Remember that time a few weeks ago when I said I was gonna read The Da Vinci Code? Well I read it over the next couple of days, and it was pretty useless. I forgot to mention it. I know how much you were all holding your breaths waiting to hear what I thought because I am the final voice in literature and movie reviews. But that's all I've got to say: "It was pretty useless." So I'm not going to waste more time on it.
Unfortunately, I don't have anything else to write about except that I've had New York City Boy in my head for the past 4 days, an energizing if cloyingly repetitive reminder that I've got a ton of shit to get done before this weekend when I move and that I should stop wasting my afternoons reading, getting coffee, and playing The Sims.
As to those things, I'm halfway through Ryu Murakami's 69 (kind of a poor man's Catcher in the Rye but still pretty good), I enjoy the Seattle's Best that opened up in my local Borders better than the non-Starbucks that was there before (get the girl to make you a vanilla latte), and half my pregnant lesbian couple just died in a fire that I couldn't stop because the floor in front of the phone was burning (her life partner cried as she swept up the ashes.)
That's pretty much my life. I realized earlier that I never share too much about it on here. That's why: I read books, drink coffee, and play video games. So I'm coming out now and admitting to the world what a giant loser I am. But this will change if I can just get off my ass and pack the rest of my life up. Cause I'm a New York City Boy... Christ, here goes the song again.
All aloooone in the mooooonliiiiight
The other day some guy was telling me how his earliest memory as a baby was of his father holding his head under the sink because as a baby he was stupid (as babies are) and pour rubbing alcohol into his eyes. I imagine his father was also somewhat stupid for facilitating this activity by putting a bottle of rubbing alcohol in his toy box or whatever, but I don't judge. (Not ever.)
Anyway, I thought I'd share mine. Not my rubbing alcohol (I need that) but rather
My First Memory
My first memory is of when I was a stupid baby in my walker. For those of you who might not have been as retarded as I was as a child, a walker is this contraption that you put an infant in... the baby kinda sits in the middle, and his feet dangle and touch the ground. And the thing is on wheels, so the baby is both sitting and standing and also able to totter around and bump into things. I loved my walker, and I would go around in circles all over the house just happy as a clam.
You might think "Oh, sounds like that memory happened to early for you to remember it, you probably just made it up." But no. It took me forever to learn how to walk. My mom was kind of afraid there was something wrong with me. I'm sure if I could, I would have simply expressed to her that I simply did not have anywhere I felt like going. I mean hell, I got picked up and placed wherever I needed to go! Why would I trouble myself with walking? Even today, I envy people in wheelchairs just a little bit. (A little, I said, I know nobody really wants to be in one.) So I was in my walker until I was about 15 when I could get my learner's permit.
That's why I remember it so well.
How strong I was
how young and gay
A prince of love
In every way.
Anyway, I thought I'd share mine. Not my rubbing alcohol (I need that) but rather
My First Memory
My first memory is of when I was a stupid baby in my walker. For those of you who might not have been as retarded as I was as a child, a walker is this contraption that you put an infant in... the baby kinda sits in the middle, and his feet dangle and touch the ground. And the thing is on wheels, so the baby is both sitting and standing and also able to totter around and bump into things. I loved my walker, and I would go around in circles all over the house just happy as a clam.
You might think "Oh, sounds like that memory happened to early for you to remember it, you probably just made it up." But no. It took me forever to learn how to walk. My mom was kind of afraid there was something wrong with me. I'm sure if I could, I would have simply expressed to her that I simply did not have anywhere I felt like going. I mean hell, I got picked up and placed wherever I needed to go! Why would I trouble myself with walking? Even today, I envy people in wheelchairs just a little bit. (A little, I said, I know nobody really wants to be in one.) So I was in my walker until I was about 15 when I could get my learner's permit.
That's why I remember it so well.
How strong I was
how young and gay
A prince of love
In every way.
Junior is bad don't read it ok?
Yesterday I thought it might be a good idea to buy and read Macaulay Culkin's new book Junior. That was pretty much the stupidest idea I've ever had. It's basically a meaningless miscellany of all too self-conscious stream of consciousness ramblings intended to paint our hero (affectionately calling himself "Junior") as some sort of creative, emotive force of modern writing. He comes off more as a crappy emo rock band that opens for a crappier emo rock band at your local Starbucks.
Just because you're random doesn't mean your work has "layers of meaning."
Just because you start every stupid list with "Dad" doesn't mean your relationship with him is somehow worth writing a book about.
This book reminded me of the journal I had at the end of high school when I was deluded enough to think that someone would find it after I died and feel inspired to publish it. Every entry was so painfully oozing with the effort to sound profound and artistic that I'm embarassed to look back on it. Reading this book made me embarassed for Macaulay. I imagine he'll look back on it and cringe if he ever grows up.
Oops, I'm getting judgmental. Time to talk about something else.... like myself. (It's all about me, you know.) Transition!
About 25 pages into Mr. Culkin's chef-d'oeuvre and after realizing the striking similarities between his drecky prose and my drivelling journal of yore, I realized that I could probably write a book. I was at Starbucks. I thought about it, and my thoughts started forming into all these little ideas. I realized "Damn! I'm so awesome!" I'm so much wittier and cooler than everyone (especially Macaulay Culkin) and my e-mails about my life that I send to old friends from college are like the highlights of their days. Then I realized that it would have to be all about me. Then I realized that nobody cares about me. Then I realized that nobody cares about half the people who write books about themselves. Then I realized I didn't care about writing a book.
So that was the end of that. Looks like I'm not writing a book, sorry.... unless there is a sudden surge of interest from at least 1,000,000 potential readers and a publishing company. Ok, if I get 1,000,000 comments on this blog entry, I'll write a book. Go!
Just because you're random doesn't mean your work has "layers of meaning."
Just because you start every stupid list with "Dad" doesn't mean your relationship with him is somehow worth writing a book about.
This book reminded me of the journal I had at the end of high school when I was deluded enough to think that someone would find it after I died and feel inspired to publish it. Every entry was so painfully oozing with the effort to sound profound and artistic that I'm embarassed to look back on it. Reading this book made me embarassed for Macaulay. I imagine he'll look back on it and cringe if he ever grows up.
Oops, I'm getting judgmental. Time to talk about something else.... like myself. (It's all about me, you know.) Transition!
