Days Gone Bi
August 21st, 2003I met Tiff @ a the TAPPS Spring Speech Competition in Austin, TX during my senior year of high school. I was 18. I’d rocked the fucking casbah at both the district and regional ASCI meets earlier that year and was tearing shit up at this huge competition. I remember being so excited b/c I’d come up from Houston with only 3 other students from school and I got to stay @ this hotel for the weekend. The meet was a 2-day event and everyone at the meet looked the same as each other — all the guys were rocking Structure and Pac Sun, all the girls rocked Forever 21; I stood out like a sore thumb, and I was secretly just loving being the quiet, quirky-yet-edgy, smooth operator (Did I just link to 4 pics of myself? YES! I! DID!) The only other person who stood out from the crowd was this sweet-faced, pixie-ish goth-punk cutie (who I later learned to recognize as a *ugh* Riot Grrrl) from this all-girls school in College Station. “Hey,” she said, smiling me up. She was dressed in all black gear, with a spiky choker and combat boots, and she had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. “I liked your peice. Was that Poe?” “No. Millay,” I replied, smiling back. “Thanks, I liked yours too.” When everyone else had gone up and performed excerpts from the Bible? she’d gone up and performed a monologue about the archaic tribal torture rituals of vaginal mulitation. She had this little tattoo on her wrist and when I asked her what it meant, she just giggled and said it meant that she was twice as likely to fall in love. God bless my Christian little mind b/c I had no idea what that meant, but I was majorly smitten. We hit it off immediately and spent the next 2 days clinging to each other in the sea of conformity around us (yeah, we thought we were SO rebellious b/c we both had seen RENT), talking about how we were both heading to New York once we could get out of Texas, griping about how lame the private school thing was, and sneaking some kissin’ here and there around the campus. When it was all over, we exchanged info, promised to write back and forth, and that was that.
Skip forward to Septmeber of 1998. A lot had happened. High school was over, my parents had nearly split up, I’d gotten accepted into this performing arts school and moved to New York City, and I was living alone in some apartment way out in the suburban world of Westchester: New Rochelle, NY. My phone rang one night and guess who it was — Tiff! She’d somehow tracked me down and as it turned out, she was in Westchester too, going to a liberal arts college in Bronxville called Sarah Lawrence, where she was majoring in women’s studies. Suprise suprise. She said she LOVED it there and invited me over for a big party on campus that weekend. I couldn’t wait! I was SO excited! I’d come to New York nearly a month before school was supposed to start but I hadn’t really gotten the hang of this new life of mine yet, I mostly just sat in my apartment trying to think of things to do to keep myself from freaking out. Meeting up with Tiff was gonna be awesome, it would be my first solo-venture out into the city, and I was hoping to get my NY Bachelor existance off to a good start with some good-good lovin’ that weekend. So on Friday night, I metup with her and some of her college friends (all girls) in the East Village @ the Life Cafe and damn, what a great time. It was just one of those incrdible autumn nights in New York, kind of rainy and cool, and it would totally set a tone for how I gauged every other night of my life in the city. Tiff looked AMAZING, she’d cut her hair really short and added blue chunks in it that really brought out her eyes. I actually picked her up when I saw her on St. Mark’s Place, and whirled her around. Her friends were incredible, there were like, 6 of them tagging along. We all laughed and joked all night about so many things, most of which I don’t really remember anymore. It was those girls, actually, who nicknamed me Spriteboy, it was b/c they said I reminded them of “Puck” from A Midsummernight’s Dream. Heh. So, I headed back up to Bronxville with them after dinner and we went to the party on campus. I had no idea what I was in for. I wasn’t a registered student so they had to sneak me in really quick through a window of this big bldg where the party was at — and DAMNED if my jaw didn’t drop when I got my first glimpse of a real-life, college-y, lesbian party.
There were girls making out EVERYWHERE. Kissing and groping and OH MY GOD! I had never seen anything like this before… it was freakin’ jarring. I hardly saw any guys, and most of the ones I did were making out with each other and then with girls too. People were just going at it everywhere I looked, some of them would be dancing on the mainfloor and then just start GOING AT IT. And so many drugs. I was scandalized! SCANDALIZED! And kinda scurred. I ran through the girl-orgy, looking for Tiff, and found her sandwiched and tongue-tied between a tall, leggy waifish redhead and one of her other “friends” from earlier that night. WHA?! 
