of Life Like I Did and Grab Your Piece of the Pie (actually day-old birthday cake)”. Anyhow, the desert. The characters in Hari Kunzru’s Gods Without Men spend an awful lot of time schlepping around the desert looking for aliens. I spent my fair share of time schlepping around the Israeli desert as a young teenager, but I was just looking for snakes, lizards and scorpions to sell to the creepy American zoologist who lived in town. He said he was buying these critters for research, but I think he REALLY didn’t like falafel and hummus, if you catch my drift (He ate them. Fuck subtlety- I’m Israeli!). Anyhow,...