About 25 pages into Mr. Culkin's chef-d'oeuvre and after realizing the striking similarities between his drecky prose and my drivelling journal of yore, I realized that I could probably write a book. I was at Starbucks. I thought about it, and my thoughts started forming into all these little ideas. I realized "Damn! I'm so awesome!" I'm so much wittier and cooler than everyone (especially Macaulay Culkin) and my e-mails about my life that I send to old friends from college are like the highlights of their days. Then I realized that it would have to be all about me. Then I realized that nobody cares about me. Then I realized that nobody cares about half the people who write books about themselves. Then I realized I didn't care about writing a book.
So that was the end of that. Looks like I'm not writing a book, sorry.... unless there is a sudden surge of interest from at least 1,000,000 potential readers and a publishing company. Ok, if I get 1,000,000 comments on this blog entry, I'll write a book. Go!
ROAR! (That's the lion)
Wonderful news! This is my 50th entry!
Better news! I'm employed! That's right. I am the newest member of the New York Public Library, Humanities and Social Sciences Library, Monograph Cataloging Division! I'm cataloging music scores, and it's going to be great!
It's all come together so well! So I've got a cute apartment and a fantastic job. Let my sweet new life begin!
I will now except your adulation and praise.
Better news! I'm employed! That's right. I am the newest member of the New York Public Library, Humanities and Social Sciences Library, Monograph Cataloging Division! I'm cataloging music scores, and it's going to be great!
It's all come together so well! So I've got a cute apartment and a fantastic job. Let my sweet new life begin!
I will now except your adulation and praise.
Close encounters
Y'know how sometimes you're walking down the street and you accidentally make eye contact with some stranger, so you smile just a little bit and quickly look away? And then for some reason you peek back at the same time they peek back, so your eyes lock again and this time you notice their eyes are really pretty so you accidentally stare a second too long and then they say "Hey" so you have to say "Hey" back so you don't feel like an asshole.
And then you're thinking "Jesus, I hope he didn't think I was checking him out, he's probably some gay basher and he's running home to make fun of me to all his stupid friends in his blog like 'Wow, so this gaywad was totally checking me out on the street and flirting with me today, OMG it was so gross, who wants to play some football?'"
So then you're all "Shit, I'm being gay bashed in someone's blog." But then you realize that they are not cool enough to have a cool blog like mine so all you have to do is write about him in your own blog like "Y'know how sometimes you're walking down the street and you accidentally make eye contact with some stranger" and then assure everyone that you weren't checking him out even though he had pretty eyes because you never check out asshole gay bashers because they have ugly souls.
And then you start a blog war with him which you totally win because your blog is so much hipper and cooler and your design is the template sensation that's sweeping the nation whereas he probably has the same-old lame-old default Blogger template like everyone else. So you feel good because you won the war and reward yourself by getting a brownie and large chai at the cafe instead of just a cookie and a medium chai.
Y'know how that happens? Yeah because it just happened to me.
And then you're thinking "Jesus, I hope he didn't think I was checking him out, he's probably some gay basher and he's running home to make fun of me to all his stupid friends in his blog like 'Wow, so this gaywad was totally checking me out on the street and flirting with me today, OMG it was so gross, who wants to play some football?'"
So then you're all "Shit, I'm being gay bashed in someone's blog." But then you realize that they are not cool enough to have a cool blog like mine so all you have to do is write about him in your own blog like "Y'know how sometimes you're walking down the street and you accidentally make eye contact with some stranger" and then assure everyone that you weren't checking him out even though he had pretty eyes because you never check out asshole gay bashers because they have ugly souls.
And then you start a blog war with him which you totally win because your blog is so much hipper and cooler and your design is the template sensation that's sweeping the nation whereas he probably has the same-old lame-old default Blogger template like everyone else. So you feel good because you won the war and reward yourself by getting a brownie and large chai at the cafe instead of just a cookie and a medium chai.
Y'know how that happens? Yeah because it just happened to me.
My stupid hat
I hate my stupid hat. Today I didn't have time to shower because I layed in bed doing nothing for and hour and a half after my alarm went off, but I also slept on my head funny so my hair was REALLY weird and I couldn't fix it, so I'm wearing my hat today.
My friend Kim used to like it when I wore my hat because it meant I was dirty. I don't wear it anymore though because even when I'm dirty, my hair still usually looks ok. But not today, so I'm wearing my stupid hat, and it's red and I can only wear it backwards or it shows off how big my head is. Since I wear it backwards and my hair sticks out of it in the front and on the sides, and since I am girly and gay and have no testosterone so I never developed a masculine jaw or broad shoulders, my hat makes me look like a 10-year-old.
And since I look like a 10-year-old, I pretty much just wanna act like a 10-year-old and eat pizza and not do work and sit around and talk about whatever stupid crap 10-year-old boys talk about. And I want to play video games.
So I'm going to leave work early because I've sat here doing nothing the whole time anyway. And I'm going to go get the cold pizza out of the fridge at my other job and eat it, and I'm gonna go home to start packing for my trip, but really, I'm probably just going to play the Sims and read my crappy book. (I read a lot as a 10-year-old, so it's ok.) And then I'm going to get a shamrock shake and drink the whole thing.
And then I'm going to take a shower and get dressed in something that is not my hat and this t-shirt and my red shoes so I can look like a 21-year-old just in time to go out and get drunk for St. Patrick's Day. And I'll hang my stupid red hat on the wall and let it wait another six months until I need another lame excuse to be irresponsible and fat and to relive the glorious days of my youth, which are pretty similar to the glorious days of my adulthood except I feel the need to blog about them.
I love my stupid hat.
My friend Kim used to like it when I wore my hat because it meant I was dirty. I don't wear it anymore though because even when I'm dirty, my hair still usually looks ok. But not today, so I'm wearing my stupid hat, and it's red and I can only wear it backwards or it shows off how big my head is. Since I wear it backwards and my hair sticks out of it in the front and on the sides, and since I am girly and gay and have no testosterone so I never developed a masculine jaw or broad shoulders, my hat makes me look like a 10-year-old.
And since I look like a 10-year-old, I pretty much just wanna act like a 10-year-old and eat pizza and not do work and sit around and talk about whatever stupid crap 10-year-old boys talk about. And I want to play video games.
