mag
Heeb Issue #13 : In the BeginningUrban Kvetch
Crunch
The transformation of what was once a dank gym on St. Mark’s Place into a lifestyle brand has been embarrassing: an ill-fated magazine (with “musician” Juliette Lewis), idiotic promotions (“Wicked Yoga” offers you the chance to do the downward facing dog next to one of the cast members from the Broadway show) and shameless pandering (“Sexercise,” anyone?) make going to Crunch about as appealing as going to Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
YID VICIOUS
Endangered Stoops
With all the first-wave gentrifiers and old neighborhoodies up-in-arms about the changing face of Brooklyn, it’s surprising that nobody has taken issue with the saddest part of new construction in New York’s (arguably) most beautiful borough: destoopification. I wonder if everyone would quiet down a bit if developers spend a little less money courting brand-name architects and sprung a little cash for some steps.
JESSIE BODZIN
Cotton Swabs
Forget the generic brand’s common, cotton comb-over—the sound of that extra 40 cents dropping on the counter is music to my wax-filled ears. Using generic cotton swabs is like wiping your ass with sandpaper, so when it comes to wiping my Eustachian tube, it’s only the Q. Don’t give me a hassle; I get off on sticking it to the man as much as the next guy, just as long as I don’t have to stick anything but my beloved Q-Tip© into my ear.
ADAM BARUCHOWITZ
Entertainment Weekly Columnist Stephen King
This is worse than John Mayer’s Esquire column. Stephen King has been locked in a log cabin in Maine for the past 40 years writing, like, three books a week. Let him upgrade his black and white 19-inch Zenith and then you can give him the back page to showcase his pop culture erudition. Seriously, do I really need the king of horror waxing on Walker, Texas Ranger?
JOSHUA NEUMAN
Fax Machines
Why do you insist on forcing me to print out this document and then walk the 11 blocks to Kinko’s to fax it to you? You’re wasting (my) time, (my) energy and (my) resources because you refuse to use this thing we call “the Internet.” Have you heard of it? It sends virtual documents virtually through thin air. Welcome to the present. Strange as it may seem, here we don’t wear Hypercolor T-shirts, we don’t eat Dippin’ Dots and we don’t use fax machines.
REBECCA WIENER
People Who Claim To Be Afraid Of Clowns
Here’s the thing: They’re not. They just think that saying they are makes for some sort of childhood-trauma personality accoutrement, fostering the illusion that they’re a tortured soul. But they’re making it up. I don’t care if they’ve managed to convince themselves it’s true—it’s time to lure this hackneyed meme into the ice-cream truck, strangle it to death and hide it under some loose floor boards.
INTERN EMERITUS JED OELBAUM
Your Annoying Plus One
So you had to invite your new “friend” to come out with the boys. She got belligerently drunk and wouldn’t stop screeching about “chilling” in a recording studio with Lenny Kravitz (“…and then Kenny Loggins called and I was like, ‘Lenny, it’s Kenny!’ Ha ha ha!”), sucking the fun out of the night like some drooling, narcissistic vampire. Next time, leave your fuck buddy at home—and just stumble over to her place after we’ve all had our late-night White Castle.
MICHAEL MOSHAN
Asian People Who Insist On Doing Karaoke In Their Native Tongues
Do you see me doing a rendition of “Hatikvah”? The whole point of karaoke is to choose a song that everyone’s heard before so we can all experience the song with you. I get self-conscious picking a Cat Stevens song and you’re serenading the bar with the Chinese national anthem? Come on, man. I never thought I’d miss “Rikki, Don’t Lose That Number.”
GARY WEISS
SAN FRANCISCO, CA
(READER SUBMITTED)
Send your 75-word complaints to us at kvetch@heebmagazine.com and we’ll print the best one in our next issue.
The transformation of what was once a dank gym on St. Mark’s Place into a lifestyle brand has been embarrassing: an ill-fated magazine (with “musician” Juliette Lewis), idiotic promotions (“Wicked Yoga” offers you the chance to do the downward facing dog next to one of the cast members from the Broadway show) and shameless pandering (“Sexercise,” anyone?) make going to Crunch about as appealing as going to Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
YID VICIOUS
Endangered Stoops
With all the first-wave gentrifiers and old neighborhoodies up-in-arms about the changing face of Brooklyn, it’s surprising that nobody has taken issue with the saddest part of new construction in New York’s (arguably) most beautiful borough: destoopification. I wonder if everyone would quiet down a bit if developers spend a little less money courting brand-name architects and sprung a little cash for some steps.
JESSIE BODZIN
Cotton Swabs
Forget the generic brand’s common, cotton comb-over—the sound of that extra 40 cents dropping on the counter is music to my wax-filled ears. Using generic cotton swabs is like wiping your ass with sandpaper, so when it comes to wiping my Eustachian tube, it’s only the Q. Don’t give me a hassle; I get off on sticking it to the man as much as the next guy, just as long as I don’t have to stick anything but my beloved Q-Tip© into my ear.
ADAM BARUCHOWITZ
Entertainment Weekly Columnist Stephen King
This is worse than John Mayer’s Esquire column. Stephen King has been locked in a log cabin in Maine for the past 40 years writing, like, three books a week. Let him upgrade his black and white 19-inch Zenith and then you can give him the back page to showcase his pop culture erudition. Seriously, do I really need the king of horror waxing on Walker, Texas Ranger?
JOSHUA NEUMAN
Fax Machines
Why do you insist on forcing me to print out this document and then walk the 11 blocks to Kinko’s to fax it to you? You’re wasting (my) time, (my) energy and (my) resources because you refuse to use this thing we call “the Internet.” Have you heard of it? It sends virtual documents virtually through thin air. Welcome to the present. Strange as it may seem, here we don’t wear Hypercolor T-shirts, we don’t eat Dippin’ Dots and we don’t use fax machines.
REBECCA WIENER
People Who Claim To Be Afraid Of Clowns
Here’s the thing: They’re not. They just think that saying they are makes for some sort of childhood-trauma personality accoutrement, fostering the illusion that they’re a tortured soul. But they’re making it up. I don’t care if they’ve managed to convince themselves it’s true—it’s time to lure this hackneyed meme into the ice-cream truck, strangle it to death and hide it under some loose floor boards.
INTERN EMERITUS JED OELBAUM
Your Annoying Plus One
So you had to invite your new “friend” to come out with the boys. She got belligerently drunk and wouldn’t stop screeching about “chilling” in a recording studio with Lenny Kravitz (“…and then Kenny Loggins called and I was like, ‘Lenny, it’s Kenny!’ Ha ha ha!”), sucking the fun out of the night like some drooling, narcissistic vampire. Next time, leave your fuck buddy at home—and just stumble over to her place after we’ve all had our late-night White Castle.
MICHAEL MOSHAN
Asian People Who Insist On Doing Karaoke In Their Native Tongues
Do you see me doing a rendition of “Hatikvah”? The whole point of karaoke is to choose a song that everyone’s heard before so we can all experience the song with you. I get self-conscious picking a Cat Stevens song and you’re serenading the bar with the Chinese national anthem? Come on, man. I never thought I’d miss “Rikki, Don’t Lose That Number.”
GARY WEISS
SAN FRANCISCO, CA
(READER SUBMITTED)
Send your 75-word complaints to us at kvetch@heebmagazine.com and we’ll print the best one in our next issue.
comments
submit a comment08.22.07 at 4:08 pm
Not really afraid of clowns, eh? Watch Capturing the Friedman’s and get back to us.