* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where we prefer to celebrate the holidays with peculiar tales of caterpillar pets gone wrong. Please say hello to Tarja Parssinen, whose first piece for us is sure to warm your cold, cold heart.

Metamorphosis

By: Tarja Parssinen

Posted on by
10

I am pet-resistant.

This is a difficult thing to admit. An un-American thing. A cold-hearted bitch of a thing, but seeing as how I’m a cold-hearted bitch of a mom, you can understand, can’t you? Oh, come now, be reasonable. I’m already raising two wild things and I have to walk them and feed them and clean up poop every goddamn day. The good news is they’re lovable and don’t shed, the bad news is they slobber and track dirt in the house and hate leashes.

But in the same way that I get soaked to the bone every time I wear my stupid water-resistant jacket, being pet-resistant does not mean I’m pet-proof.

And that’s mainly because the five-year old hounds me on a daily basis for a hound, with the next best thing being “a turtle, and when that dies then a tortoise, and when that dies, then a fish.” (I’m slightly unnerved by the fact that my son can so easily imagine the demise of his pets, which leaves me wondering how he knows my poor track record with orchids so well.)

The child also happens to be bonkers for bugs, which are small and quiet and hairless, so I decide that’s how the wee Noah will start filling the ark of my home. I’m not crazy enough to jump straight into the Praying Mantis Egg Case kit, but why not a cup of live caterpillars that turn into butterflies and then you release them? Are you following me here? Pets that come with their own food, you enjoy them for two weeks, AND THEN THEY’RE GONE. The concept is so simple, so beautiful! Until a cup of five caterpillars — Ken, Len, Sten, Ben, and Den — arrives in a box that the UPS man dumps on the doormat and which my son then proceeds to kick around the house, forcing me to yell, “THOSE ARE LIVING, BREATHING CREATURES!”

As it turns out, Eric Carl was right: caterpillars are very tiny and very hungry. The first week was manageable (minus tiny hands that kept tapping the cup, shaking the cup, and covering the air holes of the cup), but it was evident to everyone that Den was a little slow on the uptake. Poor latch? Reflux? As long as he was inching along, I couldn’t be too concerned.

All I know is that on the seventh day, Len climbed to the roof of the cup like a motherfucking vampire and hung there. And that’s when things got weird.

Ken, Sten, and Ben followed their leader (Den decided to ascend later, being slow and all), and then the four of them hung down in the tell-tale “J” position JUST LIKE THE BROCHURE SAID THEY WOULD! One minute they were caterpillars and the next they were chrysalides. They had wrapped themselves up like tiny Tutankhamuns and hung there, still and silent on the kitchen counter.

I started having chrysalide anxiety dreams where I had either killed them or they had emerged. Life or death, they were both equally terrifying. I had to justify the strange cup to the cleaning lady, grandpa, the babysitter, the pizza delivery guy. “Science!” I would shrug, inwardly re-imagining Anne Rice books (Interview With the Caterpillar!) and the 1987 movie The Lost Boys (a gang of vampire caterpillars is up to no good, starring Corey Feldman as Den).

And then things got even weirder.

On the third day of the vampire stage, I was instructed to move the chrysalides from the cup to the butterfly habitat — to take the paper ceiling of the cup to which they were attached and tape it to the side of the habitat. Easy, right?

Except that when you touch the paper ceiling, their little mummified bodies start moving and twitching and freaking out BECAUSE THEY’RE LIVING, BREATHING CREATURES and so you try to do it fast and not to forget to remove all the string hanging around them because the butterfly wings could get stuck upon emergence and they could DIE but then Den falls off and you have to scoop his twitching body up with a spoon and shove it on the floor of the habitat and then tape the paper to the side, where they are all twitching so fast that the tape won’t stick and you’re whispering “DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT!” and your son is yelling, “Don’t kill them, Mommy! Why did he fall off? Is he dead? Mommy! Mommy Mommy!”

When I’m done, I collapse on the couch, twitching and freaking out, but it’s done! I am so badass! Look at me care for animals! I’m like Jack Fucking Hannah! Of course, there’s the underlying fear that I’ve mortally injured Den and traumatized Ken, Len, Sten, and Ben, but I must radiate calm and positivity. “This is how it’s all supposed to be,” I tell my son.

And strangely enough, it is.

All five caterpillars complete metamorphosis and emerge not as Corey Haim with fangs and wings, but as normal butterflies. Despite all odds — the overpowering love of a five-year-old, the idiocy of his mother — they seem to be just fine. They even eat the nectar I prepared! The butterflies think I’m a great cook, despite the contrary beliefs of my entire family!

I am so dazzled with my abilities to assist fat, worm-like creatures transform into beings of sheer beauty, so anxious that they live in their natural habitat, that I bungle the release, sending them flying into the twilight air on a wing and a Mariah Carey butterfly joke.

“It’s kind of cold — can they survive?” my husband whispers.

“They’ll be fine, it just can’t be below 55 degrees,” I hiss.

“It’s going to be 52 tonight.”

Proving once and for all that if a butterfly flaps its wings in one part of the world — namely three feet away from you — it can, indeed, cause a hurricane. Of self-accusation and guilt.

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where we are usually in favor of whatever makes it a beautiful day in our neighborhood, particularly during the holidays. Which of course is the whole mission of your friendly homeowners association.

A Letter From Your Friendly Homeowners Association

By: Melissa Darcey

Posted on by
3

Dear Smith Family,

Your friendly Homeowners Association would like to welcome you, the newest residents of Apple Orchard Estates, to the community. Three months have passed since you first moved in and we see you have settled in quite comfortably. We understand that, as new residents, you possibly aren’t aware of the rules and standards that we have set in place to help maintain the class of Apple Orchards Estates and to distinguish it from, say, a trailer park or bohemian nudist colony.

Over the past few months, we’ve noticed some occurrences that do not adhere to our rules. As this is your first warning, you will have two weeks to make appropriate changes. A second warning will result in a fine and suspension from the clubhouse. If a third warning is sent, we will enforce martial law and do what we please with your property (as an example, see the Apple Orchard Dog Park on lot 42).

Below is a list of documented issues that do not adhere to our policies:

1. Last week, the grass on your lawn was three inches high. All grass must be two inches high. Grass taller or shorter ruins the synchronization of everyone’s lawns. We wish to maintain a peaceful flow and you’d be shocked at how an inch can disrupt an entire community!