That’s when it dawned on me that my secret expectations for the weekend were SO not gonna be happening. But you know what? I ended up having an AMAZING time. The party was a lot more fun once I loosened up and started dancing, and the next day? we had a big breakfast in the Dining Hall and the girls showed me all over the gorgeous, cottage-like dorms and campus where I met a TON of interesting ppl (most of whom all thought I was a butch little dyke at first but that’s ok). The weekend was truly a beautiful one and I will always cherish it. I got to see Tiff, spent my very first NYC evening with new and exciting friends, went to my very first official campus party, and had my very first glimpse at the wild and fun-loving world of post-feminist bisexuality.
I’m not sure what exactly has made me recall any of this just now. Maybe it was the Indigo Girls concert in Central Park last week, perhaps it had something to do with the 2xist party we hosted @ Hudson last night, or maybe it was b/c of the double back to back reruns of Queer Eye and Boy Meets Boy the other night. Whatever the case may be, I’m just glad I got to experience it.
* I never did hear from Tiff again after that weekend, though. Sometimes I wonder what she’s up to these days, she’d probably have graduated by now. I’m sure that wherever she is, she’s happy and laughing and probably making out with a girl.
Oh. My. Ozz.
August 20th, 2003WHAT?! I just watched the last episode of The Osbournes and OH MY GOD! Ok, they totally had me going with this episode. I was sitting on my sofa freaking the fuck out. Kelly left? Where’d she go??? Jack killed the dog?! WHAAA?! And then Sharon left Ozzy and the family?! When she wrote that “I Love You, Goodbye” note on the toilet in lipstick, I swear to you people, I CRIED. And they all fucking LEFT Ozzy alone in his condition?! And then— MY GOD! AND THEN! WHAT THE HELL?! It’s been fake since DAY ONE?! Is this a joke?! If this fucking family just punk’d our asses? I don’t even know how I’ll deal. Seriously, I get way too involed in my reality TV. I’m so confused… Eeesh, I haven’t been this riled up since Battle of the Sexes.
And, as if the Osbournes weren’t enough, my mind is also struggling to grasp the full scope of the Aol 9.0 features. I upgraded it today, it was one of my little afternoon happies. Everything is 3-D and faster and advanced but I’m not figuring it out. I do, however, love it that the new AOL greeting when I sign on? is Dr. Evil going, “You’ve got friggin’ mail.” Fucking LOVE it.
Nick & Jessica are not as entertaining as I think they’d like to think they are. I will, however, keep watching… just in case some clothes fall off of their nekked, firm bodies and the camera wanders into the bedroom late one night during a kinky and primal display of God-ordained, post-marital sex.
I went out with Randyboy and his bud Slim tonite. I ended up heading over to meet them @ Therapy right afterwork, so I changed before I left Hudson. I’d packed this cuteass tee-vest but I think I left it sitting on the train, so I just wore the shirt underneath without anything at all over it. I thought it looked ok but all my coworkers laughed at me and said I looked like Fred Flintstone.
Hmph. And here I’d always likened myself to being more like Bamm-Bamm Rubble. Yabba-dabba-fucking-doo.
Seabiscuit
August 19th, 2003Dear Seabiscuit,
I’m writing this letter b/c I feel that you and I have found ourselves at a severe and troublesome misunderstanding. With all the sudden hype and noise you’ve been making over yourself lately, I’ve had no choice but to take notice. I’ve heard the radio promos, I’ve caught the HBO: Making Of… special, I’ve read a few magazine spreads, and yes, I’ve seen the posters plastered all over the subways (nice picture, btw). You have most definately made yourself known and I commend you for knowing how to make an entrance. Um, at the same time? I never really ASKED for you to show up at my doorstep. I was sort of enjoying my peace and quiet before you started popping up everywhere, and to be honest, I’d like to continue doing so. You seem to have mistaken my awareness for interest, and this is a misconception I hope to clear up immediately.