So I'm going to leave work early because I've sat here doing nothing the whole time anyway. And I'm going to go get the cold pizza out of the fridge at my other job and eat it, and I'm gonna go home to start packing for my trip, but really, I'm probably just going to play the Sims and read my crappy book. (I read a lot as a 10-year-old, so it's ok.) And then I'm going to get a shamrock shake and drink the whole thing.
And then I'm going to take a shower and get dressed in something that is not my hat and this t-shirt and my red shoes so I can look like a 21-year-old just in time to go out and get drunk for St. Patrick's Day. And I'll hang my stupid red hat on the wall and let it wait another six months until I need another lame excuse to be irresponsible and fat and to relive the glorious days of my youth, which are pretty similar to the glorious days of my adulthood except I feel the need to blog about them.
I love my stupid hat.
The Da Vinci Code: Yet to be decoded
My boss lent it to me, so despite my avoidance of it for all this time, I am actually going to read The Da Vinci Code.
It's not the popularity that has heretofore dissuaded me from reading the novel. I mean hello, biggest Harry Potter fan ever! Rather, it was the popularity mixed with how it's taken so seriously. The intellectual elitist in me immediately recoiled when it noticed all the publicity that was attached to a book everyone was reading (i.e. popular fiction.) I'm one of those awful people who hates seeing James Patterson, Stephen Coonts, and Tom Clancy mixed into the 'Literature' section at Borders. So all the attention The Da Vinci Code was getting pretty much made me think "Wow, this will probably turn into a Tom Hanks movie," and I immediately dismissed it. Ok, maybe I didn't really use Tom Hanks' name.
But now I have it, and I want to see what all the fuss is about. Hell, maybe it will be more than cheap entertainment given far too much billing. I'm not getting my hopes up, but I know good writing when I see it. It's my job.
Flipping through the book, however, the first thing I noticed was that none of the chapters are more than 5 pages long. Dan, my man, I hope this isn't some cheap way to make this fast-paced, action-packed thriller seem more... fast-paced. Also, there's italics on almost every page. I can use italics here because this is a retarded blog. You're writing a book. Italics is lame. You'd better have a good reason. I guess I'll find out this afternoon.
So here we go. I'd say I'm approaching this with an open mind, but my full Jewish nose needs no more length. And if you think I'm a judgmental asshole for talking shit about popular things being taken too seriously when they're actually crap and also about popular fiction in general, you are correct! Well done. Five points to Gryffindor.
It's not the popularity that has heretofore dissuaded me from reading the novel. I mean hello, biggest Harry Potter fan ever! Rather, it was the popularity mixed with how it's taken so seriously. The intellectual elitist in me immediately recoiled when it noticed all the publicity that was attached to a book everyone was reading (i.e. popular fiction.) I'm one of those awful people who hates seeing James Patterson, Stephen Coonts, and Tom Clancy mixed into the 'Literature' section at Borders. So all the attention The Da Vinci Code was getting pretty much made me think "Wow, this will probably turn into a Tom Hanks movie," and I immediately dismissed it. Ok, maybe I didn't really use Tom Hanks' name.
But now I have it, and I want to see what all the fuss is about. Hell, maybe it will be more than cheap entertainment given far too much billing. I'm not getting my hopes up, but I know good writing when I see it. It's my job.
Flipping through the book, however, the first thing I noticed was that none of the chapters are more than 5 pages long. Dan, my man, I hope this isn't some cheap way to make this fast-paced, action-packed thriller seem more... fast-paced. Also, there's italics on almost every page. I can use italics here because this is a retarded blog. You're writing a book. Italics is lame. You'd better have a good reason. I guess I'll find out this afternoon.
So here we go. I'd say I'm approaching this with an open mind, but my full Jewish nose needs no more length. And if you think I'm a judgmental asshole for talking shit about popular things being taken too seriously when they're actually crap and also about popular fiction in general, you are correct! Well done. Five points to Gryffindor.
'My New Apartment' Virtual Walking Tour
WELCOME READERS! Are you ready for thrills and spills? Well you've come to the right place! Presenting a very special high-definition stereophonic event:
The 'My New Apartment' Virtual Walking Tour presented in Super Mondo-Cool-Vision 3-D!!!!
Here we are in sunny New York City looking at the gargantuan facade of My New Apartment!
While the sweeping walls soar to the heavens, the fire escape snakes to the earth, conveying the architect's vision of "bridging the worlds". He is quoted as saying "The home is like the great beyond, a place of comfort and security. My design embodies this, but also provides the viewer with a sense that one can easily return to the mortal world, a place whose hustle and bustle and stress make the home an even more idyllic place to return."
Now look both ways, it's time to approach.
Notice the stalwart stone pillars valiantly supporting this magnificent structure with brave, yet inviting confidence. The fire escape ladder peeking hello from the top is just one example of the vigorous safety and security measures the managers of My New Apartment have implemented for my sense of well-being. And the green door evokes comforting images of forest life, transforming the harsh city into a welcoming natural place where both man and beast will feel right at home.
And heeeeeeere we goooooooooooo!
Let's go inside, shall we?
Ahhh, here we are! Having just walked through the front door, we are present with a view of the menagerie, future home of the fabulous creatures that will live in My New Apartment. Everyone say hi to Tinkerbell! She's taking measurements for the unicorn pen. So far, we also plan to install a litter box and a hanging plant to make the animals feel right at home. Off to the left is the stunning master bathroom, which we will visit presently. The window at the end of this hallway provides a spectacular view of the building behind, providing a place to sit and contemplate the world while also minimizing street noise. Directly to our left is the rest of the apartment, but come, let us visit the bathing facilities first. Walk this way.
Smile! The Lady of the Mirror wishes to take your picture, which can be purchased later at our gift shop for a modest $10. The sink you see here was handed down from Alexander, and it spouts clean water smelling faintly of fresh strawberries, for it comes from the bubbling springs of Lothlorien. You may have seen Lothlorien in Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings movies, which were shot on-location in that mystical paradise. This water cleans and refreshes the body like nothing else in all the land. "But one cannot bathe in the sink", you say? Ah yes. Behold the shower!
This shower has been newly installed by the gnomish plumbing specialists from Kuala Lumpur. As you can see, it has been fitted with an automatic temperature adjuster, which scans your neurons and rains down Lothlorien Water of the perfect temperature to suit your mood and state of alertness. Now back through the menagerie, everyone, it's time to see the rest of this beautiful apartment!