2. It appears you have an apple tree growing in your back yard. May we remind you that while our community is called Apple Orchard Estates, we do not allow fruit trees of any kind. You must understand that we do not wish our community to resemble a farm or labor field. Our residents are respected lawyers, doctors, and architects — not apple pickers or gardeners. We have a lovely Whole Foods down the road where you can purchase fruit.

3. Your front door is currently a deep mahogany brown. Based on the sample we scraped a few weeks ago, the paint appears to be Valspar #302. If you refer to the handbook, it states that front doors must only be painted Valspar #301 or #300. You’d be shocked at how one slightly darker shade can dampen the spirits of community members!

4. Last month, a neighbor who wishes to remain anonymous heard The Beatles playing loudly from your house at 11:32 p.m. Perhaps you forgot that on page 22 of the handbook it states that no music should be played after 8 p.m. and rock music shouldn’t be played after 4 p.m. (although you’ll find that most residents don’t need the cacophony of banging instruments to enjoy their day). While we cannot stop you from listening to music quietly or with headphones, we do not encourage it.

5. Two weekends ago, your young child was heard “giggling” (as it was described) while at the community pool. However gleeful he may be, our community members do not appreciate voices of a high pitch at the clubhouse. This includes the children’s pool and playground. We would also prefer he leave the inflatable arm floats at home. If he can’t swim without them, perhaps his time in the water should be limited to the bathtub.

6. For two weeks in December, a decorated pine tree was clearly visible in your front window. We do not tolerate any forms of bigotry and ask that you do not force the Christian holiday on anyone in the community. Appropriate holiday decorations include non-religious wreaths on the front door or two poinsettia plants by the front entrance. Please do not do both. No decorations can include mythical creatures like snowmen with faces, Santa Claus, or reindeer with red noses.

7. On December 30, there was a four-inch circle of oil left on your driveway for 17 minutes. While we appreciate your removing it, page 59 of the handbook clearly states that no oil should drop on any roads or surfaces within the community. The best way to avoid this is to invest in a new vehicle (please contact us a for a list of recommended models and colors).

8. Speaking of vehicles, the green Toyota Corolla must go (it’s a 2011, so we assume that you are already planning on upgrading). We strongly suggest only American-made vehicles (sedans and crossovers only, please — we feel there is no need for SUVs, trucks, or vans, and you shouldn’t need eight seats as we have a limit on how many people can occupy a home). While your vehicle does not have to be a specific color (we do allow some individuality, after all!), there is a permit required for vehicles that aren’t either black or pearl. The permit is $89 a month and is not tax deductible.

9. As animal lovers ourselves, we regret to inform you that your Siberian husky is not on the list of permitted dogs. Regardless of where you purchased the dog, we do not allow pets from certain Eastern regions, including, but not limited to, Russia, Mongolia, Ukraine, Belarus and any country that ends in “stan.” There is a wonderful animal shelter located just a few miles away.

10. We understand the pleasures of a home-cooked meal, but we’ve been notified that you have cooked red meat on an outdoor grill at least three times. Many of our residents are vegans and we would like you to respect their lifestyle choices. While you may not take issue with eating something that was once a free, living being, we ask you to be courteous enough not to make your neighbors an accessory to murder. Please cook all meats indoors. If you wish to grill outside, may we suggest portobello mushrooms? They’re quite divine. Trader Joe’s also has an excellent meatless chicken.

11. Finally, is the Mrs. of the house of an exotic descent? We’re concerned about the volume and density of curls in her hair that appear, unfortunately, to be natural. Our board’s Style Consultant believes the look is outdated and reflective of the chaotic 1980s. While we believe in self-acceptance, a hair straightening treatment would greatly improve her overall appearance. While she is free to choose any salon of her choice, we highly suggest she select one from our list (see page 112 of the handbook).

We look forward to seeing your changes! If you have any questions, do no hesitate to reach out to us. Please know that by making the appropriate changes, not only are you benefiting your own property and life choices, but you are also helping the entire community.

Sincerely,

Apple Orchards Estates Homeowners Association

P.S. The china set you were looking at yesterday on the Pottery Barn website would look much better in ivory than azure. We updated the color selection in your wishlist.

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where we are always thankful for everything, especially Larry Pinck, the world's greatest and at the same time most confused expert on Latin.

Latin Legal Phrases Defined In Plain English

By: Larry Pinck

Posted on by
Reply

Ab Initio — to commence a program of bodybuilding.

Amicus Curiae — affable grandson of Pierre and Marie Curie.

A Posteriori — relating to the buttocks.

Bona Fide — imperative, “Bone, Fido, fetch.”

Carpe Diem — (1) to complain from dawn to dusk; (2) fish of the day.

Casus Belli — interrogative, “Are you pregnant or just fat?”

Caveat Emptor — warned to take out the garbage.

Ceteris Paribus — to offer your seat to another (often the elderly or infirm).

Cum Laude — vocally enthusiastic orgasm.

Custodia Legis — unemployed lawyer engaged as a janitor.

Da Mihi Factum — statement of individual preference, e.g., “Me-hee for Yoo-hoo.”

De Minimis — relating to a small, unmarried woman.

Defalcation — to clear birds of prey from property.

De Facto — antonym, de think so.

Dictum Meum Pactum — a boastful statement of being well endowed, i.e., hung.

Ex Delicto — at one time, tasty.

Exeat — to delete by penciled “X’s.”

Ex Parte — after the cops arrive.

Ex Post — (1) discontinued breakfast cereal; (2) uncovered, naked.

Fama Nihil Est Celerius — where celery grows, no man starves.

Fiat Justitia — a well-considered Italian automobile.

Functus Officio — an off-smelling bureaucrat.

In Forma Pauperis — to rat out poor people.

In Loco Parentis — affirmative defense to child battery.

Ipso Facto — the matter is true because I say so.

Lingua Franca — colloquy between two men named Frank.

Mandamus — colloquial, statement of personal belief or opinion, e.g., “Man, ‘dey must be smokin’ hot.”

Motion in Limine — vigorous arm movement required to mix a vodka gimlet.

