the history of debcentral


Double Booked for Din-Din

02.28.03 - 3:08pm
It is hard to believe, but I am double-booked for dinner this evening.

As I had mentioned before, the gallery folk are having a Going Away gathering at the indomitable Maggie B's for Tim Maines. It is a potluck, for which I have purchased party hats, kazoos, and "party poppers" (not to be confused with "party poopers", which no one likes). This event is scheduled for 6:30.

At yoga this morning, I was invited to another Going Away party. It is for someone I don't know, though I am told there will be people attending whom I do know. It is a pizza event, which is scheduled to begin at 8:30.

As I was being informed of the latter Going Away party, a loitering yoga instructor interjected, "Well, it BETTER be a VEGAN pizza ." So I said, "I don't think it is, but I hear the beer will be vegan."

My comment did not receive resounding laughs I had so desired. But I think the loiterer is not even invited. Who wants her anyway?

So here's the conundrum: The gallery people are gathering at 6:30, but they are a raucous, debauched crowd, and the party is sure to go on for several hours. The yoga pizza party doesn't begin until 8:30, but yoga people are traditionally early-to-bedders, as they have to rise early to practice some more yoga. Maggie B's is sure to be well-stocked with wine. To my knowledge, there is really no such thing as Vegan Beer.

I may end up skipping the chicken and stove top at 8:30. We shall see.

02.27.03 - 3:42pm
I was having a dream that I was in my parents' house, but it was really an amusement park. I had to keep making phone calls to the health insurance company, because there was some misunderstanding that was disadvantageous to me. Then I was trying to find Brian. He was at a bon voyage party for the Reciplex people, who I've never really met, and who were moving from Puerto Rico to Boston.

Jenny Miller was there, but I didn't get to chat with her, because I got a call on my cell phone from an editor of a literary journal to which I had submitted work. Of course, because it was a dream, I could see him in split screen as he spoke to me and ate a loosely held together ham sandwich. He told me the magazine could not publish my work, but he thought I was very funny, and that he saw my future in performance work. I couldn't remember what submission he might have read. When I asked him what performance venues he had in mind, he revealed he had scheduled me to sing at an old folks' home and dress up like a clown for little people birthday parties.

By the way--I am terribly afraid of clowns and loath them with only the most virulent hate. I got so angry, I began yelling snappy angry things at him through the phone. I was in the middle of a sharp-tongued retort when my alarm went off. I quickly hit the snooze, hoping to finish my sentence, annoyed that my general verbal flow had been disrupted. Needless to say, when I dozed off again, all I could think about was why my parents' house looked like an amusement park, and what journal editor would try to book a writer as a clown.

What a sad, sad dreamlife I lead.

02.26.03 - 2:45pm
I have a headache.
And I have a large tumor-like blemish on my chin. And I am tired.

But I know all this is not caused by illness, as I have been eating that Emer'gen-C stuff as if they were pixie sticks on Halloween. Yumyumyum.

I went to the post office this morning after yoga and before work. I had some packages to mail out in keeping with my new credo that I am not allowed to buy myself anymore quirky tsatskes, but I can still purchase them as gifts for others. This will help me get into heaven, while at the same time keep my apartment less cluttered in preparation for our impending next move (once my uncle gets out of prison).

On my last couple trips to the post office here on Canal Street and Greene, the manager tried to pick me up. I am not often hit on by postal employees, so the experience was enjoyable. He saw me mailing my brother some "Welcome Back Kotter" school folders, and said things to me like , "So, you like kitsch?" and "Do you love popular culture? Because I love popular culture."

He was a very nice and not-scary man, it should be noted, so I was non-threatened by his advances.

Alas! I am a married woman. And I would never jeopardize the safety and security of my crazy person's apartment to run off with the manager of the Canal Street postal station.

The fired-from-the-gallery folks are having another soiree this Friday. They are a wonderful bunch, even though for some reason their group emails to me keep ending up in my webmail junk bin.

I fished this last message from the junk bin and will be attending a get-together at Maggie B's digs while wearing my best party dress.

Vive le laid-off!

