What a beautiful day!  I got up early, threw on some shades, and went straight downtown.  The Village was calling my name.  It was a gorgeous out!  Summer is definately on the way.  See for yourself.   

I metup with the elusive and artsy Lynn this afternoon for a very humbling lunch experience.  Lynn is a chef @ this 5th avenue resturant and has major attitude about food, so we can never meet @ an all-night diner or a BBQ’s.  It’s always gotta be some quaint little space that only culinary elitists know about, and it’s usually hidden somewhere in the backalley cracks of the fucking west village (a neighborhood I pretty much DESPISE b/c I always get lost up in there, up in there).  This time we ended up @ Giorgione and ohhh what a time we had.  Everything on the menu was in Italian and the only thing I recognized was “roasted chicken” so that’s what I got, much to my company’s chagrin).  I sort of forgot how ridiculously messy chicken is and ended up reverting back to my southernboy, eat-with-your-hands roots.  There I sat, in the middle of this swanky modern bistro, devouring the shit out of that chicken and just being sloppier than a damn Mexican should be.  It was obscene, really, but Lynn pretended not to notice, God bless him.  We wandered the village for most of the afternoon, went shopping for men’s accessories (yes, girls, we DO rock out the bling-blings too, ok?) and wound up @ this kickass boys-boutique called Jack Spade.  They had the coolest shit, man.  There was this bigass bureau full of the most random stuff.  I loved that place, right down to the “we’re so indie” employees who stand around looking so bored to be there.  Lynn bought a wallet and I took more pictures, then we wandered back up to his fantastic apartment for a bit.  He fucking lives in a brownstone on Prince & 6th ave, it kills me but I took refuge in playtime with the kitties so it was fun for everyone.

By the way, when did they slap this building together?  I like it.  Fucking NYU kids, man.  They get all the cool shit.  My very own Jax just got accepted there, so maybe I can mooch off of her ubercoolness till I get some of my own.

I had such a nice time today, perusing along cobblestone streets in my shades, with my Mocha Coconut Frapp (a la Starbucks), and The Sundays blasting on my headphones.  Just lovin the day.  I did some window shopping, looked @ colorful street art, spotted my dream apartment, watched some basketball, and I am now toying with the idea of taking up chess just so I can be cool like these two winners.  They’re my new heroes.

Spriteboy Speaks

(click on the image to enlarge)

No, sweet friends, your eyes do not decieve you.  It’s REAL.  That is, in fact, the momma of my baby shooting me some lyrical love.  My hilarious dreamgirl Melissa actually e‘d me last night out of NOWHERE!   In what universe does this happen, you ask?!  Why, only in the world wide web!  As mentioned before, I have been all about defending her antics on the Battle of the Sexes each week (I said it then and I’ll say it now — Julie DESERVED to get the shit kicked out of her and Melissa fucking brought it!!!).  Well apparently, she has kept an occassional eye on random message boards, staying in-the-loop on what people are saying about her and now that she’s off the show, she’s ready to relax and let it all fade away — but not before raising the roof and sending some props to her ever-devoted Spriteboy.  The bonds of our beautiful love prohibits me from going into too much detail (heh), but she basically wrote to tell me that she knows all about my unwavering devotion to her and that she thinks it’s hella cute.    How fucking sweet is that?  I wrote back with a proposition of marraige and also an offer for some good old-fashioned, anytime-anywhere-anywayyoulikeit bodyrocking.  I’m still waiting for a response.

So, this now makes for yet another random encounter with a Real World cast member.  I have managed to undergo six of these damn fools so far (4 of them all from the same season!), and the adorable Melissa makes it Lucky #7.  I swear, at this point Bunim-Murray should just make me an honorary cast member.  It’s obviously meant to be.  What’s going on, man?  Cast me already.  MTV so needs me.

