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Subject: RE:Your Abandoned Package For Delivery Welp, looks like my abandoned package is finally ready for delivery. This is going to sound weird, I know, but I've been waiting for an abandoned package to be delivered to me by my good friend, former mayor of New York City, Michael Bloomberg. So let me just check who this is from ... From: "Michael Bloomberg." { daan@petrokimia-gresik.com} Word. True story: My friend Michael Bloomberg's email address used to be mbloomberg@nycmayor.gov, but since he left office, he wanted to keep a low profile, so he changed it to daan@petrokimia-gresik.com, which represents a bunch of inside jokes that only me and Michael Bloomberg are privy to. He's actually hilarious, Michael Bloomberg. We LOL.  VERY IMPORTANT NOTIFICATION, Michael Bloomberg. But this sounds serious. What's up, Michael Bloomberg? Is everything OK?  How are you today? Hope all is well with you and your family? I hope this mail finds you in an excel...

My mom walks faster than she runs. This seems impossible based on the very definition of those two things, but it is true. During a road race, her hybrid style of mixing each means that she is actually resting when she is running. It makes zero sense, but you know what? It works. It didn’t always work. It was maybe five years ago when my mom entered some race in my hometown of East Brunswick, and was literally the last person to finish. Like, the front bumper of the police car trailing the race was nudging her in the butt, the police megaphone yelling, “Please run, miss, so we can all go home.” Then my mom would start running and the police would say, “OK, that’s our bad. Please walk.” Since then my mom has honed her style through extensive training. If there were a movie about my mom perfecting her routine, it would include a 45-minute montage of her run-walking up the Philly monument steps, but instead of jumping up and down with her hands in the air when she reached the t...

In the book , there is a section devoted to occurrences at a fictional and hypothetical newspaper that I totally never used to hypothetically work at and completely made up off the top of my head. Here is another part in that series, which is not in the book, because I just wrote it like, the other day. I hope you enjoy. All of this is true, in a hypothetical kind of way, except the names and some very minor details ... The sales team—and by sales team I mean woman with eight kids who wore sweatpants to work and sometimes brought a few of her kids in and who didn’t “sell” as much as she drove around doing personal errands—at the paper was somewhat understaffed. This, rather gloriously, resulted in a revolving door of eccentric personalities who, for reasons ranging from “not having a driver’s license” to “clashing immediately with Hank” (the same Hank who had hired them), lasted, on average, three days. Eventually, Hank became so frustrated with the sales process that he decided to sel...

Mike Marshall, 1992 Score Off we go! Like some visitors to the Big Apple, Mike did not enjoy his brief stay in ’90. Hmmm. “Like some visitors?” Looks like somebody spent a wedding anniversary weekend in NYC, spent $315 to park his car in one of those lots where they stack three cars on top of yours, stepped in barf on the subway platform, and couldn’t get a table at Carmine’s after seeing “Cats,” which he thought would have less cats. Still…why you gotta drag Mike Marshall into this? Let’s see how bad Mike Marshall’s time in New York really was. After being traded in the off-season to the Mets, Okay, that kinda sucks. he smashed the seventh grand slam homer of his career and drove in six runs in an 8-3 win over his old team, the Dodgers. This sounds terrible. I would hate New York too if all I had to base my experience there on was the fact that I once hit a grand slam there for the local team that helped enact revenge against my former team. “This city is the worst!” I would say. B...