It is not my intention to befriend you. The rest of America may be anxiously anticipating your “arrival” into society, but in truth, I have ZERO interest in you and absolutely NO PLANS to get to know you at all. I don’t enjoy being this curt and cold, however, I feel as though my silent indifference only provokes more from you.
Please stop calling me. Please stop sending me flowers and pages over the loudspeaker at work, they’re annoying. I did enjoy the singing telegram from the family of Guatemalen midgets, but it was really unecessary. I don’t want to get together. I don’t want to meetup at that great little brunch house in Soho for mimosas and fondue. Please understand that I mean business when I tell you that if you continue to assault me with any more of these ploys, I will be forced to seek out restraints of a legal nature (I doubt the negative press would benefit your upcoming engagements). Your cooperation in this matter will be greatly appreciated.
Many thanks,
Spriteboy
P.S. Could you get me the number for the head of casting @ Universal Pictures, though? Thanks! That would rock!
Still Not A Believer
August 18th, 2003I guess I’m just fucking dense and silly or something b/c I watched The Believer on Showtime again tonight and I just don’t fucking get it. I watched this movie when it came out a few years ago, too, b/c the whole world was raving about it… but it confused and depressed the hell out of me then and I’m just as distraught now. What is going on? Is the boy struggling with his spiritual identity or is he just fucked up? Is he unsure of who he wants to be? And what exactly happens at the end? Does he repent and try to make right by God or does he just give up? Did the Nazi plan go through? I know the answers are kind of simple but I just need someone to explain it to me. I will say, though, that Ryan Gosling is incredible in this movie. He got so much buzz about this, as well he should, b/c his performance is riveting. I was in a summer acting course with this bitch when I was 11 years old. We were the only 2 boys in the class. Then he moved to Orlando and wound up on the Mickey Mouse Club, and uh, I went on to the fucking 6th grade. It kills me.
Btw, is it just me or is VH1′s I Love the 70′s nowhere near as cool as I Love the 80′s?
I recently re-heard Melissa Etheridge’s “Come to My Window” and it has quickly become one of my damn anthems (see the mp3 section, which I have enabled today out of DEFIANCE). What a great song. It makes me think back to 9th grade when it was playing on the promos for that Drew Barrymore/Chris O’Donell movie Mad Love. Awww, remember that shit? Yeah, I hate to be an asshole but I’ll say it: keep your damn PG-13ified Charlie’s Angel, I like my Drew Barrymore wild and bleached out, sluttied up, and flashing her boobs @ late night talk show hosts on national television. It just seems RIGHT.
Snapple Fact #137: The city of Los Angeles has 3x more automobiles than people.
So, on my outta the hotel tonight, I passed by this random guy wearing a blue shirt and out of nowhere he totally did a double-take @ me. Whaa? I obviously noticed. For a second I was worried that he was a guest of the hotel and wanted to grab me on the street and bitch about his tiny room. Shit, I thought, it’s too late to get away now. Maybe I could just turn around and run. We did a gradual little u-turn and gravitated casually towards the other. He bravely broke the silence: “Hi.. uh, are you Spriteboy?” 
This handsome little devil with the long loveley lashes, as it turns out, has been reading my shit for weeks now. Turns out, he has a site too. Turns out, I’ve read it before! What a small & random little weblogging world it is, winners. I shook his hand and was like, “Cool! Wanna make out?” Ok not really but I thought it. He’s an exchange student down from Montreal and has been kicking it in the city for months now, working on some project @ Columbia University, and today was actually his very last day in New York. Damn ye, cruel world! He said he recognized me but wasn’t sure if it was me… until he saw my bag. Ha! He was revisiting all his favorite chill spots in Manhattan and wanted to stop by the uber-tranquil Sky Terrace Bar @ Hudson. I did what any normal, healthy, sexually-charged metrosexual would do in this situation: I took the yummy boy into a spare room and partook in a wild and ravaging session of mattress-mambo! Ok, not really, but I did show him up to the terrace and get to talk with him for a bit. Hella cool guy! Rob, despite the fact that I normally and unapologetically blame canada (and the fact that that your friend despises my friend), you and I are kicking it @ Starbucks in Union Sq. next time you stop into Gotham City, innit!
