Social Tip #20 - The Holocaust

I'm not saying the holocaust didn't suck ass...

but I don't think it should have been used to terrify me on a daily basis at nine years old. In my house the holocaust was discussed as though it could happen again at any second.

My Mom: Clean your room!

Me: I will later, leave me alone.

My Mom: Clean your room this instant! In the holocaust Jewish children would have loved to clean their rooms instead of having to pick up their brother's and sister's bone shards.

This was not the only time in my youth that I was held hostage by the holocaust. Growing up I was forced to go to Hebrew School three days a week so that I could be unpopular with an entirely different group of children. The school was held in the West Bank region of Phoenix, and all the the upper middle class Juden of Scottsdale were herded on to a giant blue bus with an Isreali flag bullseye painted on it.

Being a group of Jews, our nerves were allready wracked as we were herded onto the bus. It was like, "Uh-oh. Where are you taking us? We've all read the diary!" Worse was that the bus was driven by an actual holocaust survivor. It was like a theme park ride, "Holocaust Sam's Wild Ride." Which would be fine, except that Holocaust Sam had never gotten his driver's liscence. It was like the Rabbi decided that if you could survive that holocaust then you could probably do anything. Naturally all of us kids were terrified because he would run over curbs and drive down wrong lanes, so we screamed bloody murder. Holocaust Sam wasn't having it. He would scream back at us in his heavy German accent, "Quiet! Quiet on zee back of zee bus! I cannot concentrate! Quiet! Augghhhh!" When that wouldn't work he would resort to terror.

"You see ziss?" He would yell as he turned around, back to the road, and shook his fist at us,

"You see ziss?"

He was pointing to his concentration camp numbers. We screamed louder as we hurtled at fifty miles-an-hour down the shoulder of the freeway,

"See ziss?! I can never get rid of ziss! Never!"

It was horrifying. I don't want to say that what happened to him wasn't an abomination, but we were little kids. And besides.... he could get rid of "ziss." It's called tattoo lazer removal. Or at least have it turned into a daisy. C'mon, Holocaust Sam, turn that frown upside-down.

Social Tip #19 - The Apple Store

I am trying to update my blog at the Apple Store, but no one is looking over my shoulder. And I really wish they would, because then the right people would read that you shouldn't announce how much debt you have in a public space.

Social Tip #18 - Respecting Superiors

I used to wear a shirt that read MY FATHER DIED IN A BAKING ACCIDENT. It's a line from a play I was in during high school, everyone who performed in that play got that shirt.

I wore it to work, and my boss asked me what the shirt was about. I told him that a bunch of them were handed out at my father's funeral. There was a terrible oven explosion that took his life, but he had a wonderful sense of humor and would have seen the irony in his death. He would have loved the shirt.

My boss said, "Oh, I'm sorry about that."

I said, "I'm just kidding. My father is a dentist. He is still alive."

My boss said, "My father died from cancer."

I said, "Oh, did you get a shirt?"

Social Tip #17 - Depression

After staring into my sock drawer for a couple hours I agreed to go to brunch with my boyfriend, where I spent another hour staring at the inside of a tofu scramble wrap. Black beans, salsa, bright yellow tofu. Mistakes have been made.

My boyfriend is a nice person who does not need to put up with my fits of depression but does so anyway because he is an eternal optimist. He doesn't see his girlfriend as half-depressed, he sees her as half-full of opportunities to have crying sex.

Boyfriend: Are you okay? Are you mad at me?

I shook my head "no" without looking at him.

Boyfriend: No to both?

Me: I'm not mad at you. I'm just in a funk.

That's when this curly-haired woman sitting to my right stopped talking on her phone and looked over at us.

Woman: Could you be any more morose? It is a beautiful day, you're in a nice restaurant with this nice guy trying to cheer you up and you can't find anything to be happy about. Are you kidding me?

Fuck. You.

Me: Yes. I'm kidding you. This is a comedy club. Here's my next joke: How could I not be depressed sitting next someone whose life is so empty that she has to shove her unimportance into a stranger's conversation? Now get back on your cell phone and continue to tell your therapist about how other people are dating other people.

I stared at her. She stared back at me.

Woman: Stop staring at me.

Me: I'm just waiting for you look away to be sure my conversation can continue uninterrupted.

The woman did not look away. Why wouldn't she just look away? I picked up her plate and dropped it onto the ground where its shattered into a few big pieces, leaving food remnants on both of our shoes.

Me: Thanks for cheering me up.

That's when I made the woman eat her destroyed meal off the floor and left.

