Saturday, April 30, 2005

Heaven Is Cold Chinese Leftovers

I was once asked: "Do you ever fantasize about what you're going to eat for lunch while you're still eating breakfast?"

I could only reply honestly: "Sometimes, I go to sleep fantasizing about what's in the refrigerator that I'm going to eat in a few hours when I wake up in the middle of the night hungry."

Last night I didn't even make it to the sleep stage of the fantasy sequence. Trudging home drunk from a big faggy benefit hoedown, I was already dreaming of being face down in the container of leftover Sesame Chicken that was calmly waiting for me at home.

Which brings me to one of my favorite food stories, as told by my friend Jessica. Jessica, who's Jewish, used to work for Bella Abzug and her non-profit group WEDO. One afternoon, the WEDO office ordered in Chinese food for a lunch party. When the food arrived, Bella was duly shocked by what she saw. Frantic, she dragged Jessica into her office and asked:

"Who let the Goys order the Chinese? There's not enough!"

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Second Hand Beard 2: The Next Day

Ok, so the high school phenomenon of Shaggy Chic just got hairier. I just found out that Rogan Gregory - the only featured bearded lady I don't seem to know - grew up in the same tiny ass town in Ohio that I grew up in. Jessica, my best friend from high school, was his wee playmate once upon a time.


Clang Clang Clang Went the Blonde Girl

After a client meeting today, in a part of town that's not exactly cab-friendly, I got cab-jumped by an obnoxiously wealthy looking, too-skinny-to-carry-her-luxe-bag-banged-out blonde woman.

I had hailed the cab, which was waiting at a traffic light to make a left turn, and got the "it's yours" nod from the driver, when Buffy Von Gretchen Van Der Slag, in some sort of low blood sugar state of rabid-dog-eyed delirium, trucked her $500-a-haircut ass straight into oncoming traffic to take my cab. As she entered the cab, the driver shrugged at me like I was a putz for not giving her the New York smackdown she deserved.

I would have gotten up in her grill about the cab theft, but, to be honest, I felt sorry for her. Her toxically thin size 0 frame seemed burdened by a lot more than the overtly hostile need to get somewhere five minutes before me. If it made her feel a tiny bit better to steal my cab - so be it.

(Don't worry, I'm not entering some kind of Northern California moment. I did flip her the bird and mouth: "Fuck you, Flaka*" as my stolen cab crept by.)

*"Skinny Girl" en espaƱol.

Second Hand Beard

Browsing through the Times online today, I came across this article in the Style section: Shaggy Chic.

I know or have met most of the bearded ladies featured in the article. In fact, now I feel like I just read an article from my high school newspaper.

This only confirms what gets truer by the second: despite the population and the alluring shimmer of anonymity, New York sure is a teeny tiny ass town.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

If I Knew You Were Coming, I Would Have Baked a Cake

Sex is chemical. You never quite know you're going to work with someone else until you're all up in it, sweating and smooching and sucking and all of those other "s" sounding verbs that shock and titilate and arouse (hopefully anyway) before, during, and occasionally after.

And, if you're really lucky, days and weeks and months and years after.

Sometimes, I find that, despite looking good on paper, sounding good in theory, looking swell rolling down the block, I just don't click with someone when push comes to pu-push-it-real-good time.

I won't divulge the exact specifics, but recently I was - ahem - working overtime to try to get through the coitus portion of a date.

Chemistry, as it were, was nowhere to be found - anywhere - on my side of the bed. At a certain point, things took a turn and my mind leapt out the window and took off down the street, leaving my body for dead while it went out to dinner and a movie by itself.

The ladies are unfortunately fortunate when it comes to this situation. Their minds can take off at leisure, while their bodies can writhe endlessly in faux-pleasure. When you're a man, and your mind decides to take a long walk during sex, it's very obvious.

Very. Obvious.

To now overstate the obvious (something I never have a problem with), I needed a "Do Not Resuscitate" med-alert charm for my dick.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Oh, Crap.

Yo, it's been exactly 14 days since I last posted anything here. Tons o' funny shit has gone down in the last 14 days though, so I may just have to back track on your asses and back-post for the last two weeks.*

*Anything to make up for my ode to Firefox. Ouch.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Here's to the Lady At Brunch

I was incredibly hungover at brunch yesterday.

At any Sunday brunch, this would have been just fine - in fact, I'm sure I would be in good old-fashioned big girl hangover "guess-who-I-woke-up-under" company. However, I was invited to a sort of special, especially gay brunch by my friend Patty. I knew only about a third of the party of 12 I was brunching with and I was sitting next to a woman who had far too much make-up on for a Sunday morning.

