8.29.05
7:11 PM
The DJ on Q 104.5 (the classic rock station) was just commenting on the shooting of Suge Knight at a party in California recently. After talking about the shooting itself, he then reported that the party simply moved from the hotel suite it was held in out to the pool area. He then said that “if you are a gangsta rapper there are only two states of being for you: just about to be shot and having just been shot, oh yeah and the two small slivers of existence when you are being shot or shooting someone.”
This DJ never talks about ANYTHING except for which songs he just played or the ones he is about to play. Color me shocked and tickled.
Looking forward to the MET for Sex party this weekend. Hopefully, everyone who has iPod’s/mp3 players got my e-mail yesterday. Everyone who needs CD’s, I got that. I think meeting at the MET in the lobby at 7:15 is what were shooting for. Again, 7:15 on Saturday, September 3rd. Bring your music playing devices with headphones and batteries. If I sound condescending, it’s because last time we had people showing up with iPod but without the Playlist. Or Discmen without headphones. Anyway, I’m putting more faith in this bunch than in the last group, please don’t make me think of you as idiots. Because I know people…people with big ears and bigger mouths…seriously big…
This weekend was more active than I’m used to. I went to a crazy party for Lauren’s Birthday. I went to two of the trendiest, hipster joints down there and freaked out the stiffs. They played “Kiss” and I sort of raped this guy who was demanding that I let my hair down (literally) all night. I swallowed a full Red Bull and vodka and made people gape. I danced with a girl named Angel who is a full time member of the Landmark Forum (she has a hole in her life and now in her bank account thanks to those brainwashing fucks). I found out my friend Angie is engaged and got invited to that wedding. There will be 80’s music xmax.
Sunday I saw “The Baxter” (new Michael Showalter movie starring basically the whole cast of “WHAS”) and spent HOURS in the Village with Chris at the Howl Festival and then I found Bubble Tea (mmmmm…) two blocks from Dojo.
This spending more than one hour a month with Lauren is awesome and I look forward to upping the dosage although seeing Angelika is going to be tough. She is almost almost a Doctor with only 6 years to go. She gets to do an autopsy this year. Does anyone need any fingers?
Also, Chris finished her CD!!! WOO! Very impressive stuff. And now allow me to reiterate that those who do not do their albums are pig scum. I swear to God. Get to work if you haven’t started yet. Jesus.
I’m eating vanilla fudge now. Oh my goodness, oh my goodness.
8.26.2005
Peter Grunwald XMAX
8.26.05
3:06 PM
Last night I watched Armageddon and Monkey Shines. The first I watched because I have seen numerous parodies and have yet to see the source material and the second because it was Executive Produced by the owner of Tashmu, the dog I used to walk, Peter Grunwald.
Say what you will about Jerry Bruckhiemer, but goddamn can he make a HUGE movie just packed to the brim with famous actors. Bruce Willis (with an accent), Ben Affleck (tolerable), Liv Tyler (unreasonable hot), Michael Clarke Duncan (the poor man’s Ving Rhames), Owen Wilson (as Owen Wilson), Billy Bob Thornton Jolie (with the perpetual scruffy beard), Steve Buscemi (love that freak), Keith David (the voice of Golaith from the cartoon show Gargoyles as well as the guy who likes White chicks and gives them heroin for sex in Requiem for a Dream), Peter Stormare (Nihilist #1 from The Big Lebowski) and other actors that would make you exclaim, “Oh! That guy!” once you’ve seen them. Granted the plot was super hackneyed, but, come on, they have to drill into an asteroid and then blow it up with nukes!!! This sort of thing is de rigueur for Jedi Masters such as Obi Wan Pomerantz, but for us mere mortals, fuck man, NUKES ON THE ASTEROID!!!
“Monkey Shines”? Wow. Not only did this movie have a fierce attack parakeet, a razor-wielding capuchin and a quadriplegic sex scene (boi-oi-oing!!) but it also had one of the funniest foe-vanquishing moments ever put on film and I will challenge you to find a better one. Gia, this is the kind of “taking itself seriously” movie that you would love to flay with your razor-sharp tongue and scald with your caustic wit. Boo yah.
3:06 PM
Last night I watched Armageddon and Monkey Shines. The first I watched because I have seen numerous parodies and have yet to see the source material and the second because it was Executive Produced by the owner of Tashmu, the dog I used to walk, Peter Grunwald.
Say what you will about Jerry Bruckhiemer, but goddamn can he make a HUGE movie just packed to the brim with famous actors. Bruce Willis (with an accent), Ben Affleck (tolerable), Liv Tyler (unreasonable hot), Michael Clarke Duncan (the poor man’s Ving Rhames), Owen Wilson (as Owen Wilson), Billy Bob Thornton Jolie (with the perpetual scruffy beard), Steve Buscemi (love that freak), Keith David (the voice of Golaith from the cartoon show Gargoyles as well as the guy who likes White chicks and gives them heroin for sex in Requiem for a Dream), Peter Stormare (Nihilist #1 from The Big Lebowski) and other actors that would make you exclaim, “Oh! That guy!” once you’ve seen them. Granted the plot was super hackneyed, but, come on, they have to drill into an asteroid and then blow it up with nukes!!! This sort of thing is de rigueur for Jedi Masters such as Obi Wan Pomerantz, but for us mere mortals, fuck man, NUKES ON THE ASTEROID!!!
“Monkey Shines”? Wow. Not only did this movie have a fierce attack parakeet, a razor-wielding capuchin and a quadriplegic sex scene (boi-oi-oing!!) but it also had one of the funniest foe-vanquishing moments ever put on film and I will challenge you to find a better one. Gia, this is the kind of “taking itself seriously” movie that you would love to flay with your razor-sharp tongue and scald with your caustic wit. Boo yah.
8.22.2005
Urp.
8.22.05
3:46 PM
In just a squirt over a month, Phil will be dust in a dusty country, being eaten by bugs and plants and spider birds and all sorts of terrible things. This is unavoidable. Let us turn from this image of horrible death to one of life. Happy, warm life. Hot apple sauce life Chris and I will still be living in our apartment in a month and hopefully with a new friend who some of you have met ever so briefly. Her name is Mel. She is from L.A. originally then Boston. She is a freelance electrician and she is very good at her job. She also has the habit of always making too much food and never being able to eat it all. She is like a version of Leah who likes ladies more than gentlemen. And that, was me being tactful. We (Jen, Mel, Phil and I) hung out on Saturday night and watched a movie and had fun. At one point in the evening, Mel said that, although she’s only known me a handful of hours, she feels like she’s known me for much longer. That was by far one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me and now I really, really want to live with her, but, at this point, I would rather live with (fill in the blank with someone I wouldn’t want to live with unless I had to). I’m seriously considering calling in a bomb threat to Australia to keep Phil here. I’m still looking for the right person to call. That could be tough. Maybe I’ll call in a spider bomb or a shark bomb. Maybe I’ll threaten to bomb the Tim Tam factory. Speaking of Australia, Jade did you get the fucking CD yet? Those Mailboxes Etc. fuckwits said Will’s would arrive in two business days on Friday and he got it 13 days later. With that time frame, you should get yours a few days after your death.
Back to my point: We are looking for someone to live with. We have two options more feasible than Mel and, honestly, anyone will do as long as they don’t suck, but Mel and I are off to a great start and I’d love to live with an awesome permutation of Leah.
4:50 PM
Listened to “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” all the way through for the first time today. Very enjoyable. I feel the same way I did after listening to the White album all the way through; disappointed by other bands I thought were startlingly original. Way to go, Beatles. I still have yet to sit down with “Rubber Soul” and “Abbey Road” yet, but I’ll download them soon. I can’t wait to have more music ruined for me.
Also, all I’ve had to eat today is three huge Starbucks Rice Krispy Treat Squares. Thank you, Spider Food.
3:46 PM
In just a squirt over a month, Phil will be dust in a dusty country, being eaten by bugs and plants and spider birds and all sorts of terrible things. This is unavoidable. Let us turn from this image of horrible death to one of life. Happy, warm life. Hot apple sauce life Chris and I will still be living in our apartment in a month and hopefully with a new friend who some of you have met ever so briefly. Her name is Mel. She is from L.A. originally then Boston. She is a freelance electrician and she is very good at her job. She also has the habit of always making too much food and never being able to eat it all. She is like a version of Leah who likes ladies more than gentlemen. And that, was me being tactful. We (Jen, Mel, Phil and I) hung out on Saturday night and watched a movie and had fun. At one point in the evening, Mel said that, although she’s only known me a handful of hours, she feels like she’s known me for much longer. That was by far one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me and now I really, really want to live with her, but, at this point, I would rather live with (fill in the blank with someone I wouldn’t want to live with unless I had to). I’m seriously considering calling in a bomb threat to Australia to keep Phil here. I’m still looking for the right person to call. That could be tough. Maybe I’ll call in a spider bomb or a shark bomb. Maybe I’ll threaten to bomb the Tim Tam factory. Speaking of Australia, Jade did you get the fucking CD yet? Those Mailboxes Etc. fuckwits said Will’s would arrive in two business days on Friday and he got it 13 days later. With that time frame, you should get yours a few days after your death.
Back to my point: We are looking for someone to live with. We have two options more feasible than Mel and, honestly, anyone will do as long as they don’t suck, but Mel and I are off to a great start and I’d love to live with an awesome permutation of Leah.
4:50 PM
Listened to “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” all the way through for the first time today. Very enjoyable. I feel the same way I did after listening to the White album all the way through; disappointed by other bands I thought were startlingly original. Way to go, Beatles. I still have yet to sit down with “Rubber Soul” and “Abbey Road” yet, but I’ll download them soon. I can’t wait to have more music ruined for me.
