Greg the Boyfriend

My Mathematical Mind

2006-09-12T02:51:00.000-04:00

I just spent the last three weeks doing the most intense and insane math course ever conceived my any human. Basically, every day in 4 hours we covered an entire college semester's worth of math. Linear Algebra, Multivariate Calculus, Econometrics, Dynamic Systems (linear, nonlinear, autonomous, non autonomous and all combinations of the aforementioned), etc, etc. I did this because last Friday I had to pass a very arduous 3 hour test in order to not get kicked out of the masters program I'm in.

I passed, and supposedly even did well.

The next year or two of my life will be dedicated to more schooling, research, teaching (ok...TAing), and writing a thesis.

Its not as if anyone reads this anyway, but just in case people are that bored that they actually do still come here, its safe to say that I will be much too busy being a giant dork to have anything fun to talk about.

Unless one considers Lagrangian functions and financial theory "fun". In which case, you should be shot.

love,
GregTheEconDork.

Pittsburgh has yellow bridges and I wear red.

2006-07-04T00:56:00.000-04:00

While exploring some park in Pittsburgh, GM was nice enough to give us a few bright red picnic blankets.

Seriously, if given a bunch of red blankets there is only ONE thing you are allowed to do with them.

Pretend you are this badass:

That's right. The Imperial muthafuckin Guard.

Only problem is, is that without the helmet, it doesn't quite look right. So we said, "Screw those imperial guards...everyone knows their just the Emporer's bitches anyway." And off we went to take red cloaked versions of the man himself.

That's right...the Emperor!

Only problem is, is that I can't do anything manly to save my life...so, instead of it looking all bad-ass. Like some sinister Greg peeking out from under a blood-red cloak of power, it looked like this:

Look familiar? Is it The Emperor? Not so much. Could it be that National Geographic cover from the 80's? You know...the one with the refugee girl from Afghanistan?

Unfortunately, thats a resounding, "yes".

a bit belated...

2006-06-21T14:16:00.000-04:00

I had planned on live-blogging our trip across the country, but alas, free wireless is not as predominant on the plains of Kansas as we thought.

Pictures of the question mark with new friends will come soon, but in the meantime, a brief recap of one city stop...

Although I think the video of our spontaneous football game with the waitstaff of Hooters that took place in a parking lot in the middle of nowhere Missouri will be more crowd-pleasing, this memory comes from Las Vegas.

After a hellish 14 hour drive over the Rockies and through the Utah dessert, we arrived in Vegas and after a quick nap, we hit the whiskey we bought the day before in Pueblo Colorado. With no food in me, it hit me kinda quick and by the time we were in a cab on our way out, I was already a bit too far gone.

The previous tennants of the cab had left behind a single long-stemmed rose, which quickly became the object of my fascination. As we rode the cab away from the strip in search of something more real than the tourist traps of casinos and strip clubs, I mocked the fake sensuality of Vegas strippers by slowly peeling the pedals off from the bud of my poor rose. I managed to pull off the flower striptease with enough perversity to make Andrew uncomfortable, and chuckling to myself, I looked down and saw my crotch covered in rose petals. It was very American Beauty.

So with a whiskey-fueled sense of logic, I shoved all the loose rose petals down my pants, nestling my package in silky soft pieces of a gorgeous red flower.

Unfortunately, I was drunk enough to completely forget that I had done this, and fast forward a couple hours later when I am standing next to this total old school Texan cowboy type at a urinal and I undo my pants to piss, and a cascade of rose petals gently flow to the floor covering both our feet with the flowers of royalty.

Obviously shocked, confused, and disgusted, the cowboy was quick to shake off, zip up and leave. Rose petals at your feet is apparently good enough for kings, but not for cowboys.

A few hours later, the desire to go number two came upon me, and, once again forgetting, I was shocked to see a bunch of pedals drift down into the bowl to swim with my droppings as I did my business. And dare I say it, if there is anything that can make a bowl of poop look elegant, its the addition of rose pedals. A little tip in case you ever find yourself in the precarious situation of having just pooped in a toilet that won't seem to flush. Add some rose pedals and all will be forgiven.

Admittedly, this story would have been much better if it had involved some random young lady peeling off my undies for a bit of naughty fun, only to have roses burst out along with my manhood, but alas, besides the aforementioned game of football, this trip was just us boys being silly.

Speaking of them, when they awoke, the next morning, they found me laying half uncovered in my bed, surrounded by what looked like little balls of rabbit droppings. Small round brown things surrounded me everywhere, and I awoke to screams of disgust and horror as my two compatriots awoke convinced that I had slept in a pile of my own odd droppings.

In fact, the remnants of the once beautiful pedals had worked there way out of my undies and had been crushed and rolled into tiny bruised balls by my body as I tossed and turned throughout the night. By morning and upon closer inspection, I found they resembled dried cranberries more than anything else. I quickly discovered they also make very effective projectiles when waging war against the boys intent on teasing you the next morning.

And that was not the Vegas story I expected, but it was the one I got.

Is anybody out there?!

2006-05-15T13:43:00.000-04:00

UPDATE! We have our first picture with the question mark!

Although I doubt anyone has read this site in forever, I would like to announce that I will be driving across the country with 2 of my oldest and dearest friends in early June, starting in NYC and ending in San Francisco.

Traveling with us will be my most prized possession, a giant blue question mark that stands around 3 feet tall and weighs something awful.

So, if you have recommendations for places to visit, sleep, eat, see, do, or would like to get your picture taken with our giant question mark, please email me.

Thanks,
Greg

Anyway, here is the picture of me in a lame-as pose with my question mark:

A Rambling Christmas Post

2005-12-20T14:29:00.000-05:00

The cover of a recent daily paper has the headline, “Bad Santa.” The accompanying picture shows a tall and skinny Santa doll holding the bloody severed head of a child. Apparently it was put up in protest of the crass materialism that now surrounds Christmas.

Interestingly, Christmas was a strongly contested holiday in US for most of this country’s history. The puritans and other religious purists viewed it as the remnants of a pagan tradition with no true basis in Christianity. (Try to find the date Dec. 25th in the Bible. I dare you). It was only with the birth of the corporation that Christmas took off, and for many, the biggest shopping day of the year, Black Friday, is the day when Christmas shopping finally decides whether or not many of these corporations will post profits for that year.

Somehow my brother and I both ended up with a strong hatred of materialism. Maybe it was our father’s constant pressure to be successful that caused us to embrace the idea as an emotional safeguard in case we could never live up to his expectations. Maybe our embrace of the proletariat was our backup plan, our way of saying, “well, we never wanted to be successful anyway.”

Despite the puritan founder’s best attempts, Christmas has sunk its way deep into the Christianity of the US. So much so that there is now a backlash against all things Christmas in our country’s attempt to separate church and state. Places now sell holiday trees, not Christmas trees, and every public display of a Christmas tree is balanced out with symbols of other denominations and religions. Happy Chanukah and Kwanzaa to all. Chanukah isn’t even that important to most Jews. As my Shabbat loving friend put it, “it’s the celebration of a right-wing coup by a band of Jewish brothers, trying to overthrow their rulers.” In the Jewish world, it’s a relatively new holiday. New enough that the Ethiopian Jews don’t even celebrate it as they had long left Israel by that point, and it carries just a fraction of the importance of Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, or Passover.

It was sort of a consolation prize for those kids that Santa didn’t bring any presents to. (Kwanzaa, a completely made up holiday compiling a number of traditional African ceremonies has an even more ridiculous history despite its good intentions.)

I remember back when I was around 6, there was some TV movie about the life of Jesus. I didn’t really know much about the guy and I had a little bit of trouble following the story. Being the budding artist I was, I attempted to draw the famous crucifixion and above my depiction of Our Lord’s death, I wrote the one single fact I was able to fully comprehend about the man.

“Jesus is a dead man.”

I didn’t mean it like the threat it sounds. It was just a statement of fact. Once this guy was alive, and now he’s died. Obviously he had historical importance, after all, they made a movie about him, but I really didn’t differentiate his role in the world from that of anyone else who lived and died and made a mark. Jesus, Napoleon, Bob Hope…same deal. All dead men.

Like any void, I wasn’t even aware of my own personal lack of religious knowledge. As hard as it is to imagine something happening at a public school now, I remember being quite young and a teacher asking us all what religion we were. The kids went down the line, some answering blandly, “Christian”, with others being more specific, stating, Methodist, Lutheran, Catholic, Jewish, Hindi, Buddhist, and I even recall one Zoroastrian, only because it really impressed my teacher. At that point I didn’t know that Methodists, Lutherans, Baptists, etc, were all “protestant” nor that they all fell under the even bigger umbrella of “Christian.” To my young ears it seemed like everyone had their own personal religion. When the teacher came to me, I didn’t have an answer for me, so she asked met he default question, “Do you celebrate Christmas?” and upon my answer, she told me I was a Christian.

Christmas, Christian, they sounded alike. It made sense to me. If you celebrate Christmas, you were a Christian. With all the glorious presents of Christmas, being a Christian seemed like the best one and I was pretty damn happy to be a Christian.

I ran home to tell my mom the good news. I was a Christian and therefore entitled to Christmas presents.

My mother frowned.

“The next time a teacher asks you that, tell them you’re a heaven.”

Later, when I turned 13. Certain friends of mine started getting big parties thrown in their honor. I seemed never to be invited. But one of my friend’s showed me a video tape of his “Bar Mitzvah” and there I saw something amazing. Boys dancing with girls, laughing and singing. I had never been to a party with girls like that so I was totally jealous. Sure, we had school dances, but at those the boys and girls just kinda stood at opposite sides of the room and kicked their feet, a brave few venturing off together to bear hug as they turned in circles together, but nothing like the carefree celebrations I saw on this tape.

My friend then went on to tell me about all the money he had gotten at his party, and all of a sudden I understood it all. You had to PAY to go to these parties, and since I really didn’t have any money at that point in my life, it made sense why I was never invited.

“No, no, no. They don’t pay to come, they give you money as a gift!” my friend explained. “just how much?” I asked.

The answer was a lot. A lot more money that I could even comprehend.

“So can I have one of these parties too?”

“No. Only Jews can have a Bar Mitzvah,” my friend informed me.

All of a sudden I was feeling the downsides to being a Christian.

But then a funny thing started to happen. All of my other “Christian” friends started all getting worried about some ceremony where they had to go to church and recite a bunch of religious lines.

“What? You don’t know what Confirmation is?” my friend asked.

I responded that I did not, and he told me the deal. Basically, when you are a baby, you are too young to accept God, so your God parents do it for you, then, when you are old enough, you go back to the church, and accept him your self.

Without doing this, I was told, you were condemned to hell.

I got scared. I didn’t have any God parents, so who was there for me when I was baptized?

Once again, I asked my mom.

“You weren’t baptized,” she said.

“What? So I’m condemned to hell?”

“How can you believe in a religion that thinks the difference between going to heaven and hell can come down to something so insignificant as dunking you in some water when you’re a baby?”

I didn’t have an answer. And it was then that realized just exactly what my mom meant when she said I was a heathen and what having two scientists as parents really meant.

We didn’t believe in God.

No wonder I didn’t have God parents. No wonder we never prayed. No wonder we never said grace or went to church, or did any of those things other families did.

But sometimes my mother would surprise me. Especially when she was tipsy and these questions would come out showing that her mind wasn’t exactly as made up as I thought.

“Will my mom see me as how I looked when she died? Or how I looked when I died?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in Heaven,” I replied.

“Maybe. I don’t know. It just doesn’t really make sense to me. And I don’t think I’d want to live for eternity anyway. It sounds pretty boring,”

My dad was a bit different. When Christmas or Easter rolled around, the music would start. Some days it was Handel’s Messiah and other classical pieces. Other days it was the classics…”Silent Night,” “Oh, Christmas Tree,” etc. etc.

Only they were in German.

My dad has a lot of German in him, and a lot of music in him as well. His whole side of the family is blessed with musical talent. Everyone plays an instrument and can sing with ease. Many of the women in my family history gave piano lessons or played at churches. I heard stories about my grandfather and his siblings sitting around a piano singing and playing music together, and other stories about my dad’s days in his college glee club.

I remember when he made me take piano lessons and how we’d play a game where I would press a key on the piano when he was in the other room and he would come back and be able to press the same exact key just from the sound of it.

That amazed me. I couldn’t do that. Sure, I could tell that the sounds each key made was different, but I could never wrap my mind around what exactly the difference was.

You see. I am tone deaf.

I got this from my mom. The lady doesn’t have a musical bone in her body. In fact, she has never even purchased a piece of music in her life. I’ve never even heard her listen to music on the radio. Our car rides were always the news or books on tape. Never music, except when my dad put it on.

This makes a birthday in our house an incredibly awkward thing. A father with perfect pitch growing increasingly frustrated as his tone deaf wife and kids murder the simplest of melodies. Usually someone was crying before the candles were even blown out.

And I think it was Christmas that our lack of musical ability hit him the hardest. It was the day he fondly remembered the holidays of his youth, spent with his musical family, singing classic carols in classic German, the family together as a whole and loving unit making beautiful harmonies together.

But not in our house. We hated singing and feared our father’s wrath over our lack of talent.

But the songs played anyway, and we inched further away from the living room away from his attempts to force musical talent into our talentless bodies, and the more we tried to escape, the louder the music became, until Christmas became nothing but music. Music screaming out about the talent we all lacked.

But it never once was about God, the Virgin Mary, or the Baby Jesus in our house. Just about the death of our German family traditions.

The puritans would have been so proud.

Falling

2005-12-07T11:38:00.000-05:00

I'm out of practice so maybe this post is way lame. Sorry.

I’m limping like hell today. Not as bad as yesterday when I was screaming that my leg must be broken, but bad enough to piss off the pushy subway riders wondering why I can’t speed the fuck up down those stairs to the station.

-

Your girlfriend tells you that she is going to eat lite that day so that she is a nice cheap drunk. You look forward to your last night in New York together being filled with crazy drunken sex. Crazy drunken sex nights become rarer and rarer when you live together. The last time we both came home tipsy I kinda spoiled the mood when I pulled out the obscenely long French fry from our drunken late night meal to compare its length to my cock right as she was about to go down on me. I admit, its not the sexiest move I’ve ever pulled, but goddamnit, I thought it was funny.

So yes…the idea of my normally quite sober girlfriend getting a little tanked and slutty was sounding pretty damn awesome to me. Thank God for birthday parties.

A couple months back, a good friend of mine was having a birthday party and another friend called and thanked her for holding a get together.

“You don’t understand…because of your birthday party, my girlfriend is going to come home to me all drunk and horny and I am going to have awesome sex.”

I laughed at that back then, but now I totally understand.

So once again, hurray for birthday parties.

And so there we were…a couple glasses of champagne to start things off, a shot or two here and there to seal the deal and pretty soon she was having a ripping good time, smiling, laughing and even going on and on about how hot some of the other girls were looking. And she squeezed between some of those girls and she invited me to squeeze between them with her.

It was awesome.

But when you live with someone, you know then through and through, so when that huge drunken smile suddenly sours out of no where, and she suddenly shoots off out of the room, you realize that maybe you got a little greedy when she asked you to pour her another shot. (but it was only her second! Or was it her third? Oh shit…was it four? Idiot. Write it down next time.)

And so I ran upstairs after her and caught a glimpse of her before she locked herself in the bathroom.

And I waited.

For a long time.

Until there was nothing but silence coming from behind that door.

And I pulled out my credit card, thought, “Oh God, this probably looks so bad…a boy picking the lock the girls room,” waited for the owners of the bar to look away, and popped open the door.

And there she was, passed out on the cold tile floor.

I did a quick wipe down, cleaning most of the puke for those poor bar owners, before picking her up and setting her down on a nearby seat. I went back downstairs and skipped all the goodbyes as I grabbed our coats and ran back to her side.

I decided to skip a cab and just walk the 1.5 blocks home. The cool air might do her some good, not to mention the disaster that happened in the back of a cab the last time she was like this.

But her feet weren’t walking as much as doing some sort of square dance shuffle and it was more work than I anticipated.

Eventually we made it back home and I started cursing at the 3 flights of stairs leading up to our 4th floor walk up apartment. The first two flights were ok, but by the third, I didn’t have the strength to carry her anymore and I begged her to wrap her arms around me tight and we took baby steps up the whole way. And at the top, with our door only feet away, it happened. Her legs buckled and she started to fall over. I threw myself between her and the stairs, hoping she’d ride me down like a sled, but instead we both fell head over heals, somersaulting the entire way. I hit the ground first, just in time to see her do her final somersault before she came crashing down on me. I thanked God she landed on me.

I was in shock. We had both just fallen down about 20 feet of stairs, tangled up in some sort of painful cuddle position. But I pulled myself together and carried her up that last flight like I should have done before. I dropped her on the bed, but she just rolled right off the side, landing with a thud on the floor. I tried to get her back on the bed, but she fought me and told me to leave her there, so I put a pillow between her bed and the laptop she landed on, and threw the covers on her and went to bed.

It was only then that the pain hit me. My leg felt like it had been smashed with a sledgehammer. After about 30 minutes of moaning in pain, I finally drifted in to sleep.

I awoke the next morning and remembered that she had a flight to catch and it indeed was a Tuesday and I had to get to work. I collapsed the second I tried to put weight on my leg, hobbled over the phone, and called in sick. She woke up, cursed alcohol, and changed her flight to Thursday.

We spent the day like invalids, her nursing her hangover, and me, my leg. We ordered food and watched movies in bed, including the first movie we ever saw together. And we looked at each other and realized just how close we had grown since that first viewing and our cuddles and caresses quickly escalated until we discovered something magical, something much hotter than drunken slutty sex, and something that can only come when you first realize that you would, without hesitation, throw yourself between harms way and the person you love.

But a bit of drunken slutty sex every now and then would still be fucking awesome.

Fuck the labels

2005-12-07T11:19:00.000-05:00

So a friend of mine told me that I was quoted on NPR recently during a story about Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. I thought that was pretty cool, although they used some lame quote I don't even remember making. [I think that last link is broken]

Anyway, it reminded me of a post I wrote but never posted because the last thing that the internet needed a few months back was yet another mention of that band...but anyway, I thought the NPR story didn't dig deep enough, so here is my long lost post about the band and their tactics. Maybe if I had posted it, there could have been a better quote.

Anyway, on to the abandoned post:

I’m in the midst of a move, one of the most hellish activities that a spoiled lazy person like me can go through. I ran across my old 4-track recorder and for a brief moment thought about selling it before I realized that they’re not worth shit anymore.

A crappy sounding 4-tracks on a pain in the ass analog format. Maybe its fun for young kids, but with home versions of pro-tools and other readily available computer add-ons, it’s a complete relic of the past. My upstairs neighbor makes professional sounding recordings with his home studio. Sure his mixers and soundboards and mics cost a hell of a lot more, but anyone with a decent computer can put something together that is much nicer that my old tascam machine for next to nothing.

I started thinking about friends of mine who’ve thrown together really good recordings with ease these days and relatively cheaply and it got me thinking about a story I read about Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. I was one of those guys who really liked the tracks they were trickling out on their website as they recorded them, so when they announced that their album was done, I immediately emailed a few of the guys in the band to get my hands on a copy. This wasn’t easy as they told me that no stores had any copies yet and I even made a deal to walk the ten blocks north of my apartment to meet one of them and get it by hand. I suggested we meet by the hams in the nearby supermarket. It seems like a nice specific place where there could be no confusion on location, but I think it weirded homeboy out because he stopped responding to my emails. Luckily, someone else in the band told me that they had just dropped two copies off at a local record shop so I walked down there and picked one up.

Later, I read the now common-knowledge fact about how they decided to skip the whole record label thing and how, in doing so, they were able to push their profits up from $1 per CD to more like $8. This seemed smart to me, so I decided to take a look at what exactly a label does for you these days.

So. A label. They pay for your recordings, fund your tours, pay for promotions, etc. etc. Of course, its actually the band that pays for this. They just sort of loan you the money and you pay them back with the money you make from sales. So these average bands that are making 1/8th the money per CD, not only have to sell 8 times as many records to make the same kind of money, they have to sell even more to pay back all those costs the label has been racking up on their behalf.

I am not talking about publishing or distribution. You can get those deals without a label. Clap Your Hands finally opted to get a distributor when it became too time consuming to package and mail off all those CD’s by hand. And publishing, where the real money is, is done from a separate deal from the label signing.

So take the recording process. Back in the day, you needed a label to front the bills for studio time, but now you can do it at home. Even if you do go into a real studio, its not that bad. I read that CYHSY spent $10,000 on studio time. But, remember, that is probably split 5 ways between the members, and that that $2,000 per person was probably split over a few months time. Compared to NYC rent, the cost of fancy guitars and amps, practice space costs, etc. its not really that much more and any dedicated band could probably scrape that kinda cash together, especially if they opted for an EP instead of an LP.

And since CYHSY proved you could manage the manufacturing and distribution side initially, what we are left with is pure volume of sales. Can the label really do enough to push your sales up the 10 fold or so it needs to be for profits to be the same?

Can all their interns calling radio stations do that much? Do the videos they make you make get you that much attention? Are those signs on the streets increasing sales that much? Those ads on pitchfork? How much good do they do?

With a major label backing them, would you really hear CYHSY on the radio more often? Probably not. With or without label backing, I don’t think the homogenized Clearchannel radio station monopoly will believe in the mass commerciality of CYHSY. But they aren’t going after the Britney Spears demographic. At best, they could sell 100,000 copies if they had someone like matador pushing them, but hell, they are doing better financially with the 17,000 they’ve sold on their own, so why even bother? They aren’t an MTV band, and with the higher profit margins they have, they can afford to fund their own tours, and really it’s the managers and booking agents scoring them the good gigs, not the label, anyway.

Face it. It’s the internet. Its word of mouth. Its reviews on websites and music blogs that make the popularity of a band explode over night. For any band unwilling to compromise their sound in exchange for commerciality, there seems to be little sense left in going into a bargain where you keep so little of the money you make on your sales.

So why bother? Can anyone out their crunch the numbers and prove to me the financial reasons why a band condemned to niche markets to begin with would find it advantageous to hand over so much of their profits to a company capable of locking them into shitty record deals, abandoning them, screwing them, or even suing them?

What does the label really have to offer that you can’t do on your own now? Do those internet ads that you pay for increase your sales 10 fold? Do ten times as many people buy the album because of the posters on construction sites? When you are doomed by your sound to never get national radio air time or MTV video time (like they even show videos anymore), what is the point of it all?

I remember one time when I was with Paul Banks at an ATM late one night (a while after Turn on the Bright Lights, but before Antics), he took a look at the receipt of the person before him, and said, “damn, look, he has three grand in his account! Someone is stoked!” Now I am pretty sure those guys do better know, what with getting paid for photo shoots, parlaying fame into lucrative DJing gigs, publishing rights, etc. etc., but damn, I think of the CHYSY boys with over $20,000 each off 17,000 albums, and think, maybe they are on to something here.