Spriteboy Fact #94: a $1.99 pint of La Salle’s Strawberry Ice Cream and some back-to-back late-nite reruns of Daria make me a very happy man.
I absent-mindedly left my IKEA shopping bag sitting on the floor for a couple days. Just picked it up and got a whiff off all the vanilla/cucumber-scented candles I bought. It nearly gave me an orgasm.
Hey, remember that photo shoot I did for the cool kids @ Pavement Magazine? Well, they’re putting together their next issue to coincide with the screening of their new movie Neo-Mania @ Sundance this fall — and not only will I get to be featured in the layout, but they asked if I’d be up for a celebrity interview! They’re leaving it up to me to select the subject; all they specify is that they want somebody young, cool, somewhat “underground”, and relatively uknown. So, since it’s impossible for me to interview myself (yes, you know I already asked), I’m going for the next best thing: the cast of CAMP! I already suggested it, and that I’m specifically interested in kickin’ it with Anna Kendrick, who played Fritzi, the fucking scary underdog-turned-fucking psycholicious diva. She absolutely stole the whole movie! They editors @ Pavement are looking into it. I’m working on a list of back-up’s just in case. Gotta be somebody indie-ish but very kickass, preferrably a girl. Woo-hoo! Any suggestions? 
Back to Normal
August 18th, 2003I usually despise New Yorkers who keep cars in the city. They usually just annoy the hell out of me with their “I think I might drive to Vermont this weekend” and “I have to wash my car tomorrow…”, but I swallowed my own hateration in this dancerie on Saturday morning and embraced the cliche — Miss K drove me and Randyboy to IKEA in her old lady Pontiac, and woo-hoo! I made a special mixed cd for the drive to (ugh) Jersey and off we went. IKEA rocks me Amadaeus Amadaeus! I only spent $60 but I got a shitload of cool stuff. Funky ice cube trays, a tool kit, 4 little mirrors that I plan to put in my room, kitchen knives, candles & batteries (post-blackout impulse buys), and some tacky wall-art. I could wander that store all damn day just buying up shit.
So the city is pretty much back to normal for the most part. Things at work are quiet though. I left two hours early last night and kept taking really long breaks away from the desk. At one point I even did a McDonald’s/Wendy’s/Starbucks run for everyone. It was just so dead. I think the big blackout made lots of people cancel their travel plans and stuff. Good. Hopefully it’ll be dead all week. I hear that Hudson was one of the only midtown hotel that honored reservations on Thursday. They wern’t able to program room key cards, so they actually walked guests up 10, 15, 23 flights of stairs by candlelight and manually let them into their rooms. WOW. I gotta say, I tip my hat to my coworkers who stayed during the madness cuz I’d have been grabbing my backpack and walking the hell home right away. Ya think that makes me a bad person? 
Big big love to my favorite little bud Bravo, who’s back in the trenches of PA college life. Come back to the city and play ANYTIME, boy!
Black Thursday
August 15th, 2003Since everywhere you look we’re all talking about it… I’ll spare everyone the tiny details of my boringass version of the day and just give you the brief overview: I actually really enjoyed it. I was one of the lucky ones who was home and didn’t have to walk miles and miles in the beating August heat. Once I realized that it wasn’t just MY apartment and bldg that lost power (I thought my scary microwave-mishap had caused the power outtage), and as soon as I realized how big the power had failed, I called my mom, called out of work, changed into a tanktop and shorts, hit the dollar stores and stocked up on cheapass snacks before they all shut down for the day, and just did some wandering around my beloved Inwood. I had an amazing, peaceful, and relaxing day. It almost felt like I was in the country. Little kids played in the exploding fire hydrants, parents sat around playing cards on the sidewalks, car stereos blasted Tejano music and news reports, and I just had a beautiful stroll through uptown Manhattan, just a-chuggin on my quart of iced-tea and a-jammin’ to some retro hits on the radio (I forgot what a kickass beat that is in Ah-Hah’s “Take on Me”).
