.there's no doubt.

I love StoryCorp and was
so lucky
to catch this story.

Gladly, it was picked up by the
Gothamist
(among others)
so more people can share in its
amazing power of kindness.

.well i'm a fool.

So this just
wow
pissed me off.

Not the article
just the last comment
by the former Maxim editor
and the comments from
the general public
(the same general public who mock baby Miracle on YouTube - seriously, what form of idiocy do you have? you are the same fucks who got mad about "God damn America" and claim to be Christians and pro-life and all that bullshit - maybe we shouldn't let these people vote. Anyone up for mandatory 125 IQ for voting?)

People, no men, feel
cheated
when they realize a woman isn't
perfect
or whatever.
They went home with a woman because
they thought she would look
perfect naked.

Really?
Are you that stupid?
Are you that judgmental?
Are going to get that tumor in your brain checked?

How about women
writing articles
about how disappointed
they are when you men take your pants off?

Same thing you shallow fucks.

Stupid ring-winging pencil dicks (and I don't mean Cheney supporters)

If you're that
shallow,
move to fucking LA.

.but it's chris that you kissed after school.

Lease Renewal: A Play

ACT 1: Via e-mail
Me: I think I should be contacting XX but I didn't have her e-mail or contact info. I'd like to renew my lease. I know I'm a couple days late of the 90 day mark it says on the lease, I hope that's okay! Please let me know. Thanks.

Her: Please send in as soon as possible.

Me: What do I have to send in? A written request? If so, can I just send it with this month's rent?

Her: Send in the renewal form to the office, not the PO Box

Me: Where can I get the renewal form?

Her: I will send you 1 tomorrow

(three days pass)

Me: I just wanted to remind you about sending me the renewal form. I don't want to loose the apt! Thanks again.

Her: It will be at the building after 6pm.

Act 2: Making contact
Me: (I assume that the building she means is her office which is located at another one of their properties. I rush there after work. She is being yelled at by her boss because she's going on vacation) Hi, I need to pick up my renewal form.
Her: Oh?! Which building are you at?
Me: The XXX.
Her: Oh. I was on my way there now.
Me: (glares)
Her: Here.
Me: (glares) Thanks (rushes out the door so I don't have to any other contact with her - but at the same time can't be completely mad because yes, she is stupid but she is also very nice, damnit!)

INTERMISSION: Thoughts
See, I got the impression
"the building"
meant hers
but now on second glance
I guess it wouldn't make sense to be at her work
after work hours.
Ugh.
Still, this whole blog was created mostly out of my
complete frustration
with the New York city housing market,
but the fact that
a year later
things are this way,
shouldn't surpise me in the least.

ACT 3: Crap!
ME: (inner thoughts) Hey, didn't I pay 3 months up front because I didn't have a guarentor? Where is that leasing agent. Arizona. Damn. I'll write an e-mail so she'll get it when she gets back.

HER: Out of Office AutoReply: Deposit. I will be out of the office Friday, March 28, 2008.

ME: I hate you so much.

END ?!?! WTF?!

.harry, is the one I think you'll marry.

I've been putting off writing about this because, how? How do you write about this? I'm going to preface it by quoting a co-worker who heard the story (as everyone else in my life): "You know people who have been mugged? You know how they always seem to get mugged more than once? Yeah, that's you but with naked men on the F train"

…........................

Monday was such a long day. I had to go uptown to drop off a book at the library but I decided to get on the downtown F like I always do and just go home. I just wanted to go home and shower and wash the day off of me.

I walk downstairs at W. 4th and the F train is stopped there with the doors open. I see that the car closest to me is practically empty (and everyone knows that if a car is empty at rush hour there is a reason and you should NOT ENTER!) and I run in, afraid the train would leave without me. I look down and see a puddle and a pair of shoes on the floor of the car. I think, "I've found the reason no one is here, someone must have peed themselves or something like that". I look up and over, in the last three seats at the end of the car is a man, a normal man, not homeless or crazy, just some middle-aged-but-obviously-not-quite-right guy.

He's sitting there naked except his tighty whities.

I run.

I run, in boots, to the other side of the train where I notice the crowd, all watching each person step on the train and watching them realize the semi-nude on the train.

