365 days closer to death.

Holidaygoers, we just want to wish you a terrifically happy new year. The NB will return in 2006 for more craptastic crap. Have fun, stay young and, whatever you do, do not drink and drive. Please.



Aloha!

Merry merry!

Kids, we have some VERY exciting news. New York City, after three days of being without, will have subways once again! That's correct—everyone will now once again be able to experience what it's like to whoosh through subterranean passageways while those overhead pay for cabs or, god forbid, ride a bus. This is an incredibly momentous occasion for New York City and one that, had it happened eight months ago, surely would have net the city its first Olympics.

Thank you, seniors, for your memories today. We appreciated them very much.

We are done here for the weekend and quite possibly until next year. Please have happy holidays. Say hi to Santa for us. He's a huge fan. Well, just huge. Well, you know.

Subways are for sharing #7.

Dear NB,

I drove those trains for 49 years! Let me tell you, those were the best 49 years of my life! It’s a shame that the young generation will not get to experience the pride, honor and dignity I experienced guiding the steely old M train through the labyrinthine tunnels of NYC. Boy, did we have some good times. We’re a dying breed for sure. It’s too bad.

Take care,
James Jenkins

The M train? We wrote back to James to see if he meant the N train, but we haven't received a response. If he does, we'll let you know.

Subways are for sharing #6.

Dear NB,

I remember a lovely November day about, oh, one month ago, when I rode the 1 train all the way to the Staten Island Ferry stop. My children were visiting, and they wanted to see the city from the water, so I suggested we take the free ferry ride instead of that god-awful Circle Line or that tourist-filled Liberty Ferry. It was so easy to get down there—just one quick train ride. It was marvelous. And now, like the original Penn Station, it’s only a distant memory.

Youngsters, please listen to me: take nothing for granted. You truly do not know what you have until it’s gone.

Bob Driscoll
81

Subways are for sharing #5.

Dear NB,

I fondly remember being able to take a bus to a bus to a train to a bus to a train to a bus to get to LaGuardia Airport from lower Manhattan. I think it was 2004. Boy, was that convenient.

Love,
Myrna Vassilaros
70 years young!

Subways are for sharing #4.

Another...

Dear NB,

I once took the A from Columbus Circle up to the Cloisters to see the Unicorn Tapestries. It was a beautiful day. I don’t even know if the Cloisters is there anymore. My trip was months ago. I can only imagine what may be there now.

Yours,
Selma Shonheim
79

Subways are for sharing #3.

Some memories prove to be more winsome...

Dear NB,

Once upon a time I'd take the N train from my apartment on East 59th Street to visit my daughter at her job at Pottery Barn in SoHo (she’d get me discounts—shhhhh!). No longer, of course. These days I spend lots of time alone in my apartment—my husband died several years ago, so I’m a widow. I mainly stare out the window and knit tiny scarves for my neighbor’s cat. My daughter doesn’t even visit anymore. She says getting a taxi is a nightmare and that it’s far too cold to walk. It’s true that the N train rarely came, but at least it came at all. It’s going to be a very lonely Christmas, indeed.

Sylvia Palomino
73

God bless, Sylvia.

Subways are for sharing #2.

Another New York memory...

Dear NB,

Oscar Rosenberg here. 68 years old. I don’t quite understand your site, but I saw your request for memories of the subway, so I asked myself, why not? You seem friendly enough.

I remember one holiday season way back in 2003, before some of you were born, when I had to get from East 86th Street to Union Square to meet an old friend for an afternoon at the movies (Jews go to the movies on Christmas, after all), and I took the 4 train. Boy, was it fast. A little crowded, but, back then, those trains were always crowded. It was the only line on the East Side, you know, but it still served its purpose. The 6 was local and the 4 and 5 were express. Union Square was only the third stop from 86th Street! Imagine that! Back then, it didn’t take five hours to go a few miles in the city. Nowadays, you’re lucky to make it to your movie before the end credits! It may be too oft repeated, but those were the days!

Best,
Oscar Rosenberg

Indeed, Oscar. Thank you for that wonderful memory.

Subways are for sharing #1.

Wow! The emails have begun to come in in record numbers! Let's begin with this one...

Dear Mr. NB,

My name is Maryann Selznick. I am 77! I have a memory to share. I remember a cold night... I think it was back on December 17, 2005, when I took the C train to the theater district to see Jersey Boys. Boy, was that a good night! Frankie Valli and mass transit. That's why I live in New York! I have tickets for Sweeney Todd tomorrow, and I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm certainly not getting in a cab with three strangers! Ach, it's Sondheim, anyway, so no matter.