Also, all I’ve had to eat today is three huge Starbucks Rice Krispy Treat Squares. Thank you, Spider Food.
8.19.2005
Endor...ENDOR...ENDOR!!! ENDORPHNES...HOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
8.19.05
4:02 PM
Today was the easiest seventy laps I’ve ever done. Here’s my secret…there are 4 official Nine Inch Nails albums and 1 official EP. The five releases contain a total of 68 tracks. During each lap, I played a clip of a song in my head. My laps are under 30 seconds, so I was never tired of the same song and, actually, had more than enough songs today since I forgot to initiate my plan until my 11th lap. I was surprised to find myself done in under an hour. Rawk hard ass, people, rawk hard ass.
And speaking of rawk hard asses, after my delight aquatic foray, I joined Jeannie for lunch in the staunch dinning room at the Club. She is planning on grad school and may come to New York. I was flattered to be among her reasons for getting Manhattanite wit it.
Now, here is the meat of this entry: I need all your help for this. This was posted on Stephen King’s website today:
If you’ve ever wanted to be a character in a Stephen King novel, here’s your chance! From September 1-25, 2005, Auction Cause will be conducting an auction through eBay Giving Works in which 17 authors are auctioning the opportunity to be a character in an upcoming novel, with the proceeds being donated to the First Amendment Project, a nonprofit organization that is dedicated to protecting and promoting freedom of information, expression, and petition. The auction for the Stephen King character will be from September 8th-18th. For more information about the First Amendment Project, Auction Cause, or the auction, visit:
http://www.thefirstamendment.org/
http://www.auctioncause.com/
http://www.ebay.com/fap
Here’s what Stephen is offering:
"One (and only one) character name in a novel called CELL, which is now in work and which will appear in either 2006 or 2007. Buyer should be aware that CELL is a violent piece of work, which comes complete with zombies set in motion by bad cell phone signals that destroy the human brain. Like cheap whiskey, it's very nasty and extremely satisfying. Character can be male or female, but a buyer who wants to die must in this case be female. In any case, I'll require physical description of auction winner, including any nickname (can be made up, I don't give a rip)."
Granted, Stephen King doesn’t seem super-psyched about compromising his work for money, but that doesn’t matter dick to me. Do you know what this contest means? It means that not only will I be immortalized in a Stephen King bestseller (all his books are bestsellers, even the shitty ones), but also that I will be immortalized in a Stephen King bestseller WITH ZOMBIES. Plus, with my “memorable” physical description, I wouldn’t be surprised if King has a little fun i.e. makes me a zombie.
So. Here’s where you come in. I intend to put up a sensible amount of money, but I will need your help. Anything you can spare to make my dreams come true will be bountifully rewarded. I will take you to lunch at the Club whenever you want to go, I will massage you, I will call bomb threats whenever you don’t feel like working, I will do whatever it takes to get into this book. Help me. Help me please and I will be your monkey. Please. I want to be in a Stephen King zombie book. Alan, I will give you my comic books. Kaitlyn, I will xmax your going away present. Gia, you will own every note of music They Might Be Giants have every released. Chris, I will perform oral sex until my entire face goes numb, also I will dress like a pirate/dandy/David Bowie/anything you want to get your rocks off. Christina, Robert Smith. Dorothy, I will bite you on command. Lisa, I will eliminate any and all ex-boyfriends you want. Jade, Linnell in a chesty bont. Phil, chocolate. Will, I will tell my father I’m gay…on videotape. You name it. You got it. Anyone…anything. Help me, and I will be your slave.
7:12 PM
During my break I watched the vast majority of “The Girl Next Door” starring Elisha Cuthbert (the smoking hot daughter of Jack Bauer on 24). This movie is a “star vehicle”. For those that aren’t savvy to the talk of the biz, allow me to shine some rays (more biz talk) on the scoop (even more biz talk). A star vehicle is NOT a class four hyerspace vessel, far from it, it is a movie (usually bad) with a tired plots, one dimensional characters, a generic soundtrack and a hot star from a hot T.V. show, a show like…uh…hmm…say 24. If the star is a young, attractive woman, she will most likely be portrayed in tight or no clothing in the ad campaign in order to draw in horny Fox watchers who are unable to find any naked pictures of said actress on the Internet. “The Girl Next Door” is no exception. It even has the “main character needs to be at an important dinner at which he will give a speech that will win him a scholarship but he throws out his original speech and speaks from the heart but even though he speaks from the heart, he still loses which makes a ‘zany scheme’ necessary”. Oh those one dimensional characters and their zany schemes…
Anyway, there are a bunch of “steamy” scenes with Elisha Cuthbert in which she teases the audience out of their mone. Thank God I waited for Netflix. Now, I know you’re all saying, “But Paul…why would you succumb to such transparent advertising schemes? You know she won’t show the goods and you have gigabytes of hot dolphin-on-clown porn at home, so why bother?”
Two letters: BJ. No, not blowjob (although a blowjob from Elisha Cuthbert would certainly put some pepper in my step), but Benjamin James. More specifically, Benjamin James Kravitz. Yes, BJ recommended this movie to me last time I saw him and I was completely won over. His taste in movies is always on the same track as mine so I didn’t hesitate a moment adding this to my queue. And honestly, like most of these movies, there are one or two fun ancillary characters that deliver one or two funny lines. I laughed three times. But a swallow does not a summer make (except when it comes to me, one swallow doesa millennium make…wait…what?) and three laughs do not a funny movie make (just like fucking “Mean Girls”), and I was super disappointed. Think “Risky Business” with less class. In fact, upon further consideration I think this movie might actually be a remake of “Risky Business”. And speaking of “Risky Business”, I never found Rebecca DeMornay attractive, did you? Yeech. Anyway, it’s hard to make a steamy sex scene with an actress who refuses to be filmed in anything less than her bra and panties. At least it is nowadays. In movies today, it isn’t about the style, it about the titties. I can look at titties and just sit there, but give me something stylish and I don’t even need the titties. Just the look and feel of it should be enough. But all these fucking 20 something directors directing these 20 something untalented actors, they think that moving your ass back and forth is arousing. Wrong wrong wrong. Make us want the ass, make us NEED the ass. Eh. Anyway, I promise y’all that my star vehicle will be awesome. I will act well and, tits or no, it will be stylish and steamy.
And speaking of steamy…
In Queer As Folk, every time a gay guy goes into a steam room, even in a regular old gym, there are sexy men groping themselves. I have been taking steams for months now and NOT ONCE have I seen one sexy man groping himself. I think I might have to break the ice. Mmmm…steam room…
And, totally off the subject of me and hot, sweaty guys rump pumping and summer swallowing; in response to the incident that didn’t happen involving a resident from the Hospital yesterday, the Hospital has purchased a VCR. Again, in response to the incident detailed in yesterday’s post, they purchased a VCR, a rather shitty one, actually. Allow me to explain…
We have an elaborate (confusing) video surveillance system that allows Security to see maybe 17% of the total Hospital and 25% of the exits from the Hospital. But…get this, we don’t record anything. Even if a maniac walked into the place wielding dual shotguns and took out as many octogenarians as he could with 24 shells, the police wouldn’t be able to prove it. Eyewitnesses might put him on the scene, but without video proof? Who knows? Several times have the Police been called here and asked for the last twelve hours of tape only to be met with sheepish stares at the floor and mumbles of “Uh…we don’t…uh…have those…”
But those days of inadequacy are OVER!! Thanks to our brand new non-functioning VCR that was just installed (incorrectly) this afternoon and which won’t start working until the end of next week (hopefully). Jesus H. Christ, let the Beast Machine rampage on! EXCELSIOR!!!
8:40 PM
Just connected an angry patient with a nursing supervisor. Man I wish I could listen in on that one…
9:17 PM
Not as hopeful tonight. Eels should do nicely.
4:02 PM
Today was the easiest seventy laps I’ve ever done. Here’s my secret…there are 4 official Nine Inch Nails albums and 1 official EP. The five releases contain a total of 68 tracks. During each lap, I played a clip of a song in my head. My laps are under 30 seconds, so I was never tired of the same song and, actually, had more than enough songs today since I forgot to initiate my plan until my 11th lap. I was surprised to find myself done in under an hour. Rawk hard ass, people, rawk hard ass.
And speaking of rawk hard asses, after my delight aquatic foray, I joined Jeannie for lunch in the staunch dinning room at the Club. She is planning on grad school and may come to New York. I was flattered to be among her reasons for getting Manhattanite wit it.
Now, here is the meat of this entry: I need all your help for this. This was posted on Stephen King’s website today:
If you’ve ever wanted to be a character in a Stephen King novel, here’s your chance! From September 1-25, 2005, Auction Cause will be conducting an auction through eBay Giving Works in which 17 authors are auctioning the opportunity to be a character in an upcoming novel, with the proceeds being donated to the First Amendment Project, a nonprofit organization that is dedicated to protecting and promoting freedom of information, expression, and petition. The auction for the Stephen King character will be from September 8th-18th. For more information about the First Amendment Project, Auction Cause, or the auction, visit:
http://www.thefirstamendment.org/
http://www.auctioncause.com/
http://www.ebay.com/fap
Here’s what Stephen is offering:
"One (and only one) character name in a novel called CELL, which is now in work and which will appear in either 2006 or 2007. Buyer should be aware that CELL is a violent piece of work, which comes complete with zombies set in motion by bad cell phone signals that destroy the human brain. Like cheap whiskey, it's very nasty and extremely satisfying. Character can be male or female, but a buyer who wants to die must in this case be female. In any case, I'll require physical description of auction winner, including any nickname (can be made up, I don't give a rip)."