[note: since I wrote this, they have sold more like 25,000 copies]

hiatus again.

2005-10-07T13:01:00.000-04:00

I'm totally hating the internet these days.

An ode to sausage fests.

2005-10-05T10:12:00.000-04:00

"i'm really glad we do this."

I've known him for 12 years and the "this" we were doing was something we probably spent most of those 12 years avoiding.

Hanging out with just the boys.

Six guys in bar sharing pitchers of bud and playing darts together. If I picture that in my head I imagine a group of lame frat boy jocks or else a group of guys too funny looking to get dates. Never did any of us ever expect to be that group.

But with three of us in serious relationships, and another three seriously into dating, its a rare thing for us to find ourselves free from the company of women.

12 years I've known him. That covers three cities. 12 years have we sat in a room full of boys and cursed the lack of ladies.

12 years have we hunted for them. From driving around trying to find suburban parties in high school to trawling bars and concerts.

This is what we spent our lives trying to prevent, and here we are loving it.

It turns out we kinda missed those moments of crass comments and juvenile antics. And it turns out, sometimes we need to bitch about a girlfriend, or seek advice, or finally open up in some totally sappy way and express how in love we are. How scared we feel. How trapped, how fulfilled, how loved, how smothered, how blessed, how cursed.

And no eyes are scanning the bar for the female form.

And no one is dying to run off to a party.

Its just boys playing darts.

And its sad we had so many moments like this before and took them for granted.

And now I understand those fraternal organizations with their silly fez caps.

And I look forward to driving their little cars.

They're pretty bad-ass. Like a Power Wheels for adults.

Pow Pow Power Wheels! Now I'm drivin' for real!

False identities.

2005-10-03T12:46:00.000-04:00

Saturday was sad. My girl and I had tickets to go see the Pixies, Gang of Four, DFA 1979, etc. at the Across the Narrows show, but after spending the better part of a week horribly sick in my pajamas in my bed, we decided it was best if she headed back to her motherland where healthcare is free rather than sending her to a doctor here without insurance.

Suddenly I had an extra ticket and it was surprisingly hard to give it away. Eventually my new roommate, M. took it. He and I jumped on the train and made our way to Coney.

We arrived to a barely populated boring minor league baseball stadium, with only the barest of refreshments. nachos, beer, and whatever else you'd find at a ball game....and all way overpriced.

After being informed there was no re-entry, we felt very trapped and mad at The Man. When cigarettes ran out, we got desperate.

I spotted a guy from one of the bands that had already played and ran up to him.

"Listen. I know you can get out and get back in. So here's the deal. You are going to go buy us cigarettes."

So the dude looks me up and down and tells me that he is actually about to take off and just hands me his "TALENT" all access pass.

M. takes it and escapes to the outside world coming back with a bag full of beer and smokes. the beer runs out too quickly, so he gets more. That runs out. we invade the backstage, but can't find "our" dressing room. Finally M. caves and goes out to by whiskey.

Before I know it, the two of us are shitfaced. My girlfriend had given me specific instructions to make sure that M. found a ladyfriend. M. doesn't like how he looks in glasses, so socially he wanders around a bit blind, relying on the eyes of his friends to spot girls he thinks might be cute. The crowd wasn't his style, but in a fit of boredom, we chose a group of three girls. M. barely said a word before the three saw his pass and were putty in his hands. All four quickly took off to watch Gang of Four from back stage. One of them even ruthlessly ditched her boyfriend without so much as a "be back in a bit." The poor boy looked so young, furthering my belief that the girls were young too.

The whiskey kept entering M. and I spent the night sloshing about with him, hiding from guards under the stage as the Pixies played 3 feet above our heads.

The girls no doubt thought M. was in a band and lavished him with attention. At one point I saw him on his back with one of the young ladies on top of him in full get-it-on makeout position.

Then I blacked out.

Then it gets fuzzy and I remember M. and I narrowly avoiding a brawl with some Coney locals on our way to the Subway.

And I remember M. the next morning saying, "Man, I didn't even ask that girl her name. She woulda let me taken a dump on her if I wanted to. All because of that one dumb piece of laminated paper around my neck."

And I remembered why so many friends of mine started bands.

And I felt bad about this girl who no doubt went home to google the band she thought M. was in only to see a different boy in the picture.

And I just wish I had stayed sober enough to actually remember the Pixies.

I know I know, fashion is so two weeks ago.

2005-09-28T11:51:00.000-04:00

A couple years back my parents and I were watching the footage of when our house was demolished after it was nearly torn in half by an earthquake in 1989.

There the three of us were standing there in early 1990 as the house that I had grown up in, the house they built, was ripped apart by bulldozers and tractors.

My mom turned to my dad and said, "What the hell were thinking with that shirt?"

A little over a decade later and my dad's bright orange and green shirt did look absolutely ridiculous.

"Mom, it was 1990, we were all wearing obnoxiously bright colors."
-
I woke up this morning and found my roommate up earlier than usual semi-frantically searching the internet for something.

"I just realized its Fall and I haven't gotten any new boots yet."
-
I need new shoes as well. The ball of my foot is literally touching the concrete when I walk. It gets sore.
-
I peaked over her shoulder to see what styles she was into this year. Later, I cross -referenced with my "fashion forward" friend to get the inside scoop.
-
"I will be wearing them because a big look right now is short
skinny jeans so the detail of the boot is shown, it's a variation of the
jean tucked into the boot thing, but cooler.

Most people would think that shoe is kind of ugly but when you put it on
with skinny jeans it looks great, totally modern.

Another good look is a boot with a lot of detail, like a gray boot with
laces that go all the way around the boot.

You also can't go wrong with last year's black slouch boot. Heeled or flat.

But flat, short and slouchy (continuing the summer boot trend) is probably
the most trend forward look without being risky."
-
Fashion is 100% aesthetics. Maybe not 100%. PETA tries to throw in some ethics. Others some function. But for the most part, its simply about looking good.

But how can shoulder pads look good on a girl one year, and seem so awful another?

How can the opinions on high-waisted pants and pleats change so drastically so quickly?
-
Is there no such thing as true beauty? an objective sense of aesthetically pleasing form?
-
Is it just a constant search for the new? Do we get bored?
-
You get sick of stripes so you mix it up with some plaid.
-
Everyone has short skirts so you wear long to stand out.
-
separate yourself from the crowd to be noticed.
-
We all need to feel different.
-
But in the right way.
-
Or maybe our species needs a sense of progress.
-
Stagnation is depressing.
-
We change to feel alive.
-
We change looks as our continuing experiences change us.
-
It doesn't feel right to wear a cocktail dress after a hurricane.
-
Finally women fought back and can feel liberated enough to express their inherent sexuality.
-
Welcome the bikini.
-
Maybe.
-
I have a friend who claims that eventually your fashion stops changing and that whenever you see someone wearing something out of date, you can pinpoint the year that they were the happiest. That the day you finally love yourself the most, you stop searching for a new pair of boots.
-
Just a theory.
-
Maybe thats what happens with old people.
-
Or maybe they are just tired of the hustle and hassle.
-
I understand the business of fashion. Clothes actually do last but this is capitalism and we need our economy to grow at a continually growing rate so we create need when things are unneeded. Clothing companies need to sell more clothes to people who don't really neeed new clothes. magazines need to write new articles about new trends so that they can get money from advertisers to make a new issue.
-
But this was happening long before that.
-
Did the puritans wear those silly hats to create a sense of identity?
-
The hasids in my neighborhood seem pretty content with their look.
-
Does it ever bother you that the boots you love today, you will hate tomorrow?
-
Aren't you sick of cringing at your outfits in old photos?

or do you laugh?

or do you still think, "damn that was a good outfit" even if you would never get caught dead wearing it today?
-
How can you stay committed to a lover if you can't stay committed to a shoe?
-
The shoe won't change.
-
But people do. Sometimes it doesn't work, but sometimes it does.
-
Like with my parents. With new interests. New friends. And of course, a new house.
-
Still there together, just in different clothes and older skins.
-
And by the way Mom, I'm pretty sure you bought Dad that shirt.

A paraphrased thought from a friend:

2005-09-20T12:42:00.000-04:00

"Whenever I come to Williamsburg and I see the girls in baby doll dress, boys in polo shirts like the ones they wore in kindergarten, playing kickball in the park, and co-opting the kitchy aesthetic of their own youth with more sincerety than irony, I can't help but wonder, did our generation have the greatest childhood ever? One so good that we never want it to end. Or one so bad that we feel the need to try to do it again the right way?"

My guess is one that was too damn easy, or one where the only thing greater than the pleasures of our youth was our sense of entitlement and the feeling that we deserved even more.

The island of youth.

2005-09-20T11:39:00.000-04:00

I rarely find myself downtown anymore. I live in Brooklyn, work in east midtown, and the closest I get is when I pass under it on the train. I thought I'd really miss it, but I think after 3 years of school and another 3 working there, I got my fill. Sometimes a need for some new clothes, or a visit to a friend draws me down, and recently, such things have been happening with more regularity. So after an extended break from life south of 14th st, I've been coming back down.

I'm shocked by the new fancy buildings and restaurants, but not surprised. I've seen enough change, enough things to come and go that I don't expect any sense of permanence in the city. I don't get mad when neighborhoods start to change because I don't think they ever stopped changing.

But besides the change, things look different. The dirty streets and younger population that seemed so typically New York now seems so off to me. I've gotten way too used to those clean midtown streets. Sure, my part of Brooklyn is still nothing but dog shit and chicken bones, but I forgot that there was still any grime left in manhattan. I thought they finally finished that shopping mall.

But more than just some gum and grafiti, what hits me the most are two things. First, the comical disappearence of the business suit, which coveres 90% of the men on one side of the street, and almost none on the other. And second...the age. The average age of the normal street person just plummets. All of a sudden, I feel old. I walk through midtown and stil feel like a kid. I stand in line behind bankers and business men 10-20 years my senior, to being the guy 5 years older than the barely legal girl in front of me at the falafel joint.

I brought this up to my friend who reminded me that I live in Williamsburg, where besides the Poles to the North, and the Hasids and Latinos to the East and South, everyone very neatly fits into a 22-32 age frame, and that the homogeny is so strong that I just don't even notice age, and that at least the East Village has those sad 40 year olds who still live and look like they think they are in their twenties.

And then I thought, "wait...I am considering people in their 40's old." Thats the age of my oldest siblings." My mom is writing me emails about the death of her friends and how my dad thinks he is the next one to go out out of their social circle. Sure, I see little ol' ladies on the streets sometimes, but for a country that is supposed to have the majority of its population hitting retirement age any day now, the New York that I see is preposterously young.

Maybe they are all hiding out in the Upper East Side, or maybe they've all fled the city long ago, but it really just hit me that New York, in general, seems to be in a state of complete denial when it comes to aging and death.

I think being around the elderly forces you to put things in a better perspective. You witness the decay of the body, the beauty of long long long marriages, and a sense of legacy. You think, what do I want to leave behind? Have I made anything better since I've been here on this planet? I think without that, you get so caught up in your youth, your NOW, and this helps the culture create the sense of importance to the trivial. Fashion, music, etc. They are fancies of youth. Things like that don't seem too important when you are seeing cancer and bones shriveling with age. Reality shows and book readings. Gallery openings and celebutante birthday parties. Comedy clubs and new ad campaign launches. Those things ride at the top of the list here and I think thats only possible because the city has succeeded so well at keeping a lot of the larger (and scarier) issues of humanity hidden from sight. Like a pack of animals leaving the elderly behind, its like there is some secret barge we ship the old people out on to go rot on some island out in Long Island sound, out of sight and out of mind.

How else could we go on convincing ourselves that such silly things matter so much?

But death doesn't sell and strappy shoes do. And thats our job. To aggrandize hemlines to keep our economy pumping along so that one day we can all afford the medications needed to keep us alive while we're alone forgotten and dying on that island in the sea.

And my goddamn bike was stolen.

2005-09-19T09:40:00.000-04:00

Some days I get really sick of the Sex and the City type girls that flood this magazine office. The girls that spend all their time talking about expensive shoes and the men that may one day marry them. For a while I thought maybe I hated them because they'd never be interested in a boy like me, because if that show ever taught me anything it was that, as a man in NYC, you had to be rich, handsome, and famous. I am none of those things, but now these girls have the validation that obsessing over dresses and demanding such perfection from men is perfectly reasonable. But oh God, if I have to overhear one more conversation about Sienna Miller of the celebrity du jour, I may just go on a killing rampage. That god for the model castings happening feet away from my desk. It helps ease the pain.

But really. Do they get on my nerves because they'd never think twice about me? I'd consider that except that I now find myself completely head over heals with someone and need and want no one else. I think it has more to do with a hatred over that man that they all want. Their own Big or Aiden or whoever the fuck they are. I like to think that despite my lack of money or looks or nice clothes, that I could still compete with them on a fundamental basis.

And then I remember nights like Saturday, where I find myself face to face with the Publisher of one of our company's bigger magazines, and I'm standing there, insulting the writing, pompously claiming to be able to write circles around and of their piece of shit writers, spilling horrible secrets about a friend of theirs who once drunkenly suggested I donate my sperm to her, and on and on. And then it hit me. As I climbed over the pile of give away bags, stumbling and pulling down curtains searching for an entirely inappropriate place to pee in a side room. Its not the money. Its not the shoes. Its not those sort of things that make a Big more alluring than me.

Its behavior like this that divides the desirable from the rest.

And its pretty fucking clear which side of the line I'm on.

Labor Day Weekend

2005-09-06T11:07:00.000-04:00

After work, I rushed home, packed my bags and headed off to the airport. I wish I hadn't eaten beforehand because the burritos at this airport restaurant actually didn't look half bad.

So how long until we have a "Six Feta Under?"

A quick flight and not so quick drive later, I arrived in suburban Toronto around 3:30 am and passed out.

We spent the next day lounging around the pool.

She looks like an instructor teaching her "special" friend how to swim.

Now that he mastered the doggypaddle, the "special" friend gets a kiss! He likes it.

All that swimming made me tired.

After we re-energized, we showered and got dressed for the movies.

Two Christies are better than one.

Since she has a tendency to crash cars, I get to drive.

The best part about driving is that after the movie, you can control when you have "car problems" that require pulling over.

Teenage shenanigans followed after we pulled over, and I tried to snap a picture of her while her dress was in a compromising position...

Doh! Too far to the right!

She would have kicked my ass if I had actually gotten a pic, so maybe its best I missed.

The next morning we got up bright and early to head out to The CNE (Canadian National Exhibition) or "the Ex" as the locals call it.

I failed in the car but manages to get a picture of her in a towel as we got ready in the morning. Scandalous.

Us outside "the Ex".

I have no idea what the Ex is supposed to be celebrating. I think its just "Canada" in general. According to Christie it started out with the farmers, so when we entered, the first thing we saw was a giant inflatable cow. It had huge utters. Utters just begging for photographic hijinx. Unfortunately, the people at the Ex are wise to this and they had the thing roped off. Luckilly, with my masterful skills of forced perspective, I was able to get this pic:

"I am squishing your teet."

This goat smelled bad so we left the farmers section and headed over to the "crafts fair."

There we saw exciting booths dedicated to the amazing tools of Canadian Crafts, including:

Glue!

And chamois'! (To this guy's credit, he gave the most rousing speech I have ever heard about chamois.)

After the exciting crafts fair, we ducked in to watch a "Sky & Ice" show with figure skating and trapeze acts. We kept hoping someone would fall and someone did!! But it was a little girl and I felt sad for her.

So afterwards, we were kinda doubting the excitement possibilities of "the Ex" when what do we see?

SEGWAYS!!!

Christie gets her "George "Gob" Bluth II" on.

Afterwards we toured the fairgrounds and saw:

Skijumping.

and:

A human cannonball.

Later, I spied toys I wanted to win for Christie.

She loves her some Family Guy!

I tried my best but those Carnies are just too tricky.

So long CNE! Thanks for the memories.

After a quick trip home to re-energize, we headed back downtown to meet up with some of Christie's friends for food and drinks.

Thats me looking confused and Christie's friends Dan, and Eva to my side.

Christie and her friend Kat.

The waiter that Kat wanted.

Afterwards we went to Mod Club to get some dancing on.

Christie and Kat on the dancefloor.

Christie doing the robot.

Nightclubbing, we're night clubbing.

Afterwards, a tipsy Christie suggested we get some food before we drove back to her parent's place.

She took me to "Sneaky Dees" which reminded me of New York.

We ordered nachos and it was this giant pile of chips and toppings that came on a giant sized pizza dish.

We ate the whole thing.

We spent the next day recovering from our hangovers, watching movies, and giving me a much needed haircut. (I think my constant whining about my hair was about to make Christie's brain explode).

Pretty soon the weekend was over and it was time to drive me back to Buffalo to catch my flight home.

But first...

Niagra Falls!!!

We tried to take pictures, but the mist was just too much.

The mist did make pretty rainbows though:

Hurray for rainbows!

We even ducked inside to see if we could fake a good picture of us at the falls using a postcard.

We failed.

And then, sadly, it was time to take me to the airport and send me home. We didn't take any pictures of that part cuz it was sad.

The end.

Taking off.

2005-09-01T11:35:00.000-04:00

I am off for a few days to see some things I've been missing.

Have a happy commie day weekend.

Monogamy

2005-08-29T13:40:00.000-04:00

I've been noticing a change in the group social behavior in my recent outings. It seems like not that long ago, a vast majority of my freinds were single, whereas now, almost everyone has a boyfriend or girlfriend. I've noticed that this has had a strange effect on our nights out as those who are single keep pushing the group to go to more crowded bars, bigger parties, etc., whereas the ones in relationships tend to push for the more private dinner parties and emptier bars where the group can socialize within itself.

Basically, the single people want to go to crowded places where there is the greatest chance to meet someone and those involved with someone want to avoid all the chaos and noise of crowds and enjoy the company of their friends and lovers.

I've also noticed more often that many people who always followed the "bros before hos" adage of putting their friends first are slowly withdrawing into private relationships with their mates, myself included.

I feel like I am at stage two. Past the nights of partying and random makeouts, but before the stage of parties centered around couples or their kids. Its nice. As one female friend told me in response to my post about 29 year old girls, "we're not desperate, just tired." And I get that. continually dating new people, opening up, getting hurt, looking again, etc. etc. is tiring. We all eventually long to settle down and the bros before hos addage falls to pieces.

But recently, I have been having an ongoing conversation with one of my oldest friends about the evolutionary developement of monogamy. One obsession of evolutionary biologists is to figure out how monogomous humans naturally really are.

A good rule of thumb in the animal world is to compare the sizes of the males to females. The idea being that in polygomous societies (more often an alpha male controlling a harem of females), the men have to physically compete with each other, therefore the bigger you are, the better your chances of mating are. In more monogomous animals where mates pair up, there is less male to male competition and the males tend to be the same size as females.

Another interesting aspect of this is the idea of hidden ovulation. In animals where the females are obviously in heat, it is easier for the males to know when to fight over her and when to protect the females you have. Gorillas have this. The females have glands that swell up and get red, so all the guys know its time to fight for her. In humans and chimps, its never really obvious when a girl is ovulating, so it is near impossible to be able to defend her, or know when to fight as it would become a full time job, therefore, it makes sense to just settle with one female and stay with her the whole time, and as such, the size of men in relationship to the women decrease.

Birds have always been the prime example of monogamy as nearly all species of birds mate for life, but recent DNA testing on bird offspring show that among various species, 10-40% of the offspring maybe from a different father. Thus, there seems to be a discrepency between social monogamy and sexual monogamy. There are explanations for this, for both the males and females.

On the male side, it helps the survival chances of your offspring if you stick around and help raise them, but also a male really has to do nothing more than donate some sperm and take off to make a kid. Therefore, there seems to be some sort of balance between sticking around to raise your own kids, while also just trying to knock up some other chick without any sense of commitment to raising that child.

On the female side, a female really is benefitted by a male that will stick around and help raise the offspring, but as its hard for a male to tell if a child is really his, there is some motivation to try and go get knocked up by a mate that is physically superior and attempt to get your more loyal mate to help you raise it.

Comparing male to female sizes in humans, the discrepency hints that, biologically speaking, we should have some polygamist bents to our sexual behavior. A recent study came out last week, and I think it said something like 1 in 25 people were fathered by people other than who they think is their biological dad.

But. We are human beings. Homo Sapien Sapiens. The thinking thinking human. The ones who should have the logical abilities to outwit our desires. But as we all know, especially in terms of love and sex, our emotions often overpower our sense of logic, whether it be to stay with someone who is bad for us, or to stray from someone who is good for us.

All I know is that recently, more than ever in my life, I've been craving the company of one sole person and its getting harder and harder to pry me away from a night in with a movie for a night out on the town looking for love in all the wrong places.

birthday party

2005-08-28T12:17:00.000-04:00

New roommate (but old friend), Miss M. decided to celebrate her birthday on Friday night. We went to Cafe Gigi for some BYOB action.

Here is the birthday girl as we arrived, with friends Micki and Sam (who is giving her the book of unusual sexual practices for her birthday)

Miss M has too many close friends and we overran the place, taking up half the tables in the cafe. There was no way I could fit everyone in one photo, but I got about half of the biggest table in here:

This is like 1/3 of the group.

After the dinner, we went out looking for a bar. M as the birthday girl, was in charge, but she was a little too drunk to be any sort of leader at this point, and so after more than a few minutes straggling on the streets, we ended up at Hanger Bar which we had randomly ended up near.

Seeing Miss M on the phone and thinking she had a plan in the work, I asked what was going on. She seemed a bit confused:

Me: Hey, who were just on the phone with?
Her: My mom.
Me: But your mom is standing next to you.
Her: Oh. Then I have no idea.

Yeah. She was trashed. But everyone was.

I had forgotten my keys and not wanting to pressure the birthday girl with getting me inside our apartment, I opted to crash on Dru's couch when he decided to part with the group. Apparently I missed a fair bit of goodtimes involving using karaoke rooms as restrooms and tons of wasted money from spilled drinks from table top dancing. Alas, I was soundly asleep during all that, resulting in me being the least hungover of us the following day.

M. called me and said she had woken up at her friend's place (her old apartment), and was in Thompkins Square Park. Dru and I found her. She was laying on the grass staring up at the sky, covered with red wine stains and dirt, and laughing manically to herself. After brushing the dirt off her, the three of us met up with Sam & Michelle for some brunch.

After ambling around the hood for a bit, we decided to knock back a few at bar on St. Marks.

We sat outside and watched the people walk by. Somehow half the party from the night before ended up there. Not only friends, but even our sweet 19 year old waitress from the night before! Apparently she quit shortly after our party left her restaurant.

The girl in pink on the left was our waitress the night before.

