We are having August weather in June, and this accelerated climate change brings about the very worst and absolute best aspects of summer: lower back sweat and fireflies, respectively.

Fireflies are one of my earliest memories, in grandpa moll's backyard in Illinois. And on these hot brooklyn nights, they come out of NOWHERE, lighting up right in front of me and swerving in front of my face, looking so magical. How are fireflies not more popular?

just look at this face:

I've been lucky enough to own some of these animal kingdom gems.
My albino hamster, Zittle, used to escape at night and scurry up entire staircases, freak out our two cats, and would be routinely rescued from behind the fridge by my dad. I had an enormous bowl of pet tadpoles for about an hour, when I got to take them home from preschool. Knowing they were actually frogs, I poured the bowl out into the backyard, and a pile of tadpoles passed away before they got to develop. I raised ducks in my college dorm room, Zanzabar and the Little Lady, and they started off as tiny little yellow ducks and grew into majestic white feathered life companions. I drove a seagull to the ocean once. He had a broken wing and was covered in crude oil, so my brother and I put it up in shotgun and drove it to the waterfront in Anacortes, and set it free.

So I just started this new gang called Scooter Nation. I got a scooter, which has changed my life in a lot of ways, but kept it the same in others. I'll explain.

My views on new york city transit, B.S. (Before Scooter)

One:  I hate cabs! But I use them because here in the city they are a necessary evil, just like my desire to go to SATC2 alone with a mini merlot. Cabbies are insano, and are by far the scariest people on the road because they 1. probably don't have a license 2. don't operate the vehicle under any sort of "lane position laws" and 3. are rude and don't check their blind spots.

Two:  The subway breaks down at random, and is frequently stalled because of train traffic ahead.

Three: I love when the subway goes above ground, because it feels like a ride at Disneyland. They had that futuristic ride back in the day, called the "people mover" (my mom calls the NYC subway the People Mover also, so funny, but it's true, and a much friendlier and more vivid term for what it is), and I would often take the long route by riding the bus instead, so I would not have to go underground. There's gotta be something psychological about going underground so much, that's maybe why people here go crazy. The human body is not designed to go underground until WE DIE.

Four: I like riding my cruiser around, and only through divine intervention I have not been injured while coasting down broadway in times square traffic, with nothing but flip flops and a tube dress. The bike is a sweet way to get around.


My views on new york city transit, A.S. (After Scooter)

One: I am now afraid of slash hating cabs from the outside! Before, I was locked in the backseat, going along on the crazy ride as an accomplice, but now I am having to punch (yes, punch) hoods, pound my fist on windows, honk and scream just to avoid being sideswiped. I thought it was scary being in one before. Now I'm surrounded by them. But luck be the lady, I have the reflexes of a jungle cat, and a full face helmet.

Two: My scooter is faithful, and has only stopped working once. But it was not her fault, I neglected to fill her with 2.3 gallons of life-giving gasoline yesterday on Broadway and Prince Street in SoHo.

Three: I am always above ground! And the view of the city and the Brooklyn Bridge as I'm cruising over the Manhattan Bridge during the twilight hour each night, is an absolutely beautiful sight. The only times I'm underground now is when I'm underwater, in the holland tunnel or the midtown tunnel. And that is TRIPPY.

Four: Because my mom reads this blog, I will not explain in full how I managed to survive being hit by a cab (Hi, Nance. Yes, it's true) but it was straight up awesome, and I was wearing all my safety gear so I was perfectly fine after shouldering into the hood and rolling safely off the cab.



All this to say, my new Scooter Nation gang will involve all of you out there in the two-wheeled community, because we have to stick together. You can park 33 scooters in the same amount of space you can parallel park 3 cars, and in my short scooter experience in the city, I've learned that these streets are riddled with pot holes, hidden dangers like blind intersections and bus lanes. Check back shortly for the SCOOTER NATION tab on here, where I'll be updating you on my scooter trips, places to avoid while on your two-wheels (pot holes, grand-canyon-ish hazards in the middle of the road, scenic drives, etc.)