Granted, Stephen King doesn’t seem super-psyched about compromising his work for money, but that doesn’t matter dick to me. Do you know what this contest means? It means that not only will I be immortalized in a Stephen King bestseller (all his books are bestsellers, even the shitty ones), but also that I will be immortalized in a Stephen King bestseller WITH ZOMBIES. Plus, with my “memorable” physical description, I wouldn’t be surprised if King has a little fun i.e. makes me a zombie.
So. Here’s where you come in. I intend to put up a sensible amount of money, but I will need your help. Anything you can spare to make my dreams come true will be bountifully rewarded. I will take you to lunch at the Club whenever you want to go, I will massage you, I will call bomb threats whenever you don’t feel like working, I will do whatever it takes to get into this book. Help me. Help me please and I will be your monkey. Please. I want to be in a Stephen King zombie book. Alan, I will give you my comic books. Kaitlyn, I will xmax your going away present. Gia, you will own every note of music They Might Be Giants have every released. Chris, I will perform oral sex until my entire face goes numb, also I will dress like a pirate/dandy/David Bowie/anything you want to get your rocks off. Christina, Robert Smith. Dorothy, I will bite you on command. Lisa, I will eliminate any and all ex-boyfriends you want. Jade, Linnell in a chesty bont. Phil, chocolate. Will, I will tell my father I’m gay…on videotape. You name it. You got it. Anyone…anything. Help me, and I will be your slave.
7:12 PM
During my break I watched the vast majority of “The Girl Next Door” starring Elisha Cuthbert (the smoking hot daughter of Jack Bauer on 24). This movie is a “star vehicle”. For those that aren’t savvy to the talk of the biz, allow me to shine some rays (more biz talk) on the scoop (even more biz talk). A star vehicle is NOT a class four hyerspace vessel, far from it, it is a movie (usually bad) with a tired plots, one dimensional characters, a generic soundtrack and a hot star from a hot T.V. show, a show like…uh…hmm…say 24. If the star is a young, attractive woman, she will most likely be portrayed in tight or no clothing in the ad campaign in order to draw in horny Fox watchers who are unable to find any naked pictures of said actress on the Internet. “The Girl Next Door” is no exception. It even has the “main character needs to be at an important dinner at which he will give a speech that will win him a scholarship but he throws out his original speech and speaks from the heart but even though he speaks from the heart, he still loses which makes a ‘zany scheme’ necessary”. Oh those one dimensional characters and their zany schemes…
Anyway, there are a bunch of “steamy” scenes with Elisha Cuthbert in which she teases the audience out of their mone. Thank God I waited for Netflix. Now, I know you’re all saying, “But Paul…why would you succumb to such transparent advertising schemes? You know she won’t show the goods and you have gigabytes of hot dolphin-on-clown porn at home, so why bother?”
Two letters: BJ. No, not blowjob (although a blowjob from Elisha Cuthbert would certainly put some pepper in my step), but Benjamin James. More specifically, Benjamin James Kravitz. Yes, BJ recommended this movie to me last time I saw him and I was completely won over. His taste in movies is always on the same track as mine so I didn’t hesitate a moment adding this to my queue. And honestly, like most of these movies, there are one or two fun ancillary characters that deliver one or two funny lines. I laughed three times. But a swallow does not a summer make (except when it comes to me, one swallow doesa millennium make…wait…what?) and three laughs do not a funny movie make (just like fucking “Mean Girls”), and I was super disappointed. Think “Risky Business” with less class. In fact, upon further consideration I think this movie might actually be a remake of “Risky Business”. And speaking of “Risky Business”, I never found Rebecca DeMornay attractive, did you? Yeech. Anyway, it’s hard to make a steamy sex scene with an actress who refuses to be filmed in anything less than her bra and panties. At least it is nowadays. In movies today, it isn’t about the style, it about the titties. I can look at titties and just sit there, but give me something stylish and I don’t even need the titties. Just the look and feel of it should be enough. But all these fucking 20 something directors directing these 20 something untalented actors, they think that moving your ass back and forth is arousing. Wrong wrong wrong. Make us want the ass, make us NEED the ass. Eh. Anyway, I promise y’all that my star vehicle will be awesome. I will act well and, tits or no, it will be stylish and steamy.
And speaking of steamy…
In Queer As Folk, every time a gay guy goes into a steam room, even in a regular old gym, there are sexy men groping themselves. I have been taking steams for months now and NOT ONCE have I seen one sexy man groping himself. I think I might have to break the ice. Mmmm…steam room…
And, totally off the subject of me and hot, sweaty guys rump pumping and summer swallowing; in response to the incident that didn’t happen involving a resident from the Hospital yesterday, the Hospital has purchased a VCR. Again, in response to the incident detailed in yesterday’s post, they purchased a VCR, a rather shitty one, actually. Allow me to explain…
We have an elaborate (confusing) video surveillance system that allows Security to see maybe 17% of the total Hospital and 25% of the exits from the Hospital. But…get this, we don’t record anything. Even if a maniac walked into the place wielding dual shotguns and took out as many octogenarians as he could with 24 shells, the police wouldn’t be able to prove it. Eyewitnesses might put him on the scene, but without video proof? Who knows? Several times have the Police been called here and asked for the last twelve hours of tape only to be met with sheepish stares at the floor and mumbles of “Uh…we don’t…uh…have those…”
But those days of inadequacy are OVER!! Thanks to our brand new non-functioning VCR that was just installed (incorrectly) this afternoon and which won’t start working until the end of next week (hopefully). Jesus H. Christ, let the Beast Machine rampage on! EXCELSIOR!!!
8:40 PM
Just connected an angry patient with a nursing supervisor. Man I wish I could listen in on that one…
9:17 PM
Not as hopeful tonight. Eels should do nicely.
8.18.2005
Throw Me Tomorrow
8.18.05
4:38 PM
Why is it that radio stations (even good ones like 104.3 the classic rock station) play so few songs? I listen to this station about 30 hours a week at work, as it is the best thing out there. This station plays music from the 60’s through the 90’s and even some stuff from today (some Green Day, new Robert Plant etc.). Yet, even though that’s over forty years of music, I hear the same stuff, not just week after week, but day after day. There are over a hundred Bowie, Queen, Beatles, Rolling Stones, Doors etc. songs that have been recorded, and yet, I only hear 4 U2 (not that I really consider “Sunday, Bloody Sunday” a people pleaser), 6 Bowie, 4 Queen, 8 Beatles, 5 Rolling Stones and 3 Doors tracks. There are literally thousands of songs that could be played on this station, but they appear to only want to/be able to play 500. I understand about pop music stations not being able to play every track of an artist’s album. Singles have more mass appeal than other tracks, but still, how many Best Of albums do all of those abovementioned bands have? I know Bowie has about 20 and every song on each one is all about mass appeal. And Queen? You can enjoy every one of their songs, even if you aren’t gay or choreographing a zombie fight scene. I think a little later I am going to call the station and ask the DJ…
8:19 PM
Well, I tried for fourteen minutes to reach the DJ. I had five of the six phone lines dedicated to the task (I left one open just in case he tried to call me.) but nothing. That is one hard to reach DJ. If any of you have an extra time and if you want to help a brotha out, call 1-888-872-1043 and ask for me. I will pay you in body massage.
Oo! Someone just brought down a melon platter from an event held here earlier tonight.
Anyway, a woman eloped from the Hospital last night at 10:25PM. Security and I didn’t hear about it ‘til about 10:58 (see nurses will wait to report missing patients until the very end of their shift (11pm) since, if the patient is really missing, they don’t have to deal with it. Yes, that’s true.), when I was two minutes from leaving. I come in today and everyone is in a surly mood. I figured it had something to do with the missing woman. I mean, another patient eloped from our place, obviously this means more investigations and finger pointing etc. however, I just found out that last night the woman turned up a few blocks down at Mount Sinai…dead. This lady walked out of our establishment sometime around 10:30 last night and was found dead at Mount Sinai about two hours later. The reason we all just found out about it is that she cut off all her identification bracelets and such. Some genius decided that, hey, there’s a really big Hospital right down the street…maybe they know more than us (which is always an understatement). Now here’s the part that kind of freaks me out/pisses me off/disgusts me: because this lady had no friends, no family and no sponsor (she was a ward of the state) and because we have been under a lot of pressure lately (dead kids, wandering crazies, misplaced corpses etc.) there is going to be nothing done about this and it is going to be reported that she died of natural causes…here at the Hospital so as to avoid any (more) undue attention. I feel like I could now come to work naked, drunk and ending each sentence with “and my big black dick” and not only have no problems getting away with it, but also get a recommendation and a raise.
See, at one point I thought I was under some weird charm, some arcane force that rendered me unaccountable for my actions. Soon after that I realized it wasn’t that I was charmed, it was that I was imperceptible. Naught but a speck of dust caught in the grease that makes the cogs run smoothly. Now I realize that not only am I a teensy particle of dust, I am a teensy particle of dust in the grease on a cog that turns the axel of some diabolic and uncontrollable killing machine running rampant through some medieval village. Who cares about the state of things for a dust mote when this contraption is catapulting flaming dogs at men, women and children alike?
The only thing I really have to worry about is that a meteor (in this metaphor it represents God’s good grace and the State Dept.) might collide with this rampaging beast machine and blow the whole thing to shit and rotten, smoking dog bodies.
In other news, why do people even bother with honeydew when cantaloupe is just as readily available and fifteen times as tasty? I mean it isn’t that honeydew tastes bad, it doesn’t seem to taste like anything at all. Maybe I’ve just never had good honeydew. I’ll have to get on that.
9:45 PM
I’m feeling glum. I’m going to listen to Bowie’s ‘…hours’. Good mellow, hopeful stuff.
