I used to take a bus through Chinatown.  One day the bus driver – a late 20s, attractive, black lady – pulled up to a bus stop and a group of people boarded.  At the end of the group was a super-old Chinese lady holding a couple of bags, and a live chicken.  In her hand.  The bus driver immediately stopped her from getting on the bus: Oh no.  No live chicken on my bus.  The old lady didn’t understand and kept trying to board the bus.  And the bus driver kept telling her no: There’s no live animals allowed on the bus.  This went on for a few minutes, keeping all the passengers on the bus entertained with the futile exchange.  Finally a younger Chinese guy translated to the old woman: She says no live animals on the bus.

Oh!  The old lady finally understood.  No problem – she snapped the neck of the chicken and calmly made her way to a seat, past the stunned – and silent – bus driver and passengers.

And – just as a reminder – this was in San Francisco.

Nice to see Steve Zahn in there. I’ve always liked him in that never-met-him-before kind of way.

Golf Clubbing

Taken from The Moth storytelling series. Check em out, enjoy the work, support their efforts.

Malcolm_Gladwell

Tight structure, insightful descriptions…this story was taken from the Moth storytelling series. Stories are told onstage, with no notes or props – pure performance. Check out their podcast.

Malcolm Gladwell writes for the New Yorker and has written a few best selling books: The Tipping Point, Blink, The Outliers….

He told me that when he was at the White House ceremony for the Teachers of the Year, the teachers from the 50 states and the U.S. territories were standing in the Rose Garden waiting for Barack and Michelle Obama to begin the ceremony. One of the teachers from a U.S. territory (I forgot which one Alex said) quietly said out loud: I can’t believe I’m here.

Many of the other teachers nodded and murmured in agreement.

“No…I mean I can’t believe I’m here,” he repeated. “Last year someone broke into my house and stabbed me 15 times in the chest and left me for dead. I can’t believe I’m here.”

Yeah…he was probably feeling a little more of the surreality than the rest.

As you were breaking up with me, all I could think about were those mornings when you compared the Pop-Tarts and gave me the one with more frosting.

My online dating service matched me with my cousin.

It wasn’t until the eulogy ended that I realized I had been thinking about porn instead of listening.

It’s been so long that I don’t even look down your street anymore.

There are two kinds of friends in the world: the ones who help you up when you’ve passed out in a bar and call a cab and the ones that take ‘funny’ pictures of you.

Instead of him they sent back a folded flag, and when I was alone I tore it to pieces.

So…our friend S had total access to DiCaprio’s house for a few days. He reported back that it’s very nice. Surprisingly tasteful. In the Hollywood Hills. Killer View. Full of great art, original pieces. Pretty much no missteps in terms of style or design.

But here’s the holy shit part of it all – it’s what’s in the foyer of Leonardo DiCaprio’s house: a Tyrannosaurus Rex skull. A real skull. Of a real T-Rex. Sitting in the foyer of his home.

Now that is pretty bad-ass.