In fact, she had far too much make-up on for a starring role in a Sunday matinee of Cats. She had about an inch-thick layer of pancake foundation, extremely red rouge, and - to make matters worse - had completely covered over her natural eyebrows with foundation and had drawn pencil thin Gibson girl style arches somewhere dangerously mid-brow. She was also wearing an intensely chartreuse jacket and matching neck scarf.

The overall effect was a look that could be called "Constant Surprise" or "Daytime Drama" by marketing executives in the cosmetic industry.

I had to take the low-road and just kind of ignore her, since a mild sideways glance at her was sending me into alternating bouts of shock and hysteria. I know I should always try to use my powers for good, but in this extreme instance, I simply couldn't take it.

Patty, on the other side of me, wasn't helping either - at one point, sensing I was beside myself, she leaned into me and said: "Don't worry honey, there's a lot going on there."

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Theater People

Overheard at Barrage:

"Why isn't anyone cruising me?"

"Because darling, they're all looking for agents."

Sunday, April 17, 2005

Parting Glances (Or, The End of the Affair)

She looked at him
With the kind of longing
She usually reserved
For a handbag
Or a cupcake.

He looked at her
With the kind of disdain
He commonly saved
For a spouse
Or a tumor.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Friday, April 15, 2005

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

I Lied.

All of a sudden, after deciding it was too sunny to write anything, here comes the rain again.

On the inside, anyway.

I do have something entirely geeky/dorky/nerdy/man-with-toolbelt/AV-clubby to say:

If you haven't switched to using Firefox as a web browser, do it.


It's so smokin' and excellent, I'm a little beside myself.

If I get any happier surfing wid it, I may order myself a Firefox T-Shirt.*

*AV Dork ponytail not included.

Sorry About This, Leslie

Yeah, Yeah.

So I'm way behind on blogging.

So, you know what?

Fuck that job.

It's finally getting nice outside. Writing little teeny salty things to post here has given way to beer, long walks, iced coffee, and hash cookies.

I'm sure once my body finally gets into this extended daylight savings hoedown, I'll be back up to speed.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

I Love You, Alice B. Toklas

I saw "House/Lights" tonight by the Wooster Group. It's a brilliant theatrical mash-up of a Gertrude Stein poem and a B-grade sexploitation film from the mid-1960s.

It was so incredible, I'm still a little beside myself. It was probably the most intensely disciplined performances I've ever seen and I was in full on, full tilt boogie techno geek mode trying to figure out the whole shebang. There is a video camera onstage that is capturing what's happening onstage (and then projected on monitors also onstage) - so the audience is constantly aware of the disconnect between the theatrical and the filmed - what's left outside the view of the camera - and the McCluhan-esque coolness of media.

It's only playing a few more times, but I highly suggest making the trek to DUMBO to see it.

Big ups to my homegirl and ex-wife and bestie Rob for getting tickets and draggin' my ass out of the gay ghetto ;)

We did have to endure a dinner converstation after the play that was beyond belief. Three hetero, middle aged born and bred and oddly transplanted to the East Village New Joiseyans were discussing how they couldn't wait for the west side stadium construction to get underway.

"Yea," one of them said, "Why's everybody all pissed awf 'bout it? I fuggin' hate goin' to Joisey to see fuhbawl."

Dude, that's why the stadium's in Joisey.

Monday, April 04, 2005

Hey, Hey I'm the Taxman

I have been anxiety ridden for weeks. I have been avoiding getting my taxes done, and I finally did it today...I marched myself right up, way up to the Upper East Side (where, in my opinion, all accountants should live) and saw my Taxman. I am fully, completely beyond relieved now that they're done.

The outcome of my 45 minute jam session made me want to make out with my accountant.

Real. Bad.

I was walking on air down York Avenue and then didn't really mind that my cab driver nearly killed both of us four or five times, gunning down the FDR. The backseat heater was held together with duct tape and all I could think was, "Goddamn, I love New York."

Friday, April 01, 2005

Terri, Terri, Why You Buggin'?

*Please note: some will find this entry offensive.

Color me extremely insensitive.

Given the state of the world today and the staggering number of human atrocities committed on large scale, why is our culture so fixated on the plight of one woman who has been brain-dead for the last 15 years? In my opinion, this is nobody's business - period. Her life ended quite a long time ago and the new-new right's language surrounding this issue has been horrifying (Mr. "President" telling crowds that the government should always err on the side of life).

What "life" though are we talking about?

I hate to break it down in this kind of hideously black comic logic, but since Terri's brain death was caused by bulemia, don't you think being force fed for fifteen years would be her version of a living hell? If her body-image was that distored that she forced her own body into cardiac arrest via an extreme potassium deficiency, do you think she would want to live, vegetatively no less, all bloated and puffy?