What you see standing before you is the outstanding wall that provides this living establishment with all of its charm. This dividing wall separates what would be a studio into sections, giving the illusion of many many rooms for the price of one! To the left is the master bedroom, which we will visit in a moment. I would like to draw your attention to the right side of the wall. This is the library: a cozy nook perfect for a cushy armchair, a soft lamp, and the shelves that will carry the keys to your imagination! Rivalled only by the library in the Walt Disney animated feature Beauty and the Beast, we are confident that this collection will grow to match the Beast's impressive collection of mostly half-rate authors. (You didn't hear this from me, but the Beast just can't get enough of Tom Clancy and Mary Higgins Clarke. He thinks slipping off the dust jackets make his collection look "classic". What a maroon.)
And we have arrived in the master bedroom suite. The hi-tech radiator pictured provides cozy sleeping temperature, slowly lulling the tenant to dreamland with increasing warmth. The attractive window bars keep out prowlers and so called "Prince Charmings" who may wish to climb the fire escape to kiss you in the night, but they also swing open so that you may lean out as your lover sings "Maria" from the alley below. The narrow space requires a small bed so that you and your lover will have no choice but to spend the night in passionate embrace! Ah, love! We have more stop to make! Let's go to the gourmet kitchen!
My, what a surprise! It's my fellow tour guide Alexis directing another band of fearless explorers like yourselves! Everyone wave to Alexis! HI, ALEXIS! Well, as you know, this is the charming and unique kitchen facility. Seem small? Well it is! The appliances have been donated by Willy Wonka, and they employ state-of-the-art technology to magically adjust the size of your food while it is cooking! You can prepare cookies with a teaspoon of flour in the tiny stove, but when they come out, you can open your very own Mrs. Field's franchise from the privacy of your own home! One bagel pizza feeds a frat party! A cornish hen is a Thanksgiving feast for twelve! Save money and mess with Willy Wonka kitchen appliances, available exclusively at Sears!
And this concludes our tour, my friends! Unfortunately, our shot of the open common space (a ballroom modelled off the one in Buckingham Palace) has been stolen by the evil Witch-Queen Lucrecia. That room was the vantage point from which the previous three pictures was shot, and without it, you cannot witness the apartment in all of its splendor. I leave you now with two shots from the street corner as you go on your way. We hope you enjoyed your tour. Please exit to the right and remember to leave your valuables in the bins where they have been stowed. Goodnight, and good luck.
My new grocery store.
The street corner I will see every morning.
Thanks for coming!
The 'My New Apartment' Virtual Walking Tour presented in Super Mondo-Cool-Vision 3-D!!!!
Here we are in sunny New York City looking at the gargantuan facade of My New Apartment!
While the sweeping walls soar to the heavens, the fire escape snakes to the earth, conveying the architect's vision of "bridging the worlds". He is quoted as saying "The home is like the great beyond, a place of comfort and security. My design embodies this, but also provides the viewer with a sense that one can easily return to the mortal world, a place whose hustle and bustle and stress make the home an even more idyllic place to return."
Now look both ways, it's time to approach.
Notice the stalwart stone pillars valiantly supporting this magnificent structure with brave, yet inviting confidence. The fire escape ladder peeking hello from the top is just one example of the vigorous safety and security measures the managers of My New Apartment have implemented for my sense of well-being. And the green door evokes comforting images of forest life, transforming the harsh city into a welcoming natural place where both man and beast will feel right at home.
And heeeeeeere we goooooooooooo!
Let's go inside, shall we?
Ahhh, here we are! Having just walked through the front door, we are present with a view of the menagerie, future home of the fabulous creatures that will live in My New Apartment. Everyone say hi to Tinkerbell! She's taking measurements for the unicorn pen. So far, we also plan to install a litter box and a hanging plant to make the animals feel right at home. Off to the left is the stunning master bathroom, which we will visit presently. The window at the end of this hallway provides a spectacular view of the building behind, providing a place to sit and contemplate the world while also minimizing street noise. Directly to our left is the rest of the apartment, but come, let us visit the bathing facilities first. Walk this way.
Smile! The Lady of the Mirror wishes to take your picture, which can be purchased later at our gift shop for a modest $10. The sink you see here was handed down from Alexander, and it spouts clean water smelling faintly of fresh strawberries, for it comes from the bubbling springs of Lothlorien. You may have seen Lothlorien in Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings movies, which were shot on-location in that mystical paradise. This water cleans and refreshes the body like nothing else in all the land. "But one cannot bathe in the sink", you say? Ah yes. Behold the shower!
This shower has been newly installed by the gnomish plumbing specialists from Kuala Lumpur. As you can see, it has been fitted with an automatic temperature adjuster, which scans your neurons and rains down Lothlorien Water of the perfect temperature to suit your mood and state of alertness. Now back through the menagerie, everyone, it's time to see the rest of this beautiful apartment!
What you see standing before you is the outstanding wall that provides this living establishment with all of its charm. This dividing wall separates what would be a studio into sections, giving the illusion of many many rooms for the price of one! To the left is the master bedroom, which we will visit in a moment. I would like to draw your attention to the right side of the wall. This is the library: a cozy nook perfect for a cushy armchair, a soft lamp, and the shelves that will carry the keys to your imagination! Rivalled only by the library in the Walt Disney animated feature Beauty and the Beast, we are confident that this collection will grow to match the Beast's impressive collection of mostly half-rate authors. (You didn't hear this from me, but the Beast just can't get enough of Tom Clancy and Mary Higgins Clarke. He thinks slipping off the dust jackets make his collection look "classic". What a maroon.)
And we have arrived in the master bedroom suite. The hi-tech radiator pictured provides cozy sleeping temperature, slowly lulling the tenant to dreamland with increasing warmth. The attractive window bars keep out prowlers and so called "Prince Charmings" who may wish to climb the fire escape to kiss you in the night, but they also swing open so that you may lean out as your lover sings "Maria" from the alley below. The narrow space requires a small bed so that you and your lover will have no choice but to spend the night in passionate embrace! Ah, love! We have more stop to make! Let's go to the gourmet kitchen!