Mutatis Mutandis — excerpt, Ira Gershwin lyric, viz., “You say mutatis. I say mutandis…Let’s call the whole thing off.”

Non Compos Mentis — to doubt the need for a breath mint.

Nulla Bona — failure to achieve tumescence.

Obiter Dictum — idiomatic, lit., over there, dickhead.

Pacta Sunt Servunda — the maid will pack the bags.

Pro Tanto — exhortation, “Onward, my faithful Indian companion.”

Sui Generis — commonplace hog holler.

Per Quod — variation, Ahab’s vessel in Moby Dick.

Per Se — affectation, a French lady’s handbag.

Respondeat Superior — a haughty, pretentious or smartalecky reply.

Stare Decisis — embarrassingly lengthy review of menu before ordering.

Subpoena — of diminutive girth.

Vide Supra — ability to see through all elements, except lead.

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where 'tis the season to worry about shopping. And nothing is more worrisome than shopping at Ikea, even if it isn't Christmas shopping.

Notes From Ikea

By: Tallulah Marzipan

Posted on by
Reply

April 14, 2012
It’s been more than two years now since I started working in Art Department in Film and TV and they started sending me to Ikea. I am the one who does the dirty work, the things nobody else wants to do. They can’t handle the long lines, the arguing couples, the ever-obvious decline of society, or they just can’t be bothered to drive to Red Hook. I know this store better than myself. I am alone in a wasteland of pseudo-Swedish-named reasonably-priced furniture. It’s the Old West out there, an unregulated battleground. There will be many casualties, but I will not be one of them. This is my turf.

May 2, 2012
The air is laced with laughing gas, as at the Key Food in Greenpoint. The weak fall. That pillow has a picture of a lady drinking out of a pineapple — isn’t that droll? No. I am here for two tall plants and two tall plants only.

June 20, 2012
The security guard remembers me. We embrace with our eyes as he marks my receipt with a Sharpie.

July 18, 2012
My boss eats a pack of Ikea cookies in line and then throws them away without paying for them, as always when she shops with me. She follows this immediately with a slice of elementary school-style pizza, then lifelong regret and self-loathing.

August 1, 2012
I was in and out of Ikea today in half an hour. My speed is rivaled only by my resistance to their demon meatballs. For every meatball I have eaten, I have killed a man.

September 22, 2012
Entered Ikea at 3:16. Entered the checkout line at 3:19. This must qualify me for the Ikea Olympics. Stockholm 2016! I shall decimate all opposition to my reign of death. Also, today is my birthday.

October 16, 2013
In a barren wasteland of apathy and hair weaves, Lerou shines as Ikea’s best employee. He has worked there for two days. He asked me if I needed any help, then proceeded to search for my items, take my cart to go get them while I continued to look for other items on the computer, refused to let me help him lift the items off the shelves and into my cart, and escorted me to the shortest checkout line. If you want to look for him next time you are there, he is tall and slim and was probably a hallucination. Last week I saw a plate of meatballs and a machete floating in the middle of the highway. I didn’t have time to eat them, however, because I needed to buy a few things at Ikea before they closed that evening.

November 30, 2012
Today was the third day out of four that I have spent in Ikea. I never want to hear the word “Melltorp” again. Where I once had dignity, I now have recycled blue bags.

December 8, 2012
I was too cheap to buy a menorah for Hanukkah last year but found some Ikea tea lights under my bed. Knowing Ikea quality, it will be a genuine Hanukkah miracle if they last one night, never mind all of them. I shall pick up a bag of frozen latkes tomorrow in Ikea’s frozen food section ($2.99).

December 23, 2012
It is nearly Christmas and I am, of course, at work, at Ikea. Merry Christmas, Ikea! I got you three full carts of returns on five separate receipts, return wait time an estimated 37 minutes. I’m sorry, I guess I got you that last year.

December 28, 2012
Tonight was my high school reunion. One classmate asked, “What do you do?” Four classmates replied in unison, “She goes to Ikea.” I shot them all, drove home, and warmed up a plate of frozen meatballs.

January 12, 2013
I was in the middle of a long return with my boss when a manager cut in and asked if someone with one item could go in front of us because of some error the store had made. Bored and desperate for human contact, I struck up a conversation with him.

Me: Hey man, why did you have to cut us? You’re making me late for lunch.

Guy: You just reminded me I haven’t had lunch yet. I’m hungry.

Me: I have some yogurt in the car. Do you want some of my yogurt?

Guy: How long has it been in your car?

Me: Two days.

February 10, 2013
I walked into Ikea today with two carts piled high with returns. A cashier shouted at me “No! Not you! Leave this place, you foul creature! Death is upon us!” I shrugged and took a number.

February 12, 2013
The cashier asked for my ID to process the return. I handed her my parole card. She needed a manager’s approval. I need approval from no one.

March 23, 2013
After a return, I got back money on a gift card. I walked up to the food court and found a woman with two small children. I asked her if she wanted my gift card. She said she couldn’t afford it. I said I wasn’t selling it. She asked how much money was on it. I checked the receipt. About $536, I said. I handed it to her and walked away. She can buy fifty Lack Tables or one sofa that won’t fit up her staircase.

April 15, 2013
Ikea Brooklyn, my usual Ikea, didn’t have the stove hood I needed for the set, so I headed to the Elizabeth Ikea. One day, two Ikeas. And let me tell you, for once in its existence, something in New Jersey is better than something in New York. There’s reasonable cell reception despite being in the middle of nowhere. There isn’t that godforsaken mysterious high-pitched beeping noise, which I can only assume is to deter dogs looking to buy low-quality furniture. At Ikea Elizabeth, the smell of pepperoni permeates the air. Music played instead of an endless loop of HGTV. The lines were short and they even had a self-checkout section. The cashiers were friendly, including in the returns section, and did not shout ominous threats at me like usual.

July 2, 2013
I was in and out of Ikea in less than two minutes today. I was the only person in the returns line. I know I will never have a greater day in my life than today, and so, after returning today’s purchase to my boss, I will shoot myself so that I might die happy.

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where we are always looking ahead. Partly to make sure we don't hit anything with our flying car. Please say hello to C.J. Scuffins, whose first piece for us explores the wonders and risks of airborne automobiling.

