Halloween @ Hudson.

The Hedwig-y one in the bottom center pic? scared the fuck outta me. I was a good 2 minutes into some chitchat with her before I realized it was Stefan. I always underestimate my enthusiasm on this damn holiday. I either don’t think about it, or I just figure I’m not in the mood to get that into it… then, at the last minute, I always wish I’d gotten something together. I shoulda dressed up. I should’ve gone out as a vampire with AIDS.

My other regrets today include 1) charging up my cell and then forgetting it on my computer table @ home, 2) once again not even TOUCHING my laundry, 3) accidentally bending my metrocard and therefore rendering it useless, and 4) agreeing to work a mid-afternoon shift tomorrow. Whatever.

Did you do anything fun?

Have you ever had yourself — or seen someone else have — an amazing moment in their life? Not even in life, just like, in the day. Where maybe you say something or do something or notice something that just pulls you out from yourself and makes you go, “Where did this come from?” I had Starbucks with J the other day, and she had this moment where she was talking about her life and the direction she wanted to move towards, and the changes that she felt needed to be made. I don’t know what it was, but the whole conversation has just stuck with me, and I doubt she even realized it but the way she was speaking was just natural and beautiful, coming from an honest place, and it really got me thinking. So much of what she said totally could have been me talking about MY life. I’m 24 and I live alone in this amazing city… and I’m not really sure how happy I am much of the time. It ebbs and flows for me, like so many other things. I used to be a hot little actor, always working, always auditioning, but I haven’t done any of that in over a year. I haven’t missed it much, either. What’s up with that, really? Am I wasting my It-Boy years?

Internal inventory is a bitch.

God, how mean was my last post? I’m actually a really nice boy, and I’m very sympathetic towards the people I deal with @ work, I promise. That whole rant was just me venting, totally brought on by a infuriating encounter with some asshole @ the desk last night before I left work.

Spent my day off doing a whole lotta nothing, but not really in a fun way. I don’t know where the hell my day went to. I need to do my laundry, kind of considering getting up early tomorrow morning (like EARLY) and getting it all done before work, just so I feel like something important got done. Ugh, I’m bitchy and irritable and a little bit on edge for some reason, but I’m sure it’ll pass.

Why does he always have the coolest clothes?

I painted a section of my kitchen this morning. Ice Blue. I’ve become a painting fool. Just gimme a brush and a wall, man. I was standing on the counter just a-rollin’ away when out of nowhere, an ex-GF popped into my head. When she and I first started seeing each other, she was living with her boyfriend at the time. Yes, I was the Other Man. (I’ve actually found myself in the Other Man position a couple times before, never something I seek out but it probably has something to do with how easy it is, or my reluctancy to fully commit myself to things. Whatever, I digress. Judge me later.) I remembered the night she broke up with her boyfriend. I was working my part-time job @ NYSC (breeziest job I’ve ever had) and she dropped in late towards the end of my shift, all shaken up. We started talking about nothing in particular and then she just blurted out, “I broke up.” And I could’t think of a thing to say. She started crying and assured me she was ok, but kept crying. And I couldn’t think of a thing to say. I just kept hugging her. Funny how long ago things can happen, and you kind of forget about them, and then suddenly it all comes rushing back in a quick, unprovoked moment.

I downloaded Napster. Apparently, it’s back and legal. Woot! Maybe I can find downloads of this.

Tomorrow is Halloween, and I’ve nothing fun to do. It’s kind of dissappointing, really. So, the next two days serve as nothing but mere filler till Sunday, when both Ky and UK Matt venture there way to Manhattan. This is a first-time-in-NYC trip for the both of them, and they’ll arrive via those blessed Chinatown buses. Little Rob is coming too. I can’t even tell you how excited I am. I’ve been reading these boys’ webpages for the longest time, it’s gonna be so weird to have them staying in my house. Party up in here, up in here! This will be my first time playing host, so I’m a little nervous. My life is so boring at times, what if I’ve forgotten how to turn it on and be fun? Ugh, the very least I can do is be clean. I have this idea in my head that the entire apt has to be SPOTLESS. I been cleaning out closets, sweeping out cabinets, wiping down windows, all kinds of mess. Why do NYC apartments seem to get so filthy the way they do?