Dude, I seriously cannot believe that she wrote me!  She wrote to my SpriteboyWorld account, not to my general Yahoo! one, which means that she must have tracked me down to this site.  Yay!  This webpage thing is just too cool, man.  I KNEW it would payoff someday!  Soon enough Melissa and I will be together, happy and in love forever.  We’ll be repopulating this planet with quick-tempered, chair-throwing, maniacally outspoken biracial babies.  She’s gonna be mine, kids.  Oh yes indeed.  Just you fucking wait…  

This commercial makes me laugh and cry and pee myself simultaneously, I hope it does the same to you.  It’s just pure genuis, b/c (as a rule of thumb) confused asain people and happy black folks are just funny.

>No, my racism knows no bounds.

It’s official.  I am going to see The Matrix Reloaded with my cousins on the morning of my birthday.  They’re coming to pick me up from my house, take me to breakfast, and then to the movies for the first show of the day.  They already bought my ticket and everything.  I can’t fucking wait.  It’s gonna be just like when we were little, except hopefully this time I won’t end up running home in tears, denouncing my mexican heritage and disowning my mom’s side of the family.  If they pull any more “The Boogie Man is coming for you” bullshit, I will have to go New York on their brown Houston asses.

BY the way? I find this picture of her somewhat disturbing.  She looks like one of the Hanson brothers.

I checked Stephan Jenkins from Third Eye Blind into the hotel the other day.  He added Vanessa Carlton as an additional guest to the room, which I guess confirms that they’re actually dating.  Makes me sad for some reason.  How do you go from fucking Charlize Theron to that nasal, dog-faced girl?  Yes, that’s right — I said it.  She’s a mannish, DOG-FACED girl and I hate her voice.  Charlize Theron, man!  She was ROBBED, dropped like a false charge!  I don’t think I want to live in a world where this happens.  He was a nice guy though so I cut him some slack and upgraded him to a suite,  just b/c “How’s It Gonna Be” was the damn anthem back in senior year, and you know how I do.  Also he was hella tall.  Like, TOWERING.  It made me scurred and I just wanted him to get away from the desk.

YoungSpriteboy strikes again.  He was with his crew tonight and they had this weird, beach-bum looking guy with them — he had this really gross Larry Clark thing going on, which makes me scared for YoungSprite.  They appeared to be all grouping up in the lobby to head out to some kind of event but actually only ended up having dinner @ our Cafeteria.  Who the hell hangs out @ some hotel every weekend, I’m curious to know.  Our wee fashionista-boy was wearing little clubkid sunglasses, too (in the middle of the lobby @ 11pm), which sort of made me want to shake him.  I refrained.  Why do I care?  No clue.  I worry for the future of this young man.  I just do.

In sad news: my baby momma finally got sent home tonight.  I’m so sad to see her go.  She was the sole reason for me to tune into that damn show.  I have been defending her lovely ass all over the message boards @ TWoP week after week for months.  Can’t be having everybody hatin’ on my girl.  Yes, that’s right I said message boards.  I DO post on that shit.  Shut up. 

So, could NYC’s weather be any MORE beautiful?  It’s killing me.  The lobby that I’m stationed in @ work is under a huge glass atrium with a giant window behind us.  We have a bigass Alice In Wonderland-themed Park out there and ppl can go have drinks and and lunch.  I was jealous of every single person who sat out there today, just sipping their juice and enjoying the breeze.  To make matters worse, my co-worker Kai stopped in on his dayoff to say hi, he was wearing a t-shirt and shorts and sipping some Starbucks.  As I stood around sweating in my stupid black-on-black front desk uniform, I began to realize that he was purposefully trying to make me enraged.  He was rubbing it in my face that he was comfortable and I was not. 
“Get out of here,” I hissed at him. 
“Huh?” he said, all bright and chipper. 
“GET OUT OF HERE!” I screamed, hurling a stapler at his head. 
Kai ducked and looked at me incredulously.  “Chris, what’s the matter with you?!”
“GET OUT!  NOW!“
“What the hell?!”
“I’ll KILL you, bitch!” I cried, lunging for him.  My shortness presented itself to be a hinderence and I barely made it anywhere. “I know what you’re doing!  And I will not stand for it!”
“You’re insane!  I’m fucking leaving!”
“Take me with you, Kai!” I begged. “Take me out of here!  I’ll do anything!  I’ll carry your shit, I’ll walk through Times Square in the late afternoon!  Please, take me with you!”