Thankfully, BJ and his Cute Girlfriend were both home and I spent the entire day with them. Safety in numbers, you know. That, and I tend to go a bit insane if left to my own devices for too long. We just kicked it and kept ourselves entertained, walked back uptown later that night and got to see stars in the sky despite the all-too-appropriate full moon. I’m so gratfeul they were around, we kept good company all day. For the first time ever, I actually noticed what a great thing they have. I’m glad they’ve found each other and that it worked out for them to move in together too. Both of them are a bit obsessive-compulsive, but it’s sort of cute in pairs I guess. They compliment each other. A gorgeous couple. Also? I’m very grateful that I had my very trusty and cute radio with me. Best damn $39 I ever spent.
Random fact: There is nothing funnier than the Enrique Iglesias video for “Hero”. Jennifer Love Hewitt should be pooped on.
So I woke up on Friday and I still didn’t have any power. The panic slowly started to creep up on me… I kept thinking, This is just how it started in 28 Days Later. I just layed in bed for awhile, glad as hell that I wasn’t stuck downtown or @ work the day before. I’d heard reports on the radio that ppl had actually been turned away from their hotels and were sleeping on the sidewalks of Times Sq. Insane bullshit. I borrowed a regular touch-tone phone from BJ (cuz my cordless was a useless peice of shit with no power) and made a few calls, just made sure everyone was ok. Then my power came back on. I wandered down to 181st Street and metup with M & J* @ Starbucks, then found some Burger King grub. When I got home my cable and DSL were back up and running. I took a shower, made dinner, and watched Sex & the City. Within 24 hrs of the world turning upside down, everything was back to normal and I was all good.
Fucking New York City. I love this town. I love the people. Where else in the world can you go where, when the entire metropolis juice gets cutoff?, the ppl actually take it upon themselves to direct traffic, assist each other, and pull through the bullshit without blinking twice. New Yorkers are the shit! Always calm, determined, and independant. The coolest kids in the world, man. They can deal with ANYTHING that happens. I haven’t been this in love with New York since a few Septmebers ago.
* in her quest uptown on Black Thursday, J spotted the cast of “Camp” in Union Sq. They were apparently doing some press for the movie since it’s being given wide-screen release. I’m still pissed that she didn’t drag them all up to my house for some iced tea and a sing-along. Dammit.
St. Joshua of 14th Street
August 13th, 2003I was working my way across 14th street one recent afternoon, just loving the day. It was really breezy and cool (this was back before Manhattan became a fucking tropical island). I was feeling hella good so let’s just keep on dancing in my brown tank, had me some Robbie Williams “Rock DJ” blasting on my headphones (so I was strutting just a little bit more than usual). and was on my way to meetup with some friends @ Starbucks. It was a good day. Being the hip New Yorker that I am who tries to pretend like he’s got money to spend, I stopped into this vintage clothing store called Rags-A-GoGo to grab me a cuteass shirt.
There was a woman standing at the front door, I assumed she was the store manager b/c she greeted me brightly when I first walked in and then left me the hell alone to look at the clothes. She was a great big manly thing, a full-out COMMANDER complete with armpit hair, combat boots, facial peircings, a soul patch, tattoos, biceps bigger than my legs, and a bleached-out mohawk-mullet (with black roots). I loved her immediately. She was wearing this dress that had fish prints on it — prints of fish, and they were all swimming upwards towards her thighs! Hee! She looked like a roadie for The Lillith Fair. Seeing her in all her bizarre glory just made me giggle and feel grateful that I lived in a city where this woman was PUSHING FORWARD, free to be who she wanted and run her own business and live her own life and make NO APOLOGIES for any of her choices. Fucking rock, man.
Halfway though my happy surreal moment, she suddenly bolted from the store window to the doorway. “HEY!” she barked out to the sidewalk. “FUCKER! HEY!” It got everybody’s attn who was passing by, not to mention all of us in the shop. I watched her stomp her way up to two random guys on the street outside her store. What the? I stepped a little closer to the window to get a better look at what was happening — there was a loud and heated exchange between all three of them out there. One of the guys abruptly left, and then she actually RAN AFTER the bigger guy, yelling something at him. She fucking followed him all the way down the block!
