Bush Pardons

Here's a list of all of George W. Bush's presidential pardons thus far. I think it's interesting to note that money-related crimes, firearms-related crimes, and marajuana-related crimes seem prevalent.

That's even more interesting when you consider the case of Martin Conestag Thermopolous who was arrested in 1981 for falsifying out-of-state firearms sales paperwork while simultaneously posessing marajuana with intent to distribute. Thermopolous still has yet to be pardoned.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_people_pardoned_by_George_W._Bush

Tapirs

Cute or Terrifying?

NPH, Fantastic As Always

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

Kicks

That title could also be used for a post about sneakers, which is a plausible post topic for me as well. But this post is about the kicks I get on about certain things (like, sneakers, for example)...

I get on these weird kicks where I just get completely obsessed with something to an insane degree for a couple of weeks then I forget all about it and move onto something else. Usually they're about food, but sometimes the kicks are hobbies. I was on this big corndog kick for a while where I bought big boxes of corndogs and ate, like, four of them a day for about three weeks. Then I got on this milk kick where I wanted to drink a glass of non-fat milk with everything. It just always sounded good and delicious and satisfying. Right now I'm really into Froot Loops. They're delicious, and the left over milk is all flavorful and great too.

For a while I was in to blogging, then that wained. I got into painted and haven't done that in a while. When I was in high school I got completely obsessed with current research regarding quantum teleportation. That was kind of a long one, then one day I was just like "nope, don't care about that anymore!"

And while I think part of it is an inclination to move on and try new things, and part of it is necessity, as keeping all of those interests would eventually distract from everything else in your life and you'd spend 5 minutes a day doing about 1000 different little quirky things. But I like to think some of the kicks I just sort of temporarily put on the back-burner and they're not completely forgotten. Like painting, I still have the paint, and think about it, but I'm doing other things right now. Where as quantum teleportation is probably something I won't start looking into again--at least not in the foreseeable future.

So, if you ever want to know just a little bit of introductory knowledge about: turntables, Japanese cars, mountain bikes, baking, building your own furniture, tee-ball, competitive diving, professional wrestling, French childrens books from the 18th century, or croquet, give me a call. Or if you have a new and interesting hobby that I could really enjoy for a relatively short amount of time, those suggestions are not only welcome, but encouraged.

Some Words

Here are some words I like:

Esophageal
Syphilitic
Alternatively
Conversely
Extemporaneous
Languor
Vitriolic

My New Album

I'm not musical, and I'm the first person to admit that. I think I have rhythm and all that, but I never took the time to learn an instrument. My mother played the clarinet for years, and my father is pretty much a natural at anything he picks up. As long as it makes a sound, he can figure out how to play it inside of 10 minutes. Most notably, he plays guitar really really well. But probably the most shining display of his musical talent, to me, was when we had a piano in the house. During high school I got this wild hair and decided I needed to learn how to play the piano. So my mom rented a piano and signed me up for lessons with this horrible old woman down the street. As I struggled to pull myself away from the instant gratification of TV and practice, my dad would sit at the piano and compose actual songs, with chords and notes and everything IN HIS HEAD. Needless to say, it was endlessly demoralizing--which isn't to say it wasn't impressive.

That said, if I ever did put out an album of banjo music or whatever, I would call it "Live-blogging My Loneliness," and I would put this picture on the cover:

Then I'd just wait for the Gawker stories to roll out. I'd reach fameball status, date one of those self-publicizing talking heads who's marginally famous for divulging personal aspects of her life publicly. I'd decide to quit the banjo and take up the harpsichord, then I'd give up the harpsichord to start a new band with a chubby Puerto Rican guy I met at the Brooklyn Brewery, then I'd give up music altogether and start writing poety. I'd get really into fashion but ignore my personal hygiene so essentially I'd look like a homeless person that Hugo Boss felt sorry for. I'd get married, to the talking head, and we'd have a child. Then we'd divorce and she'd get custody because I would have a nasty drinking problem that makes me difficult to be around but I would be convinced makes me more fun at parties. After I shave my head, I'd hire a life couch who winds up being a fraud and taking the remainder of my savings. In a moment of desperation I'd re-visit the banjo and after a week of delirium tremors that make it hard to play right, I'd start writing new songs. I'd get back into the studio and do tracks with guest stars like Tony Bennett, Lucinda Williams, and Ludicrous. At the age of 30 I'll look 45, but I'll do a string of self-important interviews about how I found Jesus because Jesus is more marketable than spontaneous self-improvement. Ultimately, "Live-blogging My Lonliness" would make it to China, where the citizens would listen to its message, realize their value as an angry mob, and would initiate a mass-exodus out of the country into Japan, France, Hawaii, and Alaska (respectively). My child will call a lawyer named "Chet" daddy. Chet will be flamboyantly gay but will convince everyone that he's straight by marrying my ex-wife and taking an interest in muscle cars. My child will attend a private school, the same one Chet went to as a boy. I'll send birthday cards with large checks that have outrageous messages written in the memo line. Chet, for all his fraudulent malingering, will be a better father-figure for the boy, and I will never appeal for custody. Incidentally, David Cassidy will sue me for fraud, and I will appeal when he wins and I have to award him $412,000 dollars for not upholding my contractual agreement to appear in his Las Vegas spectacular at the Bellagio. My last day on earth will be spent drinking beer on my next door neighbor's shed. I'll get a sunburn and I'll have little sunglass lines around my eyes. I will go to my ex-wife's condo and ask if the boy is around. I'll give him my banjo and tell him to play it when he feels like live-blogging. He'll ask me what live-blogging is and I'll tell him it was a disease from the early 2000's where self-important assholes would watch "Top Chef" and feel personally invested to the point where their opinion matters to people other than themselves. I will summarize by saying it was a lot like syphilis. When I get home I'll rub aloe all over my body and sit in my favorite rocking chair. With my last breath I'll say "chrysanthemum," because that was the name of my childhood sled, and I'll disappear because none of this ever happened.

2 Days in Scranton

Just got back from a business trip in Scranton, PA. Saying I was on a "business trip" makes me sound like I'm trying to sound all adult and responsible and important and cool, but the truth is, I'm just trying to be clear. I don't want anyone to think I was in Scranton, PA on vacation.

Whatever, Scranton is like every other small town. I didn't see much of it, not that there was much to see, but I'm sure there are nice parts. I think I've fallen victim to an intrinsic snobbery toward all towns smaller than my hometown, which is larger than most towns to begin with. I think I just like having options, having the capability to have whatever I want when I want. In a small town you lose that, the security you feel in knowing that if you want to see a new movie you don't need to worry if it's at the theater in your area. Maybe security is the wrong word, maybe freedom is a better word. Yeah, I think it is.

I can't tell you how anxious I was to turn 21. Not because I was all keyed up to start drinking legally, to be honest, drinking was much more fun when it was illegal. I was really looking forward to being able to go wherever I wanted. Being of shy mind and spineless body, I constantly worried that I would walk into a place to sit down and write or whatever and someone would come over and tell me I'm too young to be there. That kind of weird confrontation stood as a constant source of anxiety to pre-21-year-old Marc.

When I turned 25 I got excited about being able to rent a car, but not really. I'd rented cars in the past. When my Subaru was stolen the insurance company gave me a rental, which was nice, but it didn't supply me with any sort of rebellious sensation of freedom beyond my years. I went to high school next to a freeway on-ramp. I'd sit in class and daydream about getting on the freeway and just driving away. I'd half-listen to Mr. Norton's lecture on To Kill A Mockingbird and wonder if tomorrow would be the day I'd take that wide turn and drive off down I-90. But by the time I was 25 I lost that sensation.

Because when you're in your mid-twenties you find new and interesting ways to escape like that. This isn't a segue into why I love crack cocaine or anything, I'm just saying as you get older you gain more power over your environment. I know now that I could buy a plane ticket and move across the country tomorrow if I wanted--could completely uproot my life entirely in the blink of an eye. I could rent that car, drive to Nevada, get a fake ID and fall off the grid. But it's like drinking, once it's acceptable it's not as interesting. It goes from being rebellion to being personal choice. Pulling onto the on-ramp before school was a statement about being confined in the trappings of my own melodramatic adolescent life as much as it was actual escape.