02.25.03 - 2:06pm
Yesterday, my boss got violently ill and began audibly projectile vomiting while I was eating my lunch. This turned out to be a wonderful turn of events, because while he was so incapacitated, I was free to clean up the lesser-kept-up portions of my website. I also finally discovered--by sheer accident--the secret to having one's visited links continue to change color, even after they have been visited. Whoopee!

I have had only three contestants to my "Why I want to be Deb's friend!" contest. My first contestant, Jason Labbe, had a strong "stream of consciousness" styled essay in which he used such eloquent terms as "weird-ass" and "Rocking". He even states allusively, "I can't believe I stayed late at work to enter your contest." The only draw-back was that he wanted me to make him dinner.

The second entry was from Debcentral regular and cyber "movie night" member Yoga Mark. His answer includes such memorable lines as "I will pay", "I practiced all week here in California at a place called 'Ashtanga Yoga Shala' and I have not hurt my hamstring", and "I still think that your website is really cool."

It looked like Mark would win the prize--until this morning, when D.C. essay queen Jenny Miller wrote in:

    Please accept my application for the position of "Friend," recently advertised on DebCentral. I, too, know our sun is a dying star, and I, too, try not to let that get me down. I have nearly 3 decades of Friend experience, and among my previous employers have been other sassy Jewish ladies, but none so sassy as yourself. What other qualities would I bring to the table? I can juggle, open beer bottles with a lighter, and snap the bottlecap smartly across the room. I am also a decent sidekick, currently working in that capacity with DC's youngest grande dame, Sarah Loffman. Thanks for your time. I look forward to hearing from you.

Hmm. Now, that's one professional-sounding essay!

So, Jenny Miller, next time you're in town, I will allow you to take me out to dinner. And if I should end up in the district before you get up here, you can take me to local favorites Udupi Palace or Tiffin Indian Kitchen.

Please don't thank me, Jenny. Your profuse gratitude embarrasses me. You earned this prize!

02.24.03 - 1:00pm
Brian and I dined with my grandmother last evening.
Afterwards, I was bullied into watching a taped three hour performance of "The Merry Widow", as performed live at Lincoln Center a decade ago. This was, of course, a charming evening. Especially because throughout the meal and video-tape-watching session, my grandmother struggled hard to recall the character flaws of mine which she finds most repugnant. She then needed to repeatedly inform me of them.

I was thrilled to learn that I have recollected faults dating back to infancy.

Luckily, my immediate family picked up and moved to Fort Lauderdale when I was four, and my grandmother saw me on an average of once a year for the next 24 years. This all changed, of course, once I moved back to New York a year and a half ago.

At first, I tried apologizing for my sundry and numerous errors in character. Then I tried the old, "We're only human", and "Everyone makes mistakes." It took me several hours to realize that there were no correct answers. This was an academic exercise for my grandmother. Merciless criticism is the only thing which brings my nearly 85-year-old grandmother true joy.

Some of us like to write or take pictures or practice yoga. Some like to read or go dancing or watch tv. My grandmother simply enjoys turning the knife that she has driven into your back. Bless her soul.

On Saturday, Brian Mack, Susan Johnson, and I did end up checking out the Matthew Barney show at the Guggenheim. It was good fun and good exercise. Yesterday, Mr. Mack flew home with two bagels in his bag and a song in his heart.

02.22.03 - 12:58pm
Brian Mack of Minnesota is here, and we are heading out to one of the many fine museums of the fine city of New York.

I did want to give a quick heads up--My old man's brother, Ed, is now concentrating his energies on building a website. So check it out.

We are hoping that this new hobby will keep 19 year old Ed off the streets and off the smack. Here's to you, Ed Geller. And put some more pictures on your site, for chrissake!

At present, the only contestant in the "BE MY FRIEND" contest is a one Jason Labbe. His essay was very convincing, though he apparently wants me to make him dinner. I need some more individuals to enter my contest, so I can get out of making this fellow dinner.

So write me now. 250 words or less. Why you want to be my friend.

