I’d like to start the morning by giving big ups to Cambodia. Take a look at this week’s “hits by country” chart. The hometeam is leading the pack, followed in a respectable second by Mexico. Curiously, the bronze medal goes to the unlikely candidate of Cambodia, with 10 hits in the past week:
I have now spent 15 minutes scouring the internet to no avail in an attempt to find a suitable image of the phrase “awkunh ch’ran”, or (អរគុណច្រើ) – “thank you very much” in Khmer, the official and highly confusing language of Cambodia. I’m now all in favor of English being the language of international affairs, as my brief foray into atonal, Sanskrit-inspired, isolating, swirly languages has convinced me that an errant whirly shape or a misplaced funny dot when writing a doctrine could easily lead to an accidental war, or at the very least to a decision to make the Olympic rings triangular.
In other notables, it’s Friday! People love Friday. I’m more of a Monday person. Monday is the day equivalent of having sex with a guy who’s your exact same height: You don’t really expect anything that great, but you get to have sex and that’s fun, and then you end up coming four times, or finding an underground non-fiction reading on 7th Street and having a delicious glass of Cotes du Rhone (we full-circled back to Mondays).
Friday, on the other hand, is when you’re finally face to face with someone after whom you’ve been lusting for weeks, you’re shaved and stretched and ready to go, and then he comes really quickly or can’t even rise to the occasion. Friday comes and goes really quickly, and you’ve been waiting for it all week and you drink too much and then you just want to spend Saturday in a coma. The best part of not working a 9-5 job, or the best part after never waking up early, never using Powerpoint, and never having to worry about a shortage of good olive oil, is that days don’t adhere to their culturally-ascribed stereotypes. I should market that idea.
Speaking of marketing ideas and get-rich-quick schemes, I have an awesome idea for an app. It occurred to me when I was strolling in Alphabet City and made a wrong turn onto the wrong side of the tracks. I found myself on a dead end street where there shouldn’t have been one, no way out, with a low-rider blaring murder rap and a group of five guys passing a Dutch in broad daylight. (Note: When guys are passing a Dutch around in broad daylight, it means “we own this block,” which in my vernacular translates loosely to “make moves NOW.”) The app (working title: Run, Whitey, Run) would be linked with the NYPD crime stats and with Google Maps, and would go off any time you’re within a certain distance of a given area where the crime rate is increased. It would be marketed towards hipsters in Bed-Stuy and young professionals in West Harlem, but could be used by anyone who’s scared of getting jumped, robbed, raped, or stabbed.
I’m going to yoga at 12, but I’m having anxiety because the class I went to on Tuesday was the Best Class Ever. I should just pull a George Constanza and never go back to another yoga class ever again, in a parallel to the episode where he leaves a room or a conversation every time he says something funny, the “quit while you’re ahead” theory.
I need coffee.