What the hell was going on?! I looked at all the other shoppers, wondering what they were thinking and whether or not it’d be in bad taste to stuff a few of the shirts i was holding into my backpack before anyone noticed. (I refrained). When the man-woman huffed back into the store, she slammed the door behind her and threw down her leather jacket. “Son of a BITCH!” she hollered, looking at everyone. “That fucking PISSES the SHIT out of me.” Nice language there, Xena. “Did you see what the fuck just happened out there?! I HATE that sneaky kinda bullshit!” Her muscles were flexed and I was feeling a little scared at this point, cuz she kept pacing back and forth. It took a bit of time to make any sense of her or what she was saying, but at this point I was just memerized and she had my full attn. “So there’s these motherfuckers who fucking work this neighborhood all day, right? These goddamn punks from Brooklyn who bring their bullshit into the city and try and run these scams. They stand out on the street and pick out some poor little fag with a little backpack and a haircut and they fucking target him, right?”
“Right,” some random customer confirmed, stepping up from the back section of the store. “I know the ones you mean!”
“Yeah! They fucking pick out some poor little fag and they walk real close up and they fucking SMASH right into him and drop a pair of glasses and make like the poor kid broke them on accident or something. Then they get $10 or $20 from the person, scare them off, and do it to somebody else.” [This just astonished me, I'd never heard of this going on before. I leaned against the counter for more of the woman's story.] “So,” she continued, still pacing breathing hard from her run-in. “these assholes have been pulling this shit all up and down 14th all week long, man, and I’m sick of it. So I’m standing here just a sec ago and I see this big black guy with a do-rag on his head do it to some poor skinny fag! So I rush out there, right, and I’m like, ‘Hey, he didn’t break your glasses! Dude, you didn’t break this asshole’s glasses!’ and before I can even say anything, the gayguy looks at the black dude and he’s like, ‘You fucking pulled this shit with me the other day in Times Sq!’ ”
“NO WAY!” I found myself crying out in disbelief. And I wasn’t the only one. By this point, the entire crowd of customers had clustered up to the front section and taken ringside seats for the story.
“RIGHT?! Can you fucking believe this shit?! I know! So, this black guy looks at me like he’s gonna kick my ass or something, and I don’t even back down b/c I’m so heated at this point, you know?”
“Totally!” chimes in this older woman who’d been looking at handbags earlier. “You had every right!”
“And so, the poor guy just fucking walks away and the black dude looks back at me and goes, ‘You just lost me $20!’ Do you BUY that shit?! So I look at him and I said, ‘What’s your name?’ just like that — you know, like, I DEMANDED it. And the guy actually answers me and is all, ‘It’s James.’ And he starts staring at my window and looking at the address and I’m like, ‘Why the fuck are you looking at my place for, huh? You gonna come back and try to fuck me up? Huh, James? Is that it?!’ And he just looks at me and walks off! So I FOLLOW him down the block and keep at him.”
“Fuck yeah!” I cheered her, suprised at how suddenly profane and emotionally involved I’d become. I was pretty much jumping up and down at this point. She’s sort of become my hero.
“Finally, we get to the end of 7th ave and the fucker turns around and yells for me to quit following him. So I reach into my boot, pull out a $20, and stick it in his hand. And I says, ‘Here, James. Take it and stay the hell away from my store and my customers. Next time you need money? fucking ASK somebody for it instead of pulling this con bullshit!’ and I walked the fuck off.”
The entire store began cheering and whooping for joy. “YOU ROCK!” one guy laughed, clapping and giving her a high-five. Another man reached into his wallet and handed her a $20 b/c he felt so moved by what she’d done. This woman not only put a hoodlum in his place, but she’d united an entire group of strangers and got them all celebrating together for a few quick minutes. The whole moment was just amazing and wonderful and so fucking New York City and, for that second, I was so damn happy to be there, and so damn excited that I’d stopped into Rags-A-Gogo that day. Following my purchase of a polyester brown button down (a shirt that STILL makes me smile when I put it on), I introduced myself and told the woman how amazing I thought she was and that she’d just made my entire week with that story. She threw her head back and let out a big, hearty, lumberjack-laugh and smacked me on the shoulder. “Well you’re a darling!” she bellowed. I asked her if I could take her picture. “Of COURSE, doll!” she exclaimed. “I’d be happy to!” And she walked over to the $10 denim rack and struck a girlish-yet-defiant pose for me.
DEFENDER OF THE PEOPLE
Her name, btw? was Joshua. I fucking LOVE IT.