02.20.03 - 4:45pm
What do I know of life?
I know that Quaker Chocolate Crunch rice cakes, when eatten several at a time, begin to taste like Count Chocula cereal.

I know that Count Chocula cereal, when coupled with milk, can develop a slimy, unappealing texture.

I know that according to Google's image search, many Jenny Millers are cute, athletic, and blonde, most Deborah Schwartzes are dark and frumpy, and the one existing Brian Geller is an old dumpy pickup truck

I know that the sun is a dying star. But I try not to let it get me down.

I know that the slosh today (high of 45 degrees after almost 2 feet of snow fall) is knee-deep in some areas. So I am not ashamed that I bought a pair of very substantial boots from the Wheels of London store for a mere $50 yesterday. My new shoes are very large, boosting me up off the ground by almost three inches. Up here, standing nearly 5'5", I can survey the world from an entirely different view. I can also stomp down on all sorts of random people's feet and never even realize it.

My employer asked if I were wearing ski boots. Of course, they are high fashion footwear. So much so, that the Wheels store found them too sassy for the general public. Which is why they discounted them by 80%. I am just sassy enough for these shoes.

Brian Mack will be arriving today. I think I shall not step on him while wearing my new shoes. If only because he's traveling all the way from Minnesota.

But I shall take him to Dojo, one of my favorite eating spots in the Village. It has a lot of vegetarian food, and since they renovated several years back, people no longer complain of food poisoning.

I am nothing, if not thoughtful.

02.19.03 - 2:00pm
Today my glasses appeared to be smudgy. So I took them off to wipe down the lenses. That's when I realized that it was my eye that was smudgy. I find this worrisome.

Jenny Miller posted a blizzard picture of Brian and me on her website yesterday. This is proof that she is in league with the forces of good, contrary to what her site's name suggests.

Alison Adleman was back practicing yoga this morning, despite the whole hamstring incident. I was very confused by this, as I still remembered that wretched tearing noise that her leg parts had produced the previous day. I felt so confused by the zest and vigor with which she practiced yoga, I conducted my practice as if I had torn my hamstring clean off. Because somebody had to represent.

Brian Mack of the Minnesota Macks will be in town tomorrow. His site has been down, and we are all very annoyed. Especially because it had featured some of my black and white photography.

Brian Mack--May God be with you in finding a new web host.

In honor of the weather warming up, I wrote almost an entire paragraph last night, one which I later did not erase. It dealt with the time when I was about six years old and was swept up in an undertow (for about 20 seconds). This was a very distinct moment in my early memory. But it is one other people have found trite, trivial, and even histrionic.

As long as other people insist on not publishing my work, I will continue to allude to the event in various fiction and non-fiction pieces. That's a threat.

So there.

How interesting that at six, an undertow was the most exciting thing to happen to me. If only Little Debbie could see Big Debbie now: Crazy Uncle Ira and evil grandma and crappy job and toe surgery. The funny thing is, though my life is a million times more grotesquely complicated now, I am, on the whole, a lot happier than I remember being at age six.

So there.

02.18.03 - 3:41pm
I apologize for not blogging in yesterday, but I was too busy BEING BLIZZARDED ON! Geez! That's some crazy junk. Check out these pictures the B Man and I took on our hour-long outing to the video store (which is essentially four blocks away).

In inventorying my weekend, I find that we saw two videos. The first was Dogtown and Z Boys, which was a fun frolic into the world of 70s skateboarding culture. Can one "frolic into" something? The other movie was "El" (This Strange passion) by Bunuel, done in his Mexican phase. It was typically odd, and contained scenes of domestic violence. But because it is in black and white, and because it was filmed in 1952, the domestic violence is almost entirely non-threatening.

In addition, this weekend I wrote one sentence in a story. But then erased it.

I also spent many hours in my house clothes talking on the telephone. Joy!

Today: It was still snowing last I checked. Alison Adleman tore a something in yoga practice this morning. She was in the midst of an advanced-looking stretch, and we all heard "Rrrriiipp!" I thought I was going to puke on my yoga mat. We think she may have injured her hamstring. She could walk fine afterwards, which may be a good thing, but may be a bad thing. I volunteered to stop practicing for the week to show solidarity with Alison and her injury. But everyone yelled at me to stop complaining, so I just flopped around some more on my yoga mat, trying not to hear as the sound of muscles tearing echoed in my ears.