My, what a surprise! It's my fellow tour guide Alexis directing another band of fearless explorers like yourselves! Everyone wave to Alexis! HI, ALEXIS! Well, as you know, this is the charming and unique kitchen facility. Seem small? Well it is! The appliances have been donated by Willy Wonka, and they employ state-of-the-art technology to magically adjust the size of your food while it is cooking! You can prepare cookies with a teaspoon of flour in the tiny stove, but when they come out, you can open your very own Mrs. Field's franchise from the privacy of your own home! One bagel pizza feeds a frat party! A cornish hen is a Thanksgiving feast for twelve! Save money and mess with Willy Wonka kitchen appliances, available exclusively at Sears!
And this concludes our tour, my friends! Unfortunately, our shot of the open common space (a ballroom modelled off the one in Buckingham Palace) has been stolen by the evil Witch-Queen Lucrecia. That room was the vantage point from which the previous three pictures was shot, and without it, you cannot witness the apartment in all of its splendor. I leave you now with two shots from the street corner as you go on your way. We hope you enjoyed your tour. Please exit to the right and remember to leave your valuables in the bins where they have been stowed. Goodnight, and good luck.
My new grocery store.
The street corner I will see every morning.
Thanks for coming!
Success breeds success
Rock on, friends. Rock on. I got the apartment. I'm moving to New York. It's officially official, and I'm beyond excited. I will be living on the Upper East Side on 79th and York.
My excitement may be hard to gauge due to the utter lack of exclamation points in the previous paragraph, but I assure you that is only because I have eaten too many cookies today so my stomach hurts. Also, I just noticed that I have a cavity. Luckily, it seems there is a dentist on York between 76th and 77th, so I can walk there and stop at Starbucks when I go to get my filling.
Anyway, that's all I really had to say: that I'm moving to New York, and you're not. I'm thrilled that this worked out, the application process was a total bitch. It's only thanks to my parents that this is happening, so a huge shout out to them. Anyone wanna buy a crappy couch?
The place is a little studio with a tiny kitchen. There's this weirdo wall that sections off the place a little, so it gives the illusion of rooms! (There's an exclamation point.) So I'm going to have a bedroom, a foyer with a chandelier imported from France, a library (actually a converted smoking parlor), a ballroom cum entertainment complex, and a menagerie (the end of the hallway to the bathroom where there will be a hanging plant and the litter box.) For those 3rd graders in my audience: Hee hee, I said "cum entertainment".
In addition, I'm close to everything! It's a jaunty stroll to the laundromat and grocery store (and a flower shop, I guess, I don't know why my mom needed to tell me that.) It's a slightly less jaunty stroll to the subway... more of a leisurely walk. And it's sort of a lugubrious trek to Central Park, but it's still close enough that I can go every Sunday and walk around and read in the sun. I am well pleased.
You are all required to visit me and bring one (1) housewarming gift. I dislike white wine. If you cannot visit, you are instead required to tell me about two (2) places you know about in the City: restaurants, clubs, cafes, performance spaces, anything. For those of you that actually live in NYC, the requirements are more rigid, and I will discuss them with you on an individual basis.
That is all. You may now shower me with kudos and well-wishes as I enter this new super-hip stage in my life.
My excitement may be hard to gauge due to the utter lack of exclamation points in the previous paragraph, but I assure you that is only because I have eaten too many cookies today so my stomach hurts. Also, I just noticed that I have a cavity. Luckily, it seems there is a dentist on York between 76th and 77th, so I can walk there and stop at Starbucks when I go to get my filling.
Anyway, that's all I really had to say: that I'm moving to New York, and you're not. I'm thrilled that this worked out, the application process was a total bitch. It's only thanks to my parents that this is happening, so a huge shout out to them. Anyone wanna buy a crappy couch?
The place is a little studio with a tiny kitchen. There's this weirdo wall that sections off the place a little, so it gives the illusion of rooms! (There's an exclamation point.) So I'm going to have a bedroom, a foyer with a chandelier imported from France, a library (actually a converted smoking parlor), a ballroom cum entertainment complex, and a menagerie (the end of the hallway to the bathroom where there will be a hanging plant and the litter box.) For those 3rd graders in my audience: Hee hee, I said "cum entertainment".
In addition, I'm close to everything! It's a jaunty stroll to the laundromat and grocery store (and a flower shop, I guess, I don't know why my mom needed to tell me that.) It's a slightly less jaunty stroll to the subway... more of a leisurely walk. And it's sort of a lugubrious trek to Central Park, but it's still close enough that I can go every Sunday and walk around and read in the sun. I am well pleased.
You are all required to visit me and bring one (1) housewarming gift. I dislike white wine. If you cannot visit, you are instead required to tell me about two (2) places you know about in the City: restaurants, clubs, cafes, performance spaces, anything. For those of you that actually live in NYC, the requirements are more rigid, and I will discuss them with you on an individual basis.
That is all. You may now shower me with kudos and well-wishes as I enter this new super-hip stage in my life.
Transamerica
Greetings, gentle readers! Come, sit and attend to another superficial movie review that will not help you determine the merits of the film but should provide a welcome distraction from your dull work day and all those other boring shitty blogs.
This week's selection is Transamerica, a heartwarming (and at times pantswarming) tale of a male-to-female transsexual who flies across the country after finding out she fathered a son during a college fling. The resulting road trip back finds the two bonding and blah blah blah, go read a summary somewhere else.
Ok, first off, Felicity Huffman was unbelievable in this role. Before seeing the movie, I couldn't think why they wouldn't get a man or an actual transsexual to play the part, but now I don't care because Felicity was better. It's too bad the Oscar for having a funny voice went to Philip Seymour Hoffman (though he deserved it too, ok?) because as big a fan as I am of Reese Whitherspoon and as amazing as she was in Walk the Line, Ms. Huffman deserved that award.
It should also have won Best Make-Up because they made her look really ugly!
Also, they need a new Oscar category: Hottest Child-turned-20-something Actor who Gets Naked On Screen and Plays a Gay Character. They need that category and every year, they need to give it to Kevin Zegers because I want him to play the same character for the rest of his life, and I want him to be praised. He's totally hot, I can't even handle it. Unfortunately, a Google image search doesn't have any naked pics, so you're just gonna have to go see the movie over and over again. You get to see his wang.
So ok, but the movie was really good regardless. I laughed, I cried, I drooled all over my therapist... so go see it.
