I wrote a whole thing just now about self confidence. And about not taking rejection personally. 1000 words. It’s bad so I won’t make you muscle through it. If I die and someone finds my google docs, don’t publish that one. That’s not in my Anne Frank collection. I have a huge problem with people my age pretending they can give life advice. Everyone knows that advice is the thing you tell other people to make yourself feel better about your decision making, knowing all the while that the advice recipient will not listen to you because they are going to do what they want. And the cycle goes on and on.
But I’m also not going to pretend like I know nothing. I’m not the bumbling 20 something just trying to figure out life in the big city. I have life all figured out, I’m just not going to tell you about it because you need to take that journey on your own. And I’m shy.
I won’t give you advice because I believe in the power of trial and error. Aside from restaurant recs, I want to let people navigate shit the way they think they should. Of course I have a lot of ideas about what people should do, I’m first and foremost a Jewish woman and secondly a comic. I think about a lot of things, all the time. But that’s just me. I’m not going to tell you what to do about your boyfriend, and if I do I’m just going to tell you to break up with him. Cut out the middleman.
It’s Hanukkah and that means everyone on my phone is yelling at me about how to make THE BEST LATKES. The truth is that the best latkes are the ones someone else makes for you. And squeeze out the liquid. But other than that, just make them how your elders did. We all know the story, we were rushing out of the desert and didn’t have time to order takeout so we fried potatoes because they’re so good that maybe Pharoah won’t want to kill us so badly. Please don’t fact check me, I spent most of my time in Hebrew school in a time out.
Make latkes that suck and then figure out why they suck and change your methods. There is so much to learn in the piano falling on your head. In the surprise fork in your road. If it doesn’t kill you, it will at least change your summer plans. In the hospital you can learn what kind of pudding doesn’t constipate you. If the Steinway broke your left arm, you can become more dexterous in your right. You might just say fuck it and use the speech to text function more often. Circumnavigation is the way out.
Last night I was coming home drunk on the train. Not the level of drunk where I was stumbling, but the level where I got on an express train instead of a local and ended up in a neighborhood I’d love to visit, but do not have a bed in. I got off the train at 36th Street in Sunset Park and took in my surroundings. Julie Andrews once said, a princess is never late, everyone else is simply early. This is how I view train travel in the city. I didn’t “take the wrong train” home. What do we mean when we say “home” anyway? I wanted to get to know my city. The 36th street station is gorgeous this time of year.
Nobody was looking at me when I got off the train going southbound to switch to northbound. Nobody knew I was inebriated and had just come from a comedy show. Nobody knew my friend Sarah made me soup for dinner and then toasted the sourdough on the stove because it was too thick to fit into the toaster. I knew all of those things. I’m full of secrets. So is everyone else.
I got back on the train, headed in the right direction, and met my friend Zach for a midnight gyro. We’re neighbors and we love to talk shit and eat food late at night and then complain about our stomachs hurting. You can eat whatever you want, whenever you want, did you know that? Nobody cares. If you spend too much time denying yourself of simple joys like hot food, you can be sad for no reason. And there are so many reasons to be sad for real. Like war.
I’m starting a new tradition in Pillowtown where I finish each week with something good I ate this week. Today at work I ate the Hale and Hearty Autumn Minestrone soup, and half of a turkey avocado pesto sandwich. It was awesome because I love variety in a meal. The soup was warm, not hot, because it was delivered but I didn’t mind, because I’m low maintenance. The sandwich was awesome because it follows the rule that if you put pesto on anything it is fixed. I am grateful to J*ff B*zos for my free lunches. Happy Hanukkah, Pillowtown, may your house smell like fried onions for the next 3-5 weeks.