I am always very careful in yoga practice. If I never put too much effort into my stretching, I will most likely remain uninjured.

02.14.03 - 1:42pm
Valentine's Day is a goyisha holiday
I'm not saying this out of bitterness, because my heart is dry and shriveled like an old woman's knees. I just don't understand the concept behind it all.

St. Patrick was the fellow who drove out all the snakes from Ireland, which is apparently why, in celebration of his day, we drink beer and punch people in the shoulder for not wearing green. Did St. Valentine drive out all the red-speckled alligators?

I do know that Easter is the celebration of the return of the egg-laying rabbit. Maybe St. Valentine initiated the return of the red-speckled alligator.

I feel our Jewish holidays are more intuitive. Sukkot is an harvest celebration honoring a gazebo with a roof and no walls. One goes inside the gazebo, hangs fruit from its ceiling, and shakes a tree branch in the cardinal directions. There! Wasn't that simple.

Personally, my favorite holiday is Pesach. On this day, one's family gathers together to tell of our exodus from Egypt by reading from a Haggadah (or coloring book thing). The family tries to humiliate its youngest member, hides a piece of matzo (or cracker thing) in the sofa cushions, then sings a song about a goat and the angel of death. Afterwards, everyone eats a lot, drinks four cups of wine, and blames each other for all their problems.

Isn't this so much better than dumb old Red-Speckled Alligator Day?

Earlier in this blog, I mentioned old women's knees. I want to acknowledge that, at the advanced age of 25, I was beginning to show signs of developing saggy old woman's knees. I am now 26, older and wiser, and practicing Ashtanga yoga (as I so often mention). My knees, near-miraculously, have appeared to become less saggy and more not-so-saggy looking. This is most-likely due to the development of "leg muscles". The other day, though, I had a very strange experience. I was at home in my gatkis, and got up from the couch. As I did, I glanced down at my legs. There is a position in the midst of standing which contracts two different thigh muscles. The flesh in between, to my horror, sunk in and wrinkled in a most bizarre and unattractive fashion. This has taught me a very important lesson: I can never stop yoga. It is the only thing that's keeping my skin from looking like a rumpled burlap sack.

02.13.03 - 2:18pm
Syms is having a big Presidents' Day sale.
It's primarily a haberdashery and a closeout store targeting the decrepit and women one might describe as "handsome", but one can sometimes find great deals.

They had sweaters for sale. I own five sweaters. Lately, I have been wearing them two at a time. I try to switch up the inner and outer sweaters for variety's sake.

By the way, it is really cold here.

I left the store with a bag full of sweaters and took the subway back home, stopping off first at the grocery store. On my way from the subway, I saw a wonderful first sentence before me. And then another. And another. In my mind, I was sculpting the first paragraph of a new story. How content I was, even as the bag of sweaters dug into my palm.

I was in the aisle of cleaners trying to decipher the difference between two green-colored Windexes, when I realized I was lighter than I should be. My bag of sweaters was gone.

I ran down the aisle. I ran up the aisle. I ran to the customer service desk to look for a manager. No manager was there. I began sweating in my multiple sweaters. After much frantic sweating and running, I decided to retrace my steps. There, sitting in the middle of the floor by the eggs and processed cheese, was my bag of sweaters. People steered their carts clear of the bag to avoid hitting it. Ah! How absent-minded I am!

I recovered my sweaters, but lost my paragraph. Brian tells me that I am lucky the manager didn't have my bag of sweaters detonated. After all, as the woman from the post office said, "We're in a CODE ORANGE!".

In yoga news: my instructor, Christopher heard through an unnamed source (thanks a lot, Alison) that I had been trying to pop my left hip out of joint in an attempt to get my leg over my head. Not that I was even successful. I have had supine toroise pose privileges revoked. I guess that's okay, as the position caused me excruciating pain.