SEE Felicity Huffman's fake penis! HEAR the painful-to-listen-to faux voice Ms. Huffman created! LAUGH as Fionnula Flanagan is way too tan and hilarious and steals the show!
Transamerica!
This week's selection is Transamerica, a heartwarming (and at times pantswarming) tale of a male-to-female transsexual who flies across the country after finding out she fathered a son during a college fling. The resulting road trip back finds the two bonding and blah blah blah, go read a summary somewhere else.
Ok, first off, Felicity Huffman was unbelievable in this role. Before seeing the movie, I couldn't think why they wouldn't get a man or an actual transsexual to play the part, but now I don't care because Felicity was better. It's too bad the Oscar for having a funny voice went to Philip Seymour Hoffman (though he deserved it too, ok?) because as big a fan as I am of Reese Whitherspoon and as amazing as she was in Walk the Line, Ms. Huffman deserved that award.
It should also have won Best Make-Up because they made her look really ugly!
Also, they need a new Oscar category: Hottest Child-turned-20-something Actor who Gets Naked On Screen and Plays a Gay Character. They need that category and every year, they need to give it to Kevin Zegers because I want him to play the same character for the rest of his life, and I want him to be praised. He's totally hot, I can't even handle it. Unfortunately, a Google image search doesn't have any naked pics, so you're just gonna have to go see the movie over and over again. You get to see his wang.
So ok, but the movie was really good regardless. I laughed, I cried, I drooled all over my therapist... so go see it.
SEE Felicity Huffman's fake penis! HEAR the painful-to-listen-to faux voice Ms. Huffman created! LAUGH as Fionnula Flanagan is way too tan and hilarious and steals the show!
Transamerica!
Ignore this rant
I got a call saying "Oh, so the blown-up copy of your driver's license that you went to all that trouble to make and fax to us as part of your apartment application was too dark. Now we want you to scan it and send it to us by e-mail. This will delay the application process, I hope for your sake we can keep holding the apartment for that long, CHUMP!"
What the hell? You have ALL of my information, jerkface! You see that I have a job lined up (which is a lie, my dad's boss is pretending to hire me and pay me lots of money to appease the apartment people) and all this money in my account and a guarantor who makes like a billion dollars (not really). But you're what? Afraid I'm too UGLY to live in New York City? Just how is my license picture SOOOOO important???
Oooh, maybe I'm a terrorist and that's why the picture being dark was a problem. If you can just make sure I'm white... because who's ever heard of a white terrorist, what a ridiculous idea!
I'll show you my license... TO KILL! I hate everybody, nobody better tell me that people are nice because I know they suck real hard!
The worst part, though, was when we offered the apartment complex to pay the entire year's rent right then. My dad was standing there with his checkbook because he's the nicest dad ever (better than your dad), and he said "I'll pay you up front for an entire year, ok, what exactly is this application for? Just give me the damn apartment!" Except he was nice. And yet no, they say they need to consider it. Fine! Bureacracy. Whatever. Now bureacracy wants to make sure I look good.
I'm just sorry I didn't smile.
What the hell? You have ALL of my information, jerkface! You see that I have a job lined up (which is a lie, my dad's boss is pretending to hire me and pay me lots of money to appease the apartment people) and all this money in my account and a guarantor who makes like a billion dollars (not really). But you're what? Afraid I'm too UGLY to live in New York City? Just how is my license picture SOOOOO important???
Oooh, maybe I'm a terrorist and that's why the picture being dark was a problem. If you can just make sure I'm white... because who's ever heard of a white terrorist, what a ridiculous idea!
I'll show you my license... TO KILL! I hate everybody, nobody better tell me that people are nice because I know they suck real hard!
The worst part, though, was when we offered the apartment complex to pay the entire year's rent right then. My dad was standing there with his checkbook because he's the nicest dad ever (better than your dad), and he said "I'll pay you up front for an entire year, ok, what exactly is this application for? Just give me the damn apartment!" Except he was nice. And yet no, they say they need to consider it. Fine! Bureacracy. Whatever. Now bureacracy wants to make sure I look good.
I'm just sorry I didn't smile.
Brokeback Mountain: No, the book
I just sat down and read "Brokeback Mountain", y'know the short story the movie was based on... the reason it won adapted screenplay instead of regular screenplay. Yes, (moving) pictures can be fun, but one really ought to look at the nice words... especially in this case.
It's a beautiful story, and it has that subtle execution and understanding of the human animal (as much as I hate that stupid term) that I always fall for in good literature. I, for one, don't need another overdone love story with sweeping music and slow motion bullshit field of daisies "I'll never let go, Jack, I'll never let go" crap that people seem to eat up so much. Basically, it's got everything that made the movie awesome, except it's made out of words, and the perfect ones at that.
Despite all the similarity, though, it sits a lot differently in my head than the movie did, partially because of the pacing and partially because books are just more intimate by their nature. It took me less than an hour to read, and most of that time was spent reading the last sentence over and over again no less than twenty-five times with tears in my eyes only to be finally snapped out of it by my cell phone going all "BUZZ BUZZ! COMMUNICATION! DAILY LIFE! SOCIAL, STRESS, AAAAAAAAH!" I hate my cell phone ring.
So go read it because I'm not saying any more. The way in which this book resonated with me is really personal, and like all things personal in my life, I can't really express it because it's too abstract. So I'm gonna go back and read the ending a second time so I can sit in it longer. And you're going to go to your local library (or just buy the damn thing for $10), and you're going to read it, and you're going to think it's special too. Now go.... unless you're my friend Billy who's my houseguest for the week, in which case it's sitting on my coffee table right in front of you, so read it (it's short) and remember not to go into the secret room with the cat box, and it's probably not a good idea to open the fridge either.
It's a beautiful story, and it has that subtle execution and understanding of the human animal (as much as I hate that stupid term) that I always fall for in good literature. I, for one, don't need another overdone love story with sweeping music and slow motion bullshit field of daisies "I'll never let go, Jack, I'll never let go" crap that people seem to eat up so much. Basically, it's got everything that made the movie awesome, except it's made out of words, and the perfect ones at that.
Despite all the similarity, though, it sits a lot differently in my head than the movie did, partially because of the pacing and partially because books are just more intimate by their nature. It took me less than an hour to read, and most of that time was spent reading the last sentence over and over again no less than twenty-five times with tears in my eyes only to be finally snapped out of it by my cell phone going all "BUZZ BUZZ! COMMUNICATION! DAILY LIFE! SOCIAL, STRESS, AAAAAAAAH!" I hate my cell phone ring.