After 18 you make the life decision to smoke. At 21 you choose whether or not to go into bars and drink. You graduate college, it's now your choice to move away and chase a dream or get a job and fade into obscurity.

So what am I getting at? I suppose I have to conclude this post with some poignant single sentence that will make you see what a clever person I am. But let's be honest. I started typing because I was bored and wound up with a diatribe about whatever this was. Maybe a couplet? Ok, a couplet:

Just the possibility of you reading my blog makes me happy,
And when I see that I only have 5 comments I feel very crappy.

No, I don't want you to feel obligated to write comments, that was just the first thing that came to mind. Maybe I should end my posts with a diamante. At least then I wouldn't have to rhyme. Or maybe I'll just cut off the posts where I feel like it, after all, I write about whatever I want. I don't know, there's a weird compulsive neuron floating around my brain that makes me feel like I have to conclude things.

I'll leave you with something interesting I've discovered about myself, rather, that I discovered years ago but have never been able to change and I fear people think it's just me being pretentious:

I spell "theater" like "theatre" and "gray" like "grey." These spellings just make more sense to me, they're what come out when I'm typing phrases like "The carpet in the theatre was grey." This isn't because I want people to think I'm sophisticated or that maybe I am English (for whatever reason), it's just how I've always spelled them.

So when I write you a note that reads: "Hey, I decided to go for a run today, it was grey out and looked like it would rain. I ate some of your peanut butter, sorry." You should know that I'm conveying a straight-forward message with absolutely no sub-text, other than that I love peanut butter enough to steal it.

Voting in Bay Ridge

It's Election Day in America, can you feel it? I mean, like, it was Election day a little while ago, and did you feel it then? Ugh, I felt so confident about that intro before I wrote it out... obviously I'm a little rusty, give me a second...

As I write this post about the American election I think it's entirely too funny and ironic that I'm listening to a french song called "Beaucoup Beaucoup" by Sylvie Lalibert. It's funny and ironic because our current, soon to be not current, President hates the French because they hate Democracy: American Style - Big D, Big A.

I'll start at the beginning, because no one ever went wrong starting at the beginning of a story. Incidentally I'm a little distracted because it's gorgeous in Brooklyn today. Seriously, the sun is shinning and we have a light reprieve from the gray, rainy, horror (I like to spell it "whore-er") that was the last week or so.

My journey begins whilst I sat in my office on the 15th floor in Midtown. I received an email about Proposition 8 and immediately became concerned about where I will vote three days in the future. Obviously I have no say in the not passing of Proposition 8, but it got me all worked up that people who would vote for such a proposition probably already knew where they were voting. When I called the office they informed me that I was, in fact, registered to vote in New York City, but that I failed to change my address information in time, which meant that I had to vote in my old voting area: Bay Ridge.

When I heard this I dropped the phone, I had a panic attack, I cried a single tear and called my mom. It's just so far away! As I've said numerous times, I don't dislike Bay Ridge, it's just so fucking far away. Voting in Bay Ridge is like wanting a cup of coffee in Midtown and choosing to go to a Starbucks in the West Village to get it. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Starbucks, it's an international coffee chain that has about 1000 locations surrounding you, regardless of your location, at any given moment. That's why that analogy is funny.

So I took the morning off and prepared to make the trek down to B. Ridge: across from Staten Island, on the way to Coney Island. I was originally going to wake up at 6:00 and try to get to work on time, but then I realized that if I woke up early and arrived to find that the polls weren't yet open I would feel like an ass. So I slept in until 8:00.

When I left the apartment I knew I would need coffee. I always need coffee, so this was an obvious realization that shouldn't even fall into the category of insight. It should just be fact, like, I know when I wake up I'm going to need to put on pants. Yet still, I deliberate every morning on whether or not I'm going to spend that $1.50 on a cup of sugary, delicious deli-style coffee.

Because my usual place was out of the way, I stopped by a different deli to get my coffee. I was immediately put off by their use of Styrofoam cups. Additionally, when I pulled back the lid tab I realized that it wasn't easily removable. Typically, I tear these tabs off and throw them in the nearest available refuse bin, but this particular lid was impossible to remove. Because it was early, and I was shaky, and cold, and tired, I had a little Parkinson's moment and spilled coffee all over my hand. Damn you weird Styrofoam coffee cup, what is your deal?!

Covered in coffee, still shaky and cold and lonely and tired and scared in a world of bright lights and loud noises, I walked into a bodega to get a napkin. Inside there was a large group of men speaking excitedly in Spanish at 9:00 in the morning, which seemed out of place to me. Who is that animated and excited at the un-godly hour of 9am? I immediately revisited that wish that I knew Spanish that I have occasionally when walking through my neighborhood. Eaves-dropping is, like, my favorite thing ever. I love it so much I'm thinking about learning another language just to do it more effectively.

Incidentally, does anyone remember that movie D.A.R.Y.L, about the kid who's a robot?

Inside the bodega the elderly man behind the counter tears off a paper towel for me, and sends me on my way. I walked to the J train, got on, and proceeded unmolested to Manhattan, where I switched to the N train. The whole train ride part of this story is pretty boring, so I'll just skip to when I got to Bay Ridge. I think there were interesting people on the train, something crazy happened, and there are particular instances that I'm leaving out that were really absurd and hilarious, but I don't remember any of them... so yeah...

When I got off at the 86th street stop I looked over my shoulder and re-familiarized myself with the most over-priced little Chinese market that resides inside of the 86th subway stop. It doesn't have a name, but they sell hand-made knit caps and have a boundless selection of pornography for purchase.

Above ground there was massive construction that tore up the road next to the subway stop. I don't really know what the purpose of the construction was or anything, but something about road construction always gives me a little pang of excitement. Like, OK, so they're tearing up the road and they're going to replace it and make it smooth and better, or they're going to add another lane or something, right? These are big changes! These are things that actively make the community better, make driving easier! These are changes that facilitate the efficient movement of traffic, that get people to work faster! That ease stress and build community! These are your tax dollars at work!

Carried by the promise of a new day, I stalwartly walked to my voting destination. As I passed Century 21 I thought about buying boxer briefs, because you can never have too many pairs of underwear, and they're practically giving them away at Century 21's prices! But I kept it in my pants and walked past... I kind of wish I bought some boxer briefs, or some v-neck t-shirts, or at least a set of decorative candles. Incidentally, it looked like Century 21 was adding another level to their already massive store! So, you know, that's pretty dope.

On my way to the polling station, voting location, whatever it's called, I stopped by the old apartment. I saw that Meg has hung some Tibetan prayer flags, which is a nice touch. It also helps me distinguish my old window in the picture below, which is also appreciated.


When I arrived at the post office, that I was certain was my voting location (it would have been foolish to write down the address!) a nice mentally-challenged custodian informed me that there were not, in fact, any voting machines at this location. I asked him if he knew where the nearest voting location was, as I knew it was really close to where I used to live. He said he did not, continued to mop, and somehow kept me rapped up in a conversation about me being lost. I honestly don't know how it happened, but we wound up talking and conversing about nothing for an inordinately long time.


As I walked down the street in the direction I thought was correct, I noticed a pair of signs in the window of a local hardware store. The signs were hand-made in Microsoft Paint and printed on what was likely a Hewlitt-Packard 350PW home color printer. If you cannot make out the picture below, one sign simply reads: McCain/Palin. The other sign: NObama. See what they did there? They added an "N" to the front of "Obama" and made it a statement about how they don't want him, how they are rejecting him, how they are, essentially, saying "NO" to Obama as the next President. See? See how that works? Bay Ridge, you scamp.