Still loving my iPod, btw. And iTunes is fucking cool as hell, I like how it meshes the ends and beginnings of songs on my playlist. Where else can Hillary Duff’s new single morph into Eminem without a pause? Yes, I said Hillary Duff’s new single. Shut up, all of you.

A Word (or two) for all of the guests who have stayed, are currently staying, or are thinking about staying @ Hudson*:

I don’t care that you stay here all the time and usually get upgraded for free b/c you think you snorted coke with Ian Schrager one night @ Studio 54. Did you BOOK a suite when you made this reservation? No.

I don’t care that you dad said you could use his credit card. Where’s the billing authorization form? Where’s his written consent to let us charge his account? No, put your cell phone down. Calling him right now and letting me talk to him is not going to help. I need legal paperwork or a card in your own name.

I don’t care that you think the smoking law is stupid. Put your damn cigarette out in this lobby or I’ll have you escorted to the street.

I don’t care that you didn’t budget for a security deposit. It’s a standard procedure at any hotel in Manhattan, or America for matter. How the FUCK are you gonna look at me all incredulously when I inform you of the $150 security deposit. No, you can’t leave me $40. This isn’t Holiday Inn.

I don’t care that you didn’t realize “Standard Double” meant ONE DOUBLE BED and not TWO TWIN BEDS. We offer beds with 2 rooms but they’re a deluxe room type and so it’s gonna cost more. No, I’m not going to give you a 2nd room for free or at a discount rate just b/c you misunderstood.

I don’t care that you have never seen a room that small before. You booked through Expedia.com and paid $95 for a boutique hotel room in Manhattan — did you really think it was gonna be a big room? Honestly. Did you REALLY think you’d bargained us out by going through the web? Maybe you could take all that extra money you saved on a big hotel room and go buy a shit from somebody, cuz I don’t have one to give.

I don’t care that you had to wait in line 20 minutes to check-in. That just means that I’ve been WORKING for 20 minutes and now I have to deal with you.

I don’t care that you just asked to speak to my manager. It doesn’t scare me or make me nervous. Do you honestly think he’s going to side with you and say that I suck and give you everything that I just said you can’t have for free? I work with this guy 40hrs a week, and he’s seeing you for about 5 minutes… who do you think is gonna win here? Hint: won’t be you.

I don’t care that you couldn’t get 20 of your friends into the Hudson Bar with you. I don’t work at the bar and so no, I can’t get them in for you.

I don’t care that you didn’t realize the long distance international phone calls from your hotel room would be this expensive. Bitch, you called Germany. Damn, right it’s a few hundred dollars. The per minute charges are posted right next to the phone, so unless you’re Helen Keller there’t no reason not to know that. Besides, everybody knows that hotel phone calls and minibar items are the priciest ones out there. You make me sick.

And also:

I’m sorry that you thought we had an olympic sized swimming pool on the roof and chose us over other hotels just for that reason. We also don’t have a 2-level spa, boxing rings, high speed internet connections that work, an indoor archery court, a ballroom, or any of the other things it says on our website. Our Sales Dept is a little overzealous and they like to make-believe that we’ve got projects in developement (truth is, I have been here over a year and ain’t never seen a construction crew). There’s a cool bar though.

I’m sorry that a manager has not called you back. I’m still trying to find one too.

I’m sorry that you brought your kids to this hotel. I know we advertise to be kid-friendly, but in truth, all anyone is going to do is hand your kid a little cap that says HUDSON on it and then you’re on your own. We don’t actually have any games for them to play and the only garden/park areas that they’d enjoy? are the smoking sections of the hotel. Have fun cramming the baby stroller and crib into that tiny room.