Social tip #16 - Singing in Public

One person singing as they walk down a busy street, that is crazy.

Two or more people singing as they walk down a busy street, that is annoying.

If a person is going to do something that annoying without the protection of friends, they must be crazy.

Social Tip #15 - Charity

A couple summers ago, after a day of Coney Island beer-conning and freak staring, I realized I had lost my keys somewhere on the beach. I couldn't call my roommate because it was Friday night and he had recently become a super-orthodox Jew. As such, god would not allow him to answer his cell. I decided to sit at the 24 hour Dunkin' Donuts around the corner and wait for a yarmulke and curly hair to walk by.*

I found myself a table outside, all of the regular players were there.

The Vampire- This guy with white skin and long dark hair who argued with people. He was ALWAYS there, especially at night, and would be considered homeless except that he always had enough money to buy a coffee and setup shop.

Sad Girl - She technically worked there except she never once served me. She usually just stood outside and smoked and wore dark eyeliner and never smiled. She had a nicer phone than I did. I used to be jealous of her until I caught her out of her uniform one day and she was wearing a one-piece denim jumpsuit. Caught me totally by surprise.

Fatty Watch Checker - This guy sat at a table inside and stared at his watch like he was waiting for someone to come or something to do. Of course, this was just for show. He was just a fat guy in a donut shop.

Biker Chick - She looked like Emily from the original 90210. She wore a purple eyeshadow, I owned the same color but was too embarrassed to wear it.

A man came up to me.

Man: Will you keep an eye on my baby carriage?

I looked. He was indeed pushing a baby carriage.

Me: I think you should probably take your baby with you inside to buy donuts.
Man: Nah, I don't have a baby in there, just my stuff. It will only be a second.
Me: Okay

The man pushed his carriage next to me and walked away. He did not go into the Dunkin Donuts but instead walked completely out of my sight. He left to die, and I was now responsible for a stroller.

He came back ten minutes later.

Man: Thanks for taking care of this for me
Me: Sure. Why do you have a baby carriage?
Man: It's where I keep my stuff. Cops are less likely to harass me when I'm pushing it around.
Me: Good idea.

Oh. He was homeless. And kind of cute. That summer was marked by desperation for men. I always made excuses for them like, he's homeless, isn't that exciting? I love to travel. He's a magician? Hot. I bet when he ejaculates he just keeps coming and coming in different colors, like they do with scarves.

Man: I have something for you, for doing me a favor.
Me: Oh, no. That's unnecessary.
Man: Just wait a second.

The man started fishing around in his baby carriage. He pulled out what looked like a baby wrapped in paper.

Man: Here. Try this. It's a sandwich, it's delicious.
Me: No, thanks.
Man: No, its really good. Au Bon Pain gives them to me when they can't sell them at the end of they day. I love these things.
Me: No, thanks I'm fine. You keep it.
Man: I have a million of them. I want you to have it for doing me a favor. Besides, you're stuck out here at night, too.

It was true. I was locked out of my house, so for the time being a was technically homeless. I didn't want to hurt his feelings so I took his charity. Plus, it looked kind of good. I wanted to eat the sandwich.

I didn't want the homeless man or any of the other freaks to see me eat it, though. I had my dignity to preserve. I excused myself from the Dunkin Donuts and went to wait for my Jew-mate on our stoop. I sat in the darkness and unwrapped the sandwich. The bread was soggy from the wilted lettuce, vegetable condensation, and vinegar dressing. The cheese was age-melted. I huddled over myself as I ate so that no one would be able to see my homeless sandwich. When people passed by me on the street I jolted up and gave them a guilty look as though I was filming child pornography. The sandwich wasn't good, but it got better, and then worse again by the time I finished it and hid the wrapper in my purse.

My roommate came home, let me in, and asked me to turn the lights on and off for him because god wouldn't let him do it himself. Gross.

* Some people have said that I am a self-hating Jew. That is not entirely true. I just hate myself. And I am Jewish. And though I don't like the Jewish people, they shouldn't take it personally, I should. I am not a self-hating Jew, I am a god-hating Jew.

Social Tip #14 - Criticism

My first trip to the principle's office was when I was five years old. It would have been avoided if I hadn't violated Dale Carnegie's first principle in How to Win Friends and Influence People - Don't criticize others.

When I was little I was sent to a private school for gifted children. Supposedly, an IQ test was administered before kids were accepted, and the students were taught at an advanced level, but I'm pretty sure it was just a regular kindergarten with a special name that appealed to parents. We weren't geniuses, but we were encouraged to believe we were. One of the geniuses showed me how to give myself a hickey on my arm. Another genius taught me to sing "Kentucky Fried Rat Legs, We do Rat Legs Right." I don't remember any of my classmates doing anything super extraordinary, except that one of them later became the fattest person I ever personally met.