10:37 PM
Set up a lunch with Jeannie tomorrow. If anyone would be interested in joining us, let me know. We plan to meet at the N.Y.A.C. (180 Central Park South) at 1:15 PM. That means tomorrow I swim. ENDORPHINES, HERE I COME!!!!!!!!! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!! I have to say, no real problems with fifty or sixty laps, but when I set my sights on seventy I get forlorn around forty. But then I just think of my rawk hard ass and everything gets better… You should all try it some time. Raaaaawk hard aaaaaaassss……
4:38 PM
Why is it that radio stations (even good ones like 104.3 the classic rock station) play so few songs? I listen to this station about 30 hours a week at work, as it is the best thing out there. This station plays music from the 60’s through the 90’s and even some stuff from today (some Green Day, new Robert Plant etc.). Yet, even though that’s over forty years of music, I hear the same stuff, not just week after week, but day after day. There are over a hundred Bowie, Queen, Beatles, Rolling Stones, Doors etc. songs that have been recorded, and yet, I only hear 4 U2 (not that I really consider “Sunday, Bloody Sunday” a people pleaser), 6 Bowie, 4 Queen, 8 Beatles, 5 Rolling Stones and 3 Doors tracks. There are literally thousands of songs that could be played on this station, but they appear to only want to/be able to play 500. I understand about pop music stations not being able to play every track of an artist’s album. Singles have more mass appeal than other tracks, but still, how many Best Of albums do all of those abovementioned bands have? I know Bowie has about 20 and every song on each one is all about mass appeal. And Queen? You can enjoy every one of their songs, even if you aren’t gay or choreographing a zombie fight scene. I think a little later I am going to call the station and ask the DJ…
8:19 PM
Well, I tried for fourteen minutes to reach the DJ. I had five of the six phone lines dedicated to the task (I left one open just in case he tried to call me.) but nothing. That is one hard to reach DJ. If any of you have an extra time and if you want to help a brotha out, call 1-888-872-1043 and ask for me. I will pay you in body massage.
Oo! Someone just brought down a melon platter from an event held here earlier tonight.
Anyway, a woman eloped from the Hospital last night at 10:25PM. Security and I didn’t hear about it ‘til about 10:58 (see nurses will wait to report missing patients until the very end of their shift (11pm) since, if the patient is really missing, they don’t have to deal with it. Yes, that’s true.), when I was two minutes from leaving. I come in today and everyone is in a surly mood. I figured it had something to do with the missing woman. I mean, another patient eloped from our place, obviously this means more investigations and finger pointing etc. however, I just found out that last night the woman turned up a few blocks down at Mount Sinai…dead. This lady walked out of our establishment sometime around 10:30 last night and was found dead at Mount Sinai about two hours later. The reason we all just found out about it is that she cut off all her identification bracelets and such. Some genius decided that, hey, there’s a really big Hospital right down the street…maybe they know more than us (which is always an understatement). Now here’s the part that kind of freaks me out/pisses me off/disgusts me: because this lady had no friends, no family and no sponsor (she was a ward of the state) and because we have been under a lot of pressure lately (dead kids, wandering crazies, misplaced corpses etc.) there is going to be nothing done about this and it is going to be reported that she died of natural causes…here at the Hospital so as to avoid any (more) undue attention. I feel like I could now come to work naked, drunk and ending each sentence with “and my big black dick” and not only have no problems getting away with it, but also get a recommendation and a raise.
See, at one point I thought I was under some weird charm, some arcane force that rendered me unaccountable for my actions. Soon after that I realized it wasn’t that I was charmed, it was that I was imperceptible. Naught but a speck of dust caught in the grease that makes the cogs run smoothly. Now I realize that not only am I a teensy particle of dust, I am a teensy particle of dust in the grease on a cog that turns the axel of some diabolic and uncontrollable killing machine running rampant through some medieval village. Who cares about the state of things for a dust mote when this contraption is catapulting flaming dogs at men, women and children alike?
The only thing I really have to worry about is that a meteor (in this metaphor it represents God’s good grace and the State Dept.) might collide with this rampaging beast machine and blow the whole thing to shit and rotten, smoking dog bodies.
In other news, why do people even bother with honeydew when cantaloupe is just as readily available and fifteen times as tasty? I mean it isn’t that honeydew tastes bad, it doesn’t seem to taste like anything at all. Maybe I’ve just never had good honeydew. I’ll have to get on that.
9:45 PM
I’m feeling glum. I’m going to listen to Bowie’s ‘…hours’. Good mellow, hopeful stuff.
10:37 PM
Set up a lunch with Jeannie tomorrow. If anyone would be interested in joining us, let me know. We plan to meet at the N.Y.A.C. (180 Central Park South) at 1:15 PM. That means tomorrow I swim. ENDORPHINES, HERE I COME!!!!!!!!! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!! I have to say, no real problems with fifty or sixty laps, but when I set my sights on seventy I get forlorn around forty. But then I just think of my rawk hard ass and everything gets better… You should all try it some time. Raaaaawk hard aaaaaaassss……
8.16.2005
BFF...AGAIN!!!
8.16.05
4:26 PM
Kaitlyn and I have made up. Not made out, made up. We talked about making out though. Well…that’s not quite accurate… Actually, I told her I wanted her and I to make out, then become lovers, then reach that stage of “more than lovers” and then spend the rest of our lives together.
She said she wasn’t really interested.
Man was that embarrassing. Woo. That was like 5 hours ago and I’m still feelin’ that one. Ouch. Like acid sand on my soul.
Anyway…yeah…so we’re BFF again. At least until the next time I’m tactless.
Damn.
Can you say “doomed relationship”?
In other news, I need an exact count of who is definitely coming to the “MET for Sex” party on the evening of Saturday, September 3rd. I also need to know who, of those people, owns a functioning Discman or iPod so I can create the appropriate media for you. The tracklisting is about to be finalized…
For those of you who do not know what this is:
A group of very well dressed individuals (us) will meet at a set time on the steps on the Metropolitan Museum of Art and engage a CD/mp3 playlist at the exact same moment and then funk our way through the Met. The combination of vibrant, party music and the dour, somewhat icy atmosphere of the museum creates a surreal sense that drives one to dance. And that is good.
The last Met party was hosted by Min and Philip and myself created the setlist. It was good, but noticeably disorganized whereas this one (“MET for Sex V.2”) is going to focus on cleaning up the bugs that were discovered in the original jaunt along with retooling the tracklist for maximum dancability. We look forward to a big turnout because "the more the merrier" is an understatement in this case.
So, please get back to me as far as what equipment you have so I can get to work making life more fun for you.
Thanks.
*************************************
As of 2:48 this morning, the tracklist has been finalized so get your info up there.
4:26 PM
Kaitlyn and I have made up. Not made out, made up. We talked about making out though. Well…that’s not quite accurate… Actually, I told her I wanted her and I to make out, then become lovers, then reach that stage of “more than lovers” and then spend the rest of our lives together.
She said she wasn’t really interested.
Man was that embarrassing. Woo. That was like 5 hours ago and I’m still feelin’ that one. Ouch. Like acid sand on my soul.
Anyway…yeah…so we’re BFF again. At least until the next time I’m tactless.
Damn.
Can you say “doomed relationship”?
In other news, I need an exact count of who is definitely coming to the “MET for Sex” party on the evening of Saturday, September 3rd. I also need to know who, of those people, owns a functioning Discman or iPod so I can create the appropriate media for you. The tracklisting is about to be finalized…
For those of you who do not know what this is:
A group of very well dressed individuals (us) will meet at a set time on the steps on the Metropolitan Museum of Art and engage a CD/mp3 playlist at the exact same moment and then funk our way through the Met. The combination of vibrant, party music and the dour, somewhat icy atmosphere of the museum creates a surreal sense that drives one to dance. And that is good.
The last Met party was hosted by Min and Philip and myself created the setlist. It was good, but noticeably disorganized whereas this one (“MET for Sex V.2”) is going to focus on cleaning up the bugs that were discovered in the original jaunt along with retooling the tracklist for maximum dancability. We look forward to a big turnout because "the more the merrier" is an understatement in this case.
So, please get back to me as far as what equipment you have so I can get to work making life more fun for you.
Thanks.
*************************************
As of 2:48 this morning, the tracklist has been finalized so get your info up there.
8.15.2005
FROM THE SEA!!
8.15.05
3:13 PM
Good lord.
Went to the seaside with family and friends this weekend. Early Saturday morning, Lauren and Ray picked up Chris and myself and we all skittered off to Ocean City, NJ, a very dear place to me from my childhood. A boardwalk rife with funnel cake, fried Oreos, mini golf, fat people, arcades and one sweet ass amusement park called Wonderland Pier, which can be seen in the early They Might Be Giants video “Purple Toupee”. I spent numerous summers there throughout my childhood.
I was only there for about 40 hours, but every hour (except for those while I was sleeping) was filled with funny fun fun. At the moment, I am running on 4 hours of sleep and I have no interest in typing out all the fun stuff that happened. I played an awesome video game that I had never heard of, I spun around in so many circles as to kill a lesser man, I ate fudge and some sticky buns made by God Herself, I kicked some ass in mini golf, I drank three Icee’s (blue), I made a 6’8 asshole of myself at a blackjack table, I gave the lead singer of a pretty decent cover band Will’s number, but assured him I was NOT gay, I won, lost, won, lost and then lost again at slots, roulette and blackjack, and then I drank a $2.25 cup of coffee…and complained about it.
Long story short, next year 8 or so lucky tinkle pins are going to join us cool, sexy froods in June at our very own beach house in Ocean City, NJ for something like $150 a week. These houses are prime sex spaces people.