We're clumped together, staring at the other side of the car. It was like a grade school bus where the weird smelly kid sits down and everyone moves to the other side of the bus. There's a seat up and I just plop down muttering, "Jesus fucking Christ, I just wanted to go home". The woman next to me is a jolly 60-something German tourist, who (and this just can't come across via text) is laughing and holds my arms and chuckles in a thick German accent, "Oh ho! He is naked, yah?" People are trying to pretend to read or listen to their iPods, but they aren't, they are so aware of this man that they can't really get anything done and are probably just reading the same line over and over again.

The man gets up. Stretches out like he just woke from a nap and mozies on out of the car and onto the platform. There is an unheard sigh of relief on the train. We all look at each other in some sort of weird triumph, like we defeated a monster and can continue with our lives. But, oh no, of course, it wouldn't end there. The man looks around the platform. Bends down. And pulls his tighty whities rightoff. He is now butt naked on the cold platform.

Does he stay on the platform? Of course not. He mozies back on the train (and thankfully a woman's head is in my eye sight of his crotch so I avoid complete trauma - sort of like that Austin Powers scene, but not funny, no wait, yes it was funny, even at the time). He sits back down. The women on the train burst into laughter and the men pretend like they didn't look and then glance at the woman as to say, "You know, the male body isn't that funny" (of yes it is).

Finally a cop comes on the train. Not just any cop. But the typical New York cop. A little bitter. A little handsome. A little built. And a lotta pissed off.

He just looks at the guy and asks, "What, are you fucking drunk buddy?"

The man just looks at him and says, casually, "Nope".

Cop gets more irked, "Then put some fucking clothes on. Where do you think this is?" The man says something I cannot hear, but couldn't have been anything more than an 'okay'. He puts on his tighty whities (which just adds to the hilarity, if they were boxers it might not have been as funny) and then his pants and stands proudly looking at the cop. Now two more cops are waiting for him on the platform. The original cop gets even more pissed and yells, "And your shirt!" The guy shrugs, walks out onto the platform to the two other cops while putting on his shirt. The cop in the car, in the most amazingly hilarious part of all, snaps on a pair of blue latex gloves, picks up the guys shoes and coat and just hurls it at the guy while shaking his head in anger.

The cops leave.

The naked man leaves.

The doors close.

The train starts and the survivors of the sorta-normal-looking-sorta-crazy looking naked man on the F train at rush hour start their journey home. I shake my head and mumble again, "I just wanted to go home". The German woman chuckles again. The men pretend that nothing happened and people keep reading, probably those same lines over and over again.

As the survivors continued our journey, waiting to all go home and call someone or tell our significant others you know what the best thing we did was? We kept silent on the train and just let the people at the next stop (Broadway/Lafayette) just sit there on those last three seats where bare naked weirdo butt had been just moments before. We kept silent and pitied those people. Danken Sie Gott für schadenfreude!

.and you want to go for a ride.

This is my other blog where I'll put my art reviews and other bitchings about the art world.
FYI. And...such.

.cuz i got wheels.

(from Off the Wahl)

There is political chit chatter that the fact that Barack Obama failure to denounce his Chicago pastor will ultimately "kill his campaign".
Would you? Would you denounce someone who is like family to you? Who baptized your children and stood by you for years?
I wouldn't (okay, so I don't have a pastor and I haven't been baptized).

I don't agree with Rev. Wright but the moment someone says they think America is sinning and/or heading to hell the country goes in arms. Or do they? No one I know really cared about these remarks. Everyone I know was glad that Michelle Obama (side note: secret service codename is Renaissance...sweeeeet) said that she was for once proud of her country when remarking about her husband.

Have you been proud of your country lately? I haven't.

I've seen the bodies of innocent Iraqis killed by American troops and American bombs. A country that was attacked 5 years ago for having terrorist connection that didn't exist. The administration acting like a stubborn child who is too old to still believe in Santa Claus.
I've seen the video of American troops laughing at the carred bodies of Iraqis, admiting to killing women and children, and yes, throwing a puppy over a cliff.
I have cried with the children of the troopswho learn that they will never seen their fathers or mothers again.
I am not proud of my country.