Starlight Express
August 13th, 2003A word to whoever it is that stole my lunchbag from the men’s changing room this evening @ work: I will find you. I want you to know that I took a great deal of time and care into packing that lunch today. Do you realize that PB&J is a dish which I take very, VERY seriously? And you may have also noticed that i packed not one, but TWO sandwiches — in addition to TWO bags of cheetos (the crunchy kind). This lunch was SACRED to me. And you? fucking shit on it. I want to know who the hell you are that you just FIND a bag of homeade snacks and think to yourself, “Ohhh, food!” Do you not WORRY about germs? I could have mono or someshit and there you are just a-chowing down on my grub like you’re sitting in you’re momma’s kitchen. I hope you enjoyed it and that it brought you nourishment. I, myself, did NOT much enjoy the shitass pizza I had to order in its place on my lunchbreak tonight. Whatever. I’m going to find out who you are. Rest assured, there will be a reckoning.
I am haunted by visions of the mice whose deaths I orchestrated. When I close my eyes, they’re there — floating into my room like Jacob Marley, rattling chains on their little claws and tails, and tormenting me for all eternity. I keep imagining them attacking me by legion, like those rats in that movie Willard.
So, my sweet bloggin’ buddy Edd is coming to Gotham City for a visit this weekend and I get to play tour guide! Woo-hoo! Chinatown, Little Italy, Central Park, Soho, Alphabet City clubs, Johnny Rockets, H&M, and anything else I can dream up for this young buck to see and experience while he’s here. The boy absolutely amazes me. He’s been living in Barcelona on his own for awhile now and, by the ripe age of 23, is already a freakin’ architect at an established design firm in Spain. He’s coming New York on his first business trip and I am making it my personal mission to see to it that he gets some PLAY in with all that WORK. Yessiree.
Kate Beckinsale sort of looks like Parker Posey in this picture, and I for one? am not amused.
I keep forgetting to watch that new show The O.C.. I am a huge fan Peter Gallagher, who plays the dad on the show. Though my mom insists that Kevin Costner is my real biological father, I just know that Peter Gallagher is my real dad (we’ve both got the thick eyebrows thing happening). At the same time, as much as I wanna show some love for him? I have a few issues with the show. Namely: Adam Brody. I’ll spare you all the long, tragic tale and wrap it up like this: back in my hot hot year of 2001, it was midummer and I was coming to the end of my callbacks for that MTV pilot. I’d been through a series of auditions and readings and callbacks and meetings and finally it had come down to me and one other guy… you guess it. Adam Brody. I was positive that this kid was gonna get the show b/c he’d already done a stint on Undressed for MTV, plus a shitload of smaller stuff, and he just had that whole sitcom-comedy/funnyman-timing/clean, boyband look that just POPS for TV. But I was a hellavuh lot funnier and a big part of my edge was that the producers wanted “quirky”. Plus, I was just a much better dancer and that was sort of a central part of the pilot. So in the end, I got the job and Adam didn’t. Hah! Whatever, hold your appluase. Cut to 6 months later, post-September 11, and my show is permenantly shelved (aka “in development”) — and Mr. Brody’s ass is popping up on every damn TV show I see. The Gilmore Girls, Once & Again, Smallville, and eventually his OWN sitcom…. *sigh* on MTV. 
What a world, man. Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change….
Oh, for the record? I think she sounds like a lotta fun for an old, dirrty woman.
My train ride home tonight was a fun one. I boarded the A around 2am and had an entire car all to myself. After we pulled out of the 59th Street Station, my train car broke loose from the others and it zoomed upwards, busting through the street level of Columbus Circle, crashing through the evil towers of the AOL/Time Warner building, and flying high into the sky. The car lights began to flicker and soon went into full-on strobe-mode. Suddenly “One More Time” by Daft Punk started pumping through the speakers and I was surrounded by a writhing, beautiful, helf-nekked mass of japanese schoolgirls and strapping young Abercombie lads. It was glorious! There was a abundance of affection and plenty of fruit smoothies for everyone. After a few hours of zooming around Manhattan’s skyline, they dropped me off @ 190th Street and I came on home. What a night, winners. Wish ya all had been there. 