Wonderful! I'll post a pic up soon of me on the scooter. Gotta go hop on it and cruise now. Love you all!

Live from the Under St. Marks theatre in the East Village, I got to live the ROCK STAR fantasy life with the epic BTK BAND for their Resurrection-themed show. It was glorious. This is for you, Zanzabar.

Finally, a window display for people who eat! Looks like House of Dereon has got some display options now.

I've never read Lord of the Flies.

It feels good to say it. I've never read Of Mice and Men or got my jollies off of the metric system, because I must have been sick and had stayed home from school when this was assigned and/or discussed, and will now be forever left to my own inch-counting devices.

It's weird to think about all of the precious life and grammar lessons that are covered in just one day of elementary school learning. If you miss one day of school, or even several, your ability to share with others and design a character web based on Charlotte's Web will be forever neglected.

If you miss a whole week of school, you may never learn how to write vowels in cursive!

I think about this a lot, because people say things like "Oh yeah, we learned all about how to raise sea monkeys in 5th grade," and I know I must have missed that unit, because all of mine died after 4 days in the plastic tank.

Maybe it was when I got food poisoning from a KFC chicken pot pie.  Or that one time I got a nose bleed from playing tetherball at recess, and had to stay home while my head bled for two days. Maybe. Just maybe.

I have problems counting which WrestleMania or Superbowl we are up to now, and I blame the Brister family vacation to Florida to visit our blonde relatives who live on the beach (no joke) for my inability to read and/or write in Roman Numerals.
I'm pretty sure Mrs. Day (who had a gray parrot named Long John Silver at home and would talk about it all the time) used that week to explain to all my peers what V and I mean, and that MXXVIII means something to a lot of people.

More things I don't remember from elementary school:
-The rules on how many syllables and lines are in a haiku
-How to boil and egg
-the history and theory behind the Recorder, the great "gateway instrument"
-how to play Hot Cross Buns on the Recorder
-operating a yo-yo
-"Slamming" techniques for Pog play
-ever watching Fraggle Rock.
-F.L.A.S.H. (the sex-ed program. Family Life And Sexual Health. Nice one.)


But staying home for a "sick day" when my siblings and I were in elementary school was anything but bed rest and re-runs of Hangin' With Mr. Cooper.

Whenever one of us kids got sick and stayed home from school (due to pink eye, relentless vomiting, or a high fever confirmation on her old timey glass thermometer) and it was either a Tuesday or Thursday, our mom would take us on a little field trip to Cascade Lanes.

Nance was the best bowler in the entire league, and had records up on the wall for my entire childhood. I remember laying down on the plastic benches overlooking the lanes and all the townspeople chain smoking, and in between bouts of nausea and vomiting - being so proud of my mom.  

Her bowling team needed her, and the alley had a day care room. Yes, a child monitoring room right there in the bowling alley slash casino. It was basically an all-inclusive resort for negligent parents. I'm kidding.

Cascade Lanes also had vending machines, with those Peter Pan neon orange crackers with peanut butter inside. Those were my absolute favorite.

But the day care room was a plainly decorated room near the bathrooms, that an old, batty woman named Grandma Nelly would watch over, and anytime we came along with my mom, we had to check in with this Grandma Nelly. She yelled a lot. And had this translucent wrinkly skin and a smoker's cough. But if I watched people's kids at the bowling alley, I'd yell a lot too probably.

Besides being fixtures on the hip hop scene, lil wayne and I have more in common that you (and I, before today) may realize. No, I'm not going to jail on Feb. 7th (for a whole year) on a weapons possession charge from 2007 after his concert at The Beacon Theatre, but I did see Pearl Jam perform at the Beacon that same summer.
Looks like we'd have a lot to talk about:

1.  We both have tattoos.
Lil Wayne has "more than a hundred" of them that cover his entire body, including neck and face, and has stopped counting. 
I have two. A tiny fish on my ankle, and the Hebrew symbol for Bravery on my ribcage.