When I wiped the streaks of "hilarity tears" from my eyes, and regained my breath from all the hearty, breathy laughter, I pulled myself off the pavement on which I was rolling and soldiered on. Only a few steps past the hardware store I was lucky enough to stumble upon the sounds of one of Bay Ridges' crown citizens, who repeatedly shouted "Dumb Whore, Dumb Whore, Dumb Whore!" The "Dumb Whores" were directed toward a very stylish, and seemingly nice, African-American woman in a gold jeep. Apparently there was some kind of traffic dispute that resulted in his strategic repetition of "dumb whore" and her shouting "you're an asshole!" The whole episode concluded with him shouting back, "Why don't you go vote for Biden!"

Wait, what? It turns out that's something you angrily shout at someone in a derogatory fashion. Let's back up and dissect that from my perspective. That's, fundamentally, like having an argument with someone and then concluding it by shouting: "hey, why don't you go have a cupcake with a glass of milk, then get to bed early and welcome the following morning with a sense of joyful optimism!" But in Bay Ridge, you see, screaming "why don't you go vote for Biden!" is like, a bad thing, because in Bay Ridge/Bizarro World, Biden is the bad guy. When I heard this I half expected the Yellow Lantern to swoop down and slap me across the face.

Editorial Note: The above Yellow Lantern reference is a reference so obscure and geeky that if you recognize it I will buy you a cookie. The rational part of me that likes to make these stories universally relatable told me not to include it, but I couldn't let it go.

I eventually had to call my co-worker so she could look at the legal pad on my desk and give me the address of the voting location. As it turned out, I remembered the address wrong, which is why I kept skulking around that Mazda dealership, looking for voting booths.

I walked in and saw that they didn't have the standard paper with pin, hanging chad-style voting booths, but that they had these crazy mechanical, steam-punk-style voting booths that I'd never seen before. I started running scenarios in my head: what if I accidentally vote wrong? what if I don't flip every switch I need to and my vote isn't counted? what if I flip too many switches and the big scary mechanical booth transforms into a people-eating robot? Then that would be on me, and I'd feel like such an asshole.

The location volunteers were all spectacularly nice and helped me understand the switch system. Being of sound mind and high neurosis, I took a picture of my checked vote for Obama/Biden, just so I could assure myself that even though the booth itself was a weird old system, I managed to get done wanted I was there to do.


On the way out of the booth I asked the nice elderly gentleman in the red sweater if they have any sort of ballot receipt or "I Voted" sticker. He regretfully informed me that they did not, which kind of killed the companion piece to this one: "Free Shit I Got Just For Voting."

Unsatisfied, I reached into my messenger bag, found some stickers, and made my own:


There are some missing because I passed them around the office when I got to work.

On the way back to the subway I stopped at Brooklyn Bagels for one last Bacon Egg Cheese on an Everything Bagel. The owners had changed, as had some of the employees. The guy who took my order was a young, excitable type who seemed to value customer service, which kind of threw me off. I ate my bagel and drank my Vitamin Water on the subway like a hobo, violently tearing into my food like I hadn't eaten in three days. I realized, shortly after I finished, that it was noon, and I hadn't eaten anything all day, when I should have been constantly fortifying myself during my voyage to the other end of the earth.


I got back to work, sat down, Larry came by and made a joke about how I dress more and more casual every day, and started organizing spreadsheets. Everything was back on track, the routine resumed and I settled back into the daily whatever it is that I do, and as I starred blankly at a column of 13-digit ISBNs it became apparent that everything really was back on track, and I welcomed the day with joyful optimism... and hope.


... and THAT is a cheesy conclusion I think we can all get behind.

Acceptable Update

While I do love Queen, I feel that simply stating that love isn't nearly enough to sustain people's hope of future updates. I guess there is hope of future updates, I've just been busy working on other things lately. I'm not going to lie, there's a lot to talk about. I just moved, which in and of itself was full of ridiculous and funny stories. There were the usual tales of woe, and silly things I did because I'm kind of flakey that led to more ridiculous situations as I tried to get myself out of the hole I dug. There were introspective moments, and big life epiphanies that I quickly forgot. There were new bands I liked, and new celebrities I worshipped, and generally things have been more of the same--which is to say, there has been plenty of fodder for updates.

I haven't had internet at my apartment recently. That's not an excuse because I've only not had internet access for about two weeks, it's just something I'm saying now so that I can frame what I'm about to say, which is this: I think it might be a good thing that I don't have internet at home. You know, I spend so much time trying to avoid being alone that when I actually am alone I feel this insane need to stay connected, like being alone isn't acceptable. And that keeps me from doing the things I'm best at, because the things I'm really the best at are things I do alone (*snicker snicker*). Things like writing, and drawing, and all that other only-child stuff that I've always done has just kind of stopped recently. But not having internet has made it impossible to check social messaging sites every four minutes. I started to realize my personal value wasn't based on the amount of scrabble games I won. I found that when I'm not doing anything, I wind up getting the most done--at least in terms of fulfilling, end products. And that's just in terms of things I create personally, and isn't to say that time with friends isn't fulfilling. If you're a friend and feel that that last sentence wasn't a good enough explanation as to how I can be both fulfilled alone and with you, you can: a) call me and I'll explain what I mean better, or b) get over yourself.

But I think it's good to not be over yourself, to a degree. Does that make sense? Where was I going with this?

So here it is, I guess. I'm not saying goodbye to the blog, that's not what this is. I'm just saying: "hey, dear loving readers of Marc in the City, I think about you often, and don't want you to think that you don't mean anything to me, because you do. You are everything to me baby, you is my world."

I like chill-laxin' in the blogosphere, but I'm afraid it's just too hard to have my feet in two ponds at once. If we've spoken in person recently you might know what I'm up to that's keeping me from regular updates. If we haven't spoken personally in a while, then you should just know that the new project is going to break your fucking mind with its awesomeness.

Incidentally, getting over yourself is for suckers.

Queen

I LOVE QUEEN!

Queen is just such an amazing band. I'm listening to "Who Wants to Live Forever" right now and I am moved. Freddie Mercury is the greatest front man of all time.

Made-Up Words

Words I've created in the last 24 hours:

Bro-cocious: When you and your bros are trying to agree on something to do, and one or more bros is either: changing their mind often, or is immediately shooting down every idea that is proposed.

Example: Dude, we got tickets to the Broadway revival of "Cats" six weeks ago and now you don't want to go? Quit being so bro-cocious.

Flee-vage: When you can see the lines between a woman's toes in the open top of a shoe.

Example: I would have bought those shoes, but there was fleevage everywhere, and that's gross and weird. I might as well buy sandals.

Gnarls Barkley

I'm really digging what I've heard of the new Gnarls Barkley.

Terrible Thai Food

Last night I ate the worst Thai food I've ever had.

It was all spiciness and zero flavor. Later, it was brought to my attention that the restaurant where we got said Thai food was actually a Chinese restaurant that also makes Thai food. I think that is where the breakdown occurred on the delicious train.

After dinner, I went to Tom and Jade's to drink wine, celebrate our wins, and mourn our losses of the day. They ordered Mexican food, from a restaurant called "Min Yeng's Mexican Food." They serve both Chinese and Mexican cuisine... h-what?

Chinese food in New York is to foreign cuisine as cranberry is to juice. It's just mixed with every other kind of food, without regard for the outcome. This is getting out of control.

So after not eating much, I went and had one glass of terrible wine. Because my stomach was empty, I was surprised to find myself sort of drunk... on a single glass of cheap wine. I woke up with a little headache this morning, and was more embarassed than pained. I don't even know why I'm publicly admitting all of this...

Maybe I'm still drunk.

All Day Listening

I've been listening to The Album Leaf all day today. Yesterday, I listened to Whiskeytown all day.

Got Milk Whore

I was reading Perez Hilton today, which I rarely do anymore, and I saw this article with this associated text:


"Who is the latest Got Milk? Whore????

CLICK HERE to find out!

He/she likes it creamy."

It's Martha Stewart, in case you were wondering. But what I want to know is: Can you really be a whore for publicizing milk? I mean, that's kind of like calling someone an ad whore for promoting literacy. "Ooh, Taye Diggs is promoting the Bookmobile. What a shill!"