One afternoon our teacher set about teaching us the vowels.

Teacher: Repeat after me, A, E, I, O, U, sometimes Y, and sometimes W
Me: W is not a vowel.
Teacher: Yes, it is. Sometimes it is.
Me: No, it isn't.
Teacher: Yes it is, Myka. Don't argue with your teacher.
Me: Fine. Then use it as a vowel in a word.

My mom had to come pick me up at the principal's office.

Mom: Why was Myka taken out of class?
Principal: She told the teacher she was smarter than her.
Mom: Well, was she?

I was back in class the next day. Criticism didn't win me any friends, but I'm pretty suwr it would be hard to inflwence people if I were using "W"s as vowls.

Here's the moral: criticism is allowed if you attend a genius school called "The Genius School."

I'm a chicken genius!

Social Tip #13 - Listening

When I need to look like I'm listening to someone, I fix my eyes on theirs. Then, in the privacy of my mouth, I trace my teeth with my tongue. It's a little way to retain control in a world full of sad gossips and rule followers.

I started this practice when I was in elementary school to escape from the information being shoved in my face. I would tongue the inside of my mouth and think, you can make me attend school, but you can't me want to learn. You think that I'm thinking about the branches of government, but really I am thinking that only I decide what I think about. I wonder how much spit I can collect?

Another trick shutting my eyes and mashing them with my hands to create phosphenes. I pretended they were the red walls of a never-ending tunnel to hell. It relaxed me. Of course, eventually a teacher would think I was sleeping and tell me to wake up and I would be back in class. Maybe the tunnel never ended, but I was sure hell was on one side of it.

I wouldn't recommend going down the tunnel of hell during conversation. Most people can tell when the person they are talking to is poking fingers in their eyes. If they can't, then you can probably just leave.

Social Tip #12 - Relationships

The other night my boyfriend asked me a question while I was staring off into space. He caught me off guard so I told him the truth.

Boyfriend: What are you thinking about?

Me: One of these days I'm going to kill you.

Cold stare.

Boyfriend: You are? Really?

Me: No... why? Are you?

Boyfriend: Of course not.

Me: Great. Now all the mystery is out of the relationship.

I like the mystery in my relationships to be a murder mystery.

Me: Hey! What are you doing with those candle sticks?

Boyfriend: They're for our romantic evening together.

Me: Oh. Then what are you doing with those ropes?

Boyfriend: They're for our romantic evening together.

Me: Oh. Then what are you doing with that lead pipe?

Boyfriend: That's for later when I cut all of your hair off and clog the toilet with it.

Me: Oh.

Social Tip #11 - Mormons

The other day I met a fellow comedian while waiting backstage to perform. He told me that his life had changed a lot since he moved from Utah. Then I did this:

Me: Man. That must have been terrible. Performing for Mormons? Those people are nuts.

Comedian: (polite laugh) It wasn't so bad.

As he said this it dawned on me: goofy face, blond hair, horse teeth... this guy was a Mormon. By the time my brain processed his Mormon-ness he had already left to go on stage. I turned to the other people in the room.

Me: That guy's a Mormon, isn't he?

Other People: Yeah.

Shit.

The Mormon comedian bound back in from the stage, flaunting his Mormonosity. Here was my chance to make amends.

Me: Hey. Great show. I'm sorry about what I said about the Mormons, you're probably a Mormon, aren't you?

Comedian: Yeah, I am. It's fine.

Me: No, it's not fine. It was stupid of me. Of course you are Mormon, why else would you live in Utah? I really didn't mean to offend you.

Comedian: Don't worry about it. There is nothing you could say to offend me.

Nothing I could say to offend him? what kind of Mormon garbage is that? His faith prohibits my words from entering him as though they were caffeine or homosexual thoughts? If he can believe a stupid book then he can believe a live thinking human. How dare he assume that I am not creative enough to offend him!

Me: I don't even know why I said that. I guess it is just because every Mormon I've met has been really crazy.

Comedian: Where are you from?

Me: And hypocritical. I'm from Arizona and all the Mormons I went to school with were like, "I'm too good to drink caffeine," and then they would end up all drunk and pregnant. They were always the most troubled kids at our school.

This was not true. I mean, yes, they did abstain from caffeine. And, yes, they were the biggest boozers I knew, but that was only because I didn't have many friends that drank because I wasn't cool enough to drink and I didn't have that many friends. But none of them became pregnant. And they were usually all reasonably nice. But fuck this guy.