In Debcentral stats news: I just found out that if you do an aol search for e-cards about "foot prints in the sand", my website is something like the fifth entry. Yes! Rock on, Debcentral! Rock on, God-themed e-cards!

02.11.03 - 1:25pm
I think I may be hypoglycemic.
I think I should not consume so much coffee and refined sugar.

Almost every day now I've been getting that hungry-crampy feeling, coupled with light-headedness and pangs of intense rage.

This must be how Bill Bixby felt when his eyes turned eerie green and he was transformed into a green, messy-haired Lou Ferrigno.

Oh, Dr. Banner, how misunderstood you were! You would never have lobbed that bad guy through a plate-glass window if someone had simply given you a nice glass of juice.

Interesting things that my friend Susan told me this weekend:

    She had been expecting a package from her parents. It was long-overdue. She went to her post office to ask if it were there, if she had simply never received her note from the post office telling her to pick the package up. The woman told Susan that there was nothing she could do for her. Susan asked, "Can't you just look in the back and see if there's a package for Susan Johnson?" The post office worker became indignant. "Lady," she said. "Don't you know what's going on? It is IMPOSSIBLE for me to go back there and look for your package. We're in a CODE ORANGE!"
    Susan takes tap classes. After a rough class on Sunday, she needed a sip of water. Two of the three fountains were out of order. The third had a large woman huddled over it for what appeared to be a long time. When the woman turned to leave, it was revealed that she was cradling a lapdog in her arms and had been letting it drink directly from the fountain. Susan was so angry, she immediately called me on her cell phone to complain.
A man on the radio said today, "War is hell on earth." Impending war seems to just make people act stupid and irritating.

02.10.03 - 1:18pm
Snow is Fun!
Susan Johnson, Ann Amarga, and I went sledding in Central Park this weekend. We sailed down the man-made hills (slick with snow) while observing such local fauna as pigeons and rats. It was quite enjoyable. And yet, extremely stress-inducing for me, as I was positive we would run down many children and old people as we sped uncontrollably into a tree.

Luckily, all parties left with limbs intact. We celebrated this happy occasion with a trip to the ever-dumpy Malachy's for a pitcher of Bud and several orders of things buttered and fried with cheese on top.

I was taken aback by our server's grace and perfect charm when she suggested to us, "If you like cheese, our nachos will kick your fucking ass."

I heartily recommend Malachy's Donegal Pub--what, with its $6 pitchers during Happy Hour. My stealthy internet research skills tell me that Dorothy Parker frequently fell off the wagon here. Definitely a plus.

Saturday night brought us to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, to celebrate a friend's coming of age. Abigail Feldman turned 29, and we rejoiced in the milestone at the Turkey's Nest. This bar would be perfect if only it were located closer to me and served Pabst Blue Ribbon. By the way, happy birthday, Abigail.

The Brian/Deb Movie Night Contingent saw no movies this weekend. But they also saw no Uncle Ira. So all is still in balance.

Erstwhile roommate of B. Herman Geller, Mr. William S. Bowers, presently of Gainesville, Florida, has been making good in this latest issue of the Oxford American. We are all very happy for his success, while being incredibly jealous at the same time. Congratulations, William Bowers!

Good news was received that Sir Brian Mack of the Macks of Minneapolis, MN will soon be paying a visit to the beautiful city of New York to sleep on the not-as-beautiful blue sleeper sofa.

We look forward to your visit, Brian Mack.

02.07.03 - 12:00pm
It's snowing out.
It's kind of funny. Park areas, parked cars, and rooftops are all covered in a thick coat of clean soft snow. But crossing the street, you can find yourself knee-deep in slushy mucky-muck. I have twice this morning found myself at least up to my shins in aforementioned muck. It's like a gray-black, putrid slurpee. But without it, we wouldn't be able to see all the trees looking so pretty in Central Park.

We just got DSL at work, though it has yet to be installed on my computer. Phooey. My boss keeps asking, "Now that we have DSL, can I still call up the document I was writing in Word?" "With this DSL, should I still be using Internet Explorer to see the internet?" He is also constantly referring to it as "DXL".

Simpletons, all.