Return Of The Flying Car

By: C.J. Scuffins

Posted on by
Reply

Accident Diary
Dealership: Just Plane Cars, Mill Valley, CA.
Model: Ford Departure Convertible
Complainant: Mr. Fred Buchanan
Date: Oct 25, 2037

Overview: My wife and I were excited to buy a new flying car, as the time had come to change our old one. We visited Just Plane Cars (JPC), a dealership we trusted. Salesman Dan Neilson suggested we buy a convertible because “the sedan is like flying about in a silly old private jet.” We took his advice. Regrettably, the ensuing debacle has made us second-guess that decision entirely.

Sept 5, 2037: While merging on the Lakeville Flyway, a woodpecker lands on the steering controls and tries to bore a hole in my forehead. I almost swerve into the flight path of a Buick 787. “The bird mistook your leathery skin for tree bark,” says JPC Service Manager Arnold Owens. His recommendation? “A good moisturizer.'”

Sept 7, 2037: A flock of wrens take up residence on our back seat as we lift off from Shollenberger Park. They begin to molt wildly. The car soon resembles (in the words of our teenage son) “a flying pimpmobile.” At JPC, salesman Dan Neilson assesses the damage as “pretty rad.” We ask to speak to somebody more professional, but Service Manager Arnold Owens is the only person available. “Most customers have embraced the birds,” Mr. Owens reckons. “One guy is basically flying about in an owl sanctuary.”

Sept 14, 2037: My wife is waiting for clearance to land at the Mill Valley Scout Reservation, when an American eagle rips through the soft top. The car is difficult to keep in a holding pattern at the best of times, never mind when your 14-year-old boy is in the passenger seat fighting off a sky predator. To lose the bird, she is forced to break the flyway code and perform a couple of loop-the-loops. JPC General Manager Buck Sampson says: “I wish the government would genetically modify birds to suffer from air sickness, just like the North Koreans did with wasps.” But he refuses to sanction a buyback. “Do what I did,” Mr. Sampson counsels. “Get a hunting rifle and dog.” We stare at him in disbelief for several minutes.

Sept 16, 2037: Flying home from my place of work, I fire a couple of warning shots over the head of a loitering sparrow, while the dog tries to launch off the dashboard to get at a gang of thrushes. There is no accident, as such. I am merely documenting how we live now.

Oct 15, 2037: After a relatively incident-free month, we decide to risk a transatlantic trip to Europe. Our son stays home. Since the American eagle attack he won’t go near the car. (Nor look at the Boy Scouts logo.) After dark, in the middle of the Atlantic, we are boarded by swallows. Waves drown out the dog’s barks. Shooting accurately proves impossible at night. Flying upside down is really uncomfortable after a couple of miles. We are stuck with the stowaways.

Oct 16, 2037: At dawn the full extent of our predicament is revealed. Due to the swallow tonnage, we are flying three inches above sea level. One observant shark could bring down the whole enterprise, so we are forced to turn around and head for home. The swallows come with. Shouldn’t birds migrate south during winter? Or are they depending on us for a ride? Flying cars have confused Nature.

Oct 17, 2037: We land the car in our converted attic — for the last time. I send a plaintive holographic message to JPC, urgently seeking a buyback. My wife advertises “one hunting dog with flight experience.”

Oct 18, 2037: JPC Service Manager Arnold Owens drops by first thing in the morning. He wants the dog.

Oct 25, 2037: Eventually we are contacted by JPC General Manager Buck Sampson. “All you people ever do is moan and groan about your flying car,” he says, “so I’m going to make you a generous offer: how would you like to manage our Customer Complaints Department?” We start Monday.

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where it is our goal not merely to entertain but to enlighten. Honestly, some weeks that leaves us zero for two. But not this week! This week we have Ms. E.R. Barry.

Ashlynn Smuthers, Freelance Copywriter For Memes, Home Furnishings, Bumper Stickers And College Dorm Posters, Explains The Inspiration Behind Some Of Her Most Popular Work

By: E.R. Barry

Posted on by
Reply

Live life to the fullest.
I did this cinnamon detox before I went to Cabo last year, and I think the dehydration really sharpened my thinking, because I was having these totally deep moments all the time. At one point I was straight up hallucinating in the Aldo outlet store, and Oprah appeared to me. She was standing there — skinny Oprah, not fat Oprah — right next to these super cute leather slingback pumps, and she looked at me and said, “Live Life To The Fullest.” Whoa, you guys. It’s like, you only get one chance at this life thing. Don’t blow it by only living each day to the half fullest or even the three-quarters fullest. Live each day to the absolute fullest. Overfill it, if you can. I know there are only so many minutes in a day, but if you live a couple minutes REALLY WELL they can sometimes almost feel like longer minutes.

Always kiss me goodnight.
This one goes out to my ex-boyfriend, Brian, who will seriously DIE when he sees this after I share it/tag it/like it on his Facebook wall later, but whatevs. I don’t need to get into the specifics, because my therapist has basically forbidden me from talking to strangers about my breakups, but here’s a little romance lesson for all you guys out there: your girlfriend does not want to be dry humped until you fall asleep every night. She wants to be kissed goodnight. Tenderly. Like she’s a sweet little baby, and you’re tucking her in. Oh, and as long as I have your attention, Brian: did you see the selfies I posted last week? I’m losing a lot of weight. If that was a problem for you. Seriously, there’s like no space between my thighs anymore.

Here’s to the nights I can’t remember with the friends I’ll never forget.
Nothing says “lifelong friendship” like a good blackout. Can I get a “hell yes?!” My bitches are always there for me for those important moments in life. Like that one time we were all like, “Screw it! Let’s go out! So what if it’s Wednesday?! More like WINEsday, amiright?!” And then we totally had the #bestnightever and the next day my boss was like “Ashlynn! You seem really hung over! That’s like really unprofessional!” LOL. Love my girls, seriously.

Live, Laugh, Love.
There are many verbs that are involved with being alive, but these are the ones that start with “L.” They’re also super easy to do. You’re accomplishing one of them just by waking up every day, which is really inspiring, I think.

Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.
There’s absolutely no reason to get all sulky and moany when things end. And when I say “things,” I think we all know I mean “relationships.” Seriously, break-ups happen. That’s, like, LIFE, ya know? You have to stop looking backwards and start looking forward. Did Khloe Kardashian get all ugly and cry-facey when her husband started smoking crack? No. She totally got a killer ombre and posted some of the most GORG Instagram photos I’ve ever seen. Every broken girl needs a tough-love bestie to get her out of her sweatpants and onto Tinder. Having this quote screenprinted onto a leopard print pillow available exclusively at Target was not only healing for me, but it also provided me an opportunity to give back to other girls in need.

Dance like no one is watching, Sing like no one is listening, and Love like you’ll never be hurt.
This is one of my favorite life rules! Always be dancing, and always be doing it in a cute, semi-embarrassing way, because how else are people supposed to see what an eccentric, fun girl you are? It’s really hard to pull off quirky and sexy, believe me, but when it’s done well it’s seriously so hot. Vine that ish, girl! Twerk it on the subway! Who cares if little kids and homeless dudes are watching? You’re LIVIN’ LIFE!

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where we are constantly reminded of how things change. Even things like NPR. Please say hello to Ryan Max Riley, whose first piece for us combines sports and politics in a way that is both infuriating and enlightening. Pure NPR!

NPR’s First Try At Live Sportscasting: Baseball And Syria

By: Ryan Max Riley

Posted on by
Reply

STEVE INSKEEP: If you’re just tuning in, this is NPR’s new Sports Edition with your hosts Annalisa Quinn, recently a Books intern at NPR, and Steve Inskeep, whom many of you know from NPR’s Morning Edition. We’re in game one of this three game series between the Washington Nationals and the New York Mets. Long-time Nationals sportscaster Charlie Slowes is in the radio broadcast booth at the stadium with Annalisa to give you the play-by-play. I’m in Syria covering the civil war this week, so I’m joining this first broadcast by phone. What’s happening on the field?

CHARLIE SLOWES: It’s top of the eighth and two outs with the Nats leading three to two. The Mets’ cleanup hitter Ike Davis in the box. Cody Ross on deck.

ANNALISA QUINN: Because Steve has built a reputation for his probing questioning of warlords, he will interview the cleanup hitters after each game. They’re the most powerful batters.

CHARLIE SLOWES: The Nats have Gio Gonzalez on the mound. Davis is dangerous with a bat. One ball, two strikes. Here’s the pitch. Ball. The fans are on their feet, angry at the umpire’s call.

STEVE INSKEEP: It’s not unlike the presidential elections in Iran in 2009 when the surprising win of the incumbent Mahmoud Ahmadinejad resulted in widespread protests.

CHARLIE SLOWES: I wasn’t there, but yeah, they’re very angry. The umpire’s sticking with his bad call. Here’s the pitch. A swing and a hit! Davis rounds first and heads to second. The throw, and he’s safe! The Nats are taking out Gonzalez and putting in Ross Ohlendorf as pitcher. I wouldn’t have left Gonzalez in so long. You’ll probably like the brain on the kid replacing Gonzalez. Sporting News named Ross third smartest athlete in sports.

ANNALISA QUINN: Huh. Interesting.

CHARLIE SLOWES: But he has his work cut out for him with Cody. He’s really fired up to start swinging his bat around. Look at him. He swings the bat like a maniac.

ANNALISA QUINN: Yes, I see. Does a batter keep track of the placement of the pitches in the game on a sort of scatter plot in his mind to better predict the next pitch with regression lines? Or is it more scientific than that?

CHARLIE SLOWES: You just go with your gut. Here comes the pitch, and it’s a high pop-up. The center fielder, Denard Span, coming in to make the catch…and he dropped it! UnbeliEVable! We gotta start producing catches.

ANNALISA QUINN: That outfielder just looked at his glove as if to suggest it had a defect that made him miss the catch, and then he blamed a fan in the stands. Which of those was the actual cause? Was it really both, and does Denard not have any recourse?

CHARLIE SLOWES: He’s just gotta get ‘er done.

ANNALISA QUINN: Charlie, for our listeners, would you please slow down what’s happening on the field at this moment? What are we seeing, and what is its significance, in layman’s terms?

CHARLIE SLOWES: Well, the pitcher’s using his foot to brush dirt off the pitcher’s plate, the white rubber strip on the mound. Preparing to pitch. Just an ordinary, heroic person trying to win a game the best way he knows how.

STEVE INSKEEP: I hear some commotion outside. I may have to…Block the door! Get your guns!

ANNALISA QUINN: (screams)

STEVE INSKEEP: The rebels are here. (gunshots) My guards are dead. (yells when he sees that his own legs are missing, but stops yelling when he realizes he’s just kneeling and still has legs)

ANNALISA QUINN: Oh my God. Oh my God.

STEVE INSKEEP: The rebel commander has just cut open the stomach of one of the dead guards and is eating an organ while looking into a camera, a move that has become the rebels’ trademark. C. J.? C. J. Chivers! Chivers is here!

ANNALISA QUINN: The foreign correspondent for The New York Times?

STEVE INSKEEP: Yes. The ex-Marine. He’s on NPR sometimes as a guest, reporting on Syria. He travels around with the rebels. I think I’ll be all right if C. J.’s here.

C. J. CHIVERS: Steve Inskeep? You’re lucky you’re not already dead. I almost shot you in the face. And don’t look so hopeful. I have no control over the rebels. I’m just along for the ride. They do whatever they want, and I can’t really do anything about it. What are you doing here?

STEVE INSKEEP: I was reporting on the civil war, just as you are. At this moment, though, I’m using this radio to do play-by-play announcing of the Washington Nationals baseball game for NPR’s new Sports Edition.

C. J. CHIVERS: All right. Let me see if I can get you out of this. But it’s very unlikely. You’re probably just going to die. (speaks with rebels in background)

CHARLIE SLOWES: Homerun. Adam LaRoche for the Nats just hit a homer. Sorry. I thought I should announce it.

ANNALISA QUINN: You’re heartless. Steve’s about to die, and you’re still going on about baseball?

CHARLIE SLOWES: It’s my last game as a sportscaster. The Nats are my…I’m sorry. You’re right.

ANNALISA QUINN: Steve? C. J.? Can you hear us? What’s going on over there?

C. J. CHIVERS: Are the Nationals winning the game?

ANNALISA QUINN: What? Yes. Yes, they are.