It was mad dope to hang with Lauren and Ray all weekend. Sort of like the Philly trip we took but better. Ray and I got this crazy wavelength thing going on and any time I get to spend with Lauren is great. Her and I are celebrating our six-year anniversary in September; hopefully we’ll eat some red pears in a mall near Fordham, but probably not. You know, Lauren is the one responsible for my wearing black socks? Of course you didn’t. Why the fuck would you know that? Jesus. You people can’t even find five minutes to comment on the CD Philip and I painstakingly orchestrated for you; how am I to expect you to know something like that? Pigs. Go to Bite the Music and comment on the goddamn thing, you collection of Penny Dreadfuls you.
3:13 PM
Good lord.
Went to the seaside with family and friends this weekend. Early Saturday morning, Lauren and Ray picked up Chris and myself and we all skittered off to Ocean City, NJ, a very dear place to me from my childhood. A boardwalk rife with funnel cake, fried Oreos, mini golf, fat people, arcades and one sweet ass amusement park called Wonderland Pier, which can be seen in the early They Might Be Giants video “Purple Toupee”. I spent numerous summers there throughout my childhood.
I was only there for about 40 hours, but every hour (except for those while I was sleeping) was filled with funny fun fun. At the moment, I am running on 4 hours of sleep and I have no interest in typing out all the fun stuff that happened. I played an awesome video game that I had never heard of, I spun around in so many circles as to kill a lesser man, I ate fudge and some sticky buns made by God Herself, I kicked some ass in mini golf, I drank three Icee’s (blue), I made a 6’8 asshole of myself at a blackjack table, I gave the lead singer of a pretty decent cover band Will’s number, but assured him I was NOT gay, I won, lost, won, lost and then lost again at slots, roulette and blackjack, and then I drank a $2.25 cup of coffee…and complained about it.
Long story short, next year 8 or so lucky tinkle pins are going to join us cool, sexy froods in June at our very own beach house in Ocean City, NJ for something like $150 a week. These houses are prime sex spaces people.
It was mad dope to hang with Lauren and Ray all weekend. Sort of like the Philly trip we took but better. Ray and I got this crazy wavelength thing going on and any time I get to spend with Lauren is great. Her and I are celebrating our six-year anniversary in September; hopefully we’ll eat some red pears in a mall near Fordham, but probably not. You know, Lauren is the one responsible for my wearing black socks? Of course you didn’t. Why the fuck would you know that? Jesus. You people can’t even find five minutes to comment on the CD Philip and I painstakingly orchestrated for you; how am I to expect you to know something like that? Pigs. Go to Bite the Music and comment on the goddamn thing, you collection of Penny Dreadfuls you.
8.13.2005
TO THE SEA!!!
Whippery Ned Ticket
and
his lively bungles!
How they leap! How they caper!
Whippery Ned sings songs of sliding leather
and chides his troupe for errors or
insufficient zeal, perhaps with a
smart tingle of the flick!
8.09.2005
Me and Mr. Depp got a thing going on...
Woo! My Charlie and the Chocolate Factory commercial is on TV AND I just recieved my copy in the mail AND you can check out both versions (:30 and :15) here. Click on either the :30 or :15 version.
As many of you know, right before I went into the booth to record this, I was informed that Tim Burton (director of the remake of Planet of the Apes) would have to approve the commercial before it would be released. When I didn't hear anything for a few weeks, I thought Tim and I would have to have words, but this is all the affirmation I need that me and Tim are about ready to get together on some projects I've been cooking up. And that other guy...pale guy...Johnny something?
As many of you know, right before I went into the booth to record this, I was informed that Tim Burton (director of the remake of Planet of the Apes) would have to approve the commercial before it would be released. When I didn't hear anything for a few weeks, I thought Tim and I would have to have words, but this is all the affirmation I need that me and Tim are about ready to get together on some projects I've been cooking up. And that other guy...pale guy...Johnny something?
8.08.2005
8.05.2005
8.05.05
6:08 PM
I’ve decided to go to work next Friday drunk. I wanted to do so today, but I only had time to drink three Smirnoff’s (which are the equivalent to a beer each, smart ass). Next week I won't fuck around with Smirnoff’s; I’m taking the Red Bull mit Vodka train.
Why, Paul? Why would you risk getting fired from such a great job?
Well, you, I’ll tell you.
The listed requirements for this job are as follows:
2 years of high school.
Mm hm. That’s it. Two years of high school and you are able to do what I do.
I’m just curious how many drinksy poos it would take for me NOT be able to do this job.
As soon as I hit my limit and find myself too fucked up to do this trained monkey job (which I could have done in fifth grade, maybe fourth), I will then fake stomach poisoning and go home. I will then become that drunk every day just to make life more fun. At this moment, I have a slight warmth in the back of my head, but that’s it. My clothes are on and my penis remains sheathed although my reclining, spinning and rolling chair is more fun than usual…
6:08 PM
I’ve decided to go to work next Friday drunk. I wanted to do so today, but I only had time to drink three Smirnoff’s (which are the equivalent to a beer each, smart ass). Next week I won't fuck around with Smirnoff’s; I’m taking the Red Bull mit Vodka train.
Why, Paul? Why would you risk getting fired from such a great job?
Well, you, I’ll tell you.
The listed requirements for this job are as follows:
2 years of high school.
Mm hm. That’s it. Two years of high school and you are able to do what I do.
I’m just curious how many drinksy poos it would take for me NOT be able to do this job.
As soon as I hit my limit and find myself too fucked up to do this trained monkey job (which I could have done in fifth grade, maybe fourth), I will then fake stomach poisoning and go home. I will then become that drunk every day just to make life more fun. At this moment, I have a slight warmth in the back of my head, but that’s it. My clothes are on and my penis remains sheathed although my reclining, spinning and rolling chair is more fun than usual…
8.03.2005
8.03.05
12:31 PM
A while ago, there was some…unpleasantness here at the Hospital. A child died, a body went missing and a few patients eloped (not “got married”, but rather, “ran away”). As a result of these terrible fuck ups, the Department of State sent agents here to check the place out. During their investigation (which was known to all the employees here) a security guard turned his back on his post and was fired for not doing his job.
He is now planning to sue the Hospital AND the State Dept. for (drum roll, please) “racism”. Now, I’m not a lawyer, and I don’t know if “racism” is a crime like “grand larceny” or ”rape” is a crime (as in “He was brought up on charges of ‘racism’”, dig?) but that is what the word is. He upholds that he wasn’t fired for turning his back on the front door to a Hospital (an establishment that houses dementia patients that are prone to wander and ride buses, people with infectious diseases who might also have dementia, people with loose stool etc.) but because he is Hispanic.
Of the one thousand four hundred and fifty eight or so employees here, almost half are of Latin descent, including lots and lots of Hispanics.
Anyway, the hell of it is, he’s probably going to win and get his job back. And when he gets his job back and lets another raving, AIDS-infected man out into to New York City…well…I don’t know. He might get fired again and say that he was fired not for shirking his duty (which encompasses sitting and watching a door), but because his skin is darker than that of the State agent that noticed a distinct lack of security covering the front entrance to this place.
“What’s your point, you racist bastard”, you might ask?
I have two: One, playing the race card in this area of New York City is just so fucking ridiculous; there aren’t words for it. Two, I have seen and read portrayals of blacks, whites, Hispanics, all races in positive and negative lights, but, like most things in life, I try to use my own personal experiences to justify my views and opinions. My personal experiences have been mixed: From being semi-mugged by a black dude who might have had a gun to growing up with Stan “The Man” Grayson, a friend of my father’s that was black and a VP at Goldman and Sachs after being on Mayor Koch’s staff. From having a gaggle of drunken gangsta hurl insults and a bottle and me and my girlfriend a few months back to taking classes and acting with Richard Preleau, an incredibly intelligent and talented guy. Like I said, mixed. But then there’s the neighborhood I live in now. I see the gangstas buying forty ounces and Vanilla Dutch Blunts, I see the Hispanics guys playing bongos and hooting at women. These are real people doing these things, not actors. White men in business suits aren’t coercing them. They are doing this of their own accord. They are stereotypes and they are real. Go ahead, be liberal minded, disdain me for my racist tendencies, have fun. But don’t be a fucking hypocrite.
12:31 PM
A while ago, there was some…unpleasantness here at the Hospital. A child died, a body went missing and a few patients eloped (not “got married”, but rather, “ran away”). As a result of these terrible fuck ups, the Department of State sent agents here to check the place out. During their investigation (which was known to all the employees here) a security guard turned his back on his post and was fired for not doing his job.
He is now planning to sue the Hospital AND the State Dept. for (drum roll, please) “racism”. Now, I’m not a lawyer, and I don’t know if “racism” is a crime like “grand larceny” or ”rape” is a crime (as in “He was brought up on charges of ‘racism’”, dig?) but that is what the word is. He upholds that he wasn’t fired for turning his back on the front door to a Hospital (an establishment that houses dementia patients that are prone to wander and ride buses, people with infectious diseases who might also have dementia, people with loose stool etc.) but because he is Hispanic.
Of the one thousand four hundred and fifty eight or so employees here, almost half are of Latin descent, including lots and lots of Hispanics.
Anyway, the hell of it is, he’s probably going to win and get his job back. And when he gets his job back and lets another raving, AIDS-infected man out into to New York City…well…I don’t know. He might get fired again and say that he was fired not for shirking his duty (which encompasses sitting and watching a door), but because his skin is darker than that of the State agent that noticed a distinct lack of security covering the front entrance to this place.
“What’s your point, you racist bastard”, you might ask?