Meanwhile, at home, I still connect to the internet the old fashion way (with a level-and-pulley system and a hamster wheel). In addition, I am operating from a disease-riddled computer that is almost 4 years old.

What's that you say? That my website is so snappy and up-to-date, these technological impediments only serve as a testament to my resourcefulness? Well [blush], thank you.

Yesterday, I went back to my favorite East Village tsatske shop, Mod World. I purchased more stuff I really don't need, and charged it all to the credit card. After I signed the receipt, I placed the pen back in it's lucite pen holder. The guy behind the counter gasped. "You!" he said, near-breathlessly. "You are the first customer EVER to return our pen to its holder."

"Gosh, I, well, I . . . I just thought I should put it back in its correct place."

The fellow thanked me, and I thanked him back. I retained the natural high of the highly neurotic for the entire rest of the day.

02.06.03 - 1:30pm
I think I forgot to mention that this past Saturday, I had Lilly from Amour d'Hair work on my "problem". I guess it's fine now. A little too dark and a little too short. It kind of sticks up all funny-like when I don't employ three pounds of pomade. But who's counting?

Susan Johnson is very thoughtful. Last night she gave Brian and me a Saturday Night Fever card and a pound of great-smelling coffee.

In return, I gave her a sheepish grin and an apology for being a bad friend. I am very bad with this gift-giving thing. I think it was because my mother smoked while she was pregnant with me.

I must struggle, against my nature, to be a good person.

I wrote a short list of reasons why I should be famous, and submitted it to an online journal. Brian found my list disappointingly not-amusing. I thought I had been hilarious. Because you are all my favorites, and because I have been neglecting you, I'll give you a peek inside my beautiful mind. The list is as follows:

Why I Should Be Famous
by Deborah Schwartz

1.) Because it is something I really want, and have strived hard to achieve.
2.) Unlike most people, I don't care so much about money. I'd rather be poor and famous than rich and obscure.
3.) My community's "rabbi-at-large" once told me I was an "old soul".
4.) I have an interesting and sassy personal style.
5.) I am always the loudest person in the room.
6.) I floss almost every night.
7.) I have dared to mix Pop Rocks and Coca Cola
8.) Though I am pure of heart, I can't do anything particularly well.
9.) Though I am pure of heart, I can make fun of people loudly and not feel bad about it.
10.) I visit my uncle in prison regularly.
11.) I have had to endure many terrible hardships in my life (like not being famous).
12.) I would settle for being "relatively famous" or "kind of famous".
13.) I would never use my powers to maim or kill.
14.) I would always sign autographs whenever asked.
15.) I would never spit on those less fortunate than myself, even if they asked me to.

02.04.03 - 3:22pm
Since we last spoke, I visited Uncle Ira once more. He is angry that the doctors have told him he has gained six pounds. Of course, they are lying, and he is slim and trim. Or else, it is all the fault of his anti-psychotic medication.

Because I love you all so much, and because you have asked, I have posted this year's birthday card from Uncle Ira. I hope you will all enjoy it, and send me similar cards for all up-coming festive occasions.

Because Brian and I have not seen enough depressing films, we saw another Holocaust film, The Last Letter, a film by Frederick Wiseman. It is adapted from a novel by Russian novelist Vasily Grossman, a fellow who I esteem highly as a writer.

Preceding the film was a short filmed in 1939 called "Jewish Life in Cracow". It was created to boost tourism by targeting American Jews, celebrating the city's wonderful, thriving Jewish community which was, unbeknown to them, about to be wiped out.

I needed to see all this, because, at present, my life is a joy. My grandmother flashed a stranger in our elevator this past weekend. It was to illustrate how few layers of clothing she was wearing. The stranger remarked that it was windy and cold out. She was wearing five active fleeces, and was still cold. My grandmother explained that she was a much heartier soul, that she did not, in fact, think it was cold, and that she was only wearing two layers. "See," she said. "I'm wearing this coat [which she unbuttoned] this turtleneck [which she pulled at, then yanked over her head], and this! My big fat belly."