So go read it because I'm not saying any more. The way in which this book resonated with me is really personal, and like all things personal in my life, I can't really express it because it's too abstract. So I'm gonna go back and read the ending a second time so I can sit in it longer. And you're going to go to your local library (or just buy the damn thing for $10), and you're going to read it, and you're going to think it's special too. Now go.... unless you're my friend Billy who's my houseguest for the week, in which case it's sitting on my coffee table right in front of you, so read it (it's short) and remember not to go into the secret room with the cat box, and it's probably not a good idea to open the fridge either.
Making faces
Ok, so basically I have nothing at all to talk about so I figured I'd show everyone what I look like because mostly I think I'm pretty amazing. But as a fun twist on the "post random pictures of myself" theme, I'm going to show you who myheritage.com thinks I look like. They have this nifty little tool where you upload a picture of your face, and they compare it to celebrities. I made my comparisons into a handy jpeg using my mad photoshop skillz. It took me a long time because first I had to crop and resize my picture, and then I had to copy all of them into one long one. I'm so good at photoshop I can hardly even handle it.
See? I look exactly like Colin Firth, River Phoenix, Katie Holmes, and Kevin Costner. The first picture is me, but I wouldn't be surprised if you thought it was also a picture of River Phoenix because we look so much alike. One time my mom came up to me while I was making cereal and she said "OMG RIVER PHOENIX CAN I HAVE YOUR AUTOGRAPH???" and then I said "No" and she said "Oh, it's just you, nevermind, I didn't want it anyway."
Another picture I uploaded said I looked like Anne Frank. I guess it's because all Jewish people look the same.
See? I look exactly like Colin Firth, River Phoenix, Katie Holmes, and Kevin Costner. The first picture is me, but I wouldn't be surprised if you thought it was also a picture of River Phoenix because we look so much alike. One time my mom came up to me while I was making cereal and she said "OMG RIVER PHOENIX CAN I HAVE YOUR AUTOGRAPH???" and then I said "No" and she said "Oh, it's just you, nevermind, I didn't want it anyway."
Another picture I uploaded said I looked like Anne Frank. I guess it's because all Jewish people look the same.
Obligatory Oscar post
Everyone hurry up and complain about how Brokeback Mountain didn't get the Oscar because Hollywood is so homophobic! Make sure you mention that it got all those guild awards so omg it should totally have won and I'm so mad INJUSTICE INJUSTICE! What's it take for gay people to be noticed in Hollywood???
Shut up. Ok, thanks.
Brokeback Mountain was a brilliant movie. Why? Because of it's brilliant direction, brilliant screenplay, and brilliant performances. The direction and screenplay were both honored. Oh, and it was also a great movie because it was progressive and all that. That's great. Maybe I have to recheck my Swahili-Esperanto-English dictionary, but I don't think "Best Picture" translates to "Most Poignant Social Commentary" in any language. And even if it did, Crash would probably still have won.
Don't get me wrong, I was rooting for Brokeback to win just as much as the next I'm-so-gay person. It really really had a shot, too. I don't know why it didn't. Maybe it was politics, or maybe (dare I say it?) Crash was actually a better movie. I don't know, I'm ignorant about film. The point is, I'm about to go check my blog subscriptions, and I'm terrified of the outcry I anticipate hearing from my "Gay Blogs" folder. I already read one entry like that today, which is pretty much what prompted this.
So it did't win. Don't act like they crucified Gay Jesus. Everyone still recognizes that movie was amazing even without the "heavier than it looks on TV" statue sitting on the producer's mantle. The future of the gay rights movement doesn't ride on this movie's recognition. We can't take the world by one gigantic duststorm. And don't forget, the Academy doesn't share your agenda, and they don't owe you anything.
That's right, I said agenda. The Gay Agenda is real, it's just not what the assholes think.
Ok, I'm done. Now I want to talk about everyone's dresses, but I'm going to do that with my boss instead of with you guys.
But before I go, I want to encourage everyone to donate to the American Association for Cancer Research. I hear they're investigating that horrible malignant tumor on Charlize Theron's gown, and I for one would like to see a cure.
Shut up. Ok, thanks.
Brokeback Mountain was a brilliant movie. Why? Because of it's brilliant direction, brilliant screenplay, and brilliant performances. The direction and screenplay were both honored. Oh, and it was also a great movie because it was progressive and all that. That's great. Maybe I have to recheck my Swahili-Esperanto-English dictionary, but I don't think "Best Picture" translates to "Most Poignant Social Commentary" in any language. And even if it did, Crash would probably still have won.
Don't get me wrong, I was rooting for Brokeback to win just as much as the next I'm-so-gay person. It really really had a shot, too. I don't know why it didn't. Maybe it was politics, or maybe (dare I say it?) Crash was actually a better movie. I don't know, I'm ignorant about film. The point is, I'm about to go check my blog subscriptions, and I'm terrified of the outcry I anticipate hearing from my "Gay Blogs" folder. I already read one entry like that today, which is pretty much what prompted this.
So it did't win. Don't act like they crucified Gay Jesus. Everyone still recognizes that movie was amazing even without the "heavier than it looks on TV" statue sitting on the producer's mantle. The future of the gay rights movement doesn't ride on this movie's recognition. We can't take the world by one gigantic duststorm. And don't forget, the Academy doesn't share your agenda, and they don't owe you anything.
That's right, I said agenda. The Gay Agenda is real, it's just not what the assholes think.
Ok, I'm done. Now I want to talk about everyone's dresses, but I'm going to do that with my boss instead of with you guys.
But before I go, I want to encourage everyone to donate to the American Association for Cancer Research. I hear they're investigating that horrible malignant tumor on Charlize Theron's gown, and I for one would like to see a cure.
Biohazard
I'm about to share some photos. Because of the graphic nature of what you are about it see, it is suggested that you stab your eyeballs with a pokey fork before viewing.
This sink is real. My friend lives in a dorm even though he is getting his PhD. (I guess it's cheaper if you can stand it.) Between every two rooms is a bathroom with a shower, toilet, and side-by-side his and hers sinks. This is the "his", the sink belonging to my friend's suitemate.