I have two: One, playing the race card in this area of New York City is just so fucking ridiculous; there aren’t words for it. Two, I have seen and read portrayals of blacks, whites, Hispanics, all races in positive and negative lights, but, like most things in life, I try to use my own personal experiences to justify my views and opinions. My personal experiences have been mixed: From being semi-mugged by a black dude who might have had a gun to growing up with Stan “The Man” Grayson, a friend of my father’s that was black and a VP at Goldman and Sachs after being on Mayor Koch’s staff. From having a gaggle of drunken gangsta hurl insults and a bottle and me and my girlfriend a few months back to taking classes and acting with Richard Preleau, an incredibly intelligent and talented guy. Like I said, mixed. But then there’s the neighborhood I live in now. I see the gangstas buying forty ounces and Vanilla Dutch Blunts, I see the Hispanics guys playing bongos and hooting at women. These are real people doing these things, not actors. White men in business suits aren’t coercing them. They are doing this of their own accord. They are stereotypes and they are real. Go ahead, be liberal minded, disdain me for my racist tendencies, have fun. But don’t be a fucking hypocrite.
8.02.2005
There Is Pornography On Your Computer
8.02.05
3:12 PM
I had an audition this morning at House Produtions located at 450 W. 15th. In case you can’t place that, it’s WAY the fuck over on the West side. Like 11th Ave. The area around 8th and 9th is trendy and gay, then there is a lumberyard and then House. It was pretty fun to watch the actors walking past the rugged, sunburnt lumbermen, each with similar looks of disgust.
In the lumbermen’s minds: Ew, faggots.
In the actor’s minds: Ew, sweaty.
House has both an on-screen and a voiceover deptpartment. As for voiceovers, they do videogames, life insurance, whatever; but on-screen, they only do things like Calvin Klien commercials, and those really trendy commercials where you see a bunch of really attractive youngish people hanging out talking about life and cell phones. Anyway, every time I go there I see some of the most attractive people I have ever seen in New York City. The guys are always about one hundred pounds, sculpted and as gay as the color pink. The Urban Dictionary definition of “emo kid”.
The women, holy shit, the women. Women like this do not exist outside of commercials. They sit in a room at the top of a tower until they are called for an audition and then they descend in droves; although “droves” is too harsh a words to describe a group of women this attractive. Perhaps a “breeze” is more fitting. They are all beautiful, identical and as fake as the head of my penis and Christina’s tooth (the fake one).
This place used to be an art gallery and it still looks like one, minus the art. There are two 20-foot long wooden benches in the middle of a narrow hallway and then the hallway opens up to a huge room with giant 50-foot floor to ceiling windows overlooking the West Side Highway and, sadly, New Jersey.
One of the best things about this place is the music. Every time I’m there the music reflects the weather or general feel of the day. I was in on a beautiful Spring day earlier this year and I heard Flaming Lips, Katrina and the Waves and Guns N Roses (Sweet Child O’ Mine), I went in once when it was shitty and raining out and heard Air, Beck (Round the Bend), and some really amazing dark wave ambient stuff that redefined “mellow”. Same with today, although I didn’t recognize anything but the original “Lean On Me”.
This is the same place I scored the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory voiceover gig and they asked for me to come in and read this thing today so I hope not to disappoint. The only direction I received was three words: Smart, interesting and straightforward. “Straightforward” limits just how “interesting” you can be so all I really had to work with was “smart”. I didn’t say ‘duh’, so, yeah.
Meanwhile, the second version of the MET Party CD is quickly taking shape. Philip and I have improved upon the track listing and now have only to arrange the songs in the way that impacts you most…in the ass. In a few weeks we will ave another MET party so le me know if you are planning any weekend excursions away from the city any time soon. You will need to have a working Discman or iPod. If you have a CD player, you will receive a CD when you arrive, if you have an iPod (or any mp3 device) I will create a link to an .rar or .zip folder with the mp3’s for you to download and then put onto your device.
A fancy dress code is strictly enforced. It’s also a very important element for the MET party. In random street clothes, we’re jus a bunch of random 20 something’s dancing around, but in fancy dress…we’re superhot and lovesexy…well, most of us anyway. Also, people tend to ask less of you when you are dressed up. In fact, they ask less questions too. They assume you are overdressed for some important reason and are therefore an important person who cannot be bothered by “common folk”. It’s quite a rush.
4:59 PM
There’s a person here whose last name is Duckette. Duckette. Like a small duck in France.
5:17 PM
Some bitch just called up.
She said, “Gee mi keetchen numbah.”
“3847”, I responded politely.
“Tree eh fuh seb?”
Then click, she hung up on me.
Now, in order for her to call the keetchen, I have to release the line. But, since she was a Rudey Poo, I left her on hold, rendering her impolite ass keetchenless. Nobody fucks with the Operator.
5:28 PM
I enjoy the phase “pregnant pause”. Both its actual meaning and the image it invokes.
3:12 PM
I had an audition this morning at House Produtions located at 450 W. 15th. In case you can’t place that, it’s WAY the fuck over on the West side. Like 11th Ave. The area around 8th and 9th is trendy and gay, then there is a lumberyard and then House. It was pretty fun to watch the actors walking past the rugged, sunburnt lumbermen, each with similar looks of disgust.
In the lumbermen’s minds: Ew, faggots.
In the actor’s minds: Ew, sweaty.
House has both an on-screen and a voiceover deptpartment. As for voiceovers, they do videogames, life insurance, whatever; but on-screen, they only do things like Calvin Klien commercials, and those really trendy commercials where you see a bunch of really attractive youngish people hanging out talking about life and cell phones. Anyway, every time I go there I see some of the most attractive people I have ever seen in New York City. The guys are always about one hundred pounds, sculpted and as gay as the color pink. The Urban Dictionary definition of “emo kid”.
The women, holy shit, the women. Women like this do not exist outside of commercials. They sit in a room at the top of a tower until they are called for an audition and then they descend in droves; although “droves” is too harsh a words to describe a group of women this attractive. Perhaps a “breeze” is more fitting. They are all beautiful, identical and as fake as the head of my penis and Christina’s tooth (the fake one).
This place used to be an art gallery and it still looks like one, minus the art. There are two 20-foot long wooden benches in the middle of a narrow hallway and then the hallway opens up to a huge room with giant 50-foot floor to ceiling windows overlooking the West Side Highway and, sadly, New Jersey.
One of the best things about this place is the music. Every time I’m there the music reflects the weather or general feel of the day. I was in on a beautiful Spring day earlier this year and I heard Flaming Lips, Katrina and the Waves and Guns N Roses (Sweet Child O’ Mine), I went in once when it was shitty and raining out and heard Air, Beck (Round the Bend), and some really amazing dark wave ambient stuff that redefined “mellow”. Same with today, although I didn’t recognize anything but the original “Lean On Me”.
This is the same place I scored the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory voiceover gig and they asked for me to come in and read this thing today so I hope not to disappoint. The only direction I received was three words: Smart, interesting and straightforward. “Straightforward” limits just how “interesting” you can be so all I really had to work with was “smart”. I didn’t say ‘duh’, so, yeah.
Meanwhile, the second version of the MET Party CD is quickly taking shape. Philip and I have improved upon the track listing and now have only to arrange the songs in the way that impacts you most…in the ass. In a few weeks we will ave another MET party so le me know if you are planning any weekend excursions away from the city any time soon. You will need to have a working Discman or iPod. If you have a CD player, you will receive a CD when you arrive, if you have an iPod (or any mp3 device) I will create a link to an .rar or .zip folder with the mp3’s for you to download and then put onto your device.
A fancy dress code is strictly enforced. It’s also a very important element for the MET party. In random street clothes, we’re jus a bunch of random 20 something’s dancing around, but in fancy dress…we’re superhot and lovesexy…well, most of us anyway. Also, people tend to ask less of you when you are dressed up. In fact, they ask less questions too. They assume you are overdressed for some important reason and are therefore an important person who cannot be bothered by “common folk”. It’s quite a rush.
4:59 PM
There’s a person here whose last name is Duckette. Duckette. Like a small duck in France.
5:17 PM
Some bitch just called up.
She said, “Gee mi keetchen numbah.”
“3847”, I responded politely.
“Tree eh fuh seb?”
Then click, she hung up on me.
Now, in order for her to call the keetchen, I have to release the line. But, since she was a Rudey Poo, I left her on hold, rendering her impolite ass keetchenless. Nobody fucks with the Operator.
5:28 PM
I enjoy the phase “pregnant pause”. Both its actual meaning and the image it invokes.
8.01.2005
What? What...? WHAT??
8.1.05
5:03 PM
Just wanted to take a moment to say how weak it was of Kaitlyn, Christina and Dorothy to vaporize after hanging out for about 18 minutes on Friday night. Special weakness award goes to Kaitlyn who picked a loud, black hole to hang out in. I might have had an interesting conversation with someone there…if I had been able to see or hear him or her.
What is the point of gathering people together in the same place if you can’t talk to them? Is it mango flavored smoke? Is that why?
I suppose I will never understand.
And yes, I know that Kaitlyn had to move, Dorothy had to go to Maine and Christina looked like a resident of Polk County, Florida, but hopefully you all know that my new schedule makes it harder to socialize with people and when I do get the rare opportunity to do so a) I would love to hang out for more than a half hour and b) if I do only have a half hour, I’d love for it not to be in a bat cave pumping Middle Eastern hip hop fusion. How could my BFF so callously ignore my feelings? Cold, man…cold.
Anyway, onto a new topic.
Bite The Music is ready to commence. The first schedule has been posted so start planning albums now. Phil and I will provide the first in what will hopefully be a long series of excellent compilations. Christina shares with Phil and I the fear that no one will actually follow through (aside from us three and Will, of course). You had better prove us wrong. Head over to the community to check when your CD is due. Josh, Dorothy, Kaitlyn, and Christina A.: This means you.
8:25 PM
Received a call from Gia earlier. She told me her roommate, Meg, saw my “Charlie & The Chocolate Factory: the Videogame” commercial on TV. Woot woot. Look for it on and around kid’s programming.
