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.