12 Hours of Sleep

Last night I went to bed at 8:30pm because I've been sick for the last couple weeks and decided I'd try to do something good for myself. I awoke this morning at about 8:00am. After a relatively quick and delay-free train ride into town, I went to Dunkin' Donuts and ordered two Boston Cream donuts and a large iced coffee with French Vanilla flavoring.

Why would I do that to myself? I take all this time to get a good night's sleep, then I load up my body with fat and sugar! I'm about half-way through the iced coffee now (it's sitting within left hand's reach as I type this). I haven't even touched the donuts yet. Maybe they will be lunch...

Or maybe I should find a salad and eat that...

Or maybe I should just say "fuck it," eat the donuts, then go over to Goodburger and bet them that if I can't eat 10 cheeseburgers in under 30 minutes they're free.

Dancing Feet

Someone asked me the other day if I ever dance. My answer: Yes, I do.

It looks a lot like this:

Already A Bad Idea

I already think the post below is a bad idea.

PS: My office is a 1000 degrees and I smell bad because of it.

Real Written Things

Like, actual writing that requires effort and thought. I haven't really thought about anything or talked about anything but blog writing for a while. It's made me sort of lazy, and distracted me from writing things with actual plots and characters and adult themes and subject matter.

So what the hell, why don't I just start posting things I'm working on? It'll keep me motivated, as long as I get lots of genuine, ingenuine positive motivation from those of you who still read the website. Or maybe I'll just get shy and immediately take everything down and remember this as a terible idea. Who knows. I just know I need to do some actual writing, valuable writing, I guess.

We'll see how it goes... together, Dear Reader.

Alternative Comic Sighting

I had a really crappy Friday. It was rainy, and I forgot my coat, and I didn't have an umbrella, and it was just generally a stressful day at the office. There was all this badge ruckus that I won't get into that was completely stealing my thunder, energy, and innocence.

So I got on the E train, right outside the office, and decided to ride down to 42nd at which point I'd transfer to the N. Exciting, right? So I'm sitting there, exhausted and on the verge of a nervous breakdown because I can't stop thinking about work stuff, when I decide that seats on the train at 5:00 should be coveted. So I sat there until 14th street, and figured I'd just walk over to the N train (wherever it was). "It can't be that far," I thought.

I get out of the train station and realize that I'm in Chelsea, and that the N train is all the way next to the Virgin Megastore, which is extremely far away (especially when it's raining and you don't have a coat or umbrella). I started walking, and listened to Spoon while I watched people scurry through the rain as though it was made of acid.

Thank God my iPod was charged. I finally made it to the Subway, got on, and who should walk on right after me but Michael Showalter, of "Wet Hot American Summer!" I've seen that movie probably, seriously, 30 times. There was a period in college where my roommates and I would watch it every day after class (sometimes twice in a row). I know every line, I've watched the director's commentary often enough to recite along with the film, I've watched it with the extra fart noises on.

Now, granted, I'm still in a terrible mood, but for a little while I was distracted by Michael Showalter, who was innocuously reading the New York Times, which I thought was impressive because I never read the New York Times. He was wearing a pretty nondescript raincoat, and a long five o' clock shadow. I didn't want to bug him, especially not on a Subway, but just seeing him was enough to settle the waves of work-related nausea that were slowing moving their through my stomach, chest, and brain. I was distracted, and that's all that mattered.

He got off at Atlantic/Pacific, which makes sense. If he got off any later he'd see less awesome (because I live after Atlantic/Pacific on the N, and there's nothing cool there).

Anyway, that was pretty great. By this point I'd worked myself up into a stress-induced cold and spent the rest of the night watching "The Soup," and eating Cheez-Its; but seeing Michael Showalter was pretty great.

Colbert Dance Party

Apparently Comedy Central saw fit to disable the video below because God forbid I help spread laughter in the world.

That being said, you should try to find the video and watch it, if you haven't. It's pretty funny... and you might learn some fresh moves.

Rain vs. Colbert

Everytime I get bored with the Colbert Report, he does something like this and reels me back in completely. If he had a blot it would probably be updated often.

Those of you who know me well recall that I'm a big fan of dance-offs. For a short time in college I supported myself strictly be working the dance-off circuit, and often spent late nights perfecting my moves in montage form. It was a more innocent time back then...

Enjoy:

Extremely Specific Greeting Cards: Vol. 2

Happy 15th Birthday, to my uncle's step-son, who I guess would be my step-cousin

Hey there, you. I hear it's your birthday! I'm sure you're a really nice guy... my uncle, uh, I mean, your dad... step-dad, I guess talks about you all the time! He said you're a wrestler or something at school, and that's pretty neat. You're in high school now? Oh, that's great. So it's your birthday, is it on a weekday? If so, do you take the day off from school or do you still go, or what?

So I guess since my uncle married your mom, you're his step-son now, which makes you my step-cousin, right? That's pretty cool, I've always wanted more cousins...

Well look, I didn't get you anything because I don't really know you.

Happy Birthday,
Marc

Extremely Specific Greeting Cards: Vol. 1

Happy Birthday to my favorite European, trust-fund baby, alt-emo-electro-pop quartet

It's your birthday, your special day. And like you say in your hit song "Take a Doo-Doo Pie", "Your moves like hot biscuit, face so pretty, snickerdoodle want to shock sock dandy... forever." Remember that, and keep it with you.

This morning, when you wake up at 4:16pm, roll out of bed, and smoke a clove cigarette through one of those long, silver cigarette holders things while unsuccessfully trying to find inspiration in the writings of obscure French authors; know that the people who tolerate you do so slightly more today, because they're sort of obligated.

Happy Birthday, my favorite European, trust-fund baby, alt-emo-electro-pop quartet!

-Marc

One-Act: Pass or Fail... Just Like Gym Class

The following is the first installment of a new series that will consist of One-Act plays based on current events. This particular play is based a recent luke-warm review by Entertainment Weekly of Kanye West's "Glow in the Dark" Tour. Enjoy.

Act 1: Where in Kanye West reacts to a B+ review of his tour

Kanye: Yo, anybody that's not a fan; don't come to my show. For what?! To try and throw ya'll two cents in? Ya'll rated my album shitty and now ya'll come to the show and give it a B+. What's a B+ mean? I'm an extremist. It's either pass or fail! A+ or F-! You know what, fuck you and the whole fucking staff!!! I know I shouldn't dignify this with a comment, but the reviewer threw a jab at all the artists. I just wanna know when was the last time you enjoyed yourself. If you can't have fun and lose yourself at this tour it's a good chance you're a very miserable person. I actually feel sorry for you guys. Your job forces you to not have fun anymore. Grab a drink, holla at some nice girls, and party bitch!! You don't know shit about passion and art. You'll never gain credibility at this rate. You're fucking trash! I make art. You can't rate this. I'm a real person. I'm not a pop star. I don't care about anything but making great art. Never come 2 one of my shows ever again, you're not invited and if you see me...BOW!! This is not pop, it's pop art!

Marc: You're right, Kany-ezze... they all need to holla at some nice girls and those bitches need to party.

The End.

Gawker Stalker Sighting: Jeff Olsen

I was reading Gawker today and saw this Gawker Stalker entry:

"My friends and I saw Jeff Olson, the Cowboy from The Village People, at Staley Wise Gallery (560 Broadway @ Prince St) for Ron Galella's photography show. We were hoping David Bowie, The Boss, Mick Jagger, Bob Dylan, Michael Jackson or Elizabeth Taylor would show up."

How in the hell do you know who Jeff Olsen is, let alone what he looks like and who he was in the Village People? If ABBA walked down the street right by me, no, if ABBA walked into my office and started singing "Dancing Queen" I would still think, "who are these people singing 'Dancing Queen' in my office?" ABBA didn't even wear costumes...

Seriously, you recognized one of the Village People, thirty years after their prime, AND out of costume on the street? If Jeff Olsen was walking down the street with three other guys dressed as: an Indian Chief, a biker, and a construction worker; I might venture to guess he is the other member--but even then I'd be apprehensive.

Editorial Note: I realize that the term "Indian Chief" is not PC, but that was the placard assigned to whoever that guy was who performed in the Village People originally, so that's what I'm going with. PS: I capitalized it at least.