5:03 PM
Just wanted to take a moment to say how weak it was of Kaitlyn, Christina and Dorothy to vaporize after hanging out for about 18 minutes on Friday night. Special weakness award goes to Kaitlyn who picked a loud, black hole to hang out in. I might have had an interesting conversation with someone there…if I had been able to see or hear him or her.
What is the point of gathering people together in the same place if you can’t talk to them? Is it mango flavored smoke? Is that why?
I suppose I will never understand.
And yes, I know that Kaitlyn had to move, Dorothy had to go to Maine and Christina looked like a resident of Polk County, Florida, but hopefully you all know that my new schedule makes it harder to socialize with people and when I do get the rare opportunity to do so a) I would love to hang out for more than a half hour and b) if I do only have a half hour, I’d love for it not to be in a bat cave pumping Middle Eastern hip hop fusion. How could my BFF so callously ignore my feelings? Cold, man…cold.
Anyway, onto a new topic.
Bite The Music is ready to commence. The first schedule has been posted so start planning albums now. Phil and I will provide the first in what will hopefully be a long series of excellent compilations. Christina shares with Phil and I the fear that no one will actually follow through (aside from us three and Will, of course). You had better prove us wrong. Head over to the community to check when your CD is due. Josh, Dorothy, Kaitlyn, and Christina A.: This means you.
8:25 PM
Received a call from Gia earlier. She told me her roommate, Meg, saw my “Charlie & The Chocolate Factory: the Videogame” commercial on TV. Woot woot. Look for it on and around kid’s programming.
7.28.2005
Hot Hot Heat
7.26.05
3:05PM
I spent about one minute outside of air conditioning today (as of 3:05 anyway). I was amazed at how just being outside feels like standing behind a bus. I feel sorry for anyone who has to do anything today.
This weekend Will is spending $400 to join a cult. I told him I would pay him $500 to come here instead. He’s thinking about it.
3:05PM
I spent about one minute outside of air conditioning today (as of 3:05 anyway). I was amazed at how just being outside feels like standing behind a bus. I feel sorry for anyone who has to do anything today.
This weekend Will is spending $400 to join a cult. I told him I would pay him $500 to come here instead. He’s thinking about it.
7.25.2005
3 Dreams
7.25.05
9:03 PM
I’ve had three dreams of note lately.
The first two I had while sleeping in the Alexander Bed & Breakfast in Philadelphia, PA Saturday night and the third I had last night.
In the first, myself and someone I couldn’t recognize had this tree creature (looked like tall, wizened old man, but with something fronds for hair) that was about to die. We had to find a place to put him so he could regain his strength. We were running around Philadelphia desperately looking for anywhere because he was about to die. We set him down only to realize he was already dead. I was incredibly saddened by this and a woman walking her dog allowed her it to piss on the face of this dead creature. I was immediately enraged and spit on her. I screamed, “Don’t you have any respect?” and that was all I remember of that one.
Next, I was somewhere and I walked passed a music store that has appeared in several of my dreams over the past few years. In my mental geography it is located on First Ave. between 68th and 69th street, right where I grew up. The first time I saw it in my dream, it was brand new and had grand opening signs up as well as posters for a Heavy D album, (maybe). The next time I was there, there were ads for the new Nine Inch Nails album (this was around 2001 or 2002) and last night it had yet another new Nine Inch Nails album. The title was “NIN:NIN” and the cover was just Trent Reznor in a red baseball cap. After I saw the store, I saw a person I was supposed to know that did stunts for the Matrix and was walking towards a scene they were shooting a scene in the street in which Agents fired a line of shots to the left and then to the right. The person (who was on crutches) dodged the shots to the left, but then I was hit two or three times in the chest by the shots fired to the right. I lay in the street dying and then I wasn’t me; I had a third person view (from above) and my body wasn’t mine either, it was Kyle from South Park. He was lying there dead and all I remember after that point is staring at the body for a long time and really feeling the finality of death. This wasn’t a cartoon character; it was me in the shape of Kyle from South Park, but actually shot dead in the street. Both were very powerful, and I felt very ‘there’.
The third dream took place in this terrifying version of the New York Athletic Club. The Club is normal in some places, but in others the hallways are broken down and dilapidated, there are doors that lead to rooms made up of piping and chain links fences and stairwells and a room that holds a very dark unseen thing, like a force.
The dream started at some hotel where I was with Beck. He was talking about using cool noises and sounds on his albums and I told him I know of a room where the wind makes a really cool noise that he should record. He was interested so we went to find it. It happened that the room I was talking about is the room that contains the really terrible thing I mentioned above. I knew that, but the me in my dream didn’t, or he didn’t know EXACTLY what was there, he might have had an idea there was something bad, but couldn’t remember the thing itself. Anyway, the NYAC happened to be right across the street so Beck and entered and started looking for the room. We found ourselves on the roof where a person was proclaiming or preaching to a group of little kids. I remember this figure screaming that someone’s enemies would all die although I can’t remember whose. From there we continued looking for the room and found ourselves at the foot of a staircase covered in red velvet. The way was blocked by a bronze statue of the founder of the Club reading to kids (it looked a lot like the Hans Christian Anderson statue in Central Park), and I knew there was a reason the statue was blocking the way but we climbed around it anyway. By this time, I was with Beck and some girl. I don’t remember anything except she was rather attractive and wearing sort of a wife beater. We climbed the stairs and found ourselves in a room with red walls and ceiling and red carpet on the floor. Against the wall was an elaborately decorated red coffin that I knew held the body of the founder of the Club. The girl was scared, Beck didn’t really react and I was in the grip of a fear so intense that I woke up. Right before I did, I noticed that beyond the coffin was a doorway that lead to a place even worse than the room with the coffin. I can’t be sure but it might have been the room containing the dark thing that I mentioned. That room was frightening in a way that only objects imbued with a strong emotion can be frightening. This room was drafty at first with wind whistling through an open window or a crack in the wall or ceiling or something, but the whistling wasn’t just the wind, it was a sound made by this unnamable thing that represents everything I relate to fear in my subconscious. When I woke up after first being in that room, I was unable to move in my bed. I think the entrance to that room was in my sight at the end of this (Beck/NYAC) dream.
I had come to a room before (what might have been) that room a long time ago in 1997 or 96 maybe. I wrote about it in my real journal. There were two or three rooms that, for some reason, held religious significance (one room was John the Baptist’s, one was Christ’s and one belonged to Satan) and one that held a small sand pit the size of a doorway on the floor (Satan’s, if I remember correctly). I knew in that dream that I was not to touch that sandpit EVER. But for all the fear the first two or three rooms held, I knew there was a final room. It might or might not have been the same room. I had the dream in the room a long time after the one with the religious significance, but who knows how things like this work.
Anyway I have had three dreams in two nights that focus on death, loss, dying, sadness and utter, abject terror.
9:03 PM
I’ve had three dreams of note lately.
The first two I had while sleeping in the Alexander Bed & Breakfast in Philadelphia, PA Saturday night and the third I had last night.
In the first, myself and someone I couldn’t recognize had this tree creature (looked like tall, wizened old man, but with something fronds for hair) that was about to die. We had to find a place to put him so he could regain his strength. We were running around Philadelphia desperately looking for anywhere because he was about to die. We set him down only to realize he was already dead. I was incredibly saddened by this and a woman walking her dog allowed her it to piss on the face of this dead creature. I was immediately enraged and spit on her. I screamed, “Don’t you have any respect?” and that was all I remember of that one.
Next, I was somewhere and I walked passed a music store that has appeared in several of my dreams over the past few years. In my mental geography it is located on First Ave. between 68th and 69th street, right where I grew up. The first time I saw it in my dream, it was brand new and had grand opening signs up as well as posters for a Heavy D album, (maybe). The next time I was there, there were ads for the new Nine Inch Nails album (this was around 2001 or 2002) and last night it had yet another new Nine Inch Nails album. The title was “NIN:NIN” and the cover was just Trent Reznor in a red baseball cap. After I saw the store, I saw a person I was supposed to know that did stunts for the Matrix and was walking towards a scene they were shooting a scene in the street in which Agents fired a line of shots to the left and then to the right. The person (who was on crutches) dodged the shots to the left, but then I was hit two or three times in the chest by the shots fired to the right. I lay in the street dying and then I wasn’t me; I had a third person view (from above) and my body wasn’t mine either, it was Kyle from South Park. He was lying there dead and all I remember after that point is staring at the body for a long time and really feeling the finality of death. This wasn’t a cartoon character; it was me in the shape of Kyle from South Park, but actually shot dead in the street. Both were very powerful, and I felt very ‘there’.
The third dream took place in this terrifying version of the New York Athletic Club. The Club is normal in some places, but in others the hallways are broken down and dilapidated, there are doors that lead to rooms made up of piping and chain links fences and stairwells and a room that holds a very dark unseen thing, like a force.
The dream started at some hotel where I was with Beck. He was talking about using cool noises and sounds on his albums and I told him I know of a room where the wind makes a really cool noise that he should record. He was interested so we went to find it. It happened that the room I was talking about is the room that contains the really terrible thing I mentioned above. I knew that, but the me in my dream didn’t, or he didn’t know EXACTLY what was there, he might have had an idea there was something bad, but couldn’t remember the thing itself. Anyway, the NYAC happened to be right across the street so Beck and entered and started looking for the room. We found ourselves on the roof where a person was proclaiming or preaching to a group of little kids. I remember this figure screaming that someone’s enemies would all die although I can’t remember whose. From there we continued looking for the room and found ourselves at the foot of a staircase covered in red velvet. The way was blocked by a bronze statue of the founder of the Club reading to kids (it looked a lot like the Hans Christian Anderson statue in Central Park), and I knew there was a reason the statue was blocking the way but we climbed around it anyway. By this time, I was with Beck and some girl. I don’t remember anything except she was rather attractive and wearing sort of a wife beater. We climbed the stairs and found ourselves in a room with red walls and ceiling and red carpet on the floor. Against the wall was an elaborately decorated red coffin that I knew held the body of the founder of the Club. The girl was scared, Beck didn’t really react and I was in the grip of a fear so intense that I woke up. Right before I did, I noticed that beyond the coffin was a doorway that lead to a place even worse than the room with the coffin. I can’t be sure but it might have been the room containing the dark thing that I mentioned. That room was frightening in a way that only objects imbued with a strong emotion can be frightening. This room was drafty at first with wind whistling through an open window or a crack in the wall or ceiling or something, but the whistling wasn’t just the wind, it was a sound made by this unnamable thing that represents everything I relate to fear in my subconscious. When I woke up after first being in that room, I was unable to move in my bed. I think the entrance to that room was in my sight at the end of this (Beck/NYAC) dream.
