july 10 2000
this isn't what i should be writing right now. i'm supposed to be working on a piece for feed, but since i have so damn much love for you all (well, for most of you; i'm sure there are a couple of real bastards out there. not literal bastards. oh, christ, now i'm going to have single mothers blowing nails up my ass through e-mail.) i'll recap the major highlights of the past three days. before i do, though, i've received word from v. that the windowsill karaoke torch singer i mentioned last entry actually developed a softshoe routine with his neighbor three years ago. apparently, they'd perform in their window and the used furniture store below would arrange couches on the sidewalk for interested passersby and neighborhood residents. then came rudy, and things got squashed in the interest of "clear traffic flow." [note: the following should be read aloud in a high whiny voice. imagine you were outside a room that contained fran drescher and gilbert gottfried having sex, and try to imitate the resultant screech]. ohhhh, "clear traffic flow." i guess "jailing criminals" really takes a backseat to "stifling creativity" and "destroying community morale." [note: you may now stop that voice. really. please stop.]
so saturday afternoon a friend had a birthday party at an argentinian restaurant in midtown. for some reason, new york was in the midst of some unparalleled temperateness, so the back patio was neither sweaty nor reeking of urine. i should point out as an aside that i really do love new york, that in fact i (heart) it, and that pointing out that it's neither sweaty nor reeking of urine ranks among the highest compliment i could bestow upon an abstract entity like a city. that being said, i arrived and saw a number of people i hadn't seen in some time. i also saw some people i had seen four days previous, but it was still nice to see them because they are nice. some of them also try to merit mention in this journal by sitting within earshot and spouting off with what they imagine are pithy bon mots. mostly these bon mots are less pithy than hackneyed and sometimes creepy. still i'd like to point out to kay that being "against weapons proliferation and for nuclear disarmament" is quite the risky stance and to applaud her for assaulting my cell phone with such a controversial pronouncement.
anyway. i got to the patio to find an enormous industrial-sized garbage pail filled with ice and beer. there might have been some pepsi mixed in there too, but i forget. apparently, i've contracted some highly selective distant cousin of color blindness that actually loses track of blue aluminum when confronted dark green glass. becks 1, pepsico 0. now, drinking in the afternoon, for me, is like onion rings; a great idea that invariably loses something in the translation. indulge, regret, wait a suitable amount of time, forget, repeat. despite knowing this about myself, the prospect of afternoon beer tends to exert some inescapable tractor beam upon my poor frail mortal shell. hops and barley 1, willpower 0. no, i didn't get stupid, and as much as you'd probably like this to segue into a litany of drunken humiliations i brought upon myself (some possibilities may include, but are not limited to, walking up to strange women and asking them in a cracking pubescent voice if they'd like to "supersize it," rolling down sixth avenue screaming "make way for the logjam! the logjam's a-comin'!", or trying to rob a bodega.), i'm not an excessive drinker. and, as you know if you read this site with any of the regularity that you should, i'm perfectly capable of humiliating myself with nary a chemical in my body. bully for me.
a couple of beers and some potato chips do not a meal make, though, and argentinian food is a little meaty for a july day. actually, argentinian food is a little meaty for alaskan canners in the middle of february. there's one person whose appetite for meat could meet the rigors of south american cuisine, and that's my boss, who if he had his way would snack on a live calf at his desk in the mid-morning before retiring to the slaughterhouse for the off-the-rack special. needless to say, i skipped the argentinian food. i asked someone what the translation of one particular offering was, and they told me that it was "orgy of once-young flesh." huh. after retiring from the party, then, a number of us went to a thai place nearby. on thai food: do not serve it to me if you are tall and willowy and blonde. because of people like you, and the crappy haute-cuisine-nouvelle-pan-fusion places you work at that dot lower manhattan with depressing regularity, i once thought that good thai food in new york was a myth. don't take it personally. actually, go ahead. because two short thai men brought us plate upon plate of thai food that was very very good. much better than the overpriced crap that the willowy blondes used to bring.
then tonight my boy noah's movie premiered at the new york independent film and video festival. doooooope. the kid's going to be a star. and if he is, i fully intend to ride his coattails into the limelight. mark my words.
to recap: make way for the logjam! the logjam's a-comin'! orgy of once-young flesh. thank you.
p.
and yo. my full-on venture kneejerk.net is up and running, though not nearly full. go and getcha read on. for me.
props to darkcounter.com
and sitemeter