2. We both had something stab through our chests and miss puncturing our hearts by a centimeter.
When nine year old Dwayne Carter was playing around with his mom's boyfriends 9mm handgun, he accidentally shot himself in the chest, and the bullet missed his heart by a mere centimeter.
When I was just 2 years old, I was playing with my mom's sewing scissors, and took off running through my childhood home, fell on them, and they stabbed into my chest, missing my heart by a centimeter.
I got one stitch, and lost a lot of goo from my cardiac sack (the sack of liquid that surrounds/insulates the heart).
Lil wayne, did you lose a lot of goo also?

3. We are both 3 inches shorter than the average height of our respective gender.
Lil Wayne is 5'6" with shoes on, which is 3 inches shorter than the average man-height of 5'9".
And I am 5'1" (and have been since peaking at age 13), and stand 3 inches shorter than the average 5'4" woman.

4. We are both fans of SNL, and have been on the stage at 8H in 30 Rock.
He was the musical guest for last season's opening show, and sang this sweet remix of Lollipop and Got Money, that I instantly purchased legally on itunes (you're welcome, Wayne) and still run to.
I am going to be on SNL, and will meet at 30 Rock when I'm in the cast and he's doing a reunion musical guest spot after he's released from jail.
How 'bout it, Lorne?

It's been a longtime battle royale of slang terms, East Coast vs West Coast, and everyday conversation can be confusing for a Seattle-lite trying to express that she is not only "down" with that, but thinks it's "tight" and is "stoked out of her mind."
Why don't these people understand me?

The classic case of Soda v. Pop will continue to divide the nation, and diner patrons will be quickly singled out and scrutinized for their mis-use of the regional-appropriate beverage slang.

The weirdest one I've heard so far is that here in New England, they call sprinkles (think: ice-cream sundae slash cupcake topping) by an entire different name, that is the plural of MY DAD'S nickname in college: JIMMIES.  Strange!

A creepy snack I have never tried but heard ordered at a deli in Little Italy is an Egg Cream.  On the west coast, if you asked for this, someone would whip milk and egg lightly with a whisk and then watch in horror as you tried to eat it (Gaston!) but here, it's a mixture of chocolate syrup, milk and seltzer water.  Mmmmmboy.

Now: let's talk about sandwiches, because I am hungry, and they have more nicknames than Richard Nixon (I don't know what that means but I like how it sounds).

On the west coast, it's just a sub sandwich, named after the underwater sea craft that our nation's finest use to spy on people.

Here in New York City, it can change even between the BOROUGHS, between Hero, Grinder and Hoagie. This is unsettling, because I often go to two or even three of them on the regular. But in the dirrrrty South, it's a straight up po'boy or in some small community that has a very intense cuisine blogger named Peggy, it's called a "Dagwood," but just among those 700 people.    Do I smell an annexation?
 
No, I smell a MEATBALL SUB SANDWICH and a POP.

Get a sharpie and open up your day-planners, because every Thursday evening at Belleville Lounge in Park Slope will feature hilarious comedians and storytellers, come check it!

The Belleville Bistro is this gorgeous French restaurant (think: the Balthazar of Brooklyn) and not only does it have the best brunch croissants, it has a back lounge slash performance space with a full bar, tapas menu, stage and sweet decor.

Come by any and every Thursday night for live storytelling and/or stand-up comedy, with hot and hilarious hosts...

EVERY THURSDAY NIGHT ON THE LUNAR CALENDAR!