I’m sorry that you’re travel agency lied to you and let you think you had a myriad of options as far as room types were concerned. You’re just getting a standard room, it’s all their contract allows them to book with us.

I’m sorry that the pipes in your room were banging all night. Yes, I know it sounds like a hammer against concrete. Ian Schrager decided that nobody cares about renovating plumbing in a 200yr old bldg, and just slapped some funky design over it. And no, we’re not really looking into getting it fixed. Help yourself to the earplus in the minibar tho, which you will be charged for.

I’m sorry that you had to wait 2hrs for new towels. You’re better off just bring some with you from home next time.

I’m sorry that we’re sending you away to another hotel due to a hotel overbooking. We’re used to about 20 people not showing up every night, so we OVERSELL the hotel by 25 just to make sure we get as much money as we can. We don’t like to think that sometimes, some nights, just maybe, EVERYONE will show up to check-in afterall. I know that you booked this reservation months ago and flew all the way from Russia to be here for your much-anticipated New York City vacation, but tough luck. I wish you well on getting another room somewhere else, especially since you PRE-PAID this reservation and will not be refunded.

I’m sorry that the person you spoke to this morning isn’t here this evening and failed to note your account regarding that free upgrade you discussed. I can still get you a bigger room but I’m gonna charge your ass.

I’m sorry that you’re room wasn’t ready at the time that we advertise it will be. The hotel chooses to put rooms out of order so we can just go by the In-House Inventory and LOOK like we’re all sold out (cuz corporate likes that). So even tho I have a ton of clean rooms avail, they’re techincally marked Out of Order and you’ll have to wait for our slowass Housekeeping Dept. to clean a new room. Yeah, I know.

I’m sorry that it took an hour to get your luggage up to you. No clue what took so long, maybe it was the fact that the hotel is full of secret little cracks and crevices that our bellstaff can dissappear into for quick little powernaps. Oh and no, I can’t have them leave the bags in your room if you’re leaving for a few hours (cuz we already made you late for your appointmen). Our bellman don’t like to leave bags in your room w/o you there b/c then they don’t get tipped.

I’m sorry that we neglected to inform you of the film shoot going on in our lobby today. Yeah, it’s gonna be all day so can you just take the service entrance? Thanks. The hotel would rather deal with a bunch of pissed off people who couldn’t check-in or visit any of our bars due to the production, than make the effort to keep you informed and risk losing your money (not your loyalty, just your money).

I’m sorry that we gave away you’re room to someone else who got here first. Yes, even tho you booked this 7 months ago and have a confirmation number and called ahead to verify that it would be ready and let us know you’d be late. You see, in the end, in the dizzying rush of the crazy afternoon check-in process, no one really follows any procedure and it’s pretty much a free-for-all. Survival of the promptest; he who’s here first will get the room. So you’re getting downgraded tonight. Ok?

I’m sorry. But I don’t care. Brutal honesty is best.

Sincerely,
Spriteboy

*the views expressed on this page are mine and only mine, they do not reflect the attitudes or services of Ian Schrager or his hotels. Heh, right.

I just couldn’t resist.

I decided that we needed a little bit of Christmas up in here and bought myself an early present. I finally got fedup with my latest Sony MD failure (they’re good for about 8 months and then they start acting up) and I caved: went down to the very sleek and futuristic Apple Store on Prince St the other day and bought myself the iPod 10GB with the new, slimmer design in a clear translucent rubber case. It holds up to 2,500 songs, charges while it’s uploading my files, and the little thing is just fucking beautiful. I’ve shoved every essential mp3 I own into it (damn near 1,200 songs) and I STILL have so much more space on it to use whenever I feel the need. All I want to do now is skip work and take really long rides downtown on the train, just up and down and back and forth, all so I can have a reason to just listen to music and zone out… but be SEEN zoning out with my iPod. How fucking fun was it to breeze outta the Apple store with my purchases (I bought a few accessories, too) and just wander around, kiling time, building up all the excitement in my being so that I could just run the hell home and put it all together. Ugh, man, it’s just AMAZING. I like it so much I’ve given it a name: Levi. Next to my computer, he’s probably the coolest toy I have! Can I afford this? NO. Will we be eating lots of scrambled eggs and cutting our own hair for the next month? YES. But I’m cool now, dammit. I’m one of them now, and you best believe that yes, that IS Spriteboy strutting his shit down the streets of Manhattan, rocking his gadget like nobody needs to see. It’s about time for my arrival.