Yours,
Maryann Selznick
Upper West Side

Keep 'em comin', folks. Thanks!

Subways are for sharing.

As the NB potentially reaches millions and millions of people each day, why not use it as an anthropological tool today? So...

Readers, if any of you are New Yorkers over 65, and if you have some time on your hands, would you mind dropping us an email to tell us what life was like in New York City when the people rode in underground trains? We'd love to share your stories with our younger readers who can only imagine a time when citizens zipped beneath the city in convenient electric-powered railcars.

Please, old-time New Yorkers, share! Send your stories to nervyb@gmail.com. We'll post them as they come in. Thank you!

Blame Canada.

Fine. Forget what we said earlier—we are moving to Canada.

.

Roses are red, violets are blue, tunnels are empty—help us, gay Jew!

Ooooh—the transit strike is inspiring poetry! NY1.com has a few examples of this evil breeding more evil:

Danyelle the poet writes:
It's really messed up
They have to take it this far
To make New Yorker's walk, ride a bike
Or get in a stranger's car

I'm not upset with the TWU
I know they have to do what they have to do

We like the suddenly shifting perspective of that piece. In the next offering, David inserts an "OK" for an easy rhyme for "today." When we read his poem out loud, we like to say it like "OKAAAAAAAY?" Go ahead and try it!

David in Manhattan writes:
So, there's a strike,
And I don't have a bike,
I live in Midtown,
And though trying not to frown,
I must get to UPS today,
To mail Christmas gifts to Tulsa,
Ok.
Oh, dear, what shall I do?
Are you stuck too?
I'll be on the corner, packages in hand.
If you pick me up, that'd be grand!

You know what else would be grand? Prose!

Kat nipped.

Now shut up and get back to work. And, no, the maid won't be making up your room today—there are actual guests at this La Quinta. Oh, and the wi-fi is no longer free.

Pirro etiquette.

...and someone is expected to tell her as soon as she wakes up.

Truth be told, we were originally going to write "...after she recovers from a terrible migraine," but we thought the "waking up" option was more funny. "Wake" has that hi-larious hard "K" sound. It's a guaranteed laugh.

Marc Singer must live again!

Dude, NBC, why's this shit stalled? Let's go!



In other hacky film news, Roger Ebert's best-of list for 2005. Oh, we think Roger Ebert's a film critic, but we can't quite place him...

Blame Canada.

We can finally tell you the reason we haven't moved to Canada. On its list of worst Christmas singles ever, the CBC fails to include Paul McCartney's reprehensible "Wonderful Christmas Time" and, instead, somehow chooses Shane MacGowan and Kirsty MacColl's luminously cynical "Fairytale of New York." Fuck you, Canada. And it's "Kirsty," not "Kristy." Jesus.

Hello, mushroom.

If you enjoyed the "Chronic-what-cles of Narnia" rap on SNL last Saturday night (and who didn't?), check out The Lonely Island, the place where it all began. We particularly enjoy the Nintendo animation because it takes us back to a time when innocence reigned and our bedroom was not our apartment.

Strike two.

Day two of the strike and we're still here! And we've got questions, questions, questions. Actually, Popbitch does. We're just disseminating them. Oh, and while we're doing so, what's with blind items? Just fucking tell us, OK? Nanyway...

Elton has final blow-out before matrimony

Good luck to Elton and David today!
News from the hen night suggests that
even Lemmy would have found it hard going.

Which paparazzi favourite was "at it like
a Dyson" in the toilets?

Which comedian preferred ketamine?

Who said �I�ve been to the hardest
gay clubs in the world, and the drugs
at this were way more hardcore than
any of them.�

Stand clear of the closing.

And you thought the transit strike sucked.

On that front, we've learned that the MTA is rapidly building robots to take over the TWU's members' jobs. Don't worry—they don't know why your newly purchased Metrocard isn't working, either.

Monkey? ¡Si!

We don't usually get political, but had this turned out any other way, we may have actually had to leave the country. Now can we stop spending our fucking tax dollars on shit that has no business in federal court? Thanx!



(Oh—and please see our last post for proof that we've evolved from primates. Double thanx!)

Silver ears.

Come on, people, it's monkeys and Christmas. Hosanna in excelsis, indeed!