I realized I hadn't been in a photo yet, so here is an out of focus self-portrait of me at the bar:

There was this group of older guys sitting near us and they had these younger girls climbing all over them. I noticed that they all had on Flipper shirts (the 80's SF punk band who made the seminal albume " Generic Flipper " in 1982).

Michelle turned to me and said, "I think that actually IS Flipper."

Here are the guys. (hard to see, I know).

and here is an old pic I found of the band:

It looks like them to me.

I got way too trashed and was home by 11pm. Doing half a dozen shots of jaeger mixed with free beer from a Bud promotion in the middle of the afternoon makes for an early night.

On my way home, I encountered this dude:

I had to step over him to get into the deli. Everyone was freaking out that he was dead. I saw he was breathing, heard that someone had called and ambulance and stood around waiting for a cab.

An ambulance came and they pulled the guy in the back and drove off. Everyone looked so relieved. then, like only 2 minutes later, the guy walks around the corner, shirtless, and starts lewdly shaking his gross naked and large belly at all the girls.

Way to fucking blow all the sympathy you had you dumbass.
Others took pictures as well and I will update as I get them.

Blah. Too hungover to write anything fun.

Bye.

I'd smoked my brain the night before

2005-08-24T09:34:00.000-04:00

I haven't walked into work with bloodshot eyes in a while. Every square I see is turning into a trapazoid as even my vision is sagging this morning. There's a whirling dervish in my tummy and I have more tangles than hair.

I had already downed a forty while continuing to make silly pictures (see below) for my far off friend by the time Blue arrived.

[thats me going "eek!" from when the Walrus smashed his face into the glass and I thought the aquarium was going to collapse.]

We drank more as we watched a vintage Wire performance on DVD.

And then we headed out.

Our first stop was a bar around the corner where we saw some girl stumbling around in a flapper outfit so we followed her in to find a band a'blazin'. And I mean a fucking band. Two to three drummers, and others on bongos, marching band drums, etc. surrounded by guitarists, bassist, numerous trumpeteers, saxiphonists, trombone players, and on and on. There were more people in the band than in the audience and they played a cacaphonous mess of horn blasts, not unlike a jazzier version of the sunshine funk that makes The Go! Team record the theme to the best day of your life.

After a couple numbers, we headed down to an old haunt that we used to frequent when we were roommates. Its changed owners and names a few times since then, but enough of the bar looked the same to immediately remind us of the days in years past when we'd get smacked out of our minds on H and go watch the local resident band (which wasAmbulance LTD). Our bodies began to quiver with anticipation as if they remembered the place and expected another taste for old time's sake. Fighting our cravings for old and terrible habits, we hid downstairs in the one place where you could smoke.

We shared cigarettes with some musician and his girlfriend, talking about the subtle genius of Kris Kristofferson (esp. Sunday Morning Coming Down, made famous by Johnny Cash), when what do they play on the PA? "Heroin" by the Velvet Underground. Fucking sadists.

We darted back to the bar and quickly downed another drink, Blue madly flicking at his vein the whole time.

The door guy for the backroom had abandoned his post, so Blue and I ducked in to see the final band.

Their midwestern mix of indie-AC/DC-ska-metal-James Brown style funk/soul wasn't the most amazing thing ever, but a whole lotta fun, but what really made us smile was all the synchronized dancing between the guitarist, the bassist, and the keyboardist. There's something about 3 boys from Madison busting into overly enthusiastic "running mans" in perfect syncronicity without missing a beat thats really quite fucking entertaining. All 8 people there had giant smiles on their faces. So if you're holding a birthday party any time soon, I highly recommend you book Awesome Car Funmaker if you wanna get that party started.

My Thursday

2005-08-19T01:39:00.000-04:00

Me: No, I don't have the credit card. My friend who is out of town ordered the food as a surprise.

Delivery Boy: I need the credit card.

Me: Can I pay for it in cash?

Delivery Boy: ok. Its $45

Me: I only have $35.

Delivery Boy: I have to call my manager.

Manager: I'm sorry there is nothing I can do.

Me: OK, I have her on the phone. Can she call you?

Manager: I'm sorry.

Friend: Tell her to call me!

Me: OK, I have her on the phone. Can she call you? She can give you
any information you need. She was just trying to do something nice for
me. She wants me to say she's sorry for the inconvience and she'd be
happy to call you directly.

Manager: I'm sorry.

Friend: Tell her to call me damnit! I told them in advance you
wouldn't have the card available.

Me: My friend is on the phone from out of town in my other ear. She
was just trying to do something sweet. Please can you let this slide?

Manager: I'm sorry.

Friend: ha. This is lame. They were told the deal before I made the
order. OOooo I have my foot in the pool. It feels so warm. It's like
90 degrees or something. damn pool heater.

Me: Please? My friend was just trying to do something nice.

Manager: We need to see the card.

Friend: Ahhhh!!!!! -SPLASH!!!!!-
(phone goes dead)

Me: Oh no!!!! I think my friend fell in the pool!!

Manager: What?

Me: My friend fell in the pool!!!!

Manager: Really? Oh my God. OK. Just tell the delivery boy to take out two of the beers and pay in cash.

makin' babies

2005-08-18T14:55:00.000-04:00

I had to almost laugh when Miss M. woke up early the other morning to go to the gym. What I mean by that is that her mom has been over a lot recently and despite being in her fifties, has the body of a 20 year old. I think Miss M. is set for life. She's one of the lucky ones for sure. Yes. Its that whole sitcom idea of checking out the mother to see how the daughter will turn out.

I wonder if girls do the same thing?

If they do, a quick look at my dad proves that I'm in trouble:

[my dad circa 1998, age 64, looking a bit like a beached sea mammal]

But I don't think girls are really too concerned with that. At least I hope not. My dad ain't winning me any points.

But one thing I've noticed they are more interested in is baby pictures. Maybe its just the maternal instinct in them, but more than that, I think the girls are interested in seeing what their future offspring will look like. I think for the most part its subconscious. I don't think they are consciously thinking, "he was cute as a kid, so we will have cute kids," but somewhere in that 90% of the brain we don't use, I think something is computing along those lines.

Babies are like puppies. Girls eyes widen up and after all the cues and "awwwww!s" end, they scream, "I want one!" And we all now how babies are made.

Or at least that is what this one girl told me once.

Like an excited child who just learned a new trick I ran off to tell my friend my new piece of knowledge about the ladies.

His response?

"Why do you think I have that picture of me as a baby taped to my bedroom door?"

So now I'm obsessed with the idea. And the more I think about it, the more disturbed I get. I mean, really, would a girl really be more inclined to have sex with me if she sees this?:

That's kinda wrong. But then again, maybe sex and love isn't as much about your lover to a girl as it is to a boy. Maybe its about the future, and kids, and grandkids. And maybe, us boys aren't looking at the mothers to see how our ladies will shape up but to see if the girl looks mom-like enough for the babies we want to make with them.

Or maybe I'm full of shit. Maybe its just those big innocent eyes that look so harmless that causes one to let their guard down. They just see cuteness and want to hug and cuddle. And all that snuggling can feel so warm and nice, and all of a sudden they feel so trusting, and with all that closeness and trust, boning is just one sexy look away.

Oh, and unrelated: while I was hunting down photos for this post I got a bit bored and made this:

Bitch stole my haircut.

[Thanks to Christie for hosting the gif]

WWJD - What Would Jesus Draw?

2005-08-17T08:53:00.000-04:00

I drew this when I was five. If I remember correctly, it was supposed to be a simple statement of fact. The best part is that I remember not being able to write words, only letters, so my mom had to spell out all the words. She did it in that only half-paying attention manner that moms often resort to when watching over kids for too long. Now my parents have it framed in their bedroom.

As a side note, my sister who is 12 years older than me, went to art school a couple years later and made tee shirts with this image. I out grew mine and gave it to my girlfriend who used to wear it to the gym here in New York when she first moved here and once told me that she got shit for it every single time she worked out.

Jesus. He's always upsetting people. Even as a dead man.

2005-08-14T16:36:00.000-04:00

Like many others, I have become way too obsessed with StripGenerator. The make your own comic strip site. I didn't even leave the house Saturday night. My results are above. It should cycle through a dozen or so. You can click on it to make it bigger.

Its in the blood

2005-08-09T00:38:00.000-04:00

Describing it at a 90 year old blog, my dad sent me an excerpt of my Great Uncle's college diary. That is him on the left. The younger guy on the right is his little brother, my grandfather, "Papa J."

My favorite part was this from 1914:

Ever since last fall Mabel Terrel later commonly termed "Cherry Pie" did her durndest to try to rein me in. Needless to say she was not alone in her endeavors. Her two sisters Frances & Nina did most valiant service. Of course Frank and Papa and Mamma Terrell were all on the alert but nix on the comedy. Your Uncle Willie decided the pickin was too easy and was not looking for any child's play. Some of the tactics employed were exceedingly amusing at first to me but must add that later I grew rather disgusted. So much for that but am extremely glad that I am not as blind as some people. Moreover was told that if I attend Kansas University that I shall be treated to "Cherry Pie"if I happen around. Well I may accidently forget the invitiation or have important business elsewhere.

Also during the play practice Grace P. tried to alienate my affections. but again I must have been a hard ticket to deal with. Of course both of these girls are nice girls but not exactly the one for me. If I had not had one whom I esteemed higher in more than one way I might have been tempted to consider their Alien and Sedition Acts. But nix on the comedy again. I say when you have a nice girl whom you like change not the old one for a new for in changing you may discover that you have made a terrible mistake and then probably would be everlastingly too late. We had many a pleasant time together and by end of term felt as if we might be a little personal and found out to our astonishment that our thot's [sic] of each other were quite reciprocal.

Oh how little things change.

Been Gone a Bunch

2005-08-08T12:43:00.000-04:00

I've barely been home the past couple weeks. First there was the trip upstate for business where I got my ass kissed by clients and stayed in a fancy house with beer on tap and endless bottles of wine. It was so awesome, the fact that it was haunted didn't really phase me. One lady from work also on the trip was pretty freaked out though and moved all the rocking chairs into the hallway since that's where the ghost likes to show up. I passed out naked and drunk as fuck on my floor and awoke to someone pounding on my door reminding me I was officially working.

The worst part was when I almost got arrested when my bag was searched at the train station and they found all the prescription uppers that were obviously not mine. Good thing some guy left his bag unattended when he went to get pizza cuz that really freaked out those bored Albany cops and they left me alone with my not quite street drugs and I boarded the train before they could get back to me.

Then, the day after my return to the city, I took an impromtu flight back upstate and crossed the border into the great white north to spend a couple fabulous days hanging out in a pool, watching movies, and going to see DFA 1979, who rock pretty damn hard when they want to. It was the most relaxing and happy few days I've had in a long long time.

Then back to the city for a couple days of work before heading off to the Hamptons to stay in the creepiest fucking house ever. There were endless cabinets crammed full ancient toys:

The toys, red lit Austin Powers room, the "orgy room," and way too many animal sculptures and leopard skin furnishings made the place seem like a cross between Silence of the Lambs and Neverland Ranch. the pervy house owner learing at all the girls in bikinis didn't help much, but hey, if I had a couple topless girls in my hottub, I'd totally jump in too.

But for all the nakedness [totally SFW picture of us skinnydipping] and excessive alcoholism and the beauty of the Hamptons beaches, I was still quite sad, being the only one not part of a couple on the trip and greatly missing my glorious northern neighbor who was such a fine host the weekend before.

So yeah. a post with no insights other than its amazing how much you can miss someone who only so recently became a part of your life. A year ago, these trips with free beer taps and naked girls in pools would have seemed like heaven but now I'd trade them all just to curl up and watch a movie with that special one who eats way too much popcorn.

But in other exciting news, my dear friend Miss M. has moved in to my apartment and she brought her lovely pooch with her.

He's totally the new Spuds MacKenzie.

The poisoning of the mind.

2005-07-22T13:18:00.000-04:00

"If you ever get approached by a single 29 year old woman, run."

Thats what a girl recently told me slightly after her 30th birthday.

Thats what was echoing through my head when she said she was 29.

"lemmee guess. You're a pisces!" the 29 year old said.

"yeah, actually I am. Feb. 25th."

"Oh my God! Me too!" We compared ID's to prove it.

And then she got the look in her eye.

The look I only see in 29 year old girls. The look that my friend says should be the signal to run.

If I meet a cute girl in her early to mid twenties, I get this quick and harsh rundown with their eyes. They look at my shoes, my hair, my clothes, etc. All of a sudden I'm embarassed of my crooked teeth, the bit of flab on my tummy, and stupid things, like how I pronounce certain words. Its the same look they give dresses at clothing stores. That critical stare before they decide whether to just toss it back on the rack, or take it to the dressing room to try it on. A couple seconds tops, then the mind it made up. And even if you make it to the dressing room, there's no promise of actually being purchased.

But this girl. The 29 year old. She doesn't have that look. Her look is scanning me too. But its not seeing all my flaws, its sticking to the decent parts. "He seems nice enough. Seems pretty smart. Kinda cute. hmmm."

its a nice look. It makes me feel good about myself.

"Is it because they are scared of turning 30?" I ask my friend.

"No, its not really that."

I've asked a lot of girls about that look. They all say the same thing. They tell me that its simply a look of happiness. "Our careers are finally on the right track. We have money for the first time. We've come to accept who we are, and simply, we don't need to impress anyone anymore with a cute or cool boyfriend. Just someone who we get along with who will treat us right. Its the look of maturity."

"Bullshit." She says.

"Yeah thats all true, but really, with the career on track, the self-confidence more concrete, they are just ready to enter stage two of the plan."

"And what is that?" I ask.

"Babies. Ask any girl in the city when they want to have a baby and most often you will hear 35. So to have a baby somewhere in the middle of your 35th year, you have to get pregnant. Who is going to get you pregnant? Your husband. But no one wants to have babies right away, so you have to imagine that you got married to the guy about a year or two before. So we're back around 32 or 33 years old. but you don't just marry some guy you just met. You probably lived with him for a couple years. Maybe even 3. You're back at 30 now. But you just don't move in with some random guy without dating him for a bit. You need at least a year of dates, movies, dinners, and the slow progession to seriousness. And there you have it. You're at 29. No girl actually thinks like this, but the math is in the back of their head at all time. You want a kid when you're 35, start looking for that daddy at 29."

And so maybe my friend is full of shit. I don't know. But her words have stuck with me. And so when I see that comforting look this girl at the bar is giving me. The one that says, "you seem pretty good to me." I now see it as, "You might make a decent dad someday."

And I freak out.

And I run.

Something different

2005-07-21T11:43:00.000-04:00

I was really bored yesterday at work, so I wrote THIS. It was my first and last attempt at being less serious.

It didn't seem to belong on this blog, although I really don't know what does anymore.

Ramblings and musings about the parentals.

2005-07-18T14:14:00.000-04:00

My dad is getting new eyeballs soon. One this week. The other, next. Maybe eyeballs is stretching it. I think its just the lens or cornea or something. Nonetheless, he might go blind if they fuck it up. But he definitely will if he doesn't have the operations. He still insists on doing all the driving. This terrifies my mother, who feels that with one eye still good, she should get the keys.

"We're starting to fall apart." my dad liks to say. "We're at that stage of life where your friends start dying off."

"We go to more funerals than birthday parties," my mom says.

Its true. The last two they were going to were cancelled because of a death and a stroke respectively on the part of the host.

Oh, sorry, the party is cancelled because the host can now only communicate through blinking.

But the two of them always seemed old to me. I was a mistake and almost 2 decades younger than my oldest sibling. and a little less than a decade younger than the closest one. I've never seen either with color in their hair. When i was little, I assumed "grey" was their natural color and by the time I was driving, I was used to them with white hair. Other dads played baseball with their kids. Mine took breaks to catch his breath when getting the mail.

I feel worse for my mom who at 7 years his junior is still in pretty good shape. A little senile, but physically still holding up minus crippling arthritus pain that can hit her really bad on some days. "Sometimes it hurts so much, and I cry, but I am not crying because of the pain, I am crying because I know that this pain will never stop as long as I remain alive."

Still, she is considering leaving their town, which she truly loves, so that they can live closer to my dad's children from his first marriage so that they can come by to care for my dad if he gets any worse. I feel her talks of this plan are really just her way of trying to guilt me to leave New York and return to California where they live. She's trying to guilt me into coming home. And its almost working.

I had this dream recently where I was at a high school party and I was stoned off my ass. My mom was there too. She was also stoned. I could tell by the way she was acting that she had really bad cottonmouth and was desperate for water. Eventually she resorted to trying to drink out of the dog's water dish. I ran over to stop her and she looked at me, high as fuck, and her eyes told me that she had only the vaguest sense of familiarity as to who I was.

She smiled the smile when you recognize something of your youth, and you can't quite place it, but you know you loved whatever it is that you are being reminded of.

And her hand went into my hair, and she caressed my cheek, very gently. She closed her eyes, leaned in towards me, and puckered her lips.

My mom was trying to make out with me.

I ran. She followed. She pursued me through a number of rooms, but I always stayed one step ahead of her. Finally she collapsed on a couch and I approached her very slowly. I sat down on the edge of the couch and looked at her and asked, "Mom, why are you doing this?"

And in the saddest voice I've ever heard her use, she said, "because your father never touches me anymore."

I woke up scared thinking "holy shit, I almost made out with my mom." And the fucked up thing, is in that dream I wanted to. I wanted to do anything to help ease her pain. maybe it was just my manifestation of the guilt I feel for becoming so distant from my parents in the last seven years. But part of me was sort of mad. Part of me was really upset that this is the version of my mother I had to know. I never got to know her when she was young. I kept wondering what it would have been like if my mother wasn't my mother, but just some woman, and if she wasn't some woman 38 years older than me, but a woman my age. Would I get a long with her? Would I think she was a dork? Would she think I was?

Its so sad to me these are the two people who are arguably the most important people of your life and you never get to see them in your prime. I've known my dad as a monster and as a weakling, but never as that young guy with the motorcycle who snuck across communist borders in the Eastern Bloc during the height of McCarthyism.

And easily, its just as sad to me that their parents are even less known to me. Their parents are long dead and the vague memories I have of are the horribly elderly. Bulging veins and drooping jowels. Deaf people who can barely walk.

And their parents. Who even knows their great-grandparents' names? Sure, maybe its written down somewhere, but most people don't know shit about them. And that seems kinda normal to me, but what seems odd is that means my kids won't know the names of my grandparents. I just can't believe I'd forget to pass that sort of thing on. Maybe parents do. And maybe we simply don't care about people who died long before we were born.

And if thats true, my kids my not even know the name of their grandfather. My father. But maybe thats not such a bad thing as the man he is now is not the man he was in life. To know a man without glasses (thanks to the new eyes) where the rest of us can't imagine him without any.

I'm obsessed with that tale about the man who goes to climb the mountain that killed his father, and how he gets stuck in a storm, finds shelter in a cave, and stumbles upon the frozen and perfectly preserved body of his father, only to see a young man younger than himself.

Maybe the future will all have that. maybe with lastnightsparty, cobrasnake, flickr, whatever, a kid can just google his parent's or grandparent's name and see them, froken in time, younger than the kid or the grandkid, and not a distant random B&W ir school portrait, but hundreds of pictures of them.

And maybe if they hunt hard enough, they'll find a picture of grandma flashing her tits in some trampy outfit sluttin' it up drunk as hell. hell, I think most grandmas would love that. Something to prove to their grandkids that they weren't always some crickety old fart who needed to get their eyeballs replaced.

Maybe thats what getting famous is all about. Just a way to prove to your kids that you too once were cool.

A long boring story that is in no way a return.

2005-06-22T00:08:00.000-04:00

It was one of those nights where you just somehow end up trashed before you feel like you've even done anything yet. The ball has yet to get rolling and already its toppling over. Thats what happens when you haven't been out in a while. You can't handle your liquor. My friend jumped on his bike and hightailed it to his girlfriend's house and I was left alone.

Stewing in my own alcoholic juices, desperate to continue the evening, I flipped open my phone scanning the names of people who might be out and about. I realized that I hadn't talked to many of them in quite some time and felt weird about calling them up. Then I stumbled across a name I didn't recognize and shot an anonymous message off into space. The girl on the other end didn't remember me either, but nonetheless decided to meet up. She was going to a rooftop and told me to meet her. I left, grabbed my bike and headed over, stopping to pick up a six pack along the way.

I got there and met her and two of her friends. If either of us recognized each other, neither of us said anything. We headed up to the roof and the girls immediately pulled out a bowl, and uncharacteristically of me, I took a few hits.

When you haven't been stoned in a while, it can hit you funny, and before I knew it I was telling some lame ass story about some kid from middle school who we once sold oregano to and how he came back the next day claiming he got so stoned he fingered his cat. Maybe they worked for peta or something but none of them found the humor in a cat getting fingerfucked. In fact, disturbed would be what I'd call their reaction. One stood up saying she wanted to look at the view, shortly another wandered off, then the third said she had to go use the bathroom. I sat their stoned for a bit then realized that none of them were on the roof anymore.

I had totally been ditched. But hey, these days, I look like shit. I ramble. And basically, I'm a loser. And I'm getting too old to pull off shit like that.

But as was getting up to head home, another group of people walked onto the roof. this was probably about 5am. It was a couple girls and a few boys. One girl and guy obviously a couple, sat canoodling together away from the rest. I picked up the rest of my six pack and walked over, offering them beer if they'd take me as one of their own. I started chatting with the guy near me and soon we stumbled into talked of Zorastrianism, cult of mithra, the influences of Babylonian religions on Judaism during the exhile and a bunch of other ancient religion shit that God himself can't get me to stop talking about if I'm drunk or high.

Eventually the couple disappeared and the one remaining girl invited everyone down to her apartment. We all hung around for a bit and slowly everyone but me, the girl, and one other guy left. Figuring I was now overstaying my welcome, I went to say goodbye to the girl who said she understood seeing how the guy I had been hitting on all night had left.

Fuck. You talk to a guy about religion for a couple hours and all of a sudden you're gay. But I'm used to that. Still, I set her straight, or rather, me straight, and then she smiled and told me to stay for a bit more. She even asked me to write down my number. I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and as I started writing the note, I realized my handwriting looked really deranged.

I've been a bit obsessed with the notes of the Zodiac killer as of late, so this really fascinated my stoned mind. I went out of my way to make each letter look as seemingly random, yet deliberate as possible. No two letters looked the same. I was quite impressed with myself. So impressed that I decided to write weird psychotic shit to match the writing. God knows what, but weird weird shit. Remembering my original purpose, I then finally set my number to ink but when I looked up, no one was in the room. The other dude was totally passed out on her bed and she was sitting upright next to him looking quite tired. I motioned that I was leaving and she jumped up and said she'd walk me out. By the door we unexpectedly fell into a long hug and a medium sized kiss. She said she'd call me the next day to hang out.