I’ve grown to adore the whole Chinatown Bus thing — where else can I find a one-way trip to another city for so damn cheap and fast? The buses are pretty comfy and plush — not at all the chicken-toting country bus I’d originally envisioned — complete with TV screens and bathroom on board, and tickets are only $15. These buses are gems! That being said, I have to take a minute to recap my wildass departure from New York to D.C. last weekend, if you don’t mind. Just b/c it’s a bit of a story and you know I never manage to do things the easy way.

Now, despite my need to sleep in and wake up around 2pm? I really wanted to get a head start on the day and give myself lots of free time to play with my dawgs in D.C. So I got up @ the ungodly hour of 6:30am to catch the 8am Chinatown bus, b/c they like you to arrive a little early and I figured I’d grab some breakfast while I was downtown. The sun was shining pretty bright, I’d had really good sex the night before, and I had me some Michelle Branch blasting from my mp3 player: it was a happy day. I made a pittstop in Soho to grab some bacon-egg sandwhiches from this deli I love, they’re only $2.75 and so I bought 2. Halfway down the block back to the train I realized I was gonna be a disgusting fat pig and go for a THIRD, so I headed back to the deli to grab myself one more breakfast sandwhich for the 4hr trip. I stood in line smiling, feeling happy, kinda congratulating myself on getting up so early and going away for a few days. Very grown up of me. Very independant. Just so very very. Heh. That’s when I fucking looked at the clock on the wall and saw it was 7:35. FUCK.

My ass tore outta that deli and into the busy intersection @ Canal & Broadway, flailing my arms for a cab and cursing the day I was born. Suddenly everything was shitty. My bag was too heavy, the sun was too bright, I was sweating, and I didn’t even get that 3rd sandwhich afterall. Of course, not one cab would stop, so I run to the corner and tear into the subway hoping to catch a downtown J train (who the fuck rides the J train?!). I stood there, panting and sweating, staring down the platform and wishing death upon every happy person I think of. I walked over to a map on the wall and realized that I was going into deep deep Chinatown (virtually unchartered territory), and that even if I caught the next train and got to the stop in time, I’d still have to walk about 9 or 10 blocks to even get to the exact neighborhood the buses were departing from. With a newfound hatred for the world in my heart, I charged through the turnstiles, out of the subway, and BACK to the street level to try and catch a cab. This was not going well, dammit.