Do you see what happens to me when I am left to my own devices?  They are totally going to lock me up one day.  I’m serious. 

I have a PLAYDATE tomorrow…

I may very well soon be living solo in the big city.  Yes, my dear BJ is taking that next step into New York Coolness and moving in with his cute girlfriend (who only lives downstairs on the first floor, with my ex —- it’s all very Melrose Place up in this mother).  This means that I will obviously be pulling all rent and utilities, as I have no plan to get another roommate.  I’m growing up to be a big boy now, I think it’s time I ended the whole Bert & Ernie, Chandler & Joey game.  I will be sad to see BJ go, but it’s probably the smartest thing.  We’re both growing into newer, bigger lives — ones that need their own apartments.  Plus, it was only a matter of time before our little spats got to be homicidal.  The other day, I left the milk out and he damn near beat me to death with the toaster. 

So all this picture-taking I’ve been doing lately?  Might be doing some more.   My fabulous buddy D is in town next weekend on a job with his photographer and wants to do a test shoot with me while he’s here.  I met D last year working on an indie — where he had to make me look bruised and sickly every day of the shoot — and he vowed to one day make me look the OPPOSITE of this.  D works on some of today’s biggest pop brats (he is the one to be held reponsible for the Skantification of Xtina) so I’m excited to see what he comes up with for my shoot.  But whatever, it’ll just be good to see him.

In other self-promotional news: my new movie Mission: Idiot is screening all by its wonderful self in June @ The Screening Room!  Yay!  It is NOT part of a festival, it is NOT part of contest — it is a full length independant feature playing at a known NYC theater.  Good stuff.  Right now, they’re doing mad amounts of promo-work, trying to get the word out there so that ppl will come see it.  Indie-god Kevin Smith is generously hosting some behind-the-scenes stuff on our film @ his site, so that’s good for us.  I hear that I came out really good and funny in this, so I look forward to seeing it.  How vain is that, man?  Whatever.  Go see my movie.  Well no wait, let me go see it first and then I’ll tell you if it’s any good.

Ok, I’m really sorry to be all annoying and shit with this “Look at me!  Look at me!” news.  I’m just kind of happy to have actory things to be excited about.  Enough.  Let’s find a new topic…

Struck by another fit of insomnia, I watched The Osbournes marathon last night.  How sweet is Ozzy singing “Mama I’m Coming Home”, cut to clips of Sharon laying in a hospital bed and I become a sniffling little wreck.  Cute as it all is, though? I’m not a fool.  I know what that woman is capable of and I am keeping my distance.  Wiry little banshee.

I signed up for this new thing @ work called Transitcheck, which is gonna provide me with my Metrocard @ a better discount.  They’ll even send it to my house.  It’s a pretty good program, it shortens my weekly paychecks a bit but I think that’s better b/c it means less taxes are taken out.  Whatever, I only did it to thumb my nose at the fucking MTA for hiking up the subway fare.  Liars!

Work on the whole has been kind of weird lately.  The recent firing of Dhalimu coupled with GayJay’s sendoff, plus the departure of Jax, it all just makes for a strange place to work in… I hear they layed off the entire Reservations Dept, too.  It’s like, “Who’s next?  Are we safe?  Why are the managers all going away?  Run screaming from the void!  Run screaming from the void!”  We were comepletely sold out last night, we were actually OVERSOLD (not enough rooms).  I was on edge all night long, just CERTAIN that I was gonna get that one last person who we’d have to turn away.  Ugh, that happened a few times working overnight and it’s still like the worst situation to ever be in.  You’re basically like, “Hi.  Welcome to Hudson.  Unfortunately, even tho you booked this reservation 9 months ago and came all the way from Japan to be here? our Reservations department was overzealous and already sold us out.  Um, there’s a Holiday Inn around the corner.”  Then you just have to hide bhind the desk wile they scream and wail and throw things at you.  Fucking sucks.