I went home happy.

The next day no call came. no biggie. A couple more days past and still no call. Then I remembered my deranged Zodiac note and realized she wasn't going to call. But to my surprise the following weekend, she did call and invited me to a BBQ. I went over with my friend but she wasn't there. Once again, he left me for his girlfriend, but shortly thereafter she showed up. She seemed pretty fucking wasted and showed no interest in engaging me. I was stuck talking to some lame ass metal dude and decided to head home.

While drinking a beer and doing one final email check of the night, she called and asked where I went, then invited me to come over to her place. I did.

When I got there, she was with some boy. I asked if I was intruding and she said he was a friend's ex or some shit like that and not to worry about him. The night played out frighteningly similar to the week before. Me, her, and some other guy, just drinking until dawn, playing music, and in general, being degenerates. Once again, I got distracted, this time with an itunes playlist, looked up, and saw her and this guy making out. They went into her room and I went to the fridge, took the last of her alcohol and left.

I sat outside my building and downed the last of her alcohol and watched the sun fully rise. Feeling dissed and pissed, I shot off a couple drunken text messages to her telling her off.

The next day she called me and asked if the texts were regarding the fact that we never met up and if I had gone to the BBQ and left before she got there, or never showed up at all. I told her that we did indeed meet up and spent many hours together. She claimed to have blacked out before she even got to the BBQ. I don't know if I believed her, but I forgave her.

So. Thats it. A long boring recount of a whole lotta nothin'. Sorry about there being no insights, sex, or raunch, but not much has been happening recently. I just got sick of that other entry being the one on top for the rare times that people still feel the need to link my name to something on their site.

If you made it this far, God bless, and good night.

-fin

A half-assed post.

2005-02-04T13:56:00.000-05:00

Last night was way too crowded and I was way too poor, but it was nice seeing people.

I've been thinking about how when you meet someone, it seems like you either jump into the sack straight away, then deal with the weirdness of that once you wake up sober and realize its not right, or you get to know someone slowly, and are forced to deal with how to end it after you've both invested so much time and emotion into explore your compatability.

Sometimes I think I'd prefer the hit and run technique. It seems less painful than all that slow and gradual build up of emotions.

I was IMing with someone yesterday who was the first person I'd ever spoken to who whole-heartedly felt people should fuck on the first date. And it was a girl who said that.

I can't imagine people who don't fuck until they get married.

What happens if it is totally bad?

sex is all about compatability.

Sometimes it just doesn't work.

And it can ruin deeper things.

I feel most people date out of love, but cheat out of lust.

don't bother leaving a message.

2005-02-04T13:46:00.000-05:00

Hi, you've reached GregtheBoyfriend, I will be on vacation until I damn well feel like it.

You didn't play nice

2005-02-02T17:44:00.000-05:00

I don't care if you leave mean comments about me. Its the price I pay for being self-absorbed enough to think people have an interest in my life.

but insulting other people is just mean. They read this site probably and it really can hurt people's feelings when they read some comment from a stranger.

So comments are now off again.

Too sexy for my shirt.

2005-02-02T11:49:00.001-05:00

I'll spare the world one more post about the Arcade Fire show last night.

Honestly though, I think my favorite part of the night was getting to spend the evening with my arms around my coworker.

She's a sweetheart, even if she does enjoy slicing open the bellies of pregnant fish.

Before the show, I stopped by a friend's place to pre-drink and somehow was convinced to "anonymodel" some very very tight tops.

OK. More like I was drunk and trying to convince others to let me.

And that taste in your mouth? Its vomit. Its ok. It happened to me too when I saw the picture.

But to keep my self-esteem from evaporating I blamed it on my hangover.

Be kind.

Not that I deserve it.
.

dumb crap.

2005-01-31T13:07:00.000-05:00

I like Brooklyn. I wanted to stay in Brooklyn the whole weekend. Manhattan on the weekend is such a bore. Its the same old mess of crowds of people trekking in for their weekend bouts of partying that convinces them that they aren't the boring sores they really are.

The city still treats me well on the weekdays, but I really have issues with the place on the weekends.

My old roommate was having drinks to celebrate his belated birthday in the city and I never made it out there. This is like the 2nd or 3rd time I've done that to him in the last week or so. I totally suck. I feel really bad about that.

A couple weeks ago, I randomly spent part of an evening running around and joking with this girl who I found very amusing. She was really witty and fun and made me smile. She showed up at the bar I was at and let me rub her best friend's thighs. I got very drunk and woke up with her in the morning.

I was supposed to hang out with a girl I used to date that day, so I had to leave a little abruptly. My really late start was already an inconsiderate guesture towards a great person kind enough to give me some of her time. So we met up a little later than planned, got some food then saw a movie. It was nice. I've always enjoyed her company.

I feel a little weird about the sleepover though. Those complicate life and I need to stop getting drunk and waking up in other people's sheets. It sends mixed signals. I also really did enjoy this person's company but now there is obviously a romantic issue to the whole thing and I was actually much more in favor of keeping things platonic as I am still knee deep in shit from my ex and also kind of eyeing someone already.

On Saturday, I got way too drunk at a fun party 70 feet from my apartment. It was an old warehouse. It was giant. One floor had bands, the other had DJ's. It was dirty and dark. It was like partying at a construction site. I liked it and it was nice to only have to stumble 70 feet in order to get home.

My friend was running the makeshift bar and let me mix my own drinks. I shouldn't be allowed to do this. I think its best to have an expert control my intake.

I was sloppy.

I'm sick of being sloppy.

I have no profound or insightful things to say today.

my mind is mush and is in a state of general malaise.

Back soon.

2005-01-31T13:04:00.000-05:00

The organ grinder is away, so the monkey won't be dancing today.

We chose rejoice.

2005-01-28T01:07:00.000-05:00

It was midnight but the subway was still packed. not everyone could get on the train. I was one of the lucky ones.

I put on "Echoes" by The Rapture because I was sick of everything else on my iPod and it had been a while since I had listened to that album.

The secret to gambling is to know when to quit. but its so hard. Will you continue to win, or is this now the moment you start to lose what you've gained?

Suicide is the same way. Its not something to be done when times are low. its the way you can make sure you exit at the high point and escape your downfall.

You always have the option to cut short your demise. Ideally before it even starts.

A song came on and it reminded me of when Mr. Red first became more than a roommate and became a true friend. We both were struggling and we fought the world and jumped balconies to steal food from neighbors to feed our empty tummies driven to hunger by broke bank accounts.

There was a jubilation then. We could lose ourselves in abandonment and drink. Everynight was a chance to drift through the fog of drunkeness and revel in our adventures into the nonsensical land of intoxication where we threw out all the rules we were forced to live by during the day.

That abandonment is gone and I wonder if its time to bow out. If the pile of chips is decreasing.

Today I had to wear a suit and attend our corporate functions. Ceremonies, awards, dinners, that whole thing.

In order to create new relationships they forced us to take numbers upon entering the dining room. This number would determine our table and our dinner companions. As luck would have it, I was seated at the same table as the girl I am totally crushing on. A 1% chance.

My urge to touch her leg under the table was overwhelming and I think i became a bit too open and pesterous with her as I recounted the struggle within me to resist my desires to pull myself closer to her.

She left early to go see a show, but was kind enough to share her tongue with me, briefly, outside before heading off into the dark.

With her gone, and my co-worker friend recently fired, I was alone. Kind girls from another magazine befriended me and attempted to steer me in the direction of enjoyment. I give them an A for effort.

There was a lady dancing. She moved her hips with such sway. She put shame to every woman in the room.

She was 50 if she was a day. Her hair was pure white and her face fought the years.

I approached her and told her she was everything a woman should be. That she put all the other girls to shame.

My boss said I was acting too drunk and so I headed home.

I walked to the subway and that is where this post began.

I know "they" is plural, but its part of the vernacular, so fuck you.

2005-01-26T09:19:00.000-05:00

I went to bed at 7pm last night, awaking a couple times to think about the dreams falling on me.

Its frustrating how you can meet so many wonderful people willing to let you into their lives and all you do is pull away and resist. There sometimes seems to be some inherent resistance to relationships that constantly keeps you distant.

And then you meet someone who you genuinely like for the first time in a long while. And you think, "finally!" and you rush off full steam ahead, but your enthusiasm scares them away and you seem desperate and over eager. Almost insane. And you know they are there thinking, "but this person doesn't even really know me." And you're thinking, "I know, but I finally want to get to know someone." But its too much too soon and they run away with fear.

Oddly, if you stayed that same cold person you were been stuck being, they probably would have been intrigued.

But you don't know what I'm usually like. I'm not usually this desperate. Its just enthusiasm out of control because for once I actually feel.

But they know none of this. No one knows anything about you but what you show them. And if they got to know you, they'd see that. But they won't.

Not when you're acting like this.
-
That was one dream. The other was about how my life would have been if I had gone on that interview with the CIA instead of blowing them off like I did in real life.

sick day

2005-01-25T13:19:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling quite sick today. And my friend was fired from our company this morning. So its just me and the one I try to make out with. No more people to converse with here at the office.

I want to jump in front of a train. An aching body, cold, crowds, and a stiflying office in midtown tend to off myself.

I think I'll go home instead and maybe post a picture or two from our day of sledding in central park.

I want a lover but not a girlfriend. I seem to get stuck with things the other way round.

I'm not desiring a commitment to anyone. I'm leaving in like 7 months anway. That scares the shit out of me. I haven't been outside this city for more than 10 straight days in 5 years.

Snow day

2005-01-24T09:45:00.000-05:00

So I told this one girl it was over, stopped by her place to drop something of her's off, explained in more detail why we should stop seeing each other. I told her all about what a horrible boyfriend I just was. About how I get way too drunk and try to make out with anything that moves. In general, about how I'm really in no place at all to be seeing someone in a situation like this where it seems like one of us is trying to build a relationship and the other is trying to avoid one. So we said our parting words but then our goodbye hug turned into an all-nighter and I woke up naked in her bed, in a rush to get off to work.

She came over drunk the next night. She talking about making plans for us and even mentioned "love" and the idea of moving together when I move away for grad school. And I freaked. And I sent her home. I avoided her calls. I clicked my heels three times and repeated, "there's no place like home." I did not behave like a gentleman.

Yeah, so I didn't handle it well, but I didn't want to have my second, "why it has to end" talk with her in 3 days. So I avoided and ignored her. Immature, but I needed a little bit of breathing room first. But she just called me here at the office and said not to bother calling her until I get my shit sorted out.

I'm fine with that agreement.

On saturday, we battled the blizzard and went to the Target in Queens to purchase snow saucers, snow boots, gloves, and all other things needed for a fine day of sledding.

On Sunday, I put on a grey checkerboard wool suit with a three-button high collar jacket, and tossed on my little WWII leather aviators cap and paced endlessly while waiting for the others to get their asses in gear. I not so subtlely turned on all the lights and started blasting my stereo in an effort to get my roommate out of bed quicker.

Although we agreed that Prospect Park was probably better for hills, we were afraid of being able to get the manhattan people to commit to a journey out there. (TANGENT - People who live in the city suck. Most of them refuse to venture more than a couple blocks from their house and whine endlessly when they do. They miss out on a lot of cool shit but talk like they live the more superior central life. the ones that do venture, usually spent some time living in one of the other burroughs. People who have only lived in Manhattan really bother me sometimes. They think they are god damn Magellan when they go more than 15 blocks from their place).

And so us Brooklyn kids went to Central Park. Good hills were few and far between. They all seemed to have one glaring flaw, from rocks, to trees, to whatever, but we managed to make a few good runs at little hills we found along the way. We learned that in the eternal battle of fench vs. sled, sled always wins. And to the park service people, sorry about the fence.

After banging up our butts on the rockier runs, we decided we should at least try the more conventional runs swarming with kids.

There were dads everywhere. There were ones policing the lines at the top, making sure no one cut. Ones manned at trees to help prevent bad crashes, and others piling hay and cushions up at various danger points.

Its kinda weird to be waiting in line behind a 6 year old and having a "dad" only a couple years older than you brief you on the hazards of the run before he pushes you down the hill.

Soon, everyone was wet and cold (except me, who was toasty in his multiple layers, topped with the suit), so everyone left but me and my cute co-worker who had joined us pretty late in the game as the subways from her area were totally fucked up by the snow.

We went on another ride each, but she hurt her back, so we too packed it up, and went to a diner to eat and warm up. I spiked my coke with the whiskey that I'd been sipping on all day.

Afterwards she and I went back to my building and to my friend's apartment where the other sledders were sitting around drinking beer and chatting. It was nothing too interesting or lively, but soom we were all pretty trashed and I dragged my co-worker downstairs to my place to make out with me. It stayed pretty innocent as her life is wild web of half-involvements with boys and she said it would be too messy for her to throw me into the mix.

After our teenage makeout session we passed out and didn't wake up until the middle of the night. Much too late for her to head home. So I set the alarm for the crack of dawn and we slept warmly, cuddled in a nice naked embrace.

When the alarm went off frighteningly early, I woke her up, called a car, waited with her on the corner for it to show up, and saw her off.

I think it says a lot that I am much more comfortable sharing a bed with a girl involved with a variety of messy situations with various boys than with the one who is so easily willing to dedicate herself to me.

slipping through your fingers.

2005-01-22T01:26:00.001-05:00

I remember when she dumped me and I ran fully clothed into the shower and turned it on because it just didn't seem real. But it was.

But that was four years ago and we haven't seen each other since.

Tonight I walked into her hotel room and saw the ghost, but it was made of flesh. It felt good to touch it again.

We spent a little bit of time talking, some more wrestling, and a little too much time with me trying to steal back a long lost kiss. And all the other kisses missed.

that failed and I don't blame her reluctance.

Ghosts are dead after all. They aren't supposed to reenter your life.

But sometimes they do. And they haunt you.

And then you pass out from all the whiskey you had at happy hour.

And she wakes you up and you're out the door embarassed of the impression you made.

Wondering if you'll have to wait another four years.

2005-01-22T01:26:00.000-05:00

I like incomplete sentences

2005-01-21T09:33:00.000-05:00

It seems like every fucking website I see has a picture of Jim Carey's face advertising "Eternal Sunshine". I saw it for the second time recently and it didn't do that much. The first time I loved it. But I keep thinking about the end, about how they decide to try even though they've just heard themselves on tape talk shit about each other. Those spiteful breakup words that really sting because you've learned the other person's fears and insecurities. I think, "could I date someone having heard them say horrible things about me knowing thats how they really feel?"

A funny thing happens with age. You get more confident. Its nice. You still have a bunch of the same problems and flaws you had when you were young and first discovering yourt sexuality, but for some reason you just don't care about them anymore. You've had enough lovers and friends to know that those flaws aren't that important and that love transcends that.

But then there are those couple, those prickly ones, that no matter what happens, no matter how many people you've dated, they still fucking bug you. You still hate those aspects of you. And maybe years will go by with someone loving you and you forget they are a problem and then those stinging break up words can come and all your forgotten hangups come rushing back and you feel naked and exposed and shared shitless of meeting someone new and introducing them to your hangups. And they will see past them and you'll be happy, but then that too shall pass, and its another round of stinging words and soon you've heard them enough times to know that they really do bug other people too, and you meet someone and you look at them, and it really is like you're standing there in the hallway, having heard yourself being picked apart with hateful words and its just so damn hard to shrug them off once again and jump pack in to that pool, not when you've already done it so many times and the ending seems predetermined.

A theme that keeps returning to me is the idea that we really fucked up when we all decided it was better to wait to get married. So much baggage, and so much residual love. We all have too many exes that we still care about, and too many stinging words remembered. We all get stuck dating guarded, reserved, and untouchable people.

I think Before Sunset touched on that. On how that one night 9 years before really is capable of destroying many of the prospects of future love. And is that what we are destined to do? Chase down that person from a decade ago, the one you loved when your heart could still leap?

What is it like to look that person in the face? To see 10 years of wrinkles and wear, knowing you both have only been more damaged, and knowing you both missed out on each other's young and exciting years, finding each other just then, when your both exhausted, and looking to finally stop looking.

Sometimes I think, all we really do, is try to find someone to die with us.

And we all hope we'll go first, with them holding our hand as the lights go out.

I'm still smiling

2005-01-20T09:30:00.000-05:00

Miss M. moved to my neighborhood which hopefully means I'll see more of her. We shared a car last night to go to ShinDig to see our mutual friend in The Five O'Clock Heroes go play one last show before heading off to the UK. I always enjoy seeing them play.

Miss M. told me to not let her get drunk because she had a job interview in the morning and a photoshoot in the afternoon. She is a busy girl. She deserves good things. She's a hell of a gal. She also has a great bum. I made Brian feel it, much to the consternation of Miss M., who didn't really appreciate that I made her ass a hands on exhibit. Brian seemed a little unimpressed and he called over Meredith who must have a double-jointed ass or something. One second it was normal, then BAM. Pornstar ass action. Miss M's eyes grew to the size of plates and she had to cop a feel herself. Lucky girl.

I think that story would have worked better with pictures of all this girl on girl ass grabbing. Don't you?

Speaking of pictures...I made it on Meredith's site for the very first time the other day. Although I don't like that photo, I am just so happy that its not a picture of Brian's Balls on my face. Its also a nice way of reminding myself that most girls wouldn't wanna kiss that countenance. Something I seem to forget after midnight.

I am like a mogwai / gremlin in that way. I am pretty much harmless until midnight, then I am a mess.

before midnight I was all smiles and happiness enjoying the company of so many friends who all came out. Old roommates, current roommates, birthday boys, Sarah, Karen, and a bunch of people I hadn't seen in a while.

So yes, all was good until midnight, and then I turned into a gremlin and tried to kiss people and looked the fool like usual.

Luckilly the show was over by one, so I didn't have that much of a chance to be an ass.

Don't get me wrong, I did a lot of ass-making in that hour.

Overall, it was good time and reaffirmed my belief in the following three things:

1) I love parties outside of real venues/bars. Much looser, relaxed, and carefree.

2) Girls bums are beautiful.

3) Really happy nights are really boring to read about.

subway games pt. II

2005-01-19T13:22:00.000-05:00

I was drunk on the subway last night.

I kept pointing to strangers and if I got their attention, I would challenge them to a match of rock-paper-scissors from across the train. Pounding your fist three times and making the scissors hand shape is surprisingly well understood.

Not so much with the rock symbol. It kinda looks like you are asking someone to jerk you off.

Only one person bothered humoring me.

I won the first, she one the second, then we tied, then she one the last one for a total of 2 wins to my one. And I knew I had lost the match.

I gave her the look as if to signal a rematch but she shook her head with a firm no.

Housecleaning

2005-01-19T11:13:00.000-05:00

I'm trying my best to simplify everything. The nice girl is gone. It was hard to be so cold but usually I end up hurting feelings more in the long run by trying to not hurt them initially. I think this is a positive step. We have a meeting set up to exchange belongings left at each others' places. That should be fun.

So I wrote a little note to the cute co-worker saying I enjoyed our trip to the museum and hoped we could do something like it again. After a couple exchanges, she finally admitted that there were other boys in her life. Nothing serious of course. nothing but fun flings. Nothing to prevent us from hanging out. just that I should be aware of the situation. So that I don't the wrong idea. But that she totally had fun and would love to do it again. Oh, but that one of them "seems like it might be getting sorta serious". Just so I am warned. But yes, lets totally hang out again. and yes, it could become something. but probably not.

Fuck. That sounds like something I'd write.

You'd think that would make me an expert on her mindframe.

it does not.

I feel very confused and surprisingly sad.

its about time someone fucked with my head for a change.

Objectivity - AKA "I am such a loser"

2005-01-18T11:53:00.000-05:00

In an attempt to add perspective to my embarassing Saturday night, I am including two observations from others.

#1. From some random girl's blog:

"As if from nowhere, a boy walked up to me and grabbed both of my arms and said hello. Who Are You? I asked. Oh, I Thought You Were My Roommate, he replied. Which was when I realized that he was in fact a notoriously slutty blogger whose blog I used to read last summer in an I-read-everyone's-blogs phase. He is actually quite cute but possibly the biggest self obsessed mysogenist I've ever made the decision to make out with. It was an accident. Sort of. I mean, sometimes you just have to do these things so you can write about them, right? He introduced himself as Gregory [leaving out the b/f part] after trying to stick his entire arm up my skirt and I told him that that was more 5-in-the-morning type behavior, not 3-in-the-morning. My guess is that he was drunk enough to black the whole thing out but there was definitely some making out involved which made me question my decision making abilities but hey, I never make out with strangers anymore so why not? He was later spotted making out with assorted other girls who may or may not have known what an a-hole he was."

[ED. I don't have a female roommate, so obviously this was some drunken attempt at a line or something. I barely remember this happening and probably couldn't pick this person out of a line-up to save my life, but I fear it is unfortunately probably pretty accurate, only, as a friend pointed out, "quite cute" is not very accurate and was probably included to justify the writer's decision to make out with an a-hole like me to her reader(s).]

#2. From a friend:

My friend saw you last weekend and monitored your drunken progress about the club and counted 8 girls you tried to make out with, 4 dissed you.

[ED. Batting .500 in baseball would get me into the hall of fame.]

CONCLUSION:

I am desperate to validate something. I should find out what. Its not my penis. I like my penis. I think its a power issue. I like power. Even more than I like my penis. But I have little power in life. Even littler than my penis.

So yeah. send me emails.

tell me i am a loser. make fun of what you saw.

I want to know it all since I barely remember the night.

I'll post everything. warts and all.

I am an open book for you to piss on.

Karma

2005-01-17T10:26:00.001-05:00

I found myself seemingly dating someone who did not consider herself my girlfriend, yet she called all the time and wanted to hang out everyday. She was so sweet to me. I didn't deserve it. If she knew half the shit everyone else does know, I would never have gotten those breakfasts in bed or sweet notes left in my pillowcases.

If she had known that I really didn't stay late at work, but instead dragged my cute and pleasant co-worker off to the museum with me, she would've probably would've been less shocked when I had to call off our little fling.

That day at the museum was nice. We had a few drinks beforehand. It was some hotel bar that looked like a spaceship. It was expensive, but I made up for it by stealing some of their flatware.

We meandered around the museum a little bit drunk, stopping once for another glass of wine. As we wandered into the photography section, I couldn't help but wonder how much of the "modern" art we were seeing was a reaction to photography. How profoundly did the accuracy of photography push painters to explore the abstract? Would Rothko have painted the way he did if there hadn't been so many decades of photography pushing painters away from anything representational, or was painting just naturally evolving into a more experimental territory?

When I was little, I was obsessed with this painting called The Temptation of St. Anthony by Matthias Grunewald. It shows a saint being attacked by beasts that look like they are straight out of "where the wild things are". I think maybe thats why I liked it so much as a kid.