And this makes me wonder: in Bizzaro world is there a Marc in the City blog that's written by a man who grew up as a young gay boy in the 70s who wouldn't recognize Victoria Beckham on the street?

Seriously, don't even post Gawker Stalker sightings about Jeff Olsen... they just confuse people and detract from actual celebrities to be gawked at and stalked.

Sex and the Park Slope?

Apparently Darren Star, who brought us all "Sex and the City" (the eponymous television show that inspired the very name of this website--sort of), now has a new show in the works that focuses on moms in Park Slope, or something:

"Producers are giving Park Slope the star treatment with a pilot by the same executives who brought “Sex and the City,” starring Sarah Jessica Parker, and “Melrose Place” to TV.
According to industry sources, Darren Star, who created those smash shows, has teamed with Sony and NBC for a proposed series about a group of affluent characters who live in the upscale Brooklyn neighborhood."

Do people not realize how tiny Park Slope is? I mean, granted, "Sex and the City" pretty much covered the eight square miles that encompass the Upper East Side and all the: East and West Villages, Chelsea, Tribeca, etc; but Park slope is about two square miles! On top of that, most of that square mileage consists of identical brownstones and Prospect Park.

And Park Slope is definitely an island among itself. Walk North and you're in the boring/shitty/not-yet-gentrified/mildly dangerous: Bed-Stuy and Fort Greene areas. Walk south and you're in the boring/shitty/even less gentrified/more full of identical run-down brownstones: Sunset Park. You don't even want to walk East past Prospect Park. That's, like, East Flatbush no-man's-land.

But I like Park Slope. Jade described it as "where people from Williamsburg move when they have babies," which is completely accurate. There are some cool places in Park Slope, but I haven't even spent much time there and I'm already running out of things to do. There are a couple streets with interesting bars, a killer sneaker store called "Soula," and a vegan restaurant that's not bad. And that's about it.

I imagine the new Darren Star show will start out in Park Slope, and slowly branch out into Brooklyn Heights and DUMBO without telling viewers. Eventually everyone watching will think Park Slope is as big as Manhattan, and encompasses all the affluent areas of Brooklyn in one spectacular neighborhood.

PS: I'd definitely watch a show that involved Carrie Bradshaw living in Bed-Stuy. Unfortunately it would only last three episodes.

Episode 1: The "move-in episode." Where in, Carrie does a voice over explaining why she had to move out of Manhattan. There's a moving montage, then a bunch of scenes where she mopes around and her annoying friends try to convince her it's not so bad (in each of their particularly whaspy brands of condescension).

Episode 2: Carrie finds a love-interest named "Lo-Jack" who helps Carrie move her mahogany-stained Valencia armoire into place. She'll display mild irritation with the G-train, and write a column about how gentrification is a metaphor for modern relationships and vice-versa.

Episode 3: Ends abruptly when Carrie runs to the corner store to grab a vitamin water and is murdered.

Overheard on Canal Street

While waiting for the train the other day on Canal Street, I overheard to men having the following discussion about Satellite TV and HD channels:

Over-dressed and out-of-place guy #1: Dish Network has so many more HD channels than TimeWarner.

Over-dressed and out-of-place guy #2: (who is holding a golf club with a little cotton golf club head protector): Yeah, but Dish Network is just so unreliable, which is why I went with TimeWarner.

Me: I don't know why you guys are talking about TV when you have that sweet golf-club protector! You should be talking about that! Have you seen it, it's shaped like a horse's head and that's adorable! Hey, do you guys want to hang out, get a beer or something?! Do you guys watch "Gilmore Girls?" I love that show.

I didn't really say that.

Bachelor Auction at NJ.com

Hey! I got re-posted at NJ.com, the official local news blog of New Jersey!

So if you want to read the article I wrote, then go to NJ.com and read what they wrote about what I wrote, and then get linked back here to read what I wrote again go to:

http://www.nj.com/hobokennow/index.ssf/2008/04/going_once_going_twice_sold.html

PS: Thanks for letting me let them use the picture, Erin.

Haircut

In the interest of full disclosure, Dear Reader, I must tell you that I spent $67 on a haircut last weekend.

Now wait for the initial shock to wear off...

It was most certainly and undoubtably the finest haircut I've ever received. She took her time to really understand how my hair works, and took in to consideration my absurd hairline and hair texture.

One of the great things about paying that much for a haircut is that it really makes you care about your hair, which can be good or bad. I think it's good because I'm a guy who cares about his appearance, but not to the point where I'll really go too far out of my way. Now I feel sort of obligated, and I guess that's actually kind of nice.... does that make sense?

Anyway, the place was called Shampoo, and if you're willing to spend the money I would recommend it to anyone.

Editorial Note: Every Friday at Shampoo is "Metal Friday," so if you love Metallica Friday's your day. Or if you love the novelty of getting your haircut while listening to angry metal in the background you should go on Friday.

New Banner

Meghan was kind enough to send me another banner to put on the site! Thanks, Meghan!

If anyone else would like to submit a banner that'd be fantastic! The more banners the better! If I get enough I'll figure out to make them randomly rotate.

Hahaha! Oh Man!

26

Suck One, Cancer

A couple weeks ago, Brent and I participated in a Bachelor Auction in Hoboken, NJ. We were there to raise money for Relay for Life.

We started our night at Green Rock. Rain was pouring hard all day, and didn't let up when we got to Hoboken. I realized halfway to Green Rock that my shoe had a hole in it. Immediately I became aware of the fact that my entire right foot was soaked. My right step squished as I walked into the bar. Brent, Mike, Casey, and Joshua (Joshua? I don't know, I just met him that night), were on their way out when I arrived.

Brent decided he needed a vest (what?), so we walked down Washington street to where Brent thoguht a vest may be up for purchase. The store we went to was this uber-trendy shop where the three gay boys in Hoboken must shop. The clerk had one of those creative stenciled beards that were popularized by AJ, the Backstreet Boy who went to rehab. Feeling awkward, I asked the clerk if they carried PRPS jeans. They didn't, which felt, for some reason, like a small victory.

Brent and I left for the auction. On the way, we both had to pee, so we ducked into 4Ls and had a beer. Our waitress was very charming, and immediately loved us when we mentioned we were getting auctioned off to fight cancer (which is exactly how I put it). She said we definitely needed a drink and gave us the impression that she would stop by when her shifted ended. She didn't, but the hope of that was nice enough.

We got to Texas, Arizona, where the Bachelor Auction was being held. The place was packed shoulder to shoulder with women of all ages, shapes, and sizes. Brent and I checked in, and went to go try to fight our way to the bar. Being smaller than 80% of the guys in Jersey, I was able to find a small hole in the crowd around the bar (not unlike how all that rain water found a small hole in my shoe and took immediate advantage). We got two Budweisers (which is the King of Beers and the best beer in the world... send me free beer), and walked around introducing ourselves to people. Soon enough, we were speaking with a cougar named... something, I don't know, she had a name, and a somewhat younger woman who was actually kind of cute and maybe only a few years older than me. She had a name too. They told us we were the nicest guys they met all night, and that they would definitely bid on us. I was just happy someone that I don't know what going to bid on me.

Walt and Erin came in and the auction began soon after. Brent was number 35, and I was number 32, which Kiera (the organizer of the event) said was good, because people get more desperate at the end of the night and bid more.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention, Brent informed me shortly before the auction began that a lot of the bachelors were recruited from Club H, and were mostly personal trainers... fab.

The auction began and people were going for modest amounts: $30, $40, whatever. Generally it was pretty bland until a guy got up who unbuttoned his shirt and had another shirt with his name on it. Then he started throwing his headshots out into the crowd. Then he held up a sign for his website. It turns out he was a comedy writer in New York. But sorry comedy writer, this is Jersey. The only writing people do here is when they sign their Jegerbomb tabs at the end of the night. He went for $30.

J-Nel arrived shortly after, in a black North Face jacket that looks suspiciously red under black light...