On the plus side? I have finally figured out how to do a good impression of Adolph.  Everybody @ work can do one really good, but mine was just sad.  I sounded all Helen Keller and shit (”Wah-wah!  Wah-wah!”).  But I have mastered it.  I’ll have to do it for you in an audio entry sometime.  Hee. 

So yesterday I had my photoshoot with those people from Pavement Magazine, for that urban wasteland layout they’re doing.  I felt so bad b/c I totally slept in all morning and didn’t meetup with the photographer, Schenck, until about 3pm.  So we had to rush through the shoot while the sun was still up.  It turned out great though.  We drove out to this huge abandoned airforce base in Far Rockaway, it was this big empty space that nobody ever uses anymore.  Pretty cool.  Schenck brought these old cameras and weird lenses that he was anxious to use, stuff that gets a really unique angle on thins.  They put some makeup on me to make me look pretty and then we just started wandering around.

Other than that one time for my headshots, I’ve never really been photographed before, so this was sort of a new experience.  My “direction” was to just relax and forget about the camera — which proved way harder than I thought.  As an actor, the goal is to BE INTERESTING and give the camera lots to use, and even when you’re being still, you still are DOING SOMETHING internal that shows up on film.  With this, it was totally different b/c you’re not supposed to be performing.  Was sort of hard for me to do at first, but it was a gorgeous day out and I was feeling all spritely kinds of Naure Boy and shit, so I got into it afterawhile.  We found this deserted beach area with all these broken piles of rubble and rusty pipes and wooden planks everywhere, there was this ripped up white leather recliner too, just sitting out in the sand.  Being surrounded by sand and waves and grass but still seeing the NYC skyline in the distance was too trippy, sort of like “Where am I?”  Most of my pictures on the beach were simply of me climbing things and just being a boy.  I ended up shirtless a lot, which I still don’t really see as all that exciting but Schenck was all about it.    It kept reminding me of that seduction scene from Cruel Intentions, the one where Sebastian corrupts the *cough-cough* innocent, virginal Cecile.

S: “You know, you could be a model.”
C: “Really?”
S: “Too bad you’re not sexy…”
C: “I can be sexy!”
S: “Oh yeah?  You know what would be super-DUPER sexy?  If you took off ALL your clothes…”
S: “Huh?”

So yeah, I got nekked… fully nekked.  And I think we pulled out a saddle at some point, too.  Hey, it’s Art.  I did, however, draw the line when he asked me to put on a baby bib, suck a pacifier and spank myself.  (I am so kidding, man.  Trust me, the clothes stayed ON my ass cuz you know, nobody really needs to see my business).  I’ll leave the blatant sexiness to the ignorant bitches like Travis.  Anyway, later we went to this big, greenish, busted up warehouse full of tires and broken glass and rusted cement blocks.  It was all edgy and indie and so fucking RENT.  We did this whole spread of angsty, broody Eminem-esque shots of me glaring and pouting in a hoodie sweatshirt, it was very 8 Mile.  I kept singing “Lose Yourself“, I couldn’t resist.  The best part? there were these two big ropes hanging from the rafters and they wrapped around this metal pipe, it was like this makeshift swing!  And I swung!  It was fun! 

All in all, I had a really good time.  I’m looking forward to seeing what makes the layout.  Supposed to meet with Schenck next week to look at the proofs and try to find something that neither of us totally despises.  He and I got on really well, it’s been cool meeting him.  We talked a lot about the upcoming shoot for the Zombie movie, which he is involved with as well.  They have some kickass stuff they’re doing with my character, Jordan.  He sort of serves as the 5th wheel of the group, makes things interesting just by being there.  Everybody sort of ends up using him as a catalyst for the crazy things that happen throughout the story.  I’m REALLY excited about it, I get to be a little shit-starter.  I can’t wait.

Fun day, it was.  I felt like a winner.  Fun day indeed.   

UK Matt sent this to me today b/c apparently, I’m just way too unaware.  So I share this with you now.  Go forth with the knowledge and educate all who you meet.  We’ve got to get the message out there!  The gays must have their own alphabet, dammit!

Gay to Z:
It’s what Liberace would have wanted.
Courtesy of Popbitch.