Finally, I managed to hail a cab. “East Broadway and Forsythe!” I cried. I looked at the dashboard clock radio. It was 7:52. The driver (of course) spoke NO ENGLISH at all and had NO CLUE where the fuck we were going. “You’re going uptown!” I screamed hysterically. “We’re supposed to be going DOWNTOWN! Where are you going?! Where are you going?!” He yelled something back at me and turned down some alleyway. It did not occur to me that I was screaming at a total stranger, or that I’d become a new York City cliche. I only knew that my bus was leaving with or without me in just 7 minutes and the fucking cabbie was taking me the wrong way. I dug through my backpack and tore out a printout of a Yahoo!Map that showed where my bus was leaving from and handed it to him. “There!” I blared. “See the star? Take me there! HURRY, PLEASE!” We sped through a maze of short streets and alleys that I’d never even heard of before: Hester, Suffolk, Pell, Eldridge — why the fuck do these streets even exist?! I still had no clue where we were, and when I looked at the clock and it said 8:01, my heart just sank. We pulled up to East Broadway & Forsythe and I spotted 3 big buses along the curb. A little chinese woman ran across the street, flung my car door open (we hadn’t even come to a complete stop!), and shreiked, “Where you go?!” I had no clue if she was talking to me or the cabbie or what, so I just ignored her and began sorting through my wallet so I could get the hell out of this cab and on with the rest of my life. I stuffed a $20 between my teeth while I sorted my bags. The litle woman screamed again, “Where you go?!” Oh! “DC!” I muffled back (why was I yelling?). “You late! They to leave you!” she said incredulously. Wait. Huh? “Huh?” She yanked the $20 OUT FROM MY MOUTH, stuffed it in her pocket, shoved a ticket in my hand, and pointed at a big white bus pulling out into the street. “Gooooooooooo!” she cried. We slammed the cab door shut, ran to the streetlight, and halted the bus. THEY STOPPED! She waved at the driver, the doors opened up, and I darted inside and into an empty seat with a vengance. I made it! I made it!

I handed the driver my ticket and settled into a comfy window seat at the back of the bus, where I gorged on breakfast sandwhiches, thanked the Lord for crazy chinese women, and felt not a twinge of guilt for stiffing that cabbie.

Normally, I look down upon ppl who buy BEST OF… or GREATEST HITS albums — they just seem like fair-weather fans, but R.E.M. is the shit. I have every single song they’ve ever recorded and I STILL want to go buy this album. Say what you wanna say, but I refuse to believe that I’m the only damn fool who has ever sat around my room sobbing and wailing along to “Everybody Hurts”. Every pop song you’ve liked of theirs is on here, and so are the rare B-sides that you didn’t hear, plus a few new songs. I haven’t loved an album this much since the early days of Coldplay.

Run to your nearest Tower, Virgin, Best Buy, or Wal-Mart and do what needs to be done. Buy this CD. I just can’t be friends with you if you don’t.

I woke up this morning @ 1pm, sprawled across a pile of pillows and nestled under 2 comforters. Rain was coming down hard outside my window and I had an entire 2 hrs to kill before I had to get ready to leave for my day. I spent my time lounging around my apt and enjoying the lazy afternoon. It would be so nice if every day could start like this.

Lately I’ve been a bit stressed and tense. Back and shoulder rubs don’t do a thing for me, I tend to carry most of my tension in my hands and my feet. I’m thinking about enlisting the services of a massuese, but I don’t want to do a whole spa package or anything. Why the hell spend all my money on a 20 minute seaweed bath when all I really want is a good footrub? Where should I go? Any ideas? I know you’re all some coolass kids all up in the loop, so shoot me an e with suggestions! Any referrals will be looked into, and hell, I’m not a snob about this shit. Whether it be @ some shishi salon in Chelsea or on the corner of Thisway & Thatway in Brooklyn, I’ll do whatever. Lemme know.

Work was actually fun tonite. We hosted a charity event for the NYFD, and to my suprise, the entire thing went off without a hitch. I was NOT looking forward to the 900+ celebs, socialites, and aristocrats all up on my nerves (ON TOP of the regular hotel guests), but somebody apparently planned it really well, all I had to do was stand around and look pretty and point ppl in the right directions. A fun night of people-watching. I saw her, him, him, them, and a lot of other people. I got all kinds of excited when Johnny Lee Miller asked me which way the bathroom was. I fucking worshipped the movie Hackers in highschool, “Dade Murphy“ was my personal icon (I still want a jacket like that one, dammit, and I don’t even care that the clubkid style went out with 1995). The fact that he used to boink Angelina Jolie AND is best friends with Ewan McGregor AND Jude Law? *eesh* it only fuels the fire. Who the hell doesn’t want some some some of that cinnabun?