But what struck me is that the museum doesn't have much like that. It has nothing of such imaginative realism. Nothing quite so surreal. It represents an alternate reality, too unreal to ever be photographed, but too shaped in realism to be painted in the age of abstract. I know there are plenty of other artists out there, and there were the surrealists....I guess the point is, is that I will always prefer the likes of Egon Schiele, Lucien Frued, Otto Dix, etc. to all the Jasper Johns of the world. It just my personal tastes and all that. But still, I think photography has damaged the world of painting. When someone tells me they are a painter these days the default art I imagine in my head isn't very flattering. Sometimes I think there is too much of an emphasis on pushing the artform that we overlook some of the greatest qualities of the past.

But enough of my two-bit art bullshit. I am no artist and claim no expertise on the subject.

I had to finish up the last bit of grad school applications on Saturday before heading into the city to see the Dears/Benzos show. True to form, I drank way too much beer before leaving the house and added some unneeded wine to the mix before the show itself. With the drinks had at the show, I was probably over my limit, and with the drinks at the bar afterwards, I most definitely was.

I acted like a drunken ass trying to steal kisses from anyone and anything that moved. Pretty embarassing and pathetic shit really, and found out later that I had very innappropriately touched a girl I know. Everything is a blur and I'm not even sure how many people I kissed or tried to kiss and who saw me making such a fool of myself.

After my friend explained my inappropriateness towards one specific girl I tried my best to apologize, but apologies from drunks come out sounding pretty worthless.

Mr. Red and I arrived home and ordered food, then jumped on our bikes to go pick it up.

For someone who was too drunk to walk or even talk straight, this was a bad idea.

I think I only made it about 70 feet before I fell hard, smashing my body into the asphault.

I limped home, with a broken bike over my shoulder, wailing in exaggerated pain as Mr. Red continued to get the food.

It hurt a lot. I cried. But I was trashed, so maybe I was being a bit overly dramatic.

Fuck that. It really fucking hurt.

I had to call the nice girl and tell her I wouldn't be making it over to her place. But after my dumb actions all night, I was probably more deserving of a good bicycle crash than a tender kiss.

Mr. Red brought me my food and some pain killers and I passed the fuck out.

I spent way too much time on Sunday confirming that I am indeed a wimp and that nothing was broken.

The man behind me in line for X-rays was all shackled up. He was in some sort of institutional baby blue PJ's with a leather belt that connected to his hand cuffs. His feet were also chained together. He had that crazy look in his eyes and his two police escorts were too busy chatting it up to pay attention to him. I really thought he was going to try and attack me as he walked by the gurney I was laying on.

I was kinda disappointed that he didn't. It was a pretty boring wait.

As they wheeled me back into the emergency room, I laid there on my back watching the decrepit ceiling pass by.

I wonder how many people have died with that ugly hospital ceiling being the last thing they ever saw?

not the right course of action

2005-01-13T09:34:00.000-05:00

So I've been doing that whole distant thing. Girls hate that. That thing where you want to end whatever the fuck you started, but are too wimpy to do it, so you just blow them off for a few days until they are pissed so that when you finally give that, "this isn't working" speach, they are relieved because they want your distant unreliable lame ass out of their life.

And you debate, "can this be done over the phone?" At one point, doing shit like that over the phone was the epitome of the no-class break up. But with emails, text messages, IM, etc., its almost classy. OK. Its not. But I like to think that in case I do wimp out and do it over the phone.

No. It should be done in person.

So you invite them over and you're sitting on the bed and think, "No, the bed is too intimate. This should be done standing, so you can both easily walk away."

But she seems so sad and you stand there and you stair and you suggest going out onto the balcony, but those 80 oz's of beer you drank are clouding your judgement.

Something happens. You get mad at her for having to do this.

You get scared that you are about to make a mistake and give up something you don't want to give up.

All these emotions get confused in a swirl of beer and you rip down her pants and shove your fingers inside.

and for a little while, you've bought yourself some time.

cornfused

2005-01-11T16:04:00.000-05:00

And I'm sick of burying my thoughts in her naked thighs.

they can't distract me anymore.

I must deal with this confusion.

and am I really leaving in 7 months? Why bother with anything then.

And who'd think it would be so hard to convince a girl to go on a date with you when she's already swallowed your cum?

Ok. A hooker might be hard. but she wasn't a hooker. She was really nice and I like her a lot.

or maybe I am just looking for a new bosom to blind myself with.

I'm a fucking mess.

feel free to spit on me.

I'm already dirty.

heavy petting

2005-01-11T15:55:00.000-05:00

I want to wake up in the morning and know that the day before was more than just a memory, that something I did that day helped someone else. Partying doesn't do that. I'm sick of it.

I fucking hate going out.

Right now I want to punch and be punched.

This hatred of the social world makes me a boring date.

Can we hit each other instead?

Or do I have to pretend to enjoy nodding my head as some crappy band plays on the stage?

Is that excitement?

A baseball bat.

maybe thats what I should use to hit you.

Its cheaper than drinks.

i love the one in red.

2005-01-10T10:05:00.000-05:00

I have to figure out what the fuck it is about me that loves these messes so much.

I've spent the last week or so buried in naked body of a girl doing so many sweet things for me. from breakfasts in bed, to sexy night time outfits. She spoils me under the covers and will donate any time she has to my whims and fancies. But all this niceness can't make up for the fact that its just not right. And now I have to get out before I drag it on too long and make it even harder.

maybe all those nice things were done to make it harder for me to walk away from you.

if so, that wasn't very nice. but I'm not so nice myself, so its ok.

So I'm sitting at the bar and she shows up and clenches my arm telling me to never go and the other one yells that I have to tell her to fuck off or she'll never walk away.

And so who did I run away from? The one who'd forgive me. I should have just fessed up to all my feelings, but I took the path of least resistance.

And then I learned that you might be moving away. In part, just to escape living in this city with me. Its flattering, but dumb. I shouldn't play a part in your decisions anymore.

And so if that wasn't complicating my life enough, I somehow ended up half-naked in a stairwell with the new girl at work.

If only I was a younger and better man, I'd be so into that, but now I'm aware enough to know that my habits tend to fuck over people's feelings and there are some that just seem too sweet for me to even get to know.

Give me your damaged cold-hearted bitches and let us share our selfishness.

And just stop all the niceness.

It only makes things worse.

But fuck. I can't get that image out of my head. The one in the stairwell, with her eyes rolled back and her mouth slightly open, drunkenly forgetting the world with me.

Rough Draft. bit boring.

2005-01-07T09:17:00.000-05:00

Jen and I work together and recently, we had to switch offices. The new place sucks. The cubicle walls are very low and that along with the bright as hell lights makes you feel very exposed. The place is so fucking quiet and anti-social as everyone cowers by their computer screens hunting for privacy. There are a bunch of young preppy girls who chat it up, but they are so identical in their fashion and talk that it just adds a creepy Stepford Wives feeling to the place.

But, the good news is, is that from our super chromed out lobby, you can open a smoked glass door and enter a bar, I think its supposed to be an "irish pub" but it looks more like it was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. Jen had the bright idea of trying to create more social relations with our co-workers so she and I invited along a recent new addition to the staff. She turned out to be surprisingly cool and has similar tastes in music and such as Jen and I. Plus, she didn't bat an eye at the idea of downing 4 pints in a row on an empty stomach. She's our kinda people.

We even managed to convince her to head over to Mr. and soon-to-be Mrs. Stereogum's lovely apartment to watch the OC with Jen's roommate Jess and others. I was a bit tipsy and I think my hello hugs sent one or two people to the floor.

They were wonderful and provided tasty veggies and red wine. I hope I wasn't too obnoxious, especially since I wasn't even invited. Their cat hates me. That much was obvious. I kept chasing the fucker around trying to love it, but it didn't want to be loved by me. Smart cat.

Jen told me that there was a secret TV on the Radio show near my apartment, so after a long goodbye in the hallway with the new co-worker, I headed back to Brooklyn. That long goodbye put me way behind schedule and I got to Brooklyn only to discover my tardiness had pissed off two of my friends who then opted to get trashed at a bar rather than wait for me at the venue.

They played a small little place where the band once did a residency a year or so ago. I love their EP, but in the beginning they couldn't do shit live. That residency was horrific. Once again the band was back there for a little live practice. The band is opening for George Clinton, so in the P-Funk spirit, the band has added a horn section. Last night's show was their practice night with those guys and was their first time playing with horns live.

Mainly, the horns just doubled over their usual soup of drones but also added a little punch and urgency to some of their songs, and at the best points, added a nice 70's soul/funk flavor, and at their worst, brought the band to the brink of sounding like a third wave ska band.

Overall, the sound was a mess and I left after 4 or 5 songs to meet up with my friends who had abandonned me. We shared a few more drinks and despite promises of topless photobooth sessions, we ended up doing the more calm late night diner thing which was good because after 8 or 9 hours of drinking, I needed a little food of substance in me.

4 hours later I woke up late and hauled ass over to work and am now back in cubicle hell, unshowered and wearing basically the same exact thing as yesterday. I hope the goodbye I had last night with the co-worker doesn't make things weird here at work.

I bet Jen hopes it does. She probably thinks the place could use some drama.

Good news for people who like bad puns

2005-01-06T13:46:00.000-05:00

Jen and I are bored at work and we were thinking that there really needs to be a unification of the two passions of bloggers. Namely, sex tapes/nip-slips and indie rock.

Now we can't stop coming up with porn names for bands.

So far we have:

Broken Hymen Scene
The Randy Warhols
Stuffin' Stevens
Joanna Needsome
The Coital Service
The Wankmen
Blow Patrol
VD on the Radio

Hardest Mouse?

Inherhole?

Please contribute.

Unless of course you want this to be an open forum about what a jerk I am/was to B. Then knock yourselves out.

dreams and sadness

2004-12-29T11:54:00.000-05:00

My uncle who went off to Colorado for Xmas was kind enough to donate his house in the Jerz to my family for the holidays, which was good because I am too poor to fly to CA. I walked around and saw photos of my grandpa as a baby, then ones of my dad and uncle as babies, then his kids as babies, then their babies. Conclusion: Babies grow up and die.

Houses hold way too much time. i don't like time. it makes me very sad. I think thats why I like renting apartment. It makes me steer clear of displaying sentimental objects marking the passage of time. Plus, when things break, instead of having to do work and fix things, you just call some guy and yell at him to fix it for you. Hurray for apartments.

I had no cell phone and didn't use the internet for days. I feel clean now. Only, not really, cuz I didn't shower ( or even get out of my PJ's) for days. I did drink wine. Uncles have lots of wine. And brandy.

Speaking of uncles. I got to be an uncle again. I have lots of nieces and nephews. One isn't too much younger than me. but the only one there was the 5 year old super model. I kicked her ass in a pillow fight.

Anyway. i'm back in my cubicle cursing life. Christmas presents bankrupted me and I have medical bills, gas bills, rent bills, phone bills, etc. etc. piling up. About $1,500 worth. I have $200. I think I am going to have to sell personal items to be able to pay for my grad school aps. Fuckers better let me in.

OK. so yeah. there seems to be this holiday coming up where people party and I've totally forgotten how to do that and am not to excited about the festivities.

Also.

I had a dream last night where some teenage black girl was giving my a blow job in a bombed out building and when I came, she came too, but she was spurting jism out of some catheter coming out of some gaping wound on her pelvis.

It was pretty gross.

Sorry if this blog sucks. I don't really care about it anymore.

Drinking makes me social.

2004-12-15T11:07:00.000-05:00

Even after over 6 years of riding the subway, I still occasionally get surprised by the sudden jolt of the train as it kicks into motion and I stumble for a second. So I didn't think any less of the battery when inertia got the best of it and it rolled from the far end of the car to my feet.

Feeling a bit jolly due to the whiskey in my tummy, I started kicking the thing around, dribbling it like a soccer ball. I lost control of it for a second and it slid over to a girl. She kicked it back. So I kicked it back to her. We played pass for a bit until one of her errant passes sent the AA battery over to the feet of some businessman in his mid-thirties. I looked him in the eyes, pointed to the battery and motioned for him to kick it back. He did and our little game expanded to three people. One more wild kick sent the battery between the legs of a man who had fallen asleep. I bravely slid my leg between his two legs, my knee rubbing the inside of his, trying to fish out the battery with my elongated toe.

A little asian man, mid-forties was laughing to himself as he watched me rub legs with a stranger over an abandoned battery, so once the battery was free, he was the first person I passed it too.

He nodded with understanding and passed it off to the girl.

Soon, without saying a word, the whole back of the car was all engaged in a giant game of "pass the dead battery".

And whenever anyone would get off the train, they'd look back over their shoulder back into the car, smile, and say goodbye.

The gong show

2004-12-14T01:52:00.000-05:00

If this was the gong show, I think its safe to say that the gong has been struck.

I'm sorry Ms. Stallone but the people have spoken.

From now on, the blog shall remain strictly Greg's.

I give you an A for effort though.

But, work is quite busy at the moment, and my nights are nothing but paperwork and essays. I even passed on a ticket to see the Pixies.

And if I can't find the time to see the Pixies then I sure as hell can't find time to blog. At least not for a few days.

Guest Host

2004-12-13T17:00:00.000-05:00

I am going to be totally swamped with shit for the next couple days and so here is the first installment of my new esteemed guest poster, Ms. Stallone.

I've never met her. All I know is she seems to like drugs and writing about the complexities of human interactions. Her tactic is to break down these interactions to their most basic phycical components.

AKA, she likes to graphically describe the sex she had with people whose names she can't remember.

And so without further ado, here is Ms. Stallone's Friday night:

[ed. This was so long I had to edit it a bit and the paragraph breaks are mine, so as per my "style" the breaks don't follow any reason. this is because I never really understood the idea of a paragraph to begin with.]

I know every dude thinks it’s easy for chicks to hook up…blah-dee-blah…but it’s harder than you’d think. I’m not that picky but I prefer a certain level of quality when it comes to someone I’m going to share fluids with & what-not. It’s been months since I’ve hooked up with a decent man (besides my fuck-buddy, but he’s unreliable), so I was on the prowl. Sasha & I were making the rounds & I was feeling it from some of the cuties in the crowd. (I should throw in here that I’m bi so I vibe on men & women fairly evenly, though I was in the mood for a solid hook with some fine man this particular evening)

First I ran into this cat Curtis…we’ve done some major flirting and minor petting but he’s young & simple. And I'm not shallow (well, not THAT shallow) but he doesn't have a ride & in the ATL you need a car. "You ain't gotta be rich but FUCK THAT, how we gonna get around on your BUS PASS?" He thinks he’s cute & funny but he’s only half right. But I was drunk and that was good enough for me for a while.

But then I met James at the bar & I slipped Curtis. At least I think I remember his name being James. Or Dave. Or something like that…it’s not really relevant to the story. We made each other laugh & he was cute & quirky…and he had great forearms so I was game. I know it sounds weird but I have this theory that you can judge the size of a man’s cock from looking at his bare forearms– and I’m talking length & girth here. He had some sexy ink, which was instantly a talking point & a reason for me to inspect the goods. He was already looking fine to me ‘cause he was tall & thin but not too thin. Brown eyes (I’m a TOTAL SUCKER for brown eyes) & dark hair. He also had on a Styx vintage tee, which was not ironic in that he knew a lot about Styx when questioned…and I was finding that just adorable. But when I got a close look at the forearms I was sold. Muscular but not bulky with some solid veins and a good length. We thoroughly enjoyed Drop Sonic together and then left to go to my place around 1:30a. Early, I know, but I was tired & not trying to stay at the bar doing the dance ‘cause I was horny & I knew I wasn’t gonna do better than “James”. Thankfully my roommate was out of town, which is a good thing ‘cause I’m kinda loud & I was anticipating moving some furniture around. We got back to my place and made drinks, smoked a bowl & made some awkward conversation. Then it got fun. He was an excellent kisser and we made out heavily on the couch for a while and were so into it that no clothes even came off. I quickly discovered he had a thing for ears, so I ear-fucked him with my tongue while he slipped his hands under my skirt and rounded third. He sort of skipped second base altogether, so I pulled my sweater & bra down and put my tit in his mouth 'cause his tongue was fucking sexy as hell. His hands weren't bad at all, either. Then he threw me back on the couch and went straight downtown. My. Fucking. Hero.

So he’s driving me crazy with his lovely tongue and I decide I wanna find out if my forearm theory is right, AGAIN. I get up & turn around to sit on his face so I can wrangle his drawers down, and he’s everything I could’ve hoped for…theory proven. It’s fucking scientific, people. He's thick and long, but not too wide or too skinny. Definitely not too short (thank god). I would say it was just right. I love to give head, but he was being so good to me I was losing my breathing. He’s gorgeous & attentive & I’m trying to give as good as I’m getting. But I’ll be honest. Sometimes I just can’t concentrate when I’m being so wonderfully distracted. It was proving difficult to do my best work, but we were definitely enjoying each other for what seemed like a long time. We brought the funk...totally in sync & about to get off. Then, when I was getting to the point that I just wanted him inside me, he instinctively pulled me off of him and started fumbling in his jeans for a condom. Yay. We were still half-dressed, my skirt up around my waist and my thong down around my knees, and it was so h0t that way. He bent me over the couch and, well…he fucked me senseless until 3am. My top eventually came off in the process, but I left my skirt on. I still haven't found my thong. I got his shirt & pants off and, fuck, what a body. We alternated between fucking and just pleasing each other every other way. I usually like to get straight to the sex, but the foreplay...well, fore-during-and-inbetween-play...was almost better than the actual sex. I came, he came…life was fucking great.

We passed out in a heap on the floor of the living room. We woke up and violated each other some more until around 5a. I'll just be totally honest here...I like a little spanking...not too rough but rough enough to leave a mark. I had love bites on my thighs, my tits, and I think his hand print is still on my ass. He pulled my braids (did I forget to mention I was wearing pigtails) and choked me when I came. This guy knew all the fucking tricks to get me off. And I did my best to repay the favor several times over. I even swallowed. I usually save that for a repeat-fuck. But it was sooooo h0t.

We slept in…and for me sleeping in is about 10am ‘cause I always wake up early regardless of when I go to bed, but he knocked it out like a pro ‘cause I was out til about noon. And we even snuggled in the mone. I’ll tell ya, I’m not much of a snuggler. I mean, I’ll hug on my pillow & snuggle in my down comforter for hours by myself, but a sweaty hot body isn’t exactly what I want to snug up against. Usually. This one was totally cup-able, tho. It was a fun snuggle…not forced or uncomfortable. We even had spoon-sex one last time before I kicked him out. Nah – I’m not that cold. He was actually kind of cool so we smoked out & watched the 100 Greatest Stand-Ups on Comedy Central until, like, 3pm. I love all the list shows. I really can’t get enough of them. Wait, no. The E! channel’s are fucking lame. The 100 Most Shocking Moments wasn’t shocking AT ALL. Leave the list-making genius to ComCentral & Vh1. They know what they’re doing. Anyway, he left & we exchanged numbers but I won’t hold my breath & neither should he, whatever his name was. He’s in my phone as Earl. I firgured if he called I would see it was "Earl" but he'd have to say his name when I answered. But most likely I’m sure 6 months from now I’ll be scrolling in my phone book cleaning out the old entries when I’ll come across it & wonder, “who the fuck is Earl?”

[ed. I am selling her email address to the highest bidder]

reach out and touch someone.

2004-12-13T14:04:00.000-05:00

On Friday I met up with my former roommate and friend of 11 years who just got back from Europe. I drank way too much and listened to his stories of his recent month long sex-filled adventure of Europe. We ran into an old college friend of mine and later met her friend who invited us to go watch a porno starring this deaf lady who was teaching her American sign language. I couldn't hang that long due to the excessive amounts of tequila in my system, which made me sad because I desperately wanted to know if the fake orgasms of her teacher had that same hollow intonation common heard in the speach of the deaf. If you know the answer, please email me.

On Saturday night I had calm night of downing Gin & Tonics at a dive bar with Mr. Red where we discussed life, love, and bicycles. I was trying to get a hold of a couple female friends of mine, but they never answered cellphones. I was a bit annoyed at their flakiness, but forgave them realizing that their phones were probably set on vibrate and sitting in a purse many feet away from their dancing bodies. Many girls I know have this problem and it can be a bit annoying, especially because over the years I have gotten tons of shit for unanswered calls. Sometimes I forget my phone at home, sometimes its in a coat pocket slung over a chair, or sometimes it just dies. Now, what annoys me, is that, over the years, I've gotten into many fights with girls who take my unanswering of calls as a sign of something shady. They assume I am mad at them, ignoring them, cheating on them, and on and on and on. Many fights have started just from not answering a cell phone. It made me long for the days when people made concrete plans before hand and stuck to them. For me. Its too late, I am now permanently incapable of ever making "a plan". I just call someone the moment I want to see them and never a second before.

I started wondering what it was like before the universal adoption of cell phones. I can't imagine telling a girl I was going out with friends then being without contact with her for the rest of the night. Were people more trusting then? Or more worried? I must admit, when I'm dating a girl and she is out with her female friends without me, I probably do one check up call at the end of the night just to make sure she's bahaving, and god knows I get plenty myself. And when there is no answer, you assume the worst. Sometimes I hate those check up calls and long for a time of more independence from lovers, or maybe, then, without that check up call, people made constant plans with each other, scared to let the other out of their sights. yes, trust could solve all these issues, but I equate trust with a lack of fear and I equate a lack of fear with a lack of caring. Or maybe its just been way too long since I've been in a long term committed relationship to remember that sort of comfortable independence from your lover.

I think cell phones make modern romances even more nerve-racking as it allows for instant contact, but with that comes the fear when that contact cannot be made. But god bless them for enabling those spontaneous late-night hook ups between two lonely drunks.

Sometimes we remember bedrooms

2004-12-10T13:25:00.000-05:00

So only one person got all the answers and that person doesn't want to be GTBF...

There was something in the stars last night. Everyone in the world got drunk. My friends at MTV went to their notorious Christmas party. No ambulances or penguins this year, but I'm told it was still loads of fun. Others went to the ElleGirl party, and yet others were at birthday parties and one of the numerous good shows that happened last night.

I sat at home and drank about 66 ounces of beer and watched TV on mute and fielded drunken calls and emails from people I hadn't heard from in a while.

I don't know if the holidays make people nostalgic or if people are trying to rebuild bridges to secure New Years Eve dates or what, but I got a number of surprising phone calls, texts, and emails from girls of the past last night.

It was actually really nice, catching up, chatting, and being able to be friendly without the drama of a recent end to sexual relations.

But see, the old Greg would've jumped on his bike and made his way over to one of these drunken girls and had a nice post written by morning describing slurred dirty words and lost undies.

Instead there is just this.

But it was nice to know that after all my lecherous actions some saw enough good to want to still communicate.

It was nice to know I hadn't been completely demonized.

finding an heir.