Me: This one kid was caught killing all the cats in our neighborhood. Apparently everyone's cats had been disappearing and then someone found their heads fixed on broomsticks in this Mormon kid's bedroom. He said that god told him to do it.

That was a true story, but about an Satanic kid my sister's boyfriend knew in San Diego. Still, close enough. The Mormon guy just looked on, confused.

Comedian: That's terrible.
Me: I know.

Mykas: 1 Mormons: 12,868,606

Social Tip #10 - Cops

I do not like cops.

It isn’t just the cops, it is the whole system. I hate that I am obliged to live by a set of rules that were created before I had a chance to agree to them. It is not just an imposition to me, but an offense, that cops exist to blindly enforce those rules, and my only choice is to follow along or endure punishment. Yes, I know I have the right to change the rules, but I must first learn what all of them are, wait until I am old enough to be considered relevant in the political arena, and then spend the rest of my life pursuing those changes when I should have been able to live a more natural course.

Society was built to disrupt my natural course, and cops ensure the disruption.

Last night I took the subway. On the platform I saw what looked like a security guard booth. I looked inside and there was a full-on cop in uniform, leaning in a chair with his head back, his mouth wide open, completely asleep. He sat in front of a TV making fuzz noises. It was beautiful, I could have done anything I wanted to him. And rare to have such an advantage. It was like seeing my boss leave a Planned Parenthood in a wheelchair.

I looked around, but no one else was there to witness this. As quietly as I could, so as not to wake the beast, I whipped out my camera phone and took some pictures, but I was too far away and they turned out terrible. I decided to go for it and got much closer to the glass. This was one of those defining moments in my life where I felt like I had to do what must be done and damn the consequences. Taking a photo of a cop sleeping on duty felt not only warranted, but responsible. Not that I care if anyone is a hard worker or not. I could give a shit, I am all about minding my own business. But this uniform thought he had the right to tell me what I could and couldn't do. If I fell asleep on the subway, this guy would arrest me or at least harass me, and here he is, asleep and getting paid for it. If I was going to be forced to live in a hypocritical society, I was going to take fucking pictures.

I marched right in front of the glass and was so determined to frame the shot correctly that I didn't notice he had woken up.

Cop: Hey!

Fuck. The cop busted me busting him. I quickly tried to save the last photo and put my phone in my purse.

Cop: You can't do that! Come here! You can't take pictures of me!

I wondered if that was true. Was it illegal to take a picture of a cop, or a sleeping person? Or maybe it's only illegal if it's both at the same time. I walked around to the side of his booth and stared into his ham-head meatface.

Cop: Did you take any pictures?

Now, if I was any kind of a smart person, I would have responded with something like, "I wasn't taking pictures… I was looking for a number on my phone," or some other lie, but at the time it seemed like if I admitted to a little bit of it, the rest of my story would seem more convincing. Plus, fuck him.

Me: No, but I was trying to.

Cop: Why were you trying to take pictures of me?

I gave him my most honest answer. I think we both knew the truth.

Me: Because it was funny.

I don't know what possesses me to talk to cops like that, but it is always the same, even though my last encounter ended up in my arrest. I got caught smoking a joint with my friend on Bowery, and was so amused and unthreatened by the experience that I asked the squad car driver if he would stop at Yaffa Café on the way to the precinct because I had the munchies. I think he would have been into it if he didn't have a quota to fill.

Cop: Well, I don't think it's funny. You think it would be funny if that photo got into the newspaper and I had to tell my wife that I got fired?

I resisted the urge to tell him that he really should have been more careful about behaving like a hypocrite. Why should I care about his problems? If the tables were turned, if he had caught me doing something wrong and I told him my life could be ruined, would that deter him from arresting me? Hell to the no. Uniforms don't ever consider personal matters where the law is involved. If anything, this was karma at play.

Of course, I would never publish the photos just to get this guy into trouble. He hadn't done anything to harm me, and I'm against all kinds of punishment in general. I was only in it for my own amusement. I said as much.

Me: I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't expose you.

Cop: Then let me look at your phone.

Me: Fine.

Wait. That couldn't happen. I wanted to keep those motherfucking pictures.

Me: I don't have pictures of you and I don't want you looking through my phone. You don't have a right to do that.
Cop: But you just said I could.
Me: Well now you can't.

The cop and I had a stare-down. He was in the unenviable position of being subjected to civilian status. He was the only one who had broken any laws.