Needless to say, Brian and I were not nearly as horrified as the poor woman in the elevator. I'm guessing the woman will be using the stairs from now on.

My grandmother will be turning 85 this May.

I am falling asleep today, for some reason. I feel really tired, but kind of jittery. I wish my place of work had a nap room.

I am in a panic, because I am almost finished with One Hundred Years of Solitude, and I just received an email that my new book Diary of an Emotional Idiot, though recently shipped, is not due to arrive for another two weeks.

I must find a very short book to tide me over until my new book arrives.

any suggestions?

I really should have planned better.

also: read Bob Brumfield's short sweet farewell to Fred Rodgers, which, unlike usual Bob fair, is not too distasteful.

thank you, Bob, for those hearty chunks of chewy textured wisdom.

here are a few of my favorite fabulous psychological disorders:

coulrophobia - fear of clowns

trichotillomania - compulsive hair pulling

pica - craving or eating of non-food items.

agoraphobia - fear of an open market place (fear of being in places where escape is made difficult)

I have never suffered from pica, thank goodness.

I have been known to talk in my sleep only once. and that was last night. when I was in the middle of a sentence talking to Brian, and all of a sudden, I fell asleep and began not making any sense.

it was kind of scary. like a thing really old people might do.

funtime Debcentral regular Nick updates his new blog

B.Herman's brother Ed College has also snazzed up his fledgling site.

the vitamin shoppe sells that tasty treat Emer'gen-C for less money than the evil gnc.

and they have a better selection.

and the guy at the gnc was kind of rude and disaffected too.

I am nearly finished with Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude.

it is such a wonderful book, you will forget you are on the dirty subway, a strange man smelling of old liquor pressing up against you, gum on your shoe, the train hurtling passed your stop.


for our two runners-up:

don't fret.

you were all so talented.

it was very hard to choose a winner.

all runners-up will receive a personal email message from me, thanking them for their submission.

runners up will also be entitled to one jpeg image of me wearing a wig and sitting in a suitcase in the Gainesville Regional Airport circa 1999.

this is a limited edition jpeg, which I still have to scan in to my computer in order to send it to you.

in addition, if they so desire, I can send them a .wav file of my impression of my boss violently loosing his cookies yesterday at lunch.

it is guaranteed to provide hours of good, wholesome fun for the entire family.

thank you again for entering this debcentral contest. stay tuned for your next chance to call in an win!

my grandmother delights in the downfall of others.

she yells loudly and harshly and frequently makes off-color slurs.

she has a computer, which she uses only as a repository for dirty jokes.

but she votes as a liberal democrat, which may discount her from any future position as "The Devil".

my mother and father refer to the Guggenheim as "the big toilet bowl".

regular debcentral reader Nick has finally begun his own blog.

Heck's Kitchen has a great weekend update.

if you have checked out the Matthew Barney show at the Guggenheim, let me know what you what you thought.

have you been to the Wheels store?

do you believe: the more sparkly, the better?

would you be happy if someone bought you a Farah Fawcett wall clock?

do you hate cooking, but enjoy having others cook for you?

have you often found yourself laughing hysterically at somber occasions, despite its apparent inappropriateness?

do you enjoy french films with names you can't pronounce?

if you answered yes to these questions, you should be my friend.

write me an email of 250 words or less on why we should hang out.

first prize wins dinner at Dojo with ME

Your treat, of course.

is "smudgy eye" syndrome something about which I should be concerned?

in checking my referrals, debcentral was the #1 google suggested site for "jenny miller's ass".

debcentral is also a very popular answer to the google image search for "nude+couple"

the image featured is actually a picture of Brian at the gates of Uncle Ira's loony bin.

I do not actually have (to my knowledge) any nudie pictures on this site.

nor do I think I mention much about nakedness in general nor in specific.

a have a friend visiting from out of town tomorrow.

I also have lot of errands to run.

Is it rude to make your out of town guests run your errands with you?