7:30pm - 9ish    and it's FREE

Belleville is at 330-332 5th Street (Corner of 5th Street and 5th Ave)
Park Slope

FIRST + THIRD Thursdays:  "The Third Wheel" Stand-up and Storytelling
Hosted by Brendan Fitzgibbons and Jenna Brister

SECOND Thursday:  "My Bad" (Embarrassing stories!)
Hosted by Becky Flaum and I will be like an Andy Richter sidekick

FOURTH Thursday: "Fireside" Storytelling show
Hosted by Ash Harrell and Jenna Brister
(check out www.firesidestoriesnyc.com for updates and lineups also)


Post-show, a sweet N'awlins jazz band called Tin Pan Blues Band will take the stage and keep the jams going, and will be the soundtrack for all of the reminiscing, the "oh man that was a crazy story!" exclamations, the front-hugs, the phone number exchanges, and the "I'll just have one more." They are seriously amazing, and a fun way to keep the rave going into the night!

Check back for performer lineups on "the schedge of shows" tab on the upper right, but let's be honest it's probably already your homepage :)
haha SIKE!

But really, the city's most hilarious and captivating performers have brought the pain and will continue to as we set up shop in Park Slope.

So bring your friends, colleagues, roommates, pet-sitters, therapists, family members, loved ones, amigos, ex-husbands, townspeople, and come join us for these sweet shows!

First show dates are:
Thurs March 11th: "My Bad"
Thurs March 25th: "Fireside"
Thurs April 1st: "The Third Wheel"
Thurs April 8th: "My Bad"
Thurs April 15th: "The Third Wheel"

and beyond!

Much love,

Jenna

Good news guys, I'm going to be SNOWMOBILING my way to Olympic Glory this winter.

After some cut-throat "snow-machining" in the woods of New Hampshire at the Olympic pre-lims, looks like we'll be representing the U-S-of-A!

and by cut-throat, I mean doing donuts in a giant field and going super fast while power-laughing as we fly around the snow banks and cruise across the woods, past waterfalls that are frozen mid-flow. Then stopping for a photoshoot with our lumberjack guide, Rusty, and reminiscing about bear attacks and the perfect storm.

Best time ever. And it is called Sledventures! It's this old lodge run by former (or current... who really knows) members of the KGB, and is decorated with very large, furry bear skins that STILL HAVE THEIR HEADS, PAWS AND CLAWS!

There are a lot of weird winter sports that make no sense to me, but only because I have never tried them.  Such as:

* Snowshoeing
* Ice-Sculpting (non-chainsaw division. It exists!)
* Sasquatch wrestling (if you don't understand the danger in this, watch Harry and the Henderson and just imagine what it would be like if Harry was not friendly and so family-oriented.)
* Ice dancing
* Ice fishing
* Skeleton racing (not the kind that happens in graveyards after-hours)
* Curling
* Ice sailing (taking your sailboat over ice. Nice one.)

Hey, guys. I love the morning paper, because it
A. gives me something to do on the commute if I forget to bring a book
B. the horoscopes are always unorthodox and clearly written by a total whack-job land gypsy
C. serves as a good napkin when I spill coffee on myself from that wicked curve just before going over the Brooklyn Bridge, and finally
D. the insane ads and headlines make me laugh out loud. Or cringe.
Or question news-media altogether.

But mostly just cringe, especially at the ads for things I never knew existed.

This little sidebar somehow made it into the AMNY paper this morning, and even though they only have 22 precious sheets to utilize with the most important, pertinent, newsworthy, and intelligent reporting, THIS little gem shows up to let us readers know that a mass murder MAY have mental problems, BUT IT IS NOT CERTAIN.

REALLY!?!? Come on! Of course anyone, even a 39 year-old Mr. Speight, who was employed as a SECURITY GUARD of all things, would admit that someone who has the bloodthirst to actually massacre a bunch of people is in fact harboring some MENTAL PROBLEMS. Wtf, reporter.

Good luck, Virginians. If they aren't certain this guy's got mental problems already, he'll be back on the streets shortly (living out his hallucination that he was kicked out of his sister's house) and they'll probably arm him with a security guard's rifle and badge.