Some other stuff happened and then I was up. I walked up to the stage, getting ready to go up to the auction block. I'm watching the guy before me flex, and pose, and do his thing. I also filled the time by talking to the other bachelors on deck. They were both pretty drunk, but really nice and both pretty nervous. And that's the weird thing, I wasn't nervous at all. I hadn't been nervous about it at any point going up to the event, nor was I before I went up. I was, maybe for a little, when I saw Senior Beefcake from Club H go for $150, but other than that I was fine.

The song changes, which is my cue to go up to the auction block. It's Sir Mix-a-Lot's "I like Big Butts," which is just false advertising because I, in fact, am not a great fan of big butts. And then, right as I'm making the short 15-foot walk up to the block, this kid jumps up onto the stage, knocks over a couch, apologizes, and walks off. What the hell? I still don't know what he was doing, but apparently there was somewhere he needed to be. There was a bachelor emergency that I didn't know about, or something.

I stand up on the auction block, remembering at this point that I was instructed not to dance or jump on the block (damn). And right when I see people winding up to bid, dear Kiera decides to go into some administrative anouncements. Apparently bachelors 16 and 18 had not yet been paid for, and there is an entire protocal that has to happen if they are not paid for, which Kiera took the time to outline while I stood on the small black box... unable to dance or jump.


I continued to stand on the box, growing more and more anxious, and more and more fired up. I even struck a conversation with a girl at the side of the stage about how awkard the whole thing was. Finally, I decided it made no sense for me to keep standing up there, so after what felt like 10 minutes, I turned around and walked off. Then, of course, as soon as I turn around, Kiera decides to introduce me.

At this point, everyone's already sick of me. The momentum is gone, and they want to move on. They had time to observe how awkward I am when forced to stand in front of a sea of 200 people, motionless, while "I Like Big Butts" plays in the background. PS: If anyone ever finds a way to look cool in that situation I'll give them $1000 a week to teach me all their secrets.

I stood there, squishing my toes into my wet right shoe, looking for my peeps. Where'd the cougar with the name go who said she's bid on me? Where's that girl who tapped me on the shoulder and said I looked like Ryan Seacrest (in a good way) go? Where's Casey's friend who said she'd be here? Oh right, she was sick. Lauren, where's Lauren from work? Oh right, they had launch today and she probably just had the longest day ever... Where are my peeps?!

Then I saw Erin, ah Erin, in her infinite charity and graciousness, bid on me. Then some other girl who Brent knew, then Erin again, then I got distracted by watching Kiera and wondering if she knew what she did. Then back to Erin, and then something else happened probably, and then I was sold, for $40 to Erin. And this was actually a huge relief for a couple reasons, the first being that I wasn't publicly humiliated and not just given away, and the second being that I like Erin, and I'd gladly take her out (as opposed to some desperate old lady who wants a baby or something).


And then, probably because I'd been drinking and hadn't eaten anything all day and had had the longest week at work, I began to just seathe with rage. Why would Kiera do that to me? Why did I agree to this whole thing? Why did I let a bunch of Jersey kids shallowly quantify my value in a public forum? I was past rational. I wasn't thinking about the fact that no one there was even giving me any thought, and that later this would be a funny story. I was hungry, and tired, and a little drunk, and my ego was bruised.

And then Erin came up to pay for me, and gave them an extra $40, and made me feel nominally better. On top of that, she was going to make Walt take her out instead of me, so I didn't even have to buy someone dinner!


Walt's reaction:


Then Brent was up. Oh Brent, with all your blonde-headed hotness. You can look, but don't touch (you might get burned). Brent got up and hands shot up left and right. The guy could do not wrong--imagine if he was allowed to dance! Eventually, after a vicious bidding war, Brent went to 4 girls from Hoboken for the handsome sum of $90!



They settled up, exchanged phone numbers, and Brent, Erin, J-Nel, Walt, and I went back to Green Rock. Mike and Casey met us there. We drank some more beers, and talked about the whole experience. Brent made dough-eyes at the guy playing guitar, and I shoved some more beers into my stomach. That night, I got home at 2:00am. The next morning I was exhausted... but it was worth it, because cancer fucking sucks.


Jazz!

Mr. Gorbachev, Tear Down This Wall!

There comes a time in every boy's life where they have to become a man, which invariably means taking down their loft bed. It was a good run, loft bed, but we both knew this time would come.


So I walked into Sleepy's and talked to the morbidly obese salesman I always see when I walk by the store on the way home from work. The guy looks like he could have a life-ending heart attack at any second. I walked in and said, "Yo, Holmes. I understand you have a sale on some dem pillow tops," and he said, "Oh, I have some you're just going to fall in love with."


He takes me to this crazy thing that looks like it was constructed from clouds, dreams, and sunshine. The top was made with lamb's wool, that apparently doesn't hold heat. He demonstrated this to me by rubbing on it quickly and noting that it cooled instantly. The coils were pocketed, the springs varied in size and shape and "springiness," which meant that it provided a better night's sleep. It was big, and bold, and sang lullabies to children, and told bed-time stories. This was the bed to end all beds, it was based on the same design as mattresses used in the finest hotels. Kings and diplomats had slept on this mattress, and even in their jaded worlds full of extravagance they awoke to exclaim, "That bed was fucking awesome."

It was also crazy expensive.

We moved on to two other beds. Both pillow top, both less fancy, but pretty much equal in comfort. There was no lamb's wool, they didn't cure cancer upon contact, or let you see the future, but they were both crazy comfortable. One was really pillow-y, the other was somewhat less pillow-y--I went with the really pillow-y, because I am one decedent decadent man.

So here it is, my new mattress set. Was it worth it?


You bet your ass it was.

Me and Lenny Kravitz

Hey Everyone, Lenny Kravitz and I just want to ask that you be patient while I try to find time to post more on the site. I have some things in the hopper, and believe me, there are some stories to tell. So check back soon for another crazy blog-splosion!


Yo Lenny, Slash, take us out!

Head Phones and Fruit Roll-Ups

I have this giant pair of giant DJ headphones that I wear occasionally when I don't feel like dealing with my crappy iPod headphones. The giant headphones are extremely conspicuous and sort of ridiculous and make me a little self-conscious about people thinking I'm trying too hard.

There are these three guys on 53rd who stand outside of the New York Public Library. They wear all camo gear and hold giant boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups. As you walk by, the three men holler at you from different angles, trying to get you to buy a Fruit Roll-Up for $1.

So I'm walking down the street the other day to get lunch, my giant headphones around my neck because I haven't figured out what I want to listen to yet. Suddenly, one of the camo guys pops out from behind the limits of my peripheral vision and asks me if I want to buy a Fruit Roll-Up. He's not out stealing or selling drugs, you see, but is doing something positive in the community in order to make money.

Editorial Note: Every one of these people on the street/in the subway says the same exact speech about how they're not out stealing or selling drugs to make money, but that they are trying to do something positive for the community. I swear, there's a website where they're all getting and memorizing this same speech.

"No thanks," I say.
"Come on, it's just a dollar. Don't you like Fruit Roll-Ups?"

Here's the thing: I am indifferent towards Fruit Roll-Ups. I realized after he asked that I could probably go my entire life without ever purchasing and eating another Fruit Roll-Up. I felt kind of good about that, like I'd grown up or something. Like the days of over-processed, super-sweet food were over, and that somehow made me an adult.

"No, I really don't want a Fruit Roll-Up," I said. "Besides, I don't even have any cash on me."
"Well what about those headphones around your neck? How much were those?"
"I don't think you have enough Fruit Roll-Ups in that box to buy my headphones," I said. "And what would I do with a box Fruit Roll-Ups?"

We both laughed, shook hands/"dapped each other up"/whatever you call it, and I asked him if I could get a picture.

"Sure," he said. "If you buy a Fruit Roll-Up."

Touche.

Top 5 OC Characters

If you ever watched The O.C. do yourself a favor and read this list...