We have sinned.
(I'm not talking about any sort of Biblical sense of sinning, I'm talking about being a good human being no matter race, religion or creed)

We have fought at no cost to be the most powerful; the omnipresent power in the world. We have bought in excess while others have fought, even harder than the troops overseas to live. We have sinned. We are Rome and our collapse will be grand (and you thought Spitzer was good!). We have launched wars against ideas and attacked knowledge. We are corrupting children and profiting from it at the same time. We have sinned. We are sinners.
Our country is flawed and anyone who disagrees is drifting awake with their eyes wide shut.
I have never been someone to blindly smile and say how proud I am as an American. I never said the Pledge of Alligence in school at the beginning of the day (I always thought it seemed so communist Russia, even at 8). Has anyone been "proud" since Bush took office? Really? Are we so proud of this flaw that we critize anyone who disagrees? Castrate their thoughts.

Barack Obama gave the most important speech not only about race, but about our country since Martin Luther King Jr.

Yes, he is running for president but that gives him a national platform to speak as an American and a black man.
He is not preaching. He is not accusing. He is not pointing fingers and making irrational claims like Jessie Jackson and Al Sharpton (don't get me wrong, not everything they say is irrational/insane, most of it is not but the words they want to be remembered for as usually accusatory or filled with hatred and bitterness).
Will the most important speech that this country has heard in generations be overshadowed because he won't refuse that there are angry people out there.
Angry at the country. Angry at their god. Angry at the world.
Addressing the world in a cool, collected and always moving manner, Obama showed that he can unite (although not without controversy). You will hear that speech quoted and requoted and printed in text books. I don't doubt it.

The average American isn't saying, "Well, he won't denounce his pastor, that's all I got from that".
That is the press.
As Americans we have the freedom of press but more importantly we have the freedom of speech. Our speech. Our words. I refuse to let the media speak for me. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of speculation used to only fill airtime. Put some real people on TV. Ask them if they care. Ask them what they care about at all.

Keith Olbermann doesn't speak for me.
Joe Scarborough doesn't speak for me.
Hannity nor Colmes speak for me.
Brian Williams doesn't speak for me.
Tim Russert doesn't speak for me.
Rev. Wright doesn't speak for me.
Matt Frei doesn't speak for me.
Maureen Dowd doesn't speak for me.
Television doesn't speak for me.
The New York Times doesn't speak for me.
The BBC doesn't speak for me.

I speak for me. I decide things. I am my own fact checker. I am my own researcher. I am taking back my thoughts and refusing to give in to television rating and spring sweeps.

To miscontextualize Descarte: "I think therefore I am"

.on the lower east side.

politicians:
McGreevey. Patterson. Spitzer.
TMI.
That's all.
TMI.

.but i'm the luckiest guy.

Fun fact:
There are
8
registered
Holly Golightlys
in New York
But none
on the Upper East Side.

Oddly, this came up
in my
day to day work.

She was
such a
bitch
in the novella.
Very un-PC.
a must read
(rhyme!)

.with tom, the astronomer.

(subtitled: Dude! I knew it - Call my mom! I told her he was sketch)
Whoa!
Whoa!
You all read this?

I knew this guy was a
twat.
He just
looks sketch.
Like he,
oh, I don't know,
is involved in a
prostitution ring!

And he's a
super delegate
for Clinton.

See him on Meet the Press?
(a few weeks ago)
Twat.

Burn baby, burn!

(okay, hopefully this won't turn into the New York Times vs. McCain bs they published - I hate the Republicans as much as they do, but I call bullshit on that story)

.for you to wear to the prom.

The Village Voice has
redeemed itself
in my book
(okay,
not really)
With Michael Musto's
photo shoot
mocking
Lindsay Lohan's
Monroe shoot for
my beloved
New York Magazine.

Was that big in the world,
or just New York?
Is there a difference?

.and john would buy the gown.

(please file under random facts of life)
I just want to say I always thought Larry Wilmore (who has a great short in the collection "Things I've Learned From Women Who've Dumped Me" - which was at UCB and I could never get tickets!) was Chocolate Rain's uncle? brother? father? Mmmmm.

.in the rain to bring you candy.

You know how one can
spot
a tourist?
It's your pants.
Old
outdated
too short
and those
sensible shoes.

I say
bah!
to sensible shoes!

.andy would bicycle across town.

Inspiration for the next set of post titles:
Not an official video, but I find it amazing nonetheless.