C. J. CHIVERS: Good. Here’s what I got. Despite U.S. support of rebels against Assad’s regime, these particular rebels are angry, you know, because Obama is stalling with bombing the Syrian government and because Obama wouldn’t send weapons to the Syrian rebels until Assad used chemical weapons. Until now, Obama has only offered non-lethal aid such as night-vision goggles to the rebels. My group of rebels has actually figured out how to kill the enemy with those goggles. But the leader insists they need anti-tank and anti-aircraft arms. And the good news, if you will, is that my rebels have decided not to kill Inskeep if you make it so the Nationals lose this game and make it clear that this little rebel group was responsible. It’d show their might in controlling the outcome of U.S. baseball games. This would help the group take some of the spotlight from the Syrian Electronic Army, which recently hacked into U.S. news websites — NPR, The Washington Post and CNN — to disseminate pro-Assad propaganda. I believe my rebels have their sights set on winning the World Series, by remote control, if you will. Controlling American baseball is better for my rebels than even bombing Washington D.C. because, you know, bombing D.C. might leave Americans with hope.

CHARLIE SLOWES: Okay, I’ll talk with the managers to ask if they’ll throw the game. (runs out of booth)

ANNALISA QUINN: This is wonderful news! Thank you, C. J. We’re trying to arrange the Nationals’ loss right now. The teams should have no problem with this, if it’ll save Steve’s life.

CHARLIE SLOWES: (coming back) All right, bad news. Talked to the managers; they said no way. They’re not even sure that Steve has really been taken hostage. It could be a hoax.

STEVE INSKEEP: Then this is it. I’m going to die.

ANNALISA QUINN: Wait! I just got word from the managers that they will, in fact, let the Nationals lose.

C. J. CHIVERS: The leader is pleased. He says he wants his rebels to have a new name now to make it clear that they deserve credit for all this. He renamed his group the Major League Baseball Syrian Rebels Front.

CHARLIE SLOWES: Okay. The players are stepping out onto the field. It’s uh…top of the ninth, no outs with the Nats leading three to two. The Mets’ cleanup hitter Ike Davis is at bat. Runners on second and third.

ANNALISA QUINN: We of course expect the pitcher for the Nationals, Ross Ohlendorf, to toss the pitch gently at the batter so he can hit a homerun. Yes, in fact, the announcement has just been made on the stadium loudspeakers that the Major League Baseball Syrian Rebels Front has seized control of the baseball game and has decided that the Nationals must lose because Obama has let the Syrian rebels down by not sending them anti-tank and anti-aircraft weapons and by consulting Congress about bombing the Syrian government. The announcer is now criticizing Obama’s chemical weapons policy.

CHARLIE SLOWES: The pitch. A swing and a hit! Fans have gotten to their feet! High fly ball into left field! It’s outta here!

ANNALISA QUINN: If you’re just tuning in, this is NPR’s Sports Edition with your hosts Annalisa Quinn, recently a Books intern at NPR, and Steve Inskeep, a prisoner of war in Syria. Charlie Slowes is in the booth to help give the play-by-play. Our guest is C. J. Chivers, a foreign correspondent for The New York Times and a member of the rebel group that has just captured Steve and is threatening to kill him unless the Mets win.

CHARLIE SLOWES: Well, listeners and rebels, this is most likely the last play of the game. The Mets are up eight to three. Bottom of the ninth. Two outs. Two strikes, no balls. The Nats have Ian Desmond at the plate. The set. The pitch, and a ground ball up the middle. Omar Quintanilla makes an amazing catch! The throw to first. The game’s over. The rebels beat the United States, eight to three.

C. J. CHIVERS: You have just made the rebels very happy. And they told me just now that they’re going to release Steve immediately, instead of keeping him and shooting for the pennant, because he’s too much of a liability. The rebels and I are going to leave Steve here now, to finish his broadcast. Thank you for having us.

ANNALISA QUINN: Thank you, C. J., and stay safe. (sound of C. J. and rebels leaving)

STEVE INSKEEP: Am I dead?

CHARLIE SLOWES: No…you’re still alive, Steve.

STEVE INSKEEP: What?! Oh my God. I have to get out of here some way, in case the rebels come back. (rushes out) Wait! (coming back) I’ll interview the cleanup hitters in a special segment later tonight when I’m safe again. Do not interview them for me. (leaves)

ANNALISA QUINN: Good luck, Steve! Okay, listeners, nothing we’ve reported about the game since Steve was taken prisoner has been true. The Washington Nationals actually won five to four. It was an excellent game, perhaps their best.

CHARLIE SLOWES: So this is it. The end of my sportscasting career. You’re bad for baseball, Annalisa. NPR is bad for baseball. The most excited you got during this whole game was when you thought a catcher’s hand signals were not only communicating which pitch should be thrown but also inadvertently casting the shadows from Plato’s allegory of the cave. Or when someone walked into our booth wearing a really nice tweed jacket and bowtie, and you correctly identified the obscure clothier. You cheer for all the wrong reasons. You always get so excited when Ross Ohlendorf does anything. He can be walking into position, and you’ll say how great it is.

ANNALISA QUINN: He’s the third smartest athlete in sports.

CHARLIE SLOWES: I shouldn’t have told you that.

ANNALISA QUINN: Anyway, I’m supposed to offer you the job of co-host of NPR’s Sports Edition at the end of this broadcast, if you’ve done well enough, and I think you have. In fact, we need you. I’m not as knowledgeable about baseball as you are, as you can see, and Steve will often have to do broadcasts by phone. Will you join us?

CHARLIE SLOWES: Oh my God. Yes.

ANNALISA QUINN: Excellent. It’s a wrap. This is Sports Edition with NPR News. Thanks for listening.

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where you haven't lived until you've lived with an amateur installation artist. If you're not sure how to do that, well, our good friend John Merriman has some pointers.

Living With An Amateur Installation Artist

By: John Merriman

Posted on by
Reply

Hey, you’re back! Never thought two weeks in Bermuda could go by so fast, right? You and Liz must’ve had a fantastic time. I meant to tell you I wanted to make a few changes to our apartment while you were away, but you had already left by then. It was kind of a last-minute thing, so I’m sorry.

Probably the first thing you noticed is that the door to our apartment is gone. Don’t worry, it didn’t get stolen. I just took it off and put it somewhere else. We’ll get to that.