Then do all of us a favor and make your own list:

http://www.poolpartysuite.com/pps/?p=65

-compliments of http://www.poolpartysuite.com

Oscar Picks

It looks like my Oscar picks wound up being pretty accurate. I didn't think There Will Be Blood would win Best Picture, I think everyone would have been shocked if No Country For Old Men didn't win. I'm just glad Daniel Day-Lewis won for Best Actor, if he didn't win that I would have been visibly upset. I didn't even know the nominees for Best Actress, and just really wanted Ellen Page to win. Oh well. What's her name from La Vie En Rose won, and she seemed to deserve it.

Unfortunately, the Oscar pool at work was due before I saw any of the movies, so my work ballot wasn't good at all. Meh, life goes on. I can't believe I'm even talking about this shit, I never watch awards shows. This must be how people who watch football feel about the Super Bowl... but way gayer.

Oscar Predictions

I'll expand on my rationale later, but here (before the show) I'm going to give a few of my Oscar picks. They're different from my work Oscar pool picks because at that time I hadn't seen every movie.

I just realized I don't remember very many of categories, but here are a few picks:

Best Actor - Daniel Day Lewis
Best Picture - There Will Be Blood
Best Supporting Actress - Tilda Swinton (I don't know if she's nominated)
Best Score - Atonement (typewriters as instruments?! Insanity)
Best Art Direction - Atonement
Best Original Screenplay - Juno (if this doesn't win I'll be crazy surprised)
Best Adapted Screenplay - No Country For Old Men (again, surprised if it doesn't win)
Best Actress - Ellen Page

There you go, I guess we'll see what happens. Happy Oscars!

Weekly Matches

As you may remember, a while ago I decided to create a match.com profile strictly out of curiousity. Since then I've pretty much ignored match.com, but I still get daily matches sent to my gmail account that show me who, based on pre-determined preferences (that have changed often depending on my mood), would be a good match for me. While most people look first at the pictures, I've taken to immediately reading the tagline by the picture.

The tagline in a match.com profile, for those of you who don't know, is that eye-catching line that displays your personality hopefully shares some insight into the kind of person you are. I enjoy them so much that I've decided to post a few here:

Enchanting Female Looking For a Nice, Loving & Sexy Man

-That's awfully confident. who describes theirself as "enchanting?" I mean other than Prince.

"To being an US for once...instead of a THEM!" La Vie Boheme

-I prefer the La Vie Boheme line, "To leather, to dildos, To curry Vindaloo To Huevos Rancheros, and Maya Angelou."

Allergic...to dancing?

-I actually really love this one.

Single teacher looking for that romantic someone.

-Wow, that's really boring. I suggest a few edits: "History teacher looking for a brush up on anatomy." See? Much better.

"Women might be able to fake orgasms. But men can fake a whole relationship."

-This doesn't make me think, "Oh, yes, I totally want to date her! She's just so delightfully bitter!"

Searching For Mr. Right Not Mr. Right Now!

-This would be great if she changed "Mr. Right Now" to "Mr. 'Baby, that was great, but you gotta' go."

There you go. I think getting my daily match.com matches is my new favorite thing. I strongly recommend signing up yourself.

Smart Phones

When I was in college I didn't know what a Palm Treo was. I vaguely knew what a Blackberry was, but I knew I didn't need one, and I had no desire to own one. After I graduated I moved down to Seattle and started working in the software industry. Suddenly everyone I knew had Motorola Qs, and Treos, and Blackjacks. Practically no one had a Blackberry, which I still don't understand. I soon found myself lusting after my friend's Q, to the point where I was playing with it once while driving and almost rear-ended someone.

Now I'm at a point in my life where I feel like I need a Blackberry. Like, I need one. Was I just in this weird Northwestern vacuum? I know why I feel like I need a Blackberry (I have my reasons), but what I don't understand is how awesome phones weren't even on my radar so recently as a few years ago. Was it a technology spike, or was I just in a place where no one cared. To that end, does that mean there are actually geographic locations that can collectively be unaware or consciously buck a current trend so strongly?

What I'm getting at is, my birthday's in June... so, you know... a Blackberry would be nice.

Weekend 001

I'm kicking off this weekend by going up to Harlem for some soul food, then I'm going to see The Roots at The Apollo Theater. I'm going to avoid chitlins, but not collards, because I love collards.

Saturday, I'll be somewhere in Manhattan watching all five of the best picture nominees for this year back-to-back. Hopefully at some point I'll finally buy some canvases, fill out the bachelor auction questionnaire that I just got in my email box, and drink 1-14 beers.

Sunday, as always, I'll go to brunch. Likely The Kettle Black, but maybe I'll try someplace new. Last Sunday we went to a place called The Germaine (I think). The service was so French and terrible. The waitress actually waved her hand in a dismissive way at Amy when she asked for water. That said, the food was incredible, and it became clear to me that the quality of service and deliciousness of brunch are not necessarily mutually exclusive, but often are.

On Sunday night I'll catch up on all my favorite DVR recorded shows, and possibly do laundry.

Things that may or may not happen this weekend:

I'll go for a run
I'll talk to someone at the off-track betting place down the street
I'll buy some sneaks
I'll start a book
I'll finish a book

Ross and Rachel

Ross and Rachel had absolutely no chemistry.

There, I said it. Look at them. Really think about these two people and consider their actual potential as a couple. Seriously, it's a testiment to the writing of "Friends" that anyone cared about these two people getting together at all.

Audio Killed the Literary Star

I just finished listening to "Me Talk Pretty One Day" on the old iPod and let me tell you, hilarious! So I thought, "hey, there might be something to this audio book thing," and I bought two more titles. Those titles were "No Country for Old Men" and "Atonement," both books I've wanted to read, but knew I probably wouldn't get around to anytime soon. My original thinking in getting the David Sedaris book "Me Talk Pretty One Day" was that I would want something light and easily listenable for the subway. When I put my headphones on, and clicked play on "Atonement" I soon realized that my initial thought process was sound.

With books like "Atonement" or "No Country For Old Men" you need to process them at your own pace. Occasionally one needs to stop and go back a couple pages if they spaced out while reading or got distracted. With the audio book that's not really possible. "Atonement" immediately lost my attention because of the language used, and the style of writing. I was lost inside of five minutes, and what would normally be a leisurely train ride became a frustrating exercise in concentration.

I brought this up with a friend, and he corroborated my newly discovered feelings about how some audio books work and some just don't. He said audio books are for performances, not literature, which makes absolute perfect sense. David Sedaris has a fantastic voice. His words are his own and he really gets behind them. There are live parts of him performing pieces of his book that really make you feel like you're in the audience. Because of the perspective, and the simple non-fiction narrative, listening to "Me Talk Pretty" was extremely easy.

I have a subscription to an audio book site now that gives me 2 books a month for the next year. I'm looking forward to listening to all the Sedaris-like books I know I'd never read on my own time, and I'll leave "No Country" for the weekend.

Anderson Cooper 360

I don't understand why people are always talking about Anderson Cooper being gay like he's going out of his way to hide it. It's like Clay Aiken said in an interview (which really speaks to my news citations), "It's like when I was 8. I remember something would get broken in the house, and Mom and Dad would call me in and say, 'Did you do this?' Well, it didn't matter what I said. The only thing they would believe was yes. … People are going to believe what they want." They way I took that comment, after reading some subtext was, yes, of course clay broke it, so why would you even ask?

Yes, of course Anderson Cooper is gay, but don't try to act all indignant because he's not marching in any parades. Don't feel all betrayed because he's not some giant screaming queen on CNN. During the caucus coverage on CNN no one will deny that he did a fantastic job. He did his job as a news anchor. Would you feel better if he was all "Oh girl, Hillary took another state! Three snaps for that political bitch! Uh-Uh, and UH! *snaps in a Z formation*." Did we see Anderson Cooper at the Kathy Griffin show in New York? Yes. Does he work out at the gayest gym in the city? Yup.

Does it bother you that he's not out as a rolemodel? Is that the problem here, that's he's not on the cover of Out Magazine talking about his confused adolescense? Because it seems to me like he's already an amazing role model. If you need him to come out and say "yep, I'm gay" then that's like saying you'll start building that house as soon as someone gives you 200,000 bricks. Shit, get off Anderson Cooper's tip.