2004-12-09T10:28:00.000-05:00

I truly have nothing to say of worth about anything at all. I don't go out anymore. All I do is paperwork for grad school applications and watch network TV.

No wonder my share price has plummeted.

This franchise is falling apart and I feel it is time to hand over the reins. So if you wanna be Greg the Boyfriend, just email me and I'll give you the login and password.

Just answer the following questions:

#1. You're lying on you're back with your head on the edge of the bed, the booty's two feet from your head:

Should you:

A) take the time to find a condom.
B) walk right over and pound 'em
C) tell her you want her love
D) all of the above

#2. The clappin's getting louder, you don't want them to clown you,
In this situation, what do you do:

A) you, plain and simply, back up off her
B) you hit it just a little bit softer,
C) you take it out and put it in her butt
D) Put a towel on the floor by the two inch gap under the door. Now they can't see me any more

ESSAY QUESTION:
#3. Take me through all the fly positions:

Note: a girl I know often asks boys, "so what tricks will you be bringing to the bedroom?" before letting a boy do the nasty with her, so this essay question will count for 50%.

Extra Credit: Name that song.

odd night - bear with me

2004-12-01T01:12:00.000-05:00

So there is this guy, l'll call him Miguel. He sells cheap bicycles by the subway station near my apartment. I bought one of my bikes from him, so did Mr. White. Some people say they are stolen. I think he'd be in jail if they were. He doesn't hide his business at all. He told me he buys broken bikes from people, gets some from government auctions, etc. and fixes them up, and sells them cheap. Anyway, for weeks he's been promising to show me his secret stash of bike parts as I really want to build a bike from scratch as a winter project. But I hadn't seen Miguel around for a bit, so today, while bored at work, I found some guy selling a bike frame in my neighborhood at a pretty low price. I decided to go pick it up after work.

The fucker lived far from any subway stop and I got to his apartment, which was actually a basement, opened the trap door and went down to his bicycle torture chamber. I saw the bike frame in question. It was heavier than what I wanted, but it had a couple other parts I was interested in, so after a price negotiation, I got it and left. I had to walk over a mile, maybe two, with this frame over my shoulder, and at one point, got taunts from a woman who accused me of stealing it. I guess carrying incomplete bicycles looks sketchy to normal people.

I dropped it off at home, then walked back to the subway to pick up my BMX and grab some food. Miguel was there and started talking to me about some parts that I had inquired about recently. We walked around the area looking at his bikes and all the while, I noticed this teeny and somewhat cute girl, no more than 20, following us, writing down what we were talking about and taking pictures.

"Oh that's Julie. She's from NYU. She's doing a story on me for her journalism class," Miguel informed me.

So Miguel and I are wandering around with Julie following and every time we pass an electrical pole, Miguel rips down this one flyer. I ask him about it. He says, "Didn't you see this shit? there are these girls down the street who are moving out and are willing to pay someone $100 to take their couch! I don't need a couch, but I'd like a hundred dollars. Hey, do you need a couch?"

As it turns out, one of my couches is a dirty piece of shit I found on the street. It had been set on fire at one point and has severe fire damage to one cushion. I face that side of the cushion down.

So I hop on board this idea and Miguel, Julie the student reporter, and I walk over to the apartment with the couch.

The fucking thing is on the third floor of a walk up. Its also in the back room of a railroad apartment with narrow doors. Its also big, and heavy, and ugly as fuck. White with little colored flowers all over it. Not GTBF's style at all.

I tell Miguel this, but he begs me to help him so he can get the $100. I demand half, he says no. We finally decide that in exchange he'll give me a nice bike frame since I'm not so happy with the heavy one I just bought a couple hours before.

So Miguel and I break our fucking backs getting this huge, heavy, fugly couch through these narrow doorways, down two flights of staris and out of the building and drop it on the street.

Julie takes pictures.

Miguel knows I don't want it, he doesn't want it, so we contemplate just leaving it on the sidewalk, but the girls get pissed and say it will piss off the landlord and tell Miguel they won't give him the money in less we get it far away. So I decide that maybe I can live with the couch, and so we make a plan. The idea is to throw the thing on top of Miguel's van and drive it to my place where we will dump it on the sidewalk. When Mr. Red comes home, I'll get his opinion and if he's cool with it, we'll replace our dirty as sin fire survivor.

There's no room in the van for me as its full of bikes, so Julie and Miguel drive to my place while I walk the 10 blocks with my arms full of cushions.

We unload the fucker, then Miguel suggest we go look at his secret stash of bike parts so I can pick out a frame.

He gives me directions and I grab my other bike (my first bike still being at the subway stop), and we race there. They beat me by like 10 feet.

He keeps his bikes at a friend's mechanics shop and its a serious mess of a pile of bike parks hidden under a tarp. the pile is taller than me. All the metal pieces are all locked together, entwined and absolutely impossible to comprehend under the veil of night. I located two frames that interest me in the middle of the mess and Miguel promises to free them within the next couple of days.

Julie is busy exploring and taking photos in the neighborhood, which isn't a good neighborhood at all. In fact, it was super sketchy. one of the few neighborhoods that still sketch me out in Brooklyn.

So Miguel is just blabbering on about how the jews are buying up all the land in his hood and kicking his people out and how one of his friends is standing strong and refusing to sell, but then one of the jews offered Miguel $10,000 to convince his friend to sell, so he's conflicted. mainly, he is scared this guy won't pay him the 10 Grand. But don't worry, Miguel has a back up plan. He's already lined up a guy to kill this jewish real estate guy if it goes sour.

I advised him against that.

OK, so he didn't say he'd kill him. What he said was, "I have a guy who I can pay money to who will, you know. Um. Fix things. You know, you watch the news and you hear about murders and you wonder what causes them. well, I know what causes them and who to pay to cause them."

But I read between the lines. I'm smart like that.

OK. So seriously, Miguel is actually a really nice and happy-go-lucky guy and I didn't take him too seriously. I don't think he'd do that. Or rather, I hope he wouldn't...

He then went on to tell me about the crack addict who he bought a cot for so the guy can sleep next to his bike stash and guard it at night from the mechanic who tries to steal his tools.

Miguel told me you'd be surprised at how reliable the crackhead can be. and how cheap crack is.

Miguel also informed me, that, according to his sources, there is a giant underground city under Brooklyn that the Nazis built and occupied during WWII.

I decided it was time to go home.

Julie went off with Miguel to Astoria, where he works the metrocard booth at a subway station. he told Julie she might have to run the booth for a bit because he was tired and needed some sleep.

I said my goodbyes to the two and biked home to play with my new bike frame.

The fucking thing is too heavy for my purposes and, upon closer inspection, I realized that one of the tubes was bent out of shape. It was pretty much a waste of my money.

But its ok. It looks like I'll be getting a new one from Miguel any day now.

As for the couch, Mr. Red hated it and its presently being rained on outside of my apartment.

If you want it, its yours.

Happy Thanksgiving

2004-11-27T13:49:00.000-05:00

I think it was the idea of a mother being there. I think thats why I went crazy with the cleaning, being super anal and annoying my roommate as we attempted to get the place ready for Thanksgiving. I'm not one for traditions or any of that shit, but Thanksgiving is the one day a year I try and make it look like I have my shit together. maybe its some internal clock in me that is used to running home for the Holidays and spending the long weekend hiding drug habits and deviant sexual thoughts from the relatives. Maybe I need this extended one man play to keep me from forgetting such basic skills as eating with my mouth closed and keeping my swear words down to one a sentence.

maybe I look at miss m.'s mother like a practice mother for the day when I have to convince some lady that I love her daughter and hide all my lustful intentions for just a couple of minutes.

When I cook, which isn't often, I really cook. I go all out and make everything as fresh as possible. I tend to regret this. Oregano, Sage, Parsley, these things are really annoying to continually chop for an entire afternoon.

Actually, I was only making the stuffing. But I managed to turn this into huge fucking event and even made "practice" stuffing the weekend before. But I made fucking kick ass stuffing and I was proud.

I drink when I cook. I think everyone does.

People came over, more drinks were had. By the time we sat down, everyone was shit-faced. But knowing the sleepy effects of alcohol, I bought some Sparks for the group to consume, hoping to enliven them all back up again.

Not surprisingly, most of the Sparks found its way into my tummy and so when everyone else was going home or passing out, I was ready to party.

To me, getting drunk at home is a waste. Its like putting on a killer outfit. I feel the need to go out and share it with the world.

Unfortunate for the world...

So I jumped on my bike to find excitement and pedalled off into the cold night.

I was too drunk to bike. I completely wiped out. Going straight. on a flat piece of ground. with nary on obstacke in sight.

I remember being airborne and seeing the asphault rushing towards my face.

I stood up, gathered myself, realized I was in front of a bar and decided it was as good a place as any to find my excitement.

Not too many people were out and so I ended up just playing darts with some guy who kept yelling at me for cheating.

I wasn't cheating, i was simply too drunk to remember the rules of the game or the basics of addition and subtraction.

Eventually he ended the game when he realized I had been stealing his cigarettes one at a time from his pack whenever it was hit turn to throw.

Cigarettes had been a big problem the whole night. I had been out so I biked off to get some, but they fell out of my pocket on the ride home. Later Miss M. and I hopped on bikes to try again. They fell out of her pocket the way home that time.

And so, with a couple smokes in my pocket and one pissed-off darts partner, I headed back home.

Upon arriving back at my place, I quickly remembered that my bedroom door had been sacreficed to be used as the Thanksgiving day table.

Fuck it. I went to sleep with a haphazardly draped blanket as my source of privacy. Not that it mattered. i passed out fully clothed, shoes and all.

I woke up to find my sheets covered in minor blood stains from my biking accident and found that I had knocked over the ladder and a couple other things when i came home the night before.

Cuts and bruises and unremembered destruction. I guess my one man performance of responsible Greg was a bit shorter than previous years but it was nice having things back to normal.

I hope everyone else had a happy thanksgiving as well.

It put a smile on my face.

2004-11-13T02:45:00.000-05:00

Last night didn't suit me. i didn't really enjoy "being out" and so when faced with the prospects of what to do with my Friday night, I just opted to ignore it and take a nap. When I woke up, my roommate had some friends over, friends of mine as well, and they told me they were going to a grand opening party for a vintage clothing store nearby that I had recently visited.

It sounded good. Close by, free drinks, hassle free.

Fucking hell. It made me remember why I love Brooklyn.

No lines, no doormen, no hand stamps, just a store open to dancing and drinking. The girls were all dressed so amazingly. I saw so many stylish outfits yet the environment was so carefree that I still felt comfortable in my jeans and hoodie. Thats what I had been wearing all day. And the thing was, was that these girls outfits seemed that way too. They looked like the clothes that the girls had been wearing all day. These were not Manhattan Friday night costumes. the makeup wasn't over the top rock n roll colored smears of eye mess. Just honest day to day good original outfits utilizing colors other than that cliched black (and the stereotypical use of red or pink to spice it up).

It was so refreshing to be somewhere where the idea of an open bar is cans of beer bought by the owner from the deli down the street. Where the tips piled high in the bowl are immediately used to run to the deli and buy more.

It was so nice to be at a party where the guys from The Rapture and !!! are DJing not as some marketing gimmick, not as some name to put on a flyer (with a band name following in parenthesis), but are Djing because they are just local kids with kick ass record collections playing dancy tunes from bands who aren't the NME's latest wet dream. Just damn good songs and not the crowd pleasing indie hits of the week.

It was nice to see dancing that looked individual and honest, not some mimicking of some 80's video.

Reckless dancing, people pushing each other around in stray wheelchairs, beer on the floor, a giant gong to bang when the excitment became too much to contain. A room full of people who make things, not promote or write about people who make things. People with honest jobs, teaching foreigners to speak English, working in shipping departments, struggling to make enough to pay for their creative outlets, music and fashion and art that corporations aren't daring enough to sponsor quite yet.

It was like getting back to the source, the core of the New York I love, where creative people can gather, where drinking and dancing is a celebration, not an escape.

God bless Brooklyn.

random hang over thoughts.

2004-11-12T15:03:00.000-05:00

The girl behind me is working on a prom magazine. there's an ad in it for prom dresses. One of them is pretty fucking skimpy. There is this woman who sits near by who saw it and said:

"Look at this society we live in. What happenned to the good ol' days when we censored the world for our youth. Now they push these young girls to dress older and older which only fosters pedaphilia."

And all I could think was:

"damn. I'd do her. That dress is pretty fuckin' hot."

So maybe she's right.

Sometimes I wonder about myself. To me, words like "morality" make me cringe. I read a good article about the political division in this country today. It made a point of that word. It talked about how to some, that word was sickening, and to some, it was an ideal. the same goes for the word "Authority." There are those raised to respect it, and those raised to question it. The point of the article was to realize that you need a mixture of both and to remember that. that its the job of one group to keep the other one in check.

Somehow this made me feel a little bit better.

A note to all the DJ's and ol' school readers

2004-11-12T10:39:00.000-05:00

Is it just me or is it that ever since John Peel died the song "Teenage Kicks" is being played everywhere. Stop it. I'm sick of it. Play another Undertones song if you must. I suggest "Family Entertainment." I always liked that one more anyway.

Better yet, play "Firecracker" by Half Japanese because I can't find that cd.

And for anyone who read this blog in the beginning when it was about my obsession with my co-worker Elle, I ran into her on the subway this morning. She left her boyfriend, moved into my neighborhood, and is sleeping with a co-worker from her new job.

And if you didn't read this blog in the beginning then read this account of our first sexual encounter. Its from back when I tried to be entertaining rather than mopey.

A boring recount of how I feel nothing anymore.

2004-11-12T10:00:00.000-05:00

I didn't feel like heading straight home after work and so I called Miss M. to see if I could go hang out with her in her office. I like her office more than mine. Its darker and they have toys and have music playing. Mine is brightly lit and sterile and subdivided with tiny cubicles. I got her voicemail and decided to just walk across the street to her building and try again in a couple minutes. The streets were insanely crowded and cops were out clearing crosswalks and such. I was wondering what was pushing the streets past its normal obnoxious levels of crowdedness and then I remembered that Adam "Seth Cohen" Brody was on TRL that day and Miss M. would probably be up to her eyeballs with whatever the fuck her TRL duties are at work.

Screaming girls everywhere. Girls love him. even like 35 year old girls. He could make lotsa babies if he wanted to.

I gave up on trying to hang out with her and headed home. Later she called me and said that she had an extra Interpol guestlist spot and said she was offering it to me or my roommate. I just saw them a few weeks back at that not so secret smaller show at Bowery and so I passed on it and so Mr. Red sped off to go to the show with her and I agreed to meet up with them afterwards for the party.

So this would be it. My first time being social in like 2-3 weeks. I've had a couple quiet nights of a drink or two in the past few weeks, but really, not much at all. I wondered how my body, which has gotten used to not being poisoned daily and sleeping long hours, would react.

And so the night progressed as expected. Ran into friends I hadn't seen in a bit. Awkwardly ran into a girl I used to sorta date and basically struggled through the night as my ability to drunkenly BS my way through a bar conversation is not in the top form it once was.

The night continued as they always do, with crowds of people hopping from one bar to another, dealing with snooty door people to get your stamps and wristbands and what not, spending too much on weak drinks, endless small talk, etc. etc. I can't say I had a bad time, because I really didn't. I enjoyed seeing some of the people I haven't seen face to face in a couple weeks, but to say that I was having "fun" was a stretch.

And so now that I am here at work, trying to concentrate on my job with bloodshot eyes on 3 hours of sleep as my body tries to rid itself of the residual coke and alcohol, I can't help but wonder why I used to live like this so often.

I think it was just for the drunken kissing.

That shit is fun.

But it too gets tiresome. As I was walking to meet my friends, I passed block after block on First Ave. and I realized that I had fooled around with someone in an apartment on that street on average of every 3 blocks.

Oh, 13th street, thats where G. lived. Oh, 10th, A.'s place was here. 6th, J. lived here, etc. etc.

All of a sudden I became very frightened. I realized that here, on this one 20 block walk, I would be passing the apartments of about 10 former flames. 1/2 of which probably hate me.

It wasn't Falluja, but it did make the streets seem very ominous.

I wish these streets carried more for me than just the memories of jilted loves and drunken antics.

Alright. I've rambled on long enough about nothing in particular, sounding lame and whiny.

Time to get to work and get some shit done.

I'll probably erase this post in like 10 minutes since its boring, so sorry for wasting your time if you actually read it.

While my heart still beats.

2004-11-11T09:26:00.000-05:00

When I was sitting in the emergency room a week ago today, they interupted the regularly scheduled program airing on the television to announce the death of Yasser Arafat. Then. Like 2 minutes later, they were like, "oh, oops, um. we mean, he's still alive. yeah. alive."

His death was a worrisome thing. Who would take his place? Would there be a civil war within the Palestinian community? A sudden death like that was no good.

And then, after this funeral has been arranged, and the very same day that the PLO figures out who take over, they announce his death.

It is my understanding that in France, where Arafat was, privacy laws prevent doctors from releasing the status of a patient to the public without consent from the family, in this case, his wife, who he hasn't seen in over 2 years, and who never spend more than a couple hours alone with him in her life.

To me, its obvious. Motherfucker's been dead a week and she just wouldn't allow them to announce that until everything with the transfer of power and his funeral and all that shit was in order.

Some reports say that he was technically alive, but just brain dead, so maybe they just turned off the machine once everything was straight.

But here in the US, braindead = dead. I don't know what they use in France. Funny thing is, is that dead is disputable term. Some countries, and possibly France, but I really don't know, still use the beating heart rule. If the heart is beating, you are alive, if its not, you are dead. We measure brain waves here. We seem to think the brain is what life is all about.

We use this to our advantage. We have things called "beating heart donors." Basically, imagine JFK, brains everywhere. mofo is dead. Then the doctors hook him up to a respirator and start his heart. As long as the blood has oxygen, the heart will continue to beat. As long as they monitor hormone levels and some shit, the body can keep living for quite some time. So here you have this "dead" body, with breathing lungs and a beating heart. Blood is flowing, an IV is providing nurishment, but technically, its a dead body.

So then when some other mofo comes in and needs a new kidney, instead of pulling out some freezer burned piece-o-shit two day dead kidney, they just open up this body, push the uneeded pulsating organs out of the way, and cut out a nice juicy fresh kidney, soldering the blood vessels so the "dead" body doesn't bleed to death or whatever you call it when the dead die again...

And so, yeah, they just harvest those organs until the body starts to fail, until finally, some lucky mofo gets the heart and they rip the chest open and cut out the beating heart and throw it in some new guy.

So yeah. Death, surprisingly, can be quite a grey term, but if you ask me, that mofo Arafat been dead any way you slice it since that day last week when I sat in a hospital listening to some old women begging for the doctors to keep death from coming to her.

This whole thing reminds me of a couple experiments that I read about in the last few weeks.

In one, they made the shell of a little mini-coat out of a nutrient laced polymer and coated it with skin cells. Skin cells will multiply forever as long as there is food. So one teeny little slice off a rat years ago can create literally tons of skin. And so the skin grows on this shell and once it eats it all up, the skin dies. Then they dry it out, cure it, dye it, whatever, and BAM, you got a leather coat without killing anything. Or did you? I mean, these skin cells were alive, and now they are dead, but thats hardly the same as killing an animal, right? They are also experimenting doing something like this to grow beef and other edible meats. Just grow the meat, not the beast. The people at Peta are probably pretty confused.

So what then? What is life? Is it brain waves?

In another experiment, they spread brain cells from a rat over a circuit board connected to a flight simulator. When the plane in the simulator crashed, no more signals. It turns out brain cells don't like that. they like getting electrical impulses. So the cells grew nuerons and reached out to other cells on other parts and figured out what kind of signals to send to the simulator to keep the plane from crashing. The brain cells got better and better and can now even deal with pretty severe weather conditions. Of course, it has no idea WHERE to fly the plane, but just to fly it. its pretty cool shit. they didn't have to program anything. The brain cells figured it out on its own. They did this to study how a brain learns, but of course now the military is looking into unmanned planes piloted by rat brains.

So here you have a brain. Sort of. Brain cells. not a whole brain. no pain sensors, no optical nerves, not sure about memory...

So what then? If and when there are rat brains piloting planes and they crash, did something die?

Can we free ourselves from animal cruelty by simply separating animals into such teeny tiny parts that we can longer consider any one part an actual living creature?

some of the links are NSFW. It should be obvious which ones those are.

2004-11-10T15:56:00.000-05:00

It seems like every fucking blog spent the day obsessing over those pics that might or might not be Avril's. First of all, that shit is old news. Maybe i am just a total perv, but Fleshbot was all over that shit DAYS ago. But I guess most people don't scour the internet for Boobies as often as me.

I must admit it.

I really like boobies.

Speaking of boobies, I watched Swimming Pool last night. And even though it stars a girl whose sole purpose is to show her boobies, I have to say that I was disappointed.

Do you want to know what else fucking disappointed me today?

My roommate, the unflappable Mr. Red has teamed up with that guy who does myblogispoop to make some sort of internet thingy associated with the show they both used to work on. The show was Best Week Ever. Its not about boobies so I don't know much about it. Plus. I can't afford cable.

So anyway, Mr. Red sent me an email with a link to his first package, which does not refer to his penis, as I learned, but rather to a video called, Best Outtakes Ever.

But that dirty scrotum who controls VH1.com* has decided that its more important to post links to pictures of Avril's supposed boobies than make it so that mac users like me can watch videos.

*i actually can't vouch for the cleanliness of Scott's nut sack, but can vouch that he's actually a really nice guy who will buy you a gin & tonic when you are feeling down. But seriously. I'm just across the street. I can march over there and make your life hell until you fix that shit. And by make your life hell, I mean cry and whine like the bitch I am.

And for the record, my all time favorite boobie moment in the history of film is this classic.

swallowing golfballs

2004-11-08T13:34:00.000-05:00

The weekend of Halloween I opted not to do anything because I was broke, and frankly, sick of socializing. Then, this last weekend, I became simply sick.

My lymphnodes are the size of golfballs and the doctors can do nothing.

It sucks. I can barely talk, breath, or swallow.

There is nothing to post about, unless anyone gives a shit about my new red bike which is endlessly awesome and provided me with my sole adventure these last few days when I took it out on a test ride on the Moonlight Central Park ride that Times-Up.org does the first Friday of the month.

Here is one last political jab before I resign myself to the idea of four more years of Bush. Brother Lawrence likes to point out how the Democratic party was the pro-slavery party one hundred and fifty years ago. Look at this . It compares 2004 election results to that of slavery. Its almost a complete flip-flop. Besides Indiana and Ohio, the two maps are almost identical, only its now the Republican party who controls the former slave states. No, I'm not saying they want a return to slavery, I'm just saying that bringing up the Democrats former stance on slavery is entirely irrelevant these days.

But everyone knows that.