If you turn on the lights… That’s right, the light switch isn’t where it used to be. See that barbed wire hanging from the ceiling, the one with the chunks of raw meat stuck to it? You either grab a meat chunk, or put these metal mesh gloves on so you don’t lacerate your hands, and then pull the wire down. There you go. Yes, the light will always be red and flashing.

So here’s the kitchen — and the living room, too, since I knocked that partition down. We never really liked it there anyway — well, at least I know I didn’t. Oh, and see that pile of sawdust in the corner, surrounded by razors and cow brains? That’s what happened to the door. And your desk and bookcase too. No, your books are ground up in a different pile of razors and cow brains.

Actually, the “horrendous racket” you mentioned earlier is coming from right inside our bathroom! It’s just a recording of an electric guitar being scraped against sharp metal objects mixed with an aural wash of shrieking squirrels. Yes, the neighbors have complained to the landlord about how loud it is, but he’ll have other things on his mind soon. For example, I won’t be able to cover my half of the rent for the foreseeable future — had to pay for all this remodeling somehow! You won’t mind spotting me a couple grand, right?

Now, don’t freak out or anything, but this other change may be a little on the inconvenient side! I was trying to think of where to put a giant screen to project footage of livestock being gutted and maimed, and I think you’ll agree that no place is better suited for this than your bedroom.

Unfortunately, giant screens and projectors are prohibitively expensive for me, so I decided that a cheaper alternative would be to get real livestock and drizzle red paint on them. I know what you’re thinking, but I’m pretty sure they aren’t bothered by the paint. They just keep doing their usual animal things. The goats jump on your bed sometimes, but only very early in the morning. The cow usually just stays put. That reminds me, I need to run to the store and buy some more cow feed.

Fresh air? Sure, why not? You were already throwing up in the kitchen, so circulating some oxygen is probably a good idea. Although I had to board up all the windows to set the right mood in here, so you might want to try the apartment downstairs. When you’re depicting modern technology’s violent abuse of animals through an interior space, cheery daylight doesn’t make much sense.

Well, once the art schools I’m applying to see pictures of this in my portfolio, I’ll be out of here in no time. And all the alterations I’ve made should really help narrow down prospective apartment mates for you after I’m gone. But thanks for taking this so well — I knew you’d understand. I don’t know what my friends were thinking when they said an avant-garde artist and a tax accountant couldn’t live in the same apartment without wanting to kill each other!

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where we can't tell you about the new Brad Pitt article in Vanity Fair, or the new Matt Damon article in People, or the new Channing Tatum article in Us. But we can do even better than that. We can have Lak Rana tell you about all of those articles simultaneously in his amazing celebrity puff piece archetype.

Every Article (About A Famous Actor) Written In A Prominent Publication

By: Lak Rana

Posted on by
Reply

I’m the writer and I’m waiting at a once-trendy hotel rooftop restaurant in Los Angeles that, I will casually mention, is the perfect setting to meet the famous actor that I’m interviewing, because he’s known by Hollywood insiders to be low-key himself. I hope the amiable tone of my opening sentence has drawn you into this article.

Low-key is not how outsiders would imagine this uber-star though — I’ll slip that in here — because of how seriously he takes his craft. For example, this is where I’ll list the popular movies he’s done along with a few lesser-known titles, the most poignant of which I’ll say is my favorite. Who would’ve thought that I’d be taken by this quirky slice-of-life movie, I’ll overemphasize here. The overemphasis from that sentence will add more validity to this sentence in which I’m declaring it’s a privilege for me to be interviewing him.

I look at my watch and notice he’s a tad bit late. I’ll want you to know that right about now. What I won’t want you to know is, that sentence was a selfish setup because when he does show up, I’ll get to relate how genuinely he apologized for being only one minute and forty-five seconds late. (Yes, I will tell you exactly how late he was because the inconsequential amount will serve to over-qualify his apology, making him look even more charming.) I’ll then add that it was a shocker for him to be so humble because he’s one of the most sought-after actors of the moment, and just coincidentally happens to be starring in the huge movie that this article is promoting. But all that subtle manipulation designed to make you more inclined to watch the huge movie that this article is promoting will come later. Right now I have to write a sentence describing something about me so I can use it to contrast with him after he arrives.

This is that sentence: I’m just about to ask for a refill of my ten-ingredient-mojito-style drink (P.S. I ordered this because I want to subliminally suggest “refreshing,” California and effortless wealth, because you’re a “regular movie-going-guy” from middle America and statistics show that your decisions are swayed by these images) when I see him walk into the restaurant. I’ll mention how coolly he walks in so you’ll recall the low-key vibe I’m desperately trying to maintain. To bring that idea home, now I’ll describe his clothes: a well-fitted graphic tee, slim blue jeans and black lace-up ankle boots. This will remind you that he’s all-American and simple, a lie that I’ll ram down your throat at least one more time.

Here’s the payoff to my first setup — the second he sees me, he genuinely apologizes for being late. Because I’ve already done a pretty good job of building up his mystique, I should start revealing some real details about his life. I’ll begin by mentioning that the reason he was late was because he had to pick his daughter up from ballet practice because his wife had an emergency meeting. I’ll then say that his wife, whom he referred to by first name because he’s so empathetic he doesn’t want to make me feel uncomfortable, is a famous actress as well. The wife tidbit will make him seem more elite, so when I describe him later as a down-to-earth family man it’ll have more resonance.

Now he’ll sit down and we’ll talk about him. But before we start, I have to share that he ordered a diet Coca-Cola. That sentence has facilitated this contrast payoff: I’m drinking alcohol and he’s not — how noble it makes him look, right?

Our conversation will begin with where he was born, and of course I’ll falsely paint it as a small town so his journey to Hollywood becomes more meaningful. I’ll mention a childhood story here of something rebellious he once did because, until now, I’ve only narrated fluffy stuff and I need you to see his dangerous side. That sentence will play double duty because it’ll drive male readers to want to be him and female readers to want to be protected by him.

But in this paragraph I’ll go right back into how normal he is and how he just wants to be respected for his work. Then I’ll tell a funny story that I pray will make him even more relatable to you. To do that effectively, the story will have to involve him failing somehow. But what he fails at has to be something performance-related, because then you will be more surprised that he overcame it and was able to star in the huge movie that this article is promoting.