A is for… Ancient.  Greece Men in Ancient Greece constantly bummed each other. Brides in Argos used to wear false beards on their wedding night, to help their husbands cope with the shock of the new. (Hence the term “beard”)
B is for… Bears.  Bears are big hairy gay men. There’s a sauna in Sydney where every Wednesday they have a special bears afternoon. The event is called “Gorillas in the Mist”.
C is for… Chimps.  Q: What do you call a gay ape? A: Chimp Pansy
D is for… Dolphins.  Limp-flippered male bottlenose dolphins pair off with other males during their youth, and never bond with a female, even after shagging her. Very Elton.
E is for… E! Channel.  Gay CNN.
F is for… Fanfic.  I t’s so gay.
G is for… Gay Maths.  Straight man - girlfriend (+ cocaine + alcohol) = bi-curious man
H is for… Hi-nrg.  Patrick Cowley was its most famous exponent, thanks to tracks like Menergy and Sylvester’s Do You Want To Funk. Sadly he died of AIDS in 1982.
I is for… Ian Levine.  We once tried to book hi-nrg legend Ian Levine for a Popbitch party. But we were told that we’d have to provide a young boy in tight white shorts to accompany him. So we didn’t.
J is for… Jack Macfarland.  Will and Grace actor Sean Hayes says “When I came out of my mom’s womb, I had ’sitcom’ stamped on my forehead.”
K is for… Kiwi Fruit.  Brazilian football star Ronaldo claimed David Beckham was a “kiwi fruit” for wearing his wife’s thong. Kiwi fruit is slang for homosexual because “they are hairy on the outside, but fruity on the inside”.
L is for… Liza and David.  Gayest wedding photo ever.
M is for… Marc Almond.  During the mid-90s, Marc owned a popular gay bar. Some staff later claimed that satanic rituals took place there. One favourite was getting new staff members to masturbate onto a paper pyramid. Satan really likes that, apparently. (FYI: Marc’s Brazilian cleaner confirms that he owns a collection of skulls)
N is for… Northern Line.  Want to meet men on the tube? Apparently the last carriage on any Northern Line train is a mobile cottage. Neutered Pitbulls In the US there is a trend for urban gay professionals to buy pitbulls, who are then neutered and and made fat and docile through over-feeding. Like Elton.
O is for… Overcultured.  Someone who is excessively gay.
P is for… Penguins.   New York Aquarium at Coney Island has a gay penguin couple, Wendell and Cass, 15-year-old African black footed penguins, who are devoted to each other. Like most gays, they are currently in dispute with another couple over their nest.
Q is for… Queerdonna.  Greg Gostanian was a 600-pound Madonna fan who called himself “Queerdonna”, and spent 12 years squeezing into cone-shaped bras to perform as “Queerdonna”. He died in New York in 2000, and was buried with a shirt Madonna autographed with the phrase, “Keep telling people you slept with me.”
R is for… Rent Boy Roulette.  When a legendary gay British pop star is staying in New York he likes to keep four or five extra rooms at the St Regis Hotel with a rent boy in each one. The boys just stay there, ordering room service, waiting to see if there will be a knock on the door from Mr Pop Star…
S is for… Siegried and Roy.  They live on a Las Vegas compound called The Jungle Palace. It includes a cappuccino bar, with a Sistine Chapel replica ceiling. They also have a set of gold candelabras, given to them by Liberace. Their white lions and tigers roam freely around the house. Obviously, they’re not gay. Oh no.
T is for… Bobby Trendy. “I like to get fucked everyday,” says Anna-Nicole’s interior designer. “I don’t care who does it. They can be in a wheelchair or a stroller - I don’t care. I don’t even bother to look over my shoulder and see who is doing it. I wouldn’t want to strain my neck.”
U is for… Uranus. The seventh planet. Nuff said.
V is for… Vampire run.  Going out looking for sex in the very early hours of the morning.
W is for… Mr Winkle.  The world’s gayest dog.
X is for… Xanadu.  The gayest film ever? Come on - it’s a neon-lit disco musical featuring rollerskating, and stars Olivia Newton John and Gene Kelly.
Y is for… Yum Yum.  19th century slang for a penis.
Z is for… Zzzzzzzzz.  All this gayness has put us to sleep.