Fallen Idol.

CNN.com provides us with the most hilarious headline of the day and, perhaps, ever:

Cider.

Yes, yes, very well, but WHAT ABOUT APPLE??????????????

Wha? Bad stuff happened? But look at the pretty colors.

From MSNBC's report on the best photos of the year:

Someone saved my face tonight.

Elton John and David Furnish attended their stag party yesterday. Happily, Elton John's original face floated away before they arrived.

Jazztin Guarswingi.

Look what you can buy with PayPal, bitches! It's safe to say the definitive version of "My Funny Valentine" now exists. Well, at least the definitive horrible West Coast coked-up version. Is that where all the money went? Oh, right. What money.

We are curious about this bit of info on the site: To purchase by phone or for questions, call: 1.888.221.1161. First of all, it really should read "for answers," unless they're giving out questions for later use and, secondly, we have a question: Why? Alas, our fingers are tired from repeatedly flicking off the TV during "Deal or No Deal," so we'll have to pass. If any of you call the number, let us know what happens. Be sure to wake us first. No. Don't.

Things Jesus might smote.

Want to go on a retarded game show like "Deal or No Deal"? Talk to Mark Anthony DiBello, the "only recorded winner of autos on both 'Wheel of Fortune' and 'The Price Is Right.'" Oh, but first, make sure you believe in the Christ because "DPC Inc. reserves the right to reject any person(s) we judge as anti-Christian or destructive to life." Jesus. As if we haven't been rejected enough by assholes in collages.



(Oh. Sorry about the Jesus crack. Can you still help us get on "Lingo"?)

Death, old, death.

Here's WENN photo library's photos of the year. We think the first three sum up historic 2005 perfectly: Luther Vandross, Madonna and tsunami.

No deal.

After a few lite whiskey egg nogs last eve, we tuned into the premiere of NBC's weeklong game show event, "Deal or No Deal," primarily because we loves us a little Howie Mandel. Not really. It was primarily because "Wheel of Fortune" isn't fucking retarded enough for us when we're hopped up on booze and sugar.

Anyway, we really have nothing to say about this asinine show other than that stupid bitch last night went home with $25,000 instead of $133,000, and we LOVED it. Though we honestly wanted to raise the stakes a little bit and change the game to "Deal or Slavery" or "Deal or Host This Show."

If you want the rules, visit the link above. Our favorite part is when the omnipotent "banker" calls Howie Mandel on a phone and Mandel has to answer and pretend he's actually talking to someone. We really didn't get enough Mandel acting in "Little Monsters," so we're very happy he's able to use his thespianic skills once again. Very nice, NBC. Oh, we also LOVE the 25 hideous "model"s, 22 of whom are named Lindsey, holding the cases.

Seriously, this show is a new low for TV. We'll so be tuning in again tonight.

That train is striking on you.

Transit strike, transit schmike. We're here and we're queer, and what doesn't kill us only makes us bloodier! So, happy Tuesday, everyone. NYC's quiet this morning, but the rest of the world is up and ready to go. So, let's go!

Here's a riddle: What's worse than getting the New Yorker?

Answer: Getting the "International Fiction" issue of the New Yorker.

Are you with me? Ladies? Babies? Striking people who push a "Forward/Reverse" button on a train from 1836?

The enchanted world of Griffin-Bass.

Oh, plastic surgery, thank you for making the holidays a little bit fun for us.

Sad man across the water.

Well, we've been sad for Elton John for a while, so this doesn't really surprise us.

More worst.

Here's the NY Post's 10 worst movies of the year. Don't worry—the link is not to the Post's 1 worst Web site ever.

Let's all not go to the movies.

We are quite proud to say that, as passionate movie lovers, we went to the movies five times this year, approximately two more times than we expected to. So, in order from most favorite to least favorite, here's our year-end movie list.

The NB's Top 5 2005 Movies

1)Mysterious Skin—easily the best on the list. Screw the cowboys—this was the gay-movie-directed-by-an-Asian of the year.
2)The Aristocrats—apart from a few clunker entries, this film was funny and fascinating.
3)Brokeback Mountain—"subtle" is different from "detached." And "Randy Quaid."
4)Batman Begins—and, eventually, ends.
5)Star Wars—Episode III: Revenge of the Sith—kudos to you, Lucas—you hoodwinked us three times.



And now, more importantly, the first filmic "worst of" list of the year, from Dark Horizons.