This is where I shall finally touch on the huge movie that this article is promoting. I will detail how he steals the movie from other talented actors, one of whom will be Javier Bardem or Philip Seymour Hoffman playing a villain. I’ll then add how long he trained for the role and how he gained 25 pounds of muscle by adhering to a strict diet and working out twice a day for four hours.

Now I’ll talk about how this interview has gone on for three hours — one hour past the time his agent had allotted. This kind act again shows how gregarious our thespian is. Here I’ll mention I’m glad I got that last hour with him because that’s when he broached sensitive topics (like that now-viral meltdown at that public place) and really revealed his insecurities, fears and regrets. I’ll redirect these inner demons back toward the sudden death of his mother — she passed away last year before seeing him cast in this career-defining role in the huge movie that this article is promoting. Here is where I’ll throw in how she always encouraged him to be the best at everything, and I’ll follow up with a quote from her that he now has tattooed on the inside of his wrist. In case you forgot he was normal, the purpose of this paragraph was to remind you.

Now he has to go. For a little twist, I’ll inform you here that the restaurant closed an hour ago but stayed open late for us. This will hint at the special treatment this star gets without being on the nose about it. It’ll also allow a decent transition into this sentence where I’ll talk about how he wants to continue our conversation, but he must get home and cook dinner for his family because it’s “his night.” By mentioning his dinner habits, I’m highlighting what a down-to-earth family man he is and making my planned call-back to his all-American and simple life.

This last paragraph will include me talking about how he phoned me later that night and asked me not to print a certain section of the interview, a portion that he thought might be too revealing and could be misconstrued. This should undoubtedly prove what a good guy he is because he took the time to personally call me and ask me politely, when a star with his power could have resorted to other tactics. I hope you’ll acknowledge how dissimilar he is to the character he plays in the huge movie that this article is promoting and respect his acting more for it. By now I’ve succeeded and you’ve emotionally committed to go see the huge movie that this article is promoting. (If you haven’t, read his workout routine below so you can feel more connected to him and change your mind.)

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where you can connect with everything that matters to you. Assuming that finding that special someone matters to you. And also assuming that special someone wants to be found. As they say, it's complicated. Jeremy Kniola knows.

Missed Connection

By: Jeremy Kniola

Posted on by
Reply

“L” is for Love
I saw you at the “L” stop, listening to Blondie’s “One Way or Another” on your iPod, bopping your head and lip-syncing along. You were wearing a black and white uniform with a steaming coffee mug stitched on the pocket. Bottle shaped glasses emblazoned your liquid brown eyes.

Perhaps you noticed me? I was sporting a tee-shirt with a before and after picture of a geek using a calculator then upgrading to an iPad. I was pacing the platform in front of you, hoping to catch your attention. You looked right at me, but only briefly.

I wanted to say “Hello,” ask if you had plans. But surely a beautiful girl like you wouldn’t stay home on a Friday night. I imagine you were going out to a club later. Unfortunately, other than cooking some Spaghetti-O’s and watching YouTube videos I had nothing else going on.

Maybe you’d like to hang out some time. If you would, please reply to this ad.

Café Express-Oh!
I saw you at Home Brew Café working behind the counter. I asked about the specialty espressos. You suggested the Brazilian. Wow! Was that a hint of berry, or vanilla I tasted? Whatever it was, it left a tingle on my palate.

You laughed at my shirt: a before and after picture of a geek using a calculator then upgrading to an iPad. I find sarcasm flies over most people’s heads. That’s how I knew you were special — you appreciate intellectual humor. I tried to talk to you, but you were taking the next customer’s order. I understand. You were busy.

If you’d like to grab a cup of coffee sometime, please reply to this ad.

Doggie Treats
I saw you walking your dog in the park near Home Brew Café on Thursday, listening to, I think, Blondie’s “One Way or Another” on your iPod. I asked you if I could pet him. To my embarrassment you said he was a her, but allowed me the courtesy anyway. Your dog was not so forthcoming. She barked and tried to nip me. You excused her actions, saying she didn’t take kindly to strangers. Though minutes later a couple came along and she licked their hands.

Perhaps we could take her to the park and play Frisbee. I’ll bring along a doggie treat. By the way, what’s her name? She may feel less reluctant if I address her properly. I’m certain once she gets to know me we’ll be good friends. I could say the same for you.

So what do you say about next Thursday? You have Thursdays off, right? Come on and throw this old dog a bone and please reply to this ad.

What Light Yonder?
I saw your performance of Romeo and Juliet last night. I overheard you telling a customer at Home Brew about it and purchased a ticket online. I think this could be your breakthrough performance. When you committed suicide at the end of Act Three I found myself shouting, “No, don’t do it!” I don’t know if you heard me.

I’m currently writing a screenplay. You could play the lead love interest. It’s about a boy who falls for a girl he sees on the “L” but she doesn’t know it. He places a missed connection ad on Craigslist hoping she’ll read it. She replies to the ad and…well, I don’t want to ruin it by telling you everything. But it has a happy ending.

If you’re interested in exchanging Shakespearean dialogue, please reply to this ad.

Bird Watching
I saw you through your bedroom window. I know what it looked like: me up in that tree watching you get dressed through a pair of binoculars. But it was all happenstance. I swear I’m not a pervert.

I saw a beautiful cardinal land on your sill. I climbed the tree to get a better view of its vibrant red plumage. After you screamed and your neighbor came running out of the apartment building I got scared. I nearly broke my ankle from the fall. That sonofabitch chased me for five blocks and ripped my favorite tee-shirt. You know — the one with a before and after picture of a geek using a calculator then upgrading to an iPad. I had to visit a doctor the next morning. But don’t worry. I’m not going to sue. That is if you don’t press charges.

Why don’t you reply this ad and we can talk this out over at your place over dinner? Let’s say seven o’clock tonight. I’m sure we can come to an understanding.

Say Anything
I see that you filed a restraining order after I stood outside Home Brew and played Blondie’s “One Way or Another” on my boombox, for which you had me arrested. And now I’m not allowed to have contact or get within a hundred yards of you. There must be some miscommunication.

Please reply to this ad. It would make me very happy to hear from you. I’ll be eagerly awaiting your response.