"... and leave Britney alone!"

Dandy in the Underworld

I just added a link to Dandy in the Underworld, a hilarious blog by Sebastian Horsley. I high recommend it. He's got a book coming out soon called DANDY IN THE UNDERWORLD. I'm excited to start reading it.

High School Football Star

I realized recently that I can't stop recounting what my life was like before I moved to New York. Like the townie who was a high school football star who always talks about the game where he threw 6 touchdowns, or an aging rock star who carries around at all times a list of women he slept with on the road, I find that I'm constantly comparing my "new" life to my "old Seattle life." Undoubtedly it annoys everyone around me, and I thank them for listening politely while I remember what driving felt like, or what Evergreens trees smell like, or how I once wasn't an Assistant.

There was this guy I used to work with, his name was Eric. He was a stockbrocker when he was young, in New York City. Something happened along the way and at the age of 67 I was his boss. He would always tell the same stories, and they never failed to irritate me, especially when I was trying to get him to do something for work I would never want to do.

This isn't something I did before I moved here. I got to thinking tonight why I keep bringing up the past. And then it dawned on me that I keep remembering my old life because that's what I can hold on to. I don't know what's going to happen here, my roots aren't settled yet, and how can you really feel engaged if you don't seem "in it." So starting now, I guess, I'm going to try to not think about how things used to be. I'm going to pretend that I'm not starting over again, but that I'm just starting. Maybe this will make a difference, and maybe I'll stop sounding like Uncle Rico from Napolean Dynamite.

Beyonce Drink

Why is Beyonce getting credit for putting fruit in water and making it taste good? Apparently she doesn't like drinking water, so she puts a bunch of other stuff in it and convinces herself that it is not, in fact, still normal water. Are you going to tell me you don't like the taste, Beyonce? That makes no sense, water has no taste. I've met people who don't like water and I never understood it. Moreover, a lot of those people I've met who don't like water are thin. The reason I bring that up is because it stands to reason that people who don't like water grew up drinking lots of soda or juice or whatever and can't drink something that doesn't taste "good." But I have to give Beyonce some props. I like anyone who takes pride in their Connect Four skills. Seriously! It's just so wholesome and fantastic. Drink whatever you like Beyonce, it's on me!

Here's how to make "Beyonce Drink":

Things You’ll Need:
Cucumber
Lemon or lime
Water
Pitcher (or you can use a water bottle, philistine)
Knife

Step 1: Wash the cucumbers and all the utensils you're going to use.

Step 2: Slice the cucumbers and lemons.

Step 3: Fill your water bottle or pitcher with water.

Step 4: Add the slices. The amount is dependent on how much of a taste you want.

Step 5: Enjoy.

Tips & Warnings (I did not write any of these)

--The longer it sits after you have finished, the better time the veggies and fruit will have to kind of sift the flavor through.
--Drinking this keeps you pretty refreshed and tastes great.
--You can add cayenne peppers.
--Make sure to wash all your utensils. Come on, now let's be sanitary.
--Be careful to be moderate. Take only what you can handle.

Beyonce Drink steps and Tips & Warnings from eHow at http://www.ehow.com/how_2172984_drink-beyonce-water.html

Golden Child: Part II

Behold further evidence of my awesome powers. I'll let Matt explain:

"First you bring a Super Bowl contender to New York, now you bring KEXP? How do you do this? Next they'll be building a space needle over there.

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2004175984_kexpstory.html"

Maybe I will have a Space Needle built here. I don't know, I'll get back to you on that.

10 Best Date Movies

It always seemed odd to me that Valentine's Day is in February, one of the coldest, grossest months of the year. The argument can be made that what the world needs (now) is love... sweet love, and that when just looking outside makes you want to stay indoors and cry it's nice to focus on happier things. That said, this is the time of year when we start getting all the subtle--and not so subtle--reminders that if you don't get your girlfriend/boyfriend the perfect gift, or you fail to make the day as special as possible, that you will die alone.

With that in mind, it's impossible lately to avoid romantic lists. We, as a people, love lists. We like lists of the best places to go, the best places to eat; we like to be told which wax will give our Prius' the best shine, and which Danity Kane songs are the most poppin'. Now that it's Valentine's Day week, there are lists all over the place about what to buy her and how to give her the perfect V-Day (which always makes me think of Vietnam, not Valentine's Day). Above all the lists you might have to wade through, the most prevalent have to be the "Best Date Movie List." Honestly, if you read enough of these you start to subconsciously consider your own nominees constantly, and it begins to ruin your life.

In an effort to not go insane, here's my Top 10 Best Date Movies list. Maybe after getting this out there on the internet, it'll stop bouncing around my brain, and I might just be able to sleep tonight. These are all movies I've seen. There are some obvious choices like Titanic that should probably be on the list that I haven't seen. However, a determining factor of my list is that I want to include movies that both sexes might enjoy. I haven't seen Titanic because I know I'd probably think it's boring and crappy. On with the list!

10) The Princess Bride - Has anyone not seen this movie 1000 times? I just asked Julianne if she's seen it and she said "many many times," which is an astoundingly common answer. In fact, it's not even a common answer, it is the only answer. Everyone in my (our) generation has deep seeded memories of this movie, and you have to admit that it holds fond memories for us all. Male or Female there's something to love about this movie.



9) The Notebook - Guys like this movie but usually won't admit it. The book was absolutely terrible, but the movie adaptation with Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams was incredible. No two people have ever had that kind of chemistry on-screen, and when they broke up in "real-life" I felt like a piece of me stopped believing in true love. I remember watching this movie one 4th of July in my apartment and getting really annoyed with people in the nearby Albertson's parking lot because I couldn't hear the dialogue over the black cats and M80s they were setting off... I shouldn't have told you that.



8) High Fidelity - A lot of people would say Say Anything is a better date movie, but those people are fools. Actually, I can completely see the argument for Say Anything. It's a classic romance that focuses strictly on the relationship of two people. High Fidelity, however, is a more multi-faceted movie that takes a far more interesting take on relationships. It does a better job framing thought processes in relationships, and has more interesting characters. The story is more compelling because you really get to know the protagonist, and there are lots of other supplementary characters to support his internal conflict. Anyhow, I just think it's a better movie, and much more entertaining to guys than Say Anything. Though there is that part of Say Anything, I'll concede, with the Peter Gabriel that cannot be denied.





7) Annie Hall - I dated a girl once whose name was A. Hall. She had never heard of Annie Hall and I couldn't believe it. I couldn't make myself understand that someone whose name sounded like Annie Hall could live for 20 years without seeing this movie. This is one of my favorite movies, for dates or not. I think any girl who likes this movie is awesome. I say any girl because most guys like this movie. Somehow all relationship neurosis got placed on women, and you never see good depictions of male relationship neurosis in movies. So usually when you see it, it's done well. If it's not you just wind up hating the guy in the movie and not watching it. This is a good date movie because you can both sit there, look at the relationship between Diane Keaton and Woody Allen, and discuss why they're both so horribly flawed at many points in the movie and how true-to-life the movie really is (as far as film romance is concerned).



6) Brokeback Mountain - If you're a guy and you're watching this movie with your boyfriend, you're in for a long night. A long night of talking, a long night of tears, and probably a long night of passionate guy-on-guy action. For the gay readers, this is your number 1 best date movie pick, and you should go buy it right now. For hetero couples, however, this movie is still great. It's got an actual story arch and two really compelling characters. The romance between the men in the movie feels genuine, and is made even more powerful by their own struggles in dealing with their taboo feelings. Additionally, the cinematography is unbelievable. Even if you're not into the story, the art direction alone should keep you compelled. I wasn't really impressed by this movie the first time I saw it. It was in a theatre, and I was with my current girlfriend. Her brother is gay, and I had heard how much he and everyone else had just loved this film; there was so much build-up that there was really no where to go for my expectations. When the lights came up in the theatre I saw people crying, and hugging, and I was generally under-whelmed. That said, when I finally saw this movie again, without all the expectations, I realized it has a truly touching story, and it was also visually stunning.

[5 - 1] to come...