Is it more rude to make your guests run your errands for you while you sit at home and eat bon-bons?

go visit heck's kitchen.

because Jenny Miller is funny.

then go to loshon hora.

because I am married to its proprietor.

and because Brian has a new entry today.

send Alison's hamstring an e-card with your most heart-felt sympathies.

send me an e-card too, because I think my left hamstring is experiencing sympathy pains.

then write me an email reminding me that you still love me.

because I am needy.

valentine's day might seem less goyisha if:

sugar-free sucking candies were substituted for sugary candy hearts

expressing love for our significant others gave way to voicing disappointment in them and their appearance of lost potential.

instead of giving valentine's day cards away, we hid them in sofa cushions and forgot about them.

other things that are inherently goyisha:

drinking milk with dinner

"crossing" oneself

having a name that ends with "the third"

light, fluffy pastries

the act of foot-kissing

punching people for not wearing enough green clothing.

routinely cleaning out the things that fall under the sofa cushions.

debcentral has finally made it to google images

one can find me here if one does a search for :

deb schwartz
deborah schwartz
crazy people
disco lights
loony bin
nude couple
nude gallery

it is almost too good to be true.

especially those last two terms.

also, at a job interview, Brian was asked by the employer if there were anything outside of what was on his resume that Brian would like the interviewer to know about him.

Brian responded, "I have a website."

shortly after, he had to duck out of the building to censor the racier material on his site.

so check him out once more, that new, family-friendly Brian Geller.

last night I turned into my own person Lou Ferrigno.

because no one would give me a nice glass of juice.

my friend, Brian Mack's site is down ( we are unclear as to who his web host is, but we hate them immediately, of course.

I am reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez's one hundred years of solitude and I love it.

it is the best subway reading ever.

I've almost missed my stop nearly every day for the past week.

and I have been so engrossed, I forget all about the crazy preaching man who is brandishing a box of m&m's and saying, "we all want to go to heaven, but we don't want to pay for it."

one hundred years of solitude is a sure-fire subwaycrazies-repellent.

what I learned this weekend:

sledding is fun.

but only in man-made environments.

and if one doesn't mind running down youths and the elderly alike.

Dorothy Parker has good taste in bad bars.

So does Abigail Feldman, who just turned 29.

yankee dive bars do not have the same respect for PBR as southern dive bars.

William Bowers will be famous soon.

he may not want me riding his coattails to literary recognition.

but I will try anyway.

Brian Mack is coming to town.

the world is beautiful and sloppy when it snows.

will you buy me a more up-to-date computer?

will you hook me up with a cable modem?

will you be there when I really need you?

will you make me homemade chocolate brownies when I feel crabby?

will you sew up the holes at the back of my socks, and do it in such a way so they don't get all bunchy and uncomfortable?

will you send me a link to a good yiddish/english dictionary on-line?

will you email me your unconditional love and support?

will you then visit heck's kitchen and write Jenny an email saying how much you like her site.

she likes love and support too.

do you think my insane jealousy towards people who have been more successful than me at getting published is unhealthy?

do you consider me to be a vain and selfish individual?

do you feel I am too sensitive in receiving constructive criticism.

do you believe I should re-enroll in therapy?

are you able to recommend a good therapist for me?

while you're at it, can you direct me to a kindly and capable gynecologist?
I'm overdue for my yearly pap.

is it possible for me to write something that was intended to be humorous, but isn't?

send all replies to

ps: I think the crook in my nose has increased in size and unattractiveness.

contrary to popular belief, I am not the only person who gets rejected.

Brian's sister, Jessie Geller, just received her second rejection for short story fiction.

and Maggie Estep was recently issued a banal and mean-spirited review for her up-and-coming book, Hex

of course, Maggie Estep has a book

I only have a thick stack of rejection letters, a vat-full of dashed hopes, and a nervous disorder that affects my Gastro-intestinal track.

in other news:

florida friends Dave and Heather Sobush bought their first house and are in the process of moving in.

we wish them well, and hope that they do not have nightmares about Count Chocula living beneath their floorboards.

like I used to have when my family moved into their first house.

Count Chocula can be so scary.

Who is Deborah Schwartz?
The experiences of Deborah Schwartz
The persistance of Deborah Schwartz
The relations of Deborah Schwartz