Have a gay day!

Sadly, our dear manager Dhalimu is no longer with us.  Some idiot at Hudson had him disowned from the ranks of our happy little hotel family.  We will forever miss his giving heart, his fabulous suits, and his sassy smackdowns with the out-of-control guests.  Wherever you are, Dhali, we know you are at a far better place. 

In Loving Memory.

It scares me to imagine what will become of the Front Office.  Dhalimu, Leader of the People, was our last hope for salvation.  With him gone, there’s just Adolph and Johnson (dumb and dumber) to run things.  Ohh, there are dark days ahead, and we need a hero.  We’re holding out for a hero til the end of the night.  He’s gotta be sure it’s gotta be soon and he’s gotta be larger than life.  I fear for our lives, our jobs, and our collective sanity.  God save us.

*sigh*

You just ARE NOT Filipino.

How Filipino Are YOU?
brought to you by Quizilla

Fine.  Whatever.

So, I would really love to open up my online store.  YoungBradford, who’s site I luuuuuuuurve, just set his up through Cafe Press, where he sells boxers and tees and even postcards with his pictures/logo on them.  I totally have the stuff I need here on my site to put it out there.  Shipping setup, credit card authorizations, catalog layouts, shopping cart pages, all that stuff… I just don’t have anything cool to acutally sell.   Part of me already feels dumb for even having this site up in the first place, why add me-based merchandice to the mix? 

Things I could sell in my online store:

• my old issues of Time Out New York, Details, Stuff, and out-of-print IKEA catalogs


• the dusty mixed tapes I made back in high school (way before I discovered CD’s or mp3’s)


• an endless supply of plastic grocery bags from FINE FAIR SUPERMARKET


• that uglyass white Parka I bought 2 years ago @ TARGET for $25 yet never wore once


• somewhat yellowed copies of my professional headshot taken in January 2000


• the odd-sized, mismatching socks that I find after I sort my laundry


• a can of Spaghetti-O’s that I don’t remember buying and will probably never eat


• those chipped and leaky rechargeable batteries that I keep finding underneath dust bunnies


• all those stuffy office clothes I bought during my brief stint in Corporate America


• the various (and now defunct) remote controlls leftover from my many electronic purchases through the years


• some old episodes of Roswell and the 2nd season of Felicity on VHS (w/o commericials)


• an ambitious assortment of condoms taken out of the box but, sadly, never used


• my 10 grade history paper on the English Revolutionary War, titled “R.E.S.P.E.C.T.: Sock it to me” — handwritten on wide-ruled notebook paper, in cursive.


• 5 empty and worn Case Logics that I don’t use anymore


• a collection of random keys I have found that do not seem to fit any doors anywhere in the world


• some slightly faded postcards from a play I did back in June 2001


• those hideous asain samurai-themed button-down shirts that I bought that summer in Harlem


• a stack of washed-out, worn and faded bath towels that no longer behold a discernable shade on the color spectrum


• a pile of irregularly-sized tupperware dishes without the lids

It’s so tempting, but I’m really not convinced any of it would sell.  Would anybody pay for that mess, and in all honesty… do I even want to know somebody who would?  I’m devilishly flirting with the idea of just putting something up on E-bay, just to see if somebody would bite.  People will buy anything if it’s cheap and looks interesting, man (says the boy with a giant set of black-feathered batwings sitting on his closet shelf).

I read somehwere online that on this date, back in 1774, New Yorkers staged their own version of the Boston Tea Party and dumped hundreds upon hundreds of cases of tea into the New York Harbor.  Why?  They didn’t want to be outdone by the Bostonians.  Hee.  They wasted all that Lipton just to save face and maintain their status as leaders of the pack.  I fucking love it. 

Hey, Spriteboy World just got added to E-Male, a kickass webring for cool boys with cool sites.  Yay.  I’m part of a cyberish He-Man Woman-Haters Club!  The tables are being turned, ladies!  Now, if only us guys could get bigger bathrooms…