And politics are boring. But not as boring as my life these days.

Maybe its "consumption"

2004-11-05T18:26:00.000-05:00

I'm in self-imposed quarantine. At least until someone can tell me what the fuck is wrong with me.

The doctor called. The results are in. They can definitely rule out Scarlet Fever.

Great. Whats next on the checklist? Dropsy? Whooping Cough?

allergies

2004-11-03T13:23:00.000-05:00

Within hours of finding out Bush won, I broke into a severe rash.

I am now officially allergic to this administration.

I just took the test to see if I qualify as a "skilled worker" to immigrate to Canada. You need 67 out of 100 points. I got 67.

See you up North.

politicking again

2004-10-29T14:40:00.000-04:00

OK. So I doubt anyone will actually bother reading my long political rant, but in case you do, don't take it as a backhanded Bush endorsment. In fact, go to this site and watch movies of a young John Kerry. He's really inspiring. I wish he was still like that.

Oh and here is where you can watch those Errol Morrispolitical "switch" ads.

The Long Run

2004-10-29T13:00:00.000-04:00

In just a couple days we vote. As a 20 something liberal arts kid, my political leanings should be obvious, but here is something I've been thinking about...

If Bush loses is that Kerry will inherit a hole big mess. From the war in Iraq (do you read the reports from sodiers? Kevin Sites blog? anything? Things are really and truly fucked), to disasterous fiscal policies and huge deficits. A big fucking mess. Kerry might want to get allies involved but Bush has already alienated everyone so much that, no matter what Kerry might hope for, we will most likely be stuck in this mess alone.

Congress will probably not fall under control of the Democrats during the election, so whatever initiatives a Kerry administration might have will be fairly moot as they'll never get through congress.

Basically, I think that Kerry is set up for failure. I have been amazed, and even impressed with how drastically Bush has been able to change the course of direction of this country in 4 short years. He completely rid my mind of thoughts of political apathy, and that it didn't really matter who is in charge. But, in this case, as much as I want to hope for an administration that can change it just as much, I don't think it can happen.

the mess is too big. But what will happen is that the failure to be able to clean up this mess will be blamed on the Democrats. Republicans are really good at saying they want to bipartisan and then pointing fingers. I mean, Bush has yet to admit to making any mistake ever. (ok, totally a tangent, but did you hear that speach where Bush, commenting on Kerry's use of the missing explosives in political speeches said something like, "A man who comes to a conclusion about weapons in a case of war and uses that conclusion for political gains before all the facts can be evaluated is not someone I want as Commander in Chief." Oh my god, so hypocritical its funny).

Anyway. My point. The mess is big. Kerry will fail to be able to fix it, especially within two years, at which point there will be another election and those failures will probably result in the Republicans taking more seats in Congress, thus making Kerry's next two years even more futile. At which point, another Republican will be elected in 2008. And that administration would have a carte blanche to pursue whatever policies it wanted.

But, if Bush wins, the war will only get worse, the debts will get bigger and bigger, the environment will continue to be destroyed (it is absolutely amazing how many environmental regulations have disappeared under Bush), and finally, conservatives will have to face the fact that these policies are destroying the country and the world. At which point, in 2008, there could be a stronger movement to push for a more dramatic party shift, creating a stronger and longer lasting Democratic majority.

Its really Machiavellian, and everyone I mention it to says its not worth the price. But here is the thing. Most liberals I know are staunch liberals and are never going to sway to conservatism, but I know many Republicans who base their politics on ideas of fiscal conservatism and the ideas of small Government.

This is hilarious to me because on one side, you have a Government that ran a surplus (albeit, more at the aid of a market boom than as a matter of policy) vs. an out of control budget from a party that is trying its damnest to insert religious ideologies into the very fabric of our Government. I cannot think of two things which violate the basic tennants of those Libertarian principles even more.

I remember talking to a girl who said she was voting Bush because, although she is socially liberal, she is fiscally conservative, and therefore has to vote Republican. I looked at her in disbelief.

It is for these reasons that conservative papers like, "The American Conservative" and "The Economist" won't even endorse Bush. It reminds me of something Bill Mahr once said. He said, "I would still be a Republican if the Republicans were still Republicans."

I know other Republicans who are voting based on the judicial appointees that will be controlled by the President. They often make the case that although they do not believe in Bush directly, they are more worried about the liberal judges that Kerry would name. But based on Bush's religious beliefs (the man insists God speaks directly to him and admits that this has more control over his decisions than facts) and Bush's tendency to place in power scary scary people like Ashcroft who are hell-bent on destroying right of privacy, I don't see how anyone, especially a traditional republican can fear Kerry's appointees considering his record for being financially conservative and fairly moderate socially.

And so what I think I have concluded, was that, what is needed to save this country from the horrible direction it is heading, is to force these long time republicans to realize that the values they stand for are no longer republican values. That their party is no longer the voice of their ideology and that they will only switch once they realize this.

What breaks my heart is that so few have yet to see this.

And on this note, I strongly recommend that everyone watch at least a couple of Errol Morris' movies on this subject. He's the guy behind many a good movie and he did the apple Switch ads. For the election he made numerous "switch" ads highlighting people who voted for Bush last time who will now be voting against him. They can be found at errolmorris.com (sorry, I'm too lazy to make the link. I might come back and do that later).

And so sadly, I see this country, divided so evenly, and the only way I see ourselves resolving this conflict is to have the one side fuck up this country so bad that the pendulum can finally swing back the other way, and I just cross my fingers and hope that by that time, things aren't too fucked up to start a new beginning with a new generation of people, finally united by something other than fear, united in a universal sense that its really time to fix things here. and maybe we can all be like Kilgore Trout in Timequake, running around, telling people, "you were sick, but you are better now, and there's work to do."

Its like I am fifteen all over again.

2004-10-29T10:42:00.000-04:00

I get home and collapse on a couch and numb my mind for a bit with horrible non-cable TV, sometimes wandering over to the computer to see if anything has happened somewhere else in the last hour or two, and then I slink off to bed and pray for sleep.

My desire to do anything, anything at all, has disappeared entirely as of late. This is Halloween weekend and I really haven't put a second of thought into what I want to do. I don't really think I want to do anything at all.

Yesterday evening I was sitting at my desk at work with nothing really to do but going home seemed boring and trapping yet the air was a little too cold last night for senseless meandering. And so I just sat there, staring at the notes covering my desk.

An unsettling wave of started in my waste and slowly crept upwards and I quickly decided it was time to flee but I only made it as far as the elevator, and as I rode that elevator with all these strangers who share my office building tears just started pouring down my face. The doors openned at the lobby and I ran into Times Square and buried my face against the wall of the "ESPN Sports Center!" until it stopped.

After it subsided, I remembered that it was my father's birthday. His 70th. And that I should run home,call him, and see how his health is.

I feel really fucking embarassed about being so lame. B. has been really great about putting up with my junior high depression antics though, so i thank her for that. God knows I don't have patience to deal with shit like this in other people.

OK, I'm going to go buy some chips and have a snack now.

ramblings again.

2004-10-27T09:31:00.000-04:00

damnit. Ok don't panic. But the clock says 9:30. Its wrong, you still have time. but I'll be late. Not that late, don't worry. OK. Do you have everything? Yes. Are you sure? No. Double check. OK. And? I'm missing my wallet and my keys. then you should get them. I don't remember where I put them. ok. lets think this through then. ok. go. ok. who are you? Greg. Good. When were you born? Feb. 25th, 1979. Good. Now fast forward 25 years, 8 months, and one day. OK, I'm there. And what did you do that day? I went to an office party and drank. And then? Went out and drank more. And then? Drank some more? ok ok. You Drank, I get that. What then? Then I came home. And where did you put your keys? nowhere, I left them in my pants. And where did you leave your pants? I don't remember. try to remember. Oh! I remember. Under the chair in the hallway. Why the fuck did you leave them there? I don't know. nevermind. the point is you found them. yes. Jesus. What? That girl. What about her? look at her ass. oh shit. yeah. Told you. its cute. very. wait? There's a girl in the apartment? No. she's on the subway. But I thought we were in the apartment? No. we're actually on the subway. we're just thinking about being in the apartment. we are? yes. well. no. you're actually at your desk. I thought we were on the subway? You were. but now you're at your desk. then why are we talking about the subway? because you were just there. oh. and when we were there we were pretending to still be at home. why? because we were writing this. this? yes, This. We write things. why? I don't know. I don't think we've figured that out yet. are we any good? no. do we get paid? no? then why do we do it? I don't know. so we're at your desk? yes. so you already left the apartment? yes. and you're not that late? I don't think so. Is your boss mad? I think he may be a little bit, but we'll just be on time from now on and it shouldn't be so bad. ok. so in other words we're ok? yes. and you found your keys? yes. and you remembered to put them in your pocket? no. so you don't have your keys? nope. you forgot? yes. you shouldn't have gotten ahead of yourself back there. back where? when you thought about that girl's ass on the subway. oh, there. Yes. you should've stayed in the apartment. but I was already gone by then. You're right. Yes. Its too late. We are already at work. Yup. Wait, are you still writing all this down? Yes. Why? I don't know. I think we should stop. ok. Have you stopped yet? No. Then stop. Ok.

A note to Bacchus: Fuck you.

2004-10-25T09:55:00.000-04:00

This shouldn't fucking count.

Hangovers should only be the result of heavy partying.

When you casually drink alcoholic punch at brunch, have some wine while watching a movie, and drink another bottle of wine at dinner you shouldn't get a hangover.

The Gods of Alcohol should know that. It was just casual drinking. Stop being so petty.

OK. I lied. its not ever. not quite yet.

2004-10-20T17:36:00.000-04:00

Someone left a comment about the "Islamic way" AKA having more than one wife was the answer to relationship problems. Somehow this led me to Amores Perros. I've been thinking about the section about the man who leaves his dutiful wife for his young model lover.

Sex and passion are addictive and we need them to feel complete. more so than just the abilities to get your jollies off with someone you want, its about feeling wanted. Its about having someone you desire, desiring you back. And with relationships the exciting can become commonplace and we search out new passions, often at the price of abandoning great partnerships. This is what happens in Amores Perros, and in the movie, the new young lover loses a leg, forcing the man to instantly transform her from lover to partner. A role they might not be suited for. But honestly, this happens to everyone. Everyone's ideal fantasy mate, will, if they stay together, will slowly evolve into just a close partner. At least I hope so. I don't really think my grandparents wanted to bone each other all the time, and if they did, I'm glad as hell I never picked up on it.

And so here you have both sex and love, and for a brief moment in time, you can grab onto both, but slowly you will lose one, usually sex. Sometimes you lose the love, and that can just ruin the sex, in which case, you lose it all.

And sometimes they come separately. You find the passion, but little is beneath that. That is the ominous undercurrent of Amores Perros as this man's lover loses her sexual appeal (one presumes so at least, although its never explicitly stated). This idea that you can foolishly fall for sex and lose sight of the love, the thing that we all want. The thing your grandparents share years after sex has fallen by the wayside. So then, is it such a sin to settle for the partnership from day one?

That is what's jammed down our throats in this modern age. That we must look past sex and find deeper meaning and true happiness. But what happens when we find that? Do we settle for a sexless life? Sometimes I think that this is not only not just bad, but preferable, for sex and passion stir up all these emotions that make all of us insane and overreact and cry and kill ourselves when we can sense underneath it all that it was never really quite right.

And so numerous boys I know have been going through lulls of lust, losing passion for women.

For men. Sex can be a lot of work sometimes. Ideally, both partners are tossing each other around the room sticking fingers and mouths everywhere, sucking fluids out of each other, getting lost in a tangled webs of flesh, but often, its a lot of movement and work on the boy's side. I think more often than not, good sex is measured by the performance of the man. Men hate this. We hate fucking corpses and it being boring as shit only to hear that girl later complain that we were boring. Its like, "yeah, no shit. its gonna be boring when you might as well be dead." And so we work really hard to prevent this. Maybe not all of us all the time, but definitely most of us some of the time, and we really try and pull out all our tricks to get everyone into it, but some days, we just don't have the energy.

You hear a lot growing up about how men reach their sex drives in their teens and twenties and women in their early thirties. You see shows of women complaining that their husbands no longer touch them and all that crap. I think, really, men are just often tired. Yeah, our sex drives are totally out of control when we are young and we like sex, so we work hard to make sure the other person does as well, and when it calms down a bit, sadly, as a woman's is picking up, we're simply too tired to be bothered.

Like all things of gender, this can go both ways. Maybe girls when not in the mood, humor their horny boyfriends, but eventually get to a stage where they just don't want to anymore and they are just "too tired" or what not.

So does this death of passion mean you have to split up? no. But I think the individuals will then seek out others who are new and exciting, and then they risk losing all the closeness that they have cultured with that other person.

And so we all go on trying to find an all encapsulating person. And it drives us all nuts. But married people out there keep telling me its possible so I have yet to give up hope. But then I think about my friends, about how some are good for talking baseball, and others for getting drunk and dancing. How each compliment a sliver of my life but none match me in my entirety and I think about how it would be impossible to find that, and how I am trying to find that in someone of the opposite gender, someone with such a different experience on this planet due to that gender, and I have to throw in sex on top of all that.

oy vay.

Blah.

2004-10-20T15:17:00.000-04:00

Boring post after boring post for too many months.

I quit.

Another boring post.

2004-10-20T14:23:00.000-04:00

I ran out of money about 4 days ago. Completely. Its weird thinking, "oh I could use some gum" and then realizing you can't even buy gum. Wandering around Times Square, this giant symbol of consumerism, surreal already, becomes almost comical when you have nothing more than a penny in your pocket. You stare at these ads and laugh as they do nothing to you. I am tuned out to consumerism. ha. I have won. You can't trick me into buying anything today for I have nothing to spend.

Then again, rationing the little food and cigarettes in your house into daily little piles is kinda depressing.

This, state of affairs means I am not going out too much as most of the world demands your money to enjoy it. I don't even have singles to tip bartenders at open bars. I can't risk being out when hunger hits unless I have a sandwich on me. The smells of restaurants are agonizing when you know you have no option to eat there.

Luckilly, there is baseball. And its been damn exciting.

I found myself standing in the rain outside a TGI Friday's in Midtown with 10 other guys staring through their glass exterior at the TV inside. I was freezing cold but I dare not enter for it makes me want to cry to see people at a bar with a pint when I know there is no chance in hell I too can sip that sweet nectar of the gods. But I also couldn't bring myself to get on the subway to go home. Not when its tied and in extra innings. Plus, I just love shared experiences with strangers. Standing shoulder to shoulder with a group of men I've never met, all instantly reacting to the same stimulus inside on the TV screen. I really felt like I was part of a community, even if I was rooting for the other team.

But staying home could also be nice if I could work on my calendar project, but my roommate and I still have no models. And since no one seems interested in letting my roommate take photos of them for our project, he resorted to taking photos of bands. Here's one from last Saturday. They are Apartment. Their website is called weareapartment.com.

I suggest you fall in love with them.

politicking

2004-10-18T14:41:00.000-04:00

Not to get all political and shit, but this is the best political blog I've encountered. One of those rare reads where someone hits a sentence so spot on that you are convinced you must've read it a million places and then you realize that you haven't. That this man's words have finally expressed a fundamental thought or emotion in some tangible way.

I really enjoyed this post about coming to grips with the fact that we all know that Kerry is annoying as fuck and why you should supprt him anyway. Nothing you don't know, but a damn good read.

But the whole damn thing is good. OK. that's not true. Skip any post with the word "dance" in the title. But that should go without saying.

Also read the article on how Bush uses his faith to guide policy from the Times Magazine. Also. You know this, but full of anecdotes and such that are very much worth reading.

She doesn't have cankles.

2004-10-18T11:20:00.000-04:00

I like bands that want to make me throw bricks through windows. Music most profoundly hit me during my days of destruction. The times of f week long crystal meth binges and crashed cars.

I remember being 19 in 1998 and walking into a bar and hearing Gang of Four on the sound system. It was the first time I had ever my favorite band being played in a public place. It was that exact moment where New York first felt like home. And even though the bands that have emulated Gang of Four have gone from chic to passe, it is still a sound that forces my eyes shut, makes me bite my lip, and makes my muscles burn with a desire to thrash around and show the world what power they hold within. That sounds silly and over-dramatic, but its how I feel.

The Moving Units do that for me. The new album is fine in my book. It is derivitive and a year or two too late in this ever changing musical world, but it is right up my alley. And fuck the world. Fuck trends and all that. All I know is that they blew me away at the Delancy on Friday, putting on the best show I've seen them do.

I didn't see Arcade Fire, but I did manage to influence a couple people into going who were blown away. I did see The Dears (or is it Deers?). They reminded me of Arcade Fire mixed with Broken Social Scene and Canadian bands in general. It seems like a lot of the Canadian bands are going for that rich layered sound. Its good. And I like it. But as I said. No bricks are tempting me when I hear it.

But blah. Fuck music. CMJ makes me so sick of talking music and sick of people who talk about music.

I am dead broke. I have some pennies and thats it. Seriously. My friends have been tremendous with helping me out and I will pay them all back in full. Especially Sarah, who helped me not with money, but with words and gave me a sentence or two of honesty which laid the foundation for my recent decision to put 100% of my effort into an attempt to create a true monogamous and respectful relationship. Nor more will I leave her alone in my bed as I galavant off to procreate with another lady friend. No longer will I ignore her calls as I spoon another.

Hefty words for such a little man, but my heart has been filled with a new vigor to be good.

The price you pay for a romp in the hay is much to much these days. I am not willing to lose this person. I enjoy our jokes and our fights, our binges and recoveries, and all else that seems to make us get along so well.

And if all I have to do to keep that is to practice making babies with just her, then ok. I like to practice making babies with her anyway.

"I think I'm the kind of guy that deserves the kind of women I don't deserve"

2004-10-17T20:33:00.000-04:00

South Africans have computers too! And they blog! And its about girls! I didn't know that they had women there. Just Charlize Theron, who left. I guess I was wrong.

So anyway, some guy has a new blog that reminds me of when I was still able to talk openly about the girls in my life without it getting me into a shitload of trouble. Now all the best parts remain unspoken. They remain that way so that no one chops off my penis.

I suggest you read this
sordid tale.

My favorite line is this:

"I decided to not call her for the next 2 days just to give her the gift of missing me."

Fucking Genius. I should have written that.

If I was a genius that is.

men, young and old.

2004-10-15T11:13:00.000-04:00

I had a lot of fun at Sarah and Karen's party at Snitch and I was really happy with the way Apartment's set went but I was not happy with the 3 hours of sleep I got that night. I hadn't slept more than 4-5 hours a night in way too many days and It was fucking with my ability to work and deal with people and all that shit.

So the second I got home last night I passed the fuck out. I had this dream where I went to some party and Mr. White handed me a baggie with a rocky powder in it. He said it was called "triple dip" and I rubbed it all over my tongue.

I got really high. I love taking drugs in dreams. So guilt free. But in this dream, when I got high, I got really playful and went on a quest to find something to play with. I stumbled across a box of old toys and opened it up. Inside were star wars figures and a little rubber sperm whale. I was flooded with memories of my childhood and my sentimental emotions got the best of me and I could feel so intensely the value these items once held in my little boy mind. The realization that that little boy no longer existed, and never would again caused this downward spiral of sad thoughts of aging and dying. And in this dream I sat there realizing that when I died, Everyone would remember me at the age I was when I died, and not as that little boy. Most likely, the only ones who ever knew that little boy, like my parents and grandparents, would long since be dead, and to the living, the younger generations, I would be remembered as old and it would be as if that little boy never existed at all.

This was in my dream.

But it really fucked with my head when I awoke. I was severely depressed and wished there was someone there to smother me with a pillow.

Outside there was insanity. What seemed like a couple thousand Hasidic Jews decended upon the neighborhood and filled a 100,000 square foot building for what I was told was a wedding. There were cops everywhere and they had lights set up that lit up the nighttime streets like it was high noon.

But as I watched the hordes of guests arrive, I noticed one glaring detail.

They were all men.

It must have been the single largest sausage fest of all time.

secrets and lies

2004-10-13T11:25:00.000-04:00

My friend and his girlfriend got in a little tiff. It was dumb. he was being a bit vague about something. She said he was being secretive or some shit and he thought she was prying. he said it was because he is used to having to hide things from girls and forgets that she is so awesome that he can be open with her. he forgets how good he has it.

But this morning I thought of something. I realized I am commonly very vague to girls. I keep dumb secrets. I lie about stupid shit, like which friend I saw. Even when its entirely innocent.

I think i do this because having a secret makes me feel separate from them. it keeps me feeling like there is something independent about me that can't be touched by them. I think when you open up you become dependent on someone and that dependency is what makes the feelings of heartbreak and loss so intense when you two split.

I'm sick of that feeling and it helps me not to rely on someone else to be happy.

Its probably a big fucking obstacle in terms of truly entering a mutually loving and trusting relationship.

maybe I should work on that.

And my boss says I smell like booze.

2004-10-13T09:41:00.000-04:00

There is this restaurant near my apartment. Its one of those places that looks like a grease spoon diner of yesteryear only some wannabe fancy chef has taken it over and charges way too much for way too little food. But once a month this place has a free pasta night where you can eat their yummy carbs hobo style and so my friends and I went. But after not moving in that soup kitchen line, we opted for pizza, as a slice was all most of us could afford. You eat such shit when you are broke. We don't have enough for groceries and at $2/meal, pizza is an incredible deal. Fuck fitness. but more on that in a bit.

We saw The Five O'Clock Heroes, who are still, in my opinion, the best unsigned rock band in the city. Or maybe I am just overly passionate about the careers of kids who live in my building. Its a good building. I love it and all that dwell in it. Except for the frat boy douchebags next door. They can rot in hell.

The Heroes post show celebration took place at Darkroom, where else. The Libertines also were having their party there so the place was pretty full for a Tuesday night.

A couple of the British Boys showed up and some of them admitted to thinking I was "a twat" when they met me in London. But I was drunk all the time in London and I think I have since won them over. When we had dinner the other day one of them asked me why I loved London so much. One of the reasons I gave him was the girls. they laughed at me. They said American birds were prettier. Girls here agree. But I staunchly stand by position that girls there are in better shape. Ok. Let me correct that. The girls that like Rock and Roll there are in better shape. I'm sorry, but our rock girls are not. I don't know if its the binge drinking, the high-fructose corn syrup, or what, but its just not fair. There, you go out, and like 8 out of 10 girls have damn near perfect bodies. They should. they are young. Young girls should have insane metabolisms and youthful figures. Its heaven. Mr. Red and I were ready to abandon our homeland. And at this dinner, the Brits kept pointing out of the window of the restaurants trying to show me cute girls they saw, but then last night, one of them grabbed me and told me I was right. That it was highly dissappointing. Here they were with this accent which girls foolishly fall for and there wasn't a girl there he wanted to use it on. Is that shallow? yes. but when you are on a week long vacation, you tend want shallow connections. save the love for the mother country. Maybe the same is true for boys, but, at least with the boys I know, they are all trim and in good shape. Maybe they could all stand to hit the weight room a bit, but at least they have a smaller ass than their parents.