I'm not sure what the yellowish green stuff is. I can only imagine that this guy's cousin Slimer was visiting for the weekend.
Although it goes without saying, I'm going to say it. This is really disgusting. Can people really wake up in the morning, look at their sink like this, and think "Ahhh! A fresh start to a new day!" All I can think is "Disease."
I wish I had taken a shot of the toilet before my friend cleaned it. I never saw that Eddie-Murphical abortion, but in the previews there's a scene where he's apparently looking at shit on the ceiling. I thought the physics of that were impossible, but apparently my grasp of high school science is slipping. Have you ever seen human excrement on the underside of a toilet seat? On along the outside face of the bowl? Because I have.
This is an example of what I like to call "heterotoxicity." No gay man would allow his bathroom to look like that. It's a disturbing phenomenon among college boys. Heterotoxicity makes me somewhat glad I live in a big old bubble of sanitary gay.
Although an all-gay universe would be a horrible place for anyone to live, heterotoxicity is pushing me to consider pulling out my genocide diary and making some sketches.
My heart goes out to my friend who must face this every morning. His sink is spotless. I hope you all send him your support as well. Here he is being nice to me:
Billy-Jean: i like it when you copy and paste our AIM conversations into your blog
Too Hotty: Good.
Billy-Jean: it makes me feel good
Too Hotty: Say something funny, you'll be featured again.
Billy-Jean: i really like hanging out with you.....i wish we'd've made it a point to do it more often earlier on
Too Hotty: I know. :-(
Billy-Jean: you're one of the most well-adjusted people in Bloomington...going to be impossible to find a comparable hanging-out partner
Too Hotty: that's so sweet of you to say
Billy-Jean: just being honest
Too Hotty: but it won't get you featured in my blog
This sink is real. My friend lives in a dorm even though he is getting his PhD. (I guess it's cheaper if you can stand it.) Between every two rooms is a bathroom with a shower, toilet, and side-by-side his and hers sinks. This is the "his", the sink belonging to my friend's suitemate.
I'm not sure what the yellowish green stuff is. I can only imagine that this guy's cousin Slimer was visiting for the weekend.
Although it goes without saying, I'm going to say it. This is really disgusting. Can people really wake up in the morning, look at their sink like this, and think "Ahhh! A fresh start to a new day!" All I can think is "Disease."
I wish I had taken a shot of the toilet before my friend cleaned it. I never saw that Eddie-Murphical abortion, but in the previews there's a scene where he's apparently looking at shit on the ceiling. I thought the physics of that were impossible, but apparently my grasp of high school science is slipping. Have you ever seen human excrement on the underside of a toilet seat? On along the outside face of the bowl? Because I have.
This is an example of what I like to call "heterotoxicity." No gay man would allow his bathroom to look like that. It's a disturbing phenomenon among college boys. Heterotoxicity makes me somewhat glad I live in a big old bubble of sanitary gay.
Although an all-gay universe would be a horrible place for anyone to live, heterotoxicity is pushing me to consider pulling out my genocide diary and making some sketches.
My heart goes out to my friend who must face this every morning. His sink is spotless. I hope you all send him your support as well. Here he is being nice to me:
Billy-Jean: i like it when you copy and paste our AIM conversations into your blog
Too Hotty: Good.
Billy-Jean: it makes me feel good
Too Hotty: Say something funny, you'll be featured again.
Billy-Jean: i really like hanging out with you.....i wish we'd've made it a point to do it more often earlier on
Too Hotty: I know. :-(
Billy-Jean: you're one of the most well-adjusted people in Bloomington...going to be impossible to find a comparable hanging-out partner
Too Hotty: that's so sweet of you to say
Billy-Jean: just being honest
Too Hotty: but it won't get you featured in my blog
Denied
I would like to announce that I have unsubscribed to Santino Rice's blog in my aggregator. When every post is an unprotected orgy of self-importance and vanity, it eventually stops being special.
I just thought you all should know.
I just thought you all should know.
Are you being careful?
Oh my God, my mother just made reference to me "hooking up".
Now I knew she knew. I just always assumed she had that Mother's Denial barrier up, thinking her perfect son hadn't started fucking, especially because I barely talk about guys because I never go on dates except maybe one time and then they don't call me back because they're mean and I hate them. So we've just torn down a wall and the landscape of Berlin looks quite a bit different now.
After the above snippet, we got into a conversation about my future lifemate, who she still insists be Jewish, probably more out of Jewish Mother Tradition than any other reason.
Unrelated:
Mom: then keep your phone on and with you next sundayIgnoring the fact that my mother thinks I'm too good to get with anyone blue collar, I have to admit that I'm weirded out that my mother not only acknowledges, but condones that I have sex. Gay sex. In the what? In the butt.
Me: Right, because I might be out having actual fun on a Sunday night in the Bible belt.
Mom: you never know
Mom: you might hook up with a blue collar cool car mechanic
Mom: with no teeth
Me: I kinda do know.
Me: And I won't.
Mom: hahaha
Me: Yuck.
Now I knew she knew. I just always assumed she had that Mother's Denial barrier up, thinking her perfect son hadn't started fucking, especially because I barely talk about guys because I never go on dates except maybe one time and then they don't call me back because they're mean and I hate them. So we've just torn down a wall and the landscape of Berlin looks quite a bit different now.
After the above snippet, we got into a conversation about my future lifemate, who she still insists be Jewish, probably more out of Jewish Mother Tradition than any other reason.
Mom: Jewish boys are nice.All I insist is that I never use the word "lifemate" again.
Me: So are Christian boys.
Mom: i've never met one
Unrelated:
I says: I can't wait for flip-flop season... which will be short this year because I refuse to wear them in NYC.I am chic.
Keith-friend: why?
Keith-friend: people wear flip-flops there too
I says: Because steam comes out of the sewers.
Keith-friend: eww, gross
I says: I know.
I says: I'll probably never expose any skin.
Keith-friend: how cool :-)
Keith-friend: you'll get used to the squalor... it's good for you, builds up antibodies and all that
I says: I know, it'll be great! I'll be this super-soldier immune to germ warfare.
Keith-friend: either that or you'll catch something from some dirty foreigner and your ears will fall off
Keith-friend: but you could tell people "yeah, it's the new hot thing in new york, the no-ears look"
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