And here's the top 10 most nitpicked movies of all time, whatever the fuck that means.

Graduated opinion.

Rumor has it, it sucks.

Lady wears the hat.

Who was the star of Richard Pryor's funeral? Why, Diana Ross, of course.

Crappy slappy holidays.

If the unbridled anxiety and unfulfilled merriment of the holiday season have you thinking about killing yourself, here's news that should seal the deal.

Nervous breakdown.

Friends, because we left intern Luang in charge of the calendar, we found out today that we're on a Laosian schedule. Meaning, the special occasion we thought occurred today actually occurred one week ago. Meaning, this site, Nervous Breakdown, along with lots of babies, had its first birthday LAST Friday. We had a big celebration all planned for today but were so dismayed by the fact that we'd missed the actual day that we threw the crinoline and confetti out the window along with Luang.

Anyway...



First of all, HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO US. That's in yelling voice because, honestly, this site began as a joke and turned into a much bigger one, one that has kind of gotten out of control. One that, truth be told, kind of runs the life of its diminutive editor. It was never supposed to be as such. We're yelling because, despite the questionable quality of the work, we did a lot of it, and we're fucking proud. What once was unrecorded wasted time has been documented day by day for one year. We busted our ass to make sure our deferred dreams could one day look back at what we decided to do instead. And that you, dear, beloved reader, could get an occasional laugh out of it all.

Which leads us to second of all. Second of all, thank you, however many of you there are, for stopping by occasionally or religiously to see what shiny new crap we've posted for your edutainment. It means the world to us. The interns, too! Well, those that can speak English. Well, not really the interns. But we all do appreciate your attention. You've made it all worth it. Kind of. No, really!

That said, we honestly don't know what the future holds for the NB. Our goal was to make it through a year. Now that we've achieved that, plus one week, we, like Britney, are at a crossroads. Shall we continue? Do we break down the Breakdown? We really do not know. Things have changed significantly in our non-NB life in the past weeks, and we're not sure how much time we can continue to devote to this franchise. That said, we're pretty sure we don't want to give it up entirely. What we can say right now is that we shall soldier on, though there may be less updates less often. We hope you will understand. On our end, we will strive to make those updates even crappier than before. It's all about compromise.

SO...

We hope you've enjoyed this year and week with us. We sure have enjoyed it with you. That's it for today. Have a good weekend. Be safe. Stay warm. Call us. BFF. SSOS. XOXOXOXOXOXO.

The entire NB staff

Heil Greyhound.

Come on, people, you're on something called the "Concentration Camp Memorial Tour." Obviously you're supposed to have a sense of humor.

That's some mummy.

You know who's looking good lately?

On the first gay of Christmas.

Please don't forget, folks, that Clay Aiken will be performing tomorrow, December 16, at Nashville's Gaylord Entertainment Center. That's the Gaylord Entertainment Center with Clay Aiken at the Gaylord with Clay Aiken. Happy holiclays!

(Do us a favor—please don't look where they want you to look.)

Hizzomo!

We're delighted to report that Matt Damon's small Manhattan wedding was gay-friendly.

Put a wick in it, it's done.

If there's one thing you can definitely say about that Madame Tussaud, it's that she certainly does do some fucked-up shit with wax.

Big Bird? Never heard of him. Her. It.

Come on. Wasn't this quote worth waiting for?

"Caroll Spinney, who also plays Oscar the Grouch on the show, had no involvement in the woman's death."

Yes. Yes it was.

Oy.

People, the holidays have kicked the action level up to rad new heights. We're SWAMPED with wrapping gifts for all our sponsors, benefactors and dealers. Whilst we're elving, why not make a driedel and Jew some of your friends out of their hard-earned holiday bonuses? Here's how.

Good luck. We'll see you later, bunnies.

Jackie threads with cobras at the door.

What was the most horrifying thing to arrive at the British Comedy Awards? Besides the teeth (good night, London!)?



A-miss a-Jackie a-Stallone, of course.

Senator, I served with Shelley Winters. I knew Shelley Winters. Shelley Winters was a friend of mine. Senator, you're no Shelley Winters.

What do you get when you mix Thank God It's Friday...



...with a musical performance from any 2004 awards show...



...with a phrase containing the words "acclaimed" and "Troy"?



If you guessed either "crap" or...



...pour yourself another shot of Bourbon. If you didn't, you must now suffer through this.