We were watching America's Funniest Home Videos the other night and this woman was sliding down a slide into a pool only her thighs got stuck halfway down and she never hit the water. My friend was like, "yup, that pretty much sums up the state of the American body right there." people from Europe often say one of the first things they notice when they arrive here is just how fat everyone is.

I remember being in London and these totally cute girls were vying for the attention of regular lads, all trying to be sharp and witty and full of humor and passion. here, there are cute girls, but they are so used to getting so much attention they have less reason to develop other quality characteristics. There, they have enough fit girls to go around and you aren't sucker punched by the pretty as you are here.

As a friend of mine recently said, "I kept thinking, you are so boring, if you were any less pretty, I would never even have agreed to this dinner." We are fools for the fit form. And so now all these girls yell at me and my friends for being superficial and less mature than our compatriots across the pond and we want to scream that of course if every girl you met was in good physical shape it would cease to be a major draw, but here in super size me land, our priorities are all fucked as just as I oooh and ah whenever I see a baby or a puppy, something biological happens when I see a fine set of legs on a young lady. My million year old genes see something fit and want it to join my genes and make strong babies. And it sucks. And I am jealous of them and their land where there are enough of them that they can forget about it and concentrate on the rest of the person, the things that create real connections and truly foster love.

And no, you can't comment. I am much to hungover to care what you think.

a lesson in humaity

2004-10-13T03:03:00.000-04:00

I am so sick and tired of anyone giving shit to Sarah/ultragrrrl.

in the last three days she has provided a house to stay for 5-7 people, knitted a scarf for a man, and made numerous cd's, at cost, by herself, for an unsigned band she likes. That isn't probably even the half of it. Just what I know. By my account, in the last 3 days alone, she has bettered the lives of 12 people. She might not be curing cancer, but who can claim they have done nearly so much in the past 3 days? And I can promise you this is a regular thing for her.

I haven't done that. Very few have. That is what makes her so goddamn special.

What have you done for the past 3 days for complete strangers out of your own time outside of work?

To do list

2004-10-12T16:45:00.000-04:00

Go see Apartment (w. the bravery and others) at Snitch (21st btwn 5th & 6th) Wednesday night. Open bar, 10-11pm, only $5. Apartment are 4 cute British boys who play damn good music and are fronted by the handsome and charming David. He once saved me from certain death.

Also. Mr. Red and I have done sketches and will be doing test shoots with a friend for lighting, but we really want to take our first picture for our project. We need a female to photograph. So simple. So quick. No nudity or anything shady like that at all. Prefereably someone taller and with long dark hair. it should be fun. we will knock back drinks and blast music.

a side project

2004-10-11T15:18:00.000-04:00

My roommate and I are both feeling stifled by our desk jobs and want a personal outlet for our more creative sides. Everyone wants this. We don't think we are special or anything.

Anyway. We want to make something concrete and we have an idea in mind. Part of this thing we want to make will involve Mr. Red's desire to further his growing passion and talent for photography and his desire to stray away from just taking pictures of things he comes across and moving into the realm of more premeditated and well thought out pictures.

Basically, the idea is to make a calender. I will be scouring my archives and picking twelve posts that I like to edit down into succint stories. Mr. Red will be creating accompaning photos loosely based on the writing. He is interested in placing the idea in a completely different time context and used this picture as an example of what he means by that.

He has been taking very good pictures as of late. If anyone is willing to help us out by agreeing to let Mr. Red capture your image on film it would be most greatly appreciated. Email me and I will give you details. It will be low budget but fun. So now that the weather is getting cold, come spend your weekend afternoons inside working on a project with us instead of eating buckets of ice cream or watching golf or whatever the fuck is on TV on a Saturday afternoon.

It will be fun and playful and most likely there will be drinking involved and a good time should be had by all.

And if you have any make up skills, wardrobe skills, or graphic design skills, that would be greatly appreciated as well.

Email me if you are interested in learning more. My email address can be found by clicking on my profile.

half-assed weekend update.

2004-10-11T02:03:00.000-04:00

I spent saturday on my bike doing Open House New York shit. Seeing offices and residences in the city. I liked the place with the waterfall in the living room. It also had a "river" underneath the floor covered in plexi-glass with fish in it. It looked like a normal brownstone from the outside. The three year old kid who lives there has no idea how fucking cool his house is.

Still wanting calmness, I stayed in Brooklyn Saturday night and actually had a really fun time at a local bar I hadn't been to in a long time. I danced and drank and B showed up and I almost killed her when I attempted to bike both of us home on my tiny BMX and we had an almost distasterous whipeout on North 8th St. Don't offer to bike you and a lady home when you can't even stand up. You might die.

My friend David is in a terrific band. They are called Apartment. They are from London. On Sunday, he and his bandmates arrived. They are staying at Sarah's so I biked over there to hang out and very happilly I learned that both Stephan and Imran brough their fancy high London music scene society asses over to NYC as well. I spent the afternoon walking around with London boys. Girls are so fucked. They have no idea what is in store for them once these cute as hell, sexy accented, rock'n'roll British lads are well rested and ready to prey on the female.

Many of them had never been to NYC before and it was refreshing to see them take such joy in something as simple as seeing a stereotypical New York fire escape. It was really fucking nice. A few hours later Sarah called me and told me I could have her extra secret Interpol show ticket.

The show was good. I thought they all seemed tired. Especially Sam. I thought Paul looked like a member of Hanson and Carlos reminded me of Paul Simonen (SP?) of the Clash as he appears on their first album cover. As I watched his fingers dance up and down the fret board for those crazy disco octave bass lines on Slow Hands I couldn't help but laugh as his finger movements reminded me of the "itsy bitsy spider" hand motion of youth. Overall it was fun. They are one of the few bands that I can enjoy entirely sober. From an alcoholic like me that is the highest praise you can get.

Afterwords I went to the after party and got to catch up and hobnob with various people I haven't seen since I've started exhiling myself from that whole scene. And refreshingly, I did not drink a forty before I left the house and I was able to converse with friends and I didn't look like a drunken jackass as I met Paul's girlfriend and Carlos' brother. I also saw many other people I hadn't seen in a long time and I really enjoyed catching up with people. Life in New York isn't so bad.

Sadly, everyone else has Columbus Day off, so they were all in the mood to become drunken wrecks and I headed home, having a great cabbie, who was white. that is rare as fuck. But what made him great was that he also worked as a tour guide and was able to tell me many places I should go to for my weekend bicycle trips. I tipped him well.

Things will be ok.

Fuck that.

Things are ok.

Life is a good thing.

[PS. Go see David's band "Apartment" at Snitch this Wednesday as Sarah and Karen kick off their "Tarts of Pleasure" night. Also playing are The Bravery and other bands you should like. More details later.]

goodbye girl

2004-10-09T01:26:00.000-04:00

Home alone. tis ok.

fuck the drinking and the dancing.

after work I headed over to a Red Sox bar, but they were backed and headed over to my usual sports bar. I sat next to some dorky as fuck boy. That is to say, it was a sports bar of my liking. He was a 22 year old Harry Potter. glasses. accent. everything.

I liked talking to him and we cheered together as Boston won.

I am home being a dork now. I tried calling my friend. A girl named Rachel answered. She had found the phone in a cab.

So fuckit . I can get up early as planned.

BTW. all the baseball comercials feature Franz Ferdinand. the "I'm cheatin' on you" song. I think its called, "Cheating on you," but don't bet me on that.

rock'n'roll and baseball.

kissin kuzzins.

[update: I woke up early as planned after having viscious dreams of smashing the faces of my friends on tile floors. My living room is a disaster. There are empty alcohol containers everywhere and I obviously broke my no smoking indoors rule as there are cigarette butts everywhere and the place reeks of smoke. When the fuck did this happen? I don't remember this at all.]

put down the drink

2004-10-08T13:30:00.000-04:00

I don't think I'll be going out tonight. Not that anyone will really miss me. Hell, it might even save me a couple viscious confrontations with B.'s friends who I would probably bump into at some point.

But thats not the reason. The reason is, is that this weekend is Open House New York, where many buildings that are usually closed to the public are opened up for free tours, both guided and unguided. Everything from catacombs and cemetaries, design firm offices, the Freemason Grand Lodge, old urban ruins, to lighthouses and boats. All sorts of shit. The bars will be open next weekend, but these places will be off limits for another year. Most places are only open from 10am - 3pm. This means getting up early and hauling ass on my bike around town.

I strongly urge anyone in New York to pass on your usual Friday night debauchery so that you can be well rested in the morning and see some of the more fantastic sites of the city.

Plus, I'm fucking dead broke like always.

Baseball:

Holy shit did I get emails about baseball. It seems there are a lot of baseball fans out there that feel like they too must hide their passion. I think we need a support group that meets late at night Fight Club style where we can freely and without shame talk about such things as the Giambi steroid/mystery illness controversy and his future with the Yankees and how the Dodgers could go from a strong pitching/weak hitting team to the crappy pitcher convention it is now.

Here is who I want:

Astros over Braves (I have no real reason for this. I don't care for either team)
Cards over Dodgers (Yes LA is originally a Brooklyn team but they are the sworn enemy of any Giants fan)
Twins over Yankees (Fuck the Yankees and their mister moneybags mentality)
Red Sox over Angels (Angels beat the Giants in the World Series two years ago and I will never forgive them)

I get out of work at 5 and want to go watch what I can of the Sox game. Anyone know of a fun place to have a pint or two and watch Johnny (is my homeboy) Damon kick the Angel's ass?

The best plucking song ever.

2004-10-07T23:16:00.000-04:00

It doesn't matter what size your twanger is. [via boingboing]

Dating New York

2004-10-06T22:38:00.000-04:00

GRE class quote of the night:

"your goal is to get the right answer, not to understand why the answer is right."

You do this by immediately eliminating wrong answers. Answer A: The author tries to persuade the reader that....."did the author tried persuade the reader of anything? No. don't read the rest. its wrong."

This is mentality pisses me off. These people that don't look at things, don't think, stick to set rules. sadly, they do well. It reminds me of kids in business school who learned all these strategies and techniques. They didn't understand them, but they new how to use them. Results are more important than understanding. barf.

Yesterday, I had lunch with some friends who work at MTV over in their building. Like most co-workers, they passed the time discussing career paths and love lives. One girl was talking about this boy she was dating and how much hotter she found him after she got to know and love him. Everyone knows this, but its nice when you see things that disprove the GRE philosophy of "you didn't meet my immediate criteria, you're gone."

But I also got to thinking about this conversation Mr. Red and I had a while back when we were both rampantly dating. We were both fucking sick of seeing these same issues arise and got to talking about patterns and how to recognize them earlier before things got complicated.

We both were dating people new to New York at the time and we noticed that people new to New York tend to fall into two categories. Some are so obnoxiously excited by the city. They have to go to every fucking fancy party, every after party, meet every famous person they can. It gets sickening. You're out with them and they are like, "Holy shit! its Billy, the singer of the FuckTwats!" and you just want to scream, "WHO THE FUCK CARES!!!!"

Conversely, there are some who move here and ignore the fact that they live in fucking New York City, who just continue to live life as they always had, going straight from work to home, cooking dinner, and sitting down for a night of sitcoms, sometimes hanging out at a friend's place and you just want to fucking scream, "there's shit going on out there! and you're missing it! and you're making me miss it by hanging out with you!"

But also, we noticed that people who had been here for a long time also exhibited a similiar trend. Either they've been here so long, they're bored and feel like they've done it all and they just want to settle down, or, they forget that New York is just ONE FUCKING CITY and are so obsessed with that stupid small island of Manhattan that they become so self righteous and self-important that you want to fucking kick their New York centric asses.

And so we came to the conclusion that its sadly important to make sure you and the person you are dating are at the same point in your New York lifestyle. Maybe this is true for all cities, but I think its effects are exponentially higher here. But maybe I'm just New York centric.

And since we've both been here in for a few years (3 years in his case, 6 in mine) that it was sadly, doomed, if you tried to date someone who had lived here a different amount of time. Sure, personality and preferences can change that, but it was amazing how well our theory could predict issues before they happened and sadly, we both wasted a lot of time dating people who just weren't on the same page as us as to what the role of the city was in their life. And looking back, all my most successful relationships were with people who had been in the city roughly the same amount of time as me.

Sure, there are exceptions. Sometimes you meet someone who can rekindle your love of the city and get you out and exploring again, and conversely, sometimes you meet someone who helps you pull in the reigns and prevent any early death from substance abuse and exhaustion and helps you get your priorities straight. But more often than not, its too forced and someone ends up resenting the other.

I really think its an unexplored reason as to why people often find it hard to date people in New York.

Because you're both dating the city as well.

I don't like going out anymore.

2004-10-06T10:18:00.000-04:00

I didn't bike this last weekend so I've been feeling unfit. So last night when I got home I jumped on my bike and rode over the Williamsburg bridge. Its kind of a tough bridge when you're tired, not like that pussy Brooklyn Bridge.

I also have an obsession with baseball. My friends do not share this obsession. They all think sports are dumb. These are little indie rock kids who might be convinced to play a schoolyard sport like dodgeball or kickball, but baseball? No fucking way. leave that shit to frat boys they'd say. But me. I like the game. B. has a friend who suffers from this as well and so we became email baseball buddies. maybe I annoyed the shit out of him, but I was able to finally talk shop with someone who knows who both Arcade Fire and Vladimir Guerrero are. Anyway. When I fucked up things with B., I lost that as well. So after I crossed the bridge, I went to a sports bar and watch the Red Sox/Angels game. I was so desperate to talk baseball I started chatting up every guy in the bar like I had just snorted up a viscious viagra/meth combo and was desperate for some deep dickin' by a real man, but jocks are homophobes. None of them would talk to me.

I biked home a tad drunk and dejected. Biking down Broadway a bit drunk during rush hour kinda scares me but I was ok.

Later, I went to a bar with the girl I kissed in front of B.'s friends. IThe drinks were strong and cheap, but the girl started fawning over every douchebag there. Maybe they were just friends, maybe they were gay, maybe she was totally crushing on all of them. All I knew was that I was basically sitting by myself downing visciously strong and cheap Gin & Tonics and in my drunken state found her behavior to be displeasing and so I up and left. No real goodbye or anything.

Feeling the loss of B. in my life more than ever, I headed over to Snitch to what I believe was the Killers afterparty. I'm not really sure. That's not why I was there. The doormen were dicks and wouldn't even look at me. They didn't even utter a sound in my direction. All girls got waved right in though. but badly dressed poor boys like me were invisible, so I just walked by their too-cool-to-even-look-at-you eyes sneaking in with flock of short skirts.

Holy fucking douchebag central.

First of all. i was just in my silly bike riding clothes. Jeans and a tee. I think I was the ONLY one NOT in a fucking black shirt and tight black pants and every single blonde LAish slut-whore let me know it by giving out sighs of repulsion anytime the crowd forced me within two feet them.

I thought the place was shit. Exactly what you'd get when washed up ex-junkie LA rockers from the early 90's try and start a club in New York. I hope Sarah can overcome that when she starts her night there (a week from today).

I found B. who seemed pissed off that I was invading her life and her chance to go out and have fun and forget about me. She stormed off and I wandered through the crowd alone looking for friends. I found a couple but they were all hammered and flighty. B. then called my phone and I spotted her by the bar and we left together. we went back to my place. no funny business. Just shared a bed. And finally I felt satisfied with my night.

Craigtheboyfriend does his/her homework

2004-10-05T16:46:00.000-04:00

I am so completely impressed with this spoof.

The details are dead on. Hot is even spelled with two t's.

Mr. Brightside doesn't live here.

2004-10-05T10:08:00.000-04:00

Last night was that Killers/Ambulance LTD. show.

I didn't go. Never was a big Killers fan. I'm glad I got to see them last Feburary in London. Mainly because I still laugh about howt Mr. Red and I were so drunk at that show that we peed in our pint glasses because we couldn't make it to the bathroom in time. Poor British bar backs.

My old roommie and I used to go see Ambulance at "Williamsburg Wednesdays" at the now defunct LUXX. They were one of the better bands that played that night and it was always so sad that they only played to like 10 people. But then again, I am a total sucker for the song, "Mr. Rain". When I was obsessed with the Velvets I used to sing that nonstop all the fucking time. But that was a long time ago and I've since had my fill of them. Plus, did anyone see that fashion spread in the Times with Marcus in the fancy suit looking all GQ/CK (which is sadly lost in the Times pay to see it archives)? I mean, fuck. Thats so fucking Diego Garcia of you (who was also in that same spread). I personally like Elefant, but many who don't cite Diego and his self-obsessed personality as a major reason. I'm not one to comment on self-obsession, but lets just say, if its not working for him or for me, it probably won't work for you Marcus.

Yesterday was a rough day. A full day of work followed by my GRE classes is usually enough to tire me out, but I was also going through some shit with B. It totally makes me sad. I admitted everything to her. All the horrible things I had done and the lies I had said. When I woke up this morning and reflected on all these things, all lumped together, I was really shocked. I don't know why I can be such a dick. She is so super and we clicked really well. Maybe I fear commitment and try and sabotage it. Maybe I resented the assumed monogamy of slowly developed and unspoken relationships. But really, none of that even matters. What matters are actions, and my actions were mean and callous and I can't think of anyone in the world who is less deserving of mean and callous actions than B. But enough of that. I'm sure she is sick of me talking about her on here and so as a sign of new respect for her, I will return her private life back to her and stop blogging about it.

But I'm just so sad about it. She's become a dear friend and I don't think anyone but she and I realize just how dear that closeness is, and my in ability to be right for her as a boyfriend has destroyed any hopes of any continuation of that friendship. I hope she finds someone who treats her right and isn't a complete dick like I was.

Fuck. I didn't even make it one second without mentioning her again.

So overly melodramtic, but I'm feeling emotional.

2004-10-04T14:41:00.000-04:00

ok. I can't even write about this shit anymore. my personal life it a way too fucked up to write about without getting upset.

Basically. B. and i are over. its super sad because she kicks ass and I do things like make out with a new girl in front of her friends, pouring salt over fresh wounds. It makes me sad that I do mean things but I guess I thought that the best way to move on was to deny the past any sense of power over my actions.

I am so sad because B. has become one of my best friends and I love being with her more than anything but I am not right as her boyfriend and I am so sad that relationships create friendships so doomed to die before they should. This is why I try not to date people I like. I tell Sarah that all the time. that I can't date people I like. I hate losing good friends, and I undoubtably will because I treat girls like poop because I have major fucking issues and am totally immature.

And so I got really fucking retarded drunk on Saturday at the Bloc Party show at the Tribeca Grand and totally looked like a fool and eventually went to Misshapes, where I promptly went on a food searching mission to sober me up and had to wait in a long-ass line waiting for pizza, while my friend did her best to prevent me from biting the guido in front of me.

I woke up the next morning in her bed with my gum everywhere, totally destroying everything and I felt really really bad. Plus she totally realizes what a fucking jerk I am and how messy my personal life is right now, so I fear that is over before it even began.

I can't do anything right and I am too fucked up to study for my GRE class so I am fucking that up. And my motherfucking baseball team didn't make it into the playoffs and I didn't go on a bikeride on saturday because the weather was shit and without them my mind tends to go a little crazy and this post is boring because its just me ranting with no point and no insights and this blog has sucked for so long and I hate that people read it because I can't open up and it should just die but its hard to let things go and if I have to let one more thing die today it should be me, not this dumb blog.

PS. that guy who hates blogs tried to trash my blog today but sadly he didn't do a good enough job, which sucks because this blog is such shit these days it would be easy too. I am too lazy to make a link so you can read it at:

someblogsarebetterthanothers.blogspot.com

ad comments about other things you hate about this blog because he needs help trashing it because he was lazy when he wrote it. just like how i've been lazy here.

coincidence?

Its hard to find a good cock.

2004-09-29T13:48:00.002-04:00

Sometimes when I get bored at work, I like to look at these Photoshop Contests. Some are really good!

I decided to try some of my own and was browsing through images when I stumbled across a picture of Dick Cheney. I thought to myself, "Holy Fuck! His head looks just like the tip of a circumsized penis." and I knew what I had to do. I had to make a real DICK Cheney and put his face on the head of a penis (not very original, I'm sure).

So I had the photo of Cheney. All I needed was a good cock. This was harder than I thought. I did a google image search, which mainly gave me naked African tribesmen. Next I explored the world of gay porn sites. Still no luck. All the shots were from the front or side, or the penises were buried in butts and mouths.

I was getting discouraged. I needed a picture of a cock from the angle I see my own cock from. I needed one from MY point of view. Then, like a miracle, I stumbled across a site called POV blowjobs. And there I found the cock I needed. I'm still working on the image. Its pretty graphic as his head is about to enter the mouth of some young asian girl.

But as I was working on this, I kept thinking about this whole POV concept and I realized that I had never put any thought into what the point of view of the girl was. I know that as a boy that when I am lickin' clit and I look up, the tummy becomes this celestial plane of flesh and the boobies look like gentle rolling hills in the distance. Its truly a remarkable landscape. But for girls, the angle is different. when not peering up at the boy, what do you see? Do you have your eyes closed? Are you staring at a mess of pubes? a belly button? I'm really curious to know.

as an aside, while googling "blow jobs" [google: "did you mean 'blowjobs'?"], I found a worldwide blowjob counter. Depending on your browser settings, it either continually updates, with numbers shooting higher and higher all the time, or stays the same until you refresh it. I wonder how scientific this is? What sort of algorythm are they using? Does it slow down during certain times of the day? I have many questions.

Oh, and only New Yorkers will get this, but, after seeing that site, I can NEVER look at the metronome clock at Union Square the same again. (I tried desperately to find a picture where you could see the numbers with no luck).

And now. Read this heartbreaking story from the NY Times about evil penises and how rough women have it.

Who wants a beej now?

Heaven restores you in light.

2004-09-28T19:01:00.000-04:00

bridge
Originally uploaded by gnj202.

35 mile bike trips cure even the worst of hangovers. Mr. Red woke me up and I felt like I was going to puke, but instead we biked to Manhattan Beach. We took the long way back and Mr. Red snapped this. he took much better pictures of the sunset and the bridge but I am an egomaniac and am only posting the one with me in it.

forked

2004-09-28T18:55:00.000-04:00

forked
Originally uploaded by gnj202.

Can someone tell me what the fuck this is? I think its a jellyfish of some sort, but it was really thick and had no tenacles or insides. It was like a saucer of clear jello and there were hundreds washing up on the beach.

I kinda wanted to eat one but it made my finger burn when I touched it.