Oh You’ve Got To Be Kidding Me.

A matchbook, available for sale on ebay, from the Kari ‘Hipster Grifter’ Farrell.

"The only meat in my mouth comes on a six foot stick Heart/Ping Pong"

It went for $39, although I do sense a market for forgeries.

Kari Farrell, Blog Traffic Magician

So here’s another post about Kari Farrell, because yesterday a huge number of people stopped by for a two line post that was tangentially about ‘The Hipster Grifter’. Clearly I advocate the laziest of blogging.

I guess what most intrigues me about this girl, besides her adorable cancer stories, is that all of us assholes of a certain age living in New York have known someone like this. Perhaps, to a much lesser extent, we went through a similar time of story telling, of bending the truth to look better or different or just because life can be boring in of itself and, occasionally, providing your own details can make it just bright enough to keep moving.

So this is to you, Kari Farrell, you whacky liar, you rubber check kiter, you sad Utah girl with terrible tattoos.

A Shallow Glimpse Into the Near Recesses of My Dark Heart

So sometimes I play the lottery. Or the lotto. Whatever you might like to call it. I, myself, refer to it as the last, best hope for the desperate. Am I desperate? Sometimes, sure, I feel desperation. A desperation to buy a lot of stuff and truly tap into the ultimate spring of well-being: American Consumer Capitalism.

Except I always lose. Today, scratching off a Win for Life ticket, I was thinking about how an extra $52,000 a year would improve my life. It’s not as if I could afford to buy property (at least here in this fair city of New York) but it would certainly blunt some edges. I lost in the top game but was consoled by the fact that the top game is always for chump change. Sure, you could win $2,500 but comparatively that’s nothing. I imagined not worrying about my bills or being able to buy my Mom new snow tires without having to eat Ramen for two weeks. I thought about freelancing less or even not having to augment my full-time job at all. They were nice, these imaginings, but proved for naught when I scratched up the thin layer of scud on the bottom game to reveal I had, again, won nothing.

I will admit to a moment of disappointment. I looked up and into the bathroom mirror (I was scratching the ticket over the sink so as to avoid having to vacuum lotto scratchings) and I thought, Well, I guess this character building experience will continue. Then I washed my hands and poured a glass of wine.