Cop: Okay, I'll trust that you don't have a picture. I mean, I know I shouldn't be sleeping, but I've been working for hours down here.

No way! He actually admitted culpability. And he trusted me. Once vindicated, I felt bad for him and offered some distracting empathy.

Me: It must be hard to be stuck in here.
Cop: Yeah, its rough. I've been working for hours and look at what I do all night.

He beckoned all the way inside his cage where I see that the tiny TV screen shows a footage from a camera focused on the train tracks.

Cop: I watch this all night. Its so boring.
Me: Why are you watching on camera, isn't that the track right behind you?
Cop: Yeah, basically.

The way he said this made me think that it hadn't occurred to him before. What must it be like to never question anything? It probably feels the same and being stuck in a cage and facing the wrong direction.

Cop: Yeah, well. Where you coming from? You look nice, coming from a party?
Me: Oh yeah, I guess, hours ago.
Cop: Oh, out bar hopping?
Me: No, I was writing with a friend of mine.
Cop: Oh, you're a writer?

Shit, now he was going to think I would write about this experience and try to take my camera again.

Cop: Cool. Where can I read your stuff?

What an idiot.

Social Tip #9: That Sounds Funny

Comedy is the prism that focuses the confusion of truth. Bad jokes focus the confusion of stupidity.

Other Person: You can hang at my brodown*, if you want to inspect my itchy zone!
Me: No.

Humans are like dolphins, rewarding their behavior encourages it. As such, faking a laugh encourages the production of friendship poison.

Other Person: ...and he thought I was the one who spelled his name wrong!
Me: (Laughing time?)

Train the dolphins. Reward the good behavior, ignore the bad.

Other Person: ...so I told her I could definitely fuck a ho in those shoes!
Me: That sounds funny.

Saying that sounds funny without laughing afterward subtly acknowledges that a joke has been attempted without remuneration. The other person gets to sound like they're funny, and I get to sound like I'm not about to excuse myself from the conversation by pointing to a destination far away and then walking in the opposite direction. Dolphins.

Other Person: Eeee! Eeee Eeee Eeee! Eeeeeeeeee!
Me: That sounds funny.

*Brodown - n. As in a hoedown, but with your bros.

Social Tip #8: The Baby Cemetery

Want to make friends but the dog park is full of losers who own dogs? Do what I do:

Go to the baby cemetery.

The people who hang out there are Lone-ly.

Plus, they are great at knitting tiny gloves and hats and have no one to give them to. Of course, I have tiny hands and head. If you are normal sized maybe you should go to the grownup cemetery.

Social Tip #7: The Dog Park

Don't go to the dog park.

Healthy people love dogs because they love dogs.

Other people love dogs because they love people. These people go to dog parks. Avoid these people.

Don't go to the dog park.

Dog parks only offer people who miss their homes in Montana. These people will tell you more than one horror story about poop. These people will tell you about Sergeant Stubby, the most decorated war dog of World War I.

Make no mistake, I love dogs. But if I owned a dog that inspired weirdo strangers to come up to me, that dog would have to go.

Social Tip #6: Paying a Crazy Tax

In the past I have faked friendships in order to improve my life in some other way, like getting an introduction to someone who lived in the Trump Tower. I paid a Crazy Tax.

Crazy Tax - n. a tax on deceit, paid in sanity to a person who is crazy.

I don't recommend deceit, but if it is going to happen it is better this way than taking advantage of someone who is in love with you. Deceiving a hostile person is just; they want you to lie to them.

I befriended an alcoholic narcissist because she had a room to rent in Gramercy for under $500. She sat poolside with magazines, cutting out celebrity noses to show to her plastic surgeon. The pile of noses she didn't like was much larger than the ones she did. She required me to spend time with her.

NARCISSIST: I am not successful because I don't compromise my intelligence, right? I think it is horrible how people hold it against me that I am more talented and thinner than they are. Don't you think? Aren't they jealous of me?
ME: Yes, of course. They are just jealous. Don't let them hold you down.
NARCISSIST: Are you just saying that because I told you to?
ME: No.
NARCISSIST: I think you should go to my plastic surgeon to have your forehead sculpted. No one will ever take you seriously if you don't do it.
ME: Oh, I hadn't thought of that.
NARCISSIST: Don't talk to me like I'm being an asshole. No one else will tell you the truth like I do.

WARNING: (1) You can never pay a crazy tax halfway. If the person you are paying the crazy tax to determines that you are a fraud (and this is likely, hostile people can be very sensitive to bullshit), then all of your efforts will work against you doubly. (2) Associating with a crazy person for gain might lead others to think you are equally crazy.