Yes, by the way, that was in fact R.E.M. supplying the entire score and soundtrack to the most recent episode of Smallville. Genuis, I say. Also genuis? was the Tom Welling/Kristen Kreuk skinnydipping scene. I think we need to see more of that.

Currently cracking me up is that Day In the Life of Sissy SpaceChick entry on the Space Waitress blog, which is becoming one of my daily reads. What a fucking fantastic day. I love entries like that one, and he writes so well. Also worth your precious web-time is the winner over @ UltraLucid.com, he has a pretty kickass blog and I love the design. Been reading him for awhile now and I suggest you all drop in from time to time and check out his misadventures in Boston and take in those damn gorgeous graphics he comes up with. Cool cool stuff.

So, I’ve got the day off tomorrow and I plan mesh some productivity with some good old fashioned laziness. Cleaning, scrubbing, sorting, and perhaps some laundry. We’ll toss in a quick little trip downtown for possible splurge-shopping, too. Or maybe I’ll just spend the day in bed thinking about all the things I don’t have to do.

“So I decided to go gray so nobody would know how old I was and I would look younger to them than how old they thought I was. I would gain a lot by going gray: (1) I would have old problems, which were easier to take than young problems, (2) everyone would be impressed by how young I looked, and (3) I would be relieved of the responsibility of acting young — I could occassionally lapse into eccentricity or senility and no one would think anything of it because of my gray hair. When you’ve got gray hair, every move you make seems young and spry, instead of just being normally active. It’s like you’re getting a new talent. So I dyed my hair gray when I was about twenty-three or twenty-four.”

I did a project in college where we were to pick a dead artist from any age or medium, and perform a 7 minute peice as that person, taking on all mannerisms and quirks that we could dig up and duplicate. I chose Andy Warhol. I lived and breathed this project for about 3 weeks; watched every documentary I could find, went to every pop-art exhibit in New York, read and re-read all of his biographies. I even spent an entire day walking through the east village in full Andy garb with the wig and the clothes and everything. In the end, I threw all of my preperation out the window, went onstage, and ad-libbed the entire thing.

They loved it. I got an A+ and a standing O. Woot!

I still have the wig.

I’m having a serious problem with cash register clerks and store managers who refuse to accept the new $20 bill. I’ve been to 2 fastfood places, a Target, a grocery store, and a fucking movie theater where the person at the register has to call for a manager and make a huge production about “this counterfeit-looking bill”. How the fuck do you run a business where you exchange cash for service each damn day and NOT know about the new money? Haven’t we all seen the posters and ads? You ignorant bitches.

Work is a madhouse. A MADHOUSE. It’s been nonstop all week, and it’s only getting crazier. Johnny Depp was wandering the lobby the other day and I barely got to take notice b/c I was busy downgrading a family of 4 from their suite into a single room due to a Reservations oversell. It’s all been a bit much, really, so I’ve decided to run away to DC this weekend and play with the Kyle, who I love for entries like that one. I sometimes give in to the power of Starbucks too, boy, altho I’m thinking my ass is too poor for grande mocha frapps. I’m just looking forward to a weekend of junkfood, museum-visits, mp3-swapping, and piling up into bed to watch Felicity DVD’s — (I’ve been watching Season 2 lately via Netflix, btw, and dammit, I miss this show) — it’s just really my kind of fun. In my experience so far, Ky’s the one saving grace for that wicked little town. Oh, wait, they have cool metros too. Ok, two saving graces.

I’m dangerously close to abandoning my beloved Sony MD and buying an iPod. The fact that they could hold my entire mp3 collection just arrests me, not to mention my utter adoration of promos & ads. They’re just too damn cool!

Random truth: I could sit on the train and zone out to “For Me This Is Heaven” by Jimmy Eat World all damn day.

An adorable email lies in my inbox at the moment. I got it yesterday, and with it was attatched this twinkly little thing. Aw, thanks for the love, man. You made me look less tired! My favorite part is the innuendo-laden tagline. ROCK.