I had come to a room before (what might have been) that room a long time ago in 1997 or 96 maybe. I wrote about it in my real journal. There were two or three rooms that, for some reason, held religious significance (one room was John the Baptist’s, one was Christ’s and one belonged to Satan) and one that held a small sand pit the size of a doorway on the floor (Satan’s, if I remember correctly). I knew in that dream that I was not to touch that sandpit EVER. But for all the fear the first two or three rooms held, I knew there was a final room. It might or might not have been the same room. I had the dream in the room a long time after the one with the religious significance, but who knows how things like this work.
Anyway I have had three dreams in two nights that focus on death, loss, dying, sadness and utter, abject terror.
7.19.2005
The Step
The candlelight laid flat on the silverware. He just sat there. “Tomorrow” he thought. “Tomorrow.” This was a very important night in his life. Or so he hoped. Tonight should represent the end of something. The end of nothing at all.
Everyone always said that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. That might be true, but that step sometimes had to be much bigger than just any old step. There’s a difference between a step onto the sidewalk and a step onto a bus or plane or boat. Some steps are larger than others. He had tried little steps. Nothing happened. Ever. Never ever. He tried everything he could think of, but still, nothing. Ever. Then, he thought that the first step might be bigger than people always made it out to be. He thought of a big step. He thought and thought and eventually decided that he would not be able to make a very big step at all by himself. So he found someone to help him. Help in a passive sense. Someone to help him take the step, not in the way a person helps another person take a step, but in the way a shoe helps a person take a step.
He found his shoe. His tool that would help him build a bridge to another place. What had his name been? Roy? Ron? John? Maybe John. He wished, distantly, that there had been some other way, but he couldn’t focus on that at this particular moment. He was too excited. Excited for tomorrow. His stomach was tangled up in knots at the prospect. Was that a siren? He hoped so. “Here come the Change Police. The Agents of Change.” He grinned at his pun. He had never been so nervous! “Tomorrow” he thought again, chanting it in his mind like a mantra. “Tomorrow, tomorrow.” He glanced again at the scene. Making sure everything was clear. It was a bit dark in the room, but the candles were enough. One man sitting at one end of the dinner table, thinking, glancing, hoping; the other (yes, John, not Ron, but John) with his head resting on the placemat, his body cooling. Everything was ready. He was nervous, but he was smiling. Tomorrow would be an end to a routine. An end to the monotony. Tomorrow would not be the same. Tomorrow…would be…different.
Everyone always said that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. That might be true, but that step sometimes had to be much bigger than just any old step. There’s a difference between a step onto the sidewalk and a step onto a bus or plane or boat. Some steps are larger than others. He had tried little steps. Nothing happened. Ever. Never ever. He tried everything he could think of, but still, nothing. Ever. Then, he thought that the first step might be bigger than people always made it out to be. He thought of a big step. He thought and thought and eventually decided that he would not be able to make a very big step at all by himself. So he found someone to help him. Help in a passive sense. Someone to help him take the step, not in the way a person helps another person take a step, but in the way a shoe helps a person take a step.
He found his shoe. His tool that would help him build a bridge to another place. What had his name been? Roy? Ron? John? Maybe John. He wished, distantly, that there had been some other way, but he couldn’t focus on that at this particular moment. He was too excited. Excited for tomorrow. His stomach was tangled up in knots at the prospect. Was that a siren? He hoped so. “Here come the Change Police. The Agents of Change.” He grinned at his pun. He had never been so nervous! “Tomorrow” he thought again, chanting it in his mind like a mantra. “Tomorrow, tomorrow.” He glanced again at the scene. Making sure everything was clear. It was a bit dark in the room, but the candles were enough. One man sitting at one end of the dinner table, thinking, glancing, hoping; the other (yes, John, not Ron, but John) with his head resting on the placemat, his body cooling. Everything was ready. He was nervous, but he was smiling. Tomorrow would be an end to a routine. An end to the monotony. Tomorrow would not be the same. Tomorrow…would be…different.
7.14.2005
I Hail from Raratonga
7.14.05
3:40PM
Wet dogs, my friends, wet dogs.
Today I had a rather bon Bastille luncheon with Trevor, Dorothy and Trevor’s big breasted girlfriend, Yvonne. Big breasted indeed, but also very nice. Dorothy and I recounted how we met (at that poop fetish thing…) and I ate a lackluster Caesar salad.
I hope Burton redeems himself with this movie. Planet of the Apes ruined a lot of my faith in him as a good filmmaker. I have a slight problem with directors remaking movie today, but Planet of the Apes? I mean, was there really that much of a demand for that movie to me remade? Whatever the case, I’ve heard a lot about Depp basing his character on Marilyn Manson for the movie and I hope I am creped out tonight. I want to fear for these kids. I want to feel the same way as I did watching the pedophile father in Happiness offer to help his 12-year old son measure his penis and teach him how to masturbate. I want to detest Depp in this role. I want to leave the theater feeling dirty.
I’ve had the bass line and synth line from “Only” in my head all day.
I’ve made several CDs for Gia and I can’t wait for her to hear them. I enjoy giving people new music to listen to. It makes me feel good. After talking to Dorothy today, I think I will give her some music too. She did mention, however that she doesn’t really get into anything whereas I get into fourteen things with my teeth and pretty much ignore everything else. I don’t want to give someone music that they won’t listen to or don’t give a shit about. A while back I gave Allyson a copy of E’s second solo album (knowing that she was a big eels fan and had his first solo album) and, to this day, over four year later, she has not listened to it. Why Allyson? WHY?! AHHHHHHHHH!! So anyway, you understand my concern. I would hate to be “that guy” that makes mix tapes or burns albums etc. for everyone and finds out that no one gives a shit or whatever. I remember one time (when Allyson had only had the CD for 4 months or so) I asked her why she hadn’t listened to it yet. “I just don’t have time.” Hm. The CD was about 40 minutes or so. I know Allyson was busy and all (although the busiest person in college I ever knew was Will and he found time to run around the quad naked, have “Kiss” playing for about 24 hours straight, piss up a statue, have troublesome pillow talk, help entertain Jade for several days, take a trip to a champagne party at Amherst and drive several women off this continent AND still become the youngest and hairiest man to ever turn down a job at NASA), but, yeah, 40 minutes. I don’t suppose you’ll have more free time going to grad school for psychology than you did at Fordham, Allyson, but if you get the chance, check out the CD, it’s pretty good. I think you’ll like it.
3:40PM
Wet dogs, my friends, wet dogs.
Today I had a rather bon Bastille luncheon with Trevor, Dorothy and Trevor’s big breasted girlfriend, Yvonne. Big breasted indeed, but also very nice. Dorothy and I recounted how we met (at that poop fetish thing…) and I ate a lackluster Caesar salad.
I hope Burton redeems himself with this movie. Planet of the Apes ruined a lot of my faith in him as a good filmmaker. I have a slight problem with directors remaking movie today, but Planet of the Apes? I mean, was there really that much of a demand for that movie to me remade? Whatever the case, I’ve heard a lot about Depp basing his character on Marilyn Manson for the movie and I hope I am creped out tonight. I want to fear for these kids. I want to feel the same way as I did watching the pedophile father in Happiness offer to help his 12-year old son measure his penis and teach him how to masturbate. I want to detest Depp in this role. I want to leave the theater feeling dirty.
I’ve had the bass line and synth line from “Only” in my head all day.
I’ve made several CDs for Gia and I can’t wait for her to hear them. I enjoy giving people new music to listen to. It makes me feel good. After talking to Dorothy today, I think I will give her some music too. She did mention, however that she doesn’t really get into anything whereas I get into fourteen things with my teeth and pretty much ignore everything else. I don’t want to give someone music that they won’t listen to or don’t give a shit about. A while back I gave Allyson a copy of E’s second solo album (knowing that she was a big eels fan and had his first solo album) and, to this day, over four year later, she has not listened to it. Why Allyson? WHY?! AHHHHHHHHH!! So anyway, you understand my concern. I would hate to be “that guy” that makes mix tapes or burns albums etc. for everyone and finds out that no one gives a shit or whatever. I remember one time (when Allyson had only had the CD for 4 months or so) I asked her why she hadn’t listened to it yet. “I just don’t have time.” Hm. The CD was about 40 minutes or so. I know Allyson was busy and all (although the busiest person in college I ever knew was Will and he found time to run around the quad naked, have “Kiss” playing for about 24 hours straight, piss up a statue, have troublesome pillow talk, help entertain Jade for several days, take a trip to a champagne party at Amherst and drive several women off this continent AND still become the youngest and hairiest man to ever turn down a job at NASA), but, yeah, 40 minutes. I don’t suppose you’ll have more free time going to grad school for psychology than you did at Fordham, Allyson, but if you get the chance, check out the CD, it’s pretty good. I think you’ll like it.
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