Amateur Night During The Day
We went to a sweet bbq today but I had no clue I knew that many people with business cards. Snap! I’m kidding it was great to get out and be drunk during the daytime–it really connects you with the real spirit of New York. No pun intended har har etc etc.
I rode home on the Q and transferred to the 6 at Canal Street. I had to find out if it took a long time. Indeed it did.
A weird subway event on the way home occurred. The car was completely empty, and when a bunch of people got on at Court Street or whatever godforsaken stop is out there these days they left the rest of the car empty and all sat around me. It was one huge family.
The questions began from the left. “Who are you?” a girl of about eight demanded of me.
“Who are you?” I said.
“What’s your name?” the mother said.
“Alex,” I said.
“Where are you from?”
I couldn’t answer another question with a question. It’s beyond the pale. It’s past gauche. It borders on immoral.
I said, “America.”
Man, I guess this post really could go into a Memorial Day tribute…nah, that doesn’t seem like me.
The people surrounded me. For them, I was New York. And I can still barely make it to Brooklyn.
I think part of not fully knowing New York is that once you do, you become like me watching like Battlestar Galactica where I’m like, “Is he a Cylon?” a million times.
People always ask me for directions. They usually think, Hmm this person clearly has little regard for himself. Perhaps the reason is, he lives to serve the will of others. They are dead fuckin’ wrong, I’m a libertarian, respect!
Once the new roommate arrived we watched a movie about the difficulty of filming a sex scene. I have no difficulty thinking this is tantamount to nuclear physics. Basically the point was that imposing an authority, any external authority on the sexual act is not… a turn-on.
The worst movie I’ve seen in the past few years was The Italian Job. I’d say second worst was National Treasure. Some things are so bad they defy genre in every direction.
My new roommate is bordering on the MD and has a netflix account, so this will likely be the summer of film. I am going to Pasolini the fuck out of your little Netflix service. Too bad they don’t have Salo, too bad Ryan O’Grady burned that shit to CD for me and I lost the fucking thing. But in the meantime, the meantime. Films.
I would do the top ten movies but I don’t feeling like sharing. I’m all closed inside, didn’t you know? I’m more inscrutable than plankton.
I like the movies, you know, I like going and stuff. In the future, no one will go. Did I tell you about my new TV?
It turned out sometimes you just gotta bite the bullet and LCD.
When you combine this shit with Catherine Breillat, the results are explosive as Dan Murray hitting up graduation.
Also, when I leave the apartment, I can make this my unnamed roommate to be named later this so I don’t have to be without the TV.
This is actually near the last frame of Sex is Comedy.
This week is a big week. I am going to get so much done this week. I am going to conquer all my demons. I’m going to wear that black dress. Do not think for a second acting is easy. I am going to walk down 2nd avenue in new shoes.
I’ve been counting up my demons…hoping everything’s not lost…
I think these shirts look dumb, but then, I thought The Departed sucked.
I don’t understand what this young woman is doing with her life. I really don’t. Unfortunately, the affection I have specifically for semi-nude photosets mutes my real criticism, and leaves me with the male gaze.
UFC 71 review. I personally think Quinton Jackson is the best thing to ever happen to America prize fighting.
The End my friend. The End.
If you haven’t taken your Myers-Briggs test yet, I think you probably should, and the inform your therapist. There are only so many personality types. This, in my mind, is the biggest formal concession to the existence of a mathematics that mankind can make. Post your results below so we can get a really cool community together. Nahhhhh! Yeah!!!!
This is the Craiglist of the day and we will drop it on you and leave you, as a Memorial. Happy M Day.
You came into Royal Grounds, Russian Hill
You are the 30ish, 5’5″, 120#, “Blonde” girl with the spackled foundation and knock-off bronze-metallic Prada bag. You were on your cell, blabbing with an artificial “Laguna Beach” accent and blissfully absorbing the “attention” of everyone else in the joint. You’ve been in line for about eight minutes.
I’d like to inform you of a few things:
1. We are not staring at you because you are hot or cool, or interesting. We (read: everyone else in the joint) are trying make you burst into flames by focusing our searing hatred toward your shellacked mary-jane wedges. Believe me, most of us could care less about your insipid desperation to appear cool. We care much more about you leaving. Now.
2. Royal Grounds does not serve “venti latte’s”. You’ve gotten all dizzy and come to the wrong place. You’re looking for McDonald’s, or Jenny Craig, or Fresh Choice. Stupid twat.
3. Make a decision before you get to the front of the line, bitch. I know… you’ve got low blood sugar so its haaaaard to decide, but settling on a fat-free muffin and a low-fat latte shouldn’t take one hundred twelve seconds at the counter. Especially since you’ve been in line for eight minutes saying, “I knoooow. Ohmigod, I KNOOOWWWW! Really? I know…”. Its not like you’ve been on hold with Comcast. You’re in line for coffee at 7:55am. Die. Now. Or at least spontaneously bleed or do something interesting and painful like a seizure.