Listening To (I got a) Stomach Ache by Junior Wells

It is almost opening day. ESPN is showing a pre-season game between the Pirates and the Red Sox. Do you want to know what it is about baseball that men love? Well, at least for me, it has to do with a continual dialogue that goes on with other men, strangers, and fans worldwide. There is a chance to simply bond with other guys about bullshit. There is also a chance to connect with family members that otherwise may not have been open to you. I can't tell you how many times I have talked baseball when I have found myself at a loss for words at a family gathering. And I don't even want to talk about what it is like to watch a game at Fenway Park. It is the greatest park in baseball. To walk up the hall toward the field is this great moment. I mean, you are right on the field. It is all green and Red Sox Fans are more passionate than any other in baseball.
I realize that this is going to make Katie Ray angry at me. But Katie, I gotta do what I gotta do.
And this dialogue that baseball supports is one of the many subtle ways that men can bond with each other. Simple physical labor is another. In fact, sports in general let guys just fucking talk. It lets them speak in a language that women aren't necessarily a part of. Well, most women. And I am sure women do the exact same thing. When women talk about "feelings" men are equally as clueless.
I used to have a general belief about emotional interactions between men and women. It had to do with the types of communication that each gender used. Men, being the sort of logical and pragmatic beings are, are always looking for a solution. They are always asking "What is the problem? How can we fix it?" whereas I sometimes feel that women may want a discussion of what they feel they have a problem with, but ultimately, at that moment, are not looking for a solution. It has been my experience that this is a major source of conflict between men and women.
It is for this exact reason, this denial of an emotional dialogue, that I think men have a harder time getting over relationships than women. Now hold on, hold on, I know you are thinking that what I said is bullshit, but for the most part it is true. Think about all the times that a guy has broken up with you only to try and get back together with you again at a later date. Men are no good at moving on emotionally. They think "hey, the solution to getting over somebody is getting under somebody." but that rarely ever works.
I am getting tired of this subject. I'm hungover and I just figured out that I bought the wrong kind of Triscuits. Sigh.

Answer:
It's so I don't feel guilty when I eat this peanut butter Twix I bought.

Listening to Women Without Whiskey by Drive-By Truckers

I weighed myself a couple of days ago and found that I had lost some weight. I have not been going to the gym for about a month now. Does that make any sense? When I was going to the gym with Drew I was much better about staying longer. Now, when I go, I sort of zap in and zap out. And cardio? I fucking hate cardio. I have pretty good tone and muscle fitness but I think I definitely have one of those little tires that everybody is afraid of. You know what? I don't really mind. I mean, I could probably get rid of it if I killed the beer and worked my ass off, but it ain't gonna happen. And besides, I kinda like it at this point. I think I have earned it. I've never had a six pack. I've never been ripped. It's just not something that comes easily to me. I remember a Dubus passage where he was talking about older men's physiques and he said the one's that looked really good were either genetically predisposed or exceedingly vain. I appreciated that. I feel like I am not genetically predisposed and not exceedingly vain. But I will say this - when i do venture to the gym on a regular basis I feel like I have more energy, like I like myself and my body better, and that I can leap tall buildings in a single bound. Well, maybe not the last thing.
And about gym culture - I don't go crazy. I mean, some people are there ALL THE FUCKING TIME. I don't get that. It feels like a chore to me. A couple years ago I used ephedrin for a couple of months. I know it sounds fucked up, but the stuff worked. And it made me want to get up and go. My workouts were longer and more effective. Isn't that fucked up? But whatever. It worked for me. I know I don't have the greatest body, but I think people wouldn't hold it against me. Rather, I think they would want to hold it against them! Okay, okay, not funny. Fine. But after a while all of this hyped up value placed on aesthetics gets a little old. At least I hope so. Somebody pass me a donut.
But seriously, I think that men in this day and age get affronted by the exact same kind of body imagery that women in the society do. I am not saying that the comparison is there, but I think that I have tried a fair amount of diets, pushed myself at the gym, looked critically at my body and more often than not not liked what I saw. Isn't that strange? You know what - I think that a lot of guys would never admit it, they feel the same way. Or maybe not. Whatever. I don't know what inspired this entire tirade. I think it is because I am about to go to the gym and I am wondering why it is that I am going to go. Is it for the aesthetic, the energy, what?
I'll let you know when I get back.

Listening To Nightswimming by REM

I need a haircut. I have been trying to grow it out for a couple months and now it has reached the point of no return. I have looked at my two older brothers' hair and I realized that if I don't grow it now then I never may. So this is the photo I took in the A.M. just to entertain myself. I think I need to buy a digital camera. These camera phone pics are lackluster.
I have been trying to pinpoint what it is that makes me feel like I am in love. There is just an overwhelming sense of ease that occurs. It's a feeling I can't really describe except to say that everything unfolds naturally. And the moments that you spend with the person unfold without a thought. The conversation flows, the moments blossom, and you can't help but look into the person's eyes.
I guess the easiest way to describe what being in love is through every cliche that has ever been written. How about an amalgamation of song lyrics from some of my favorite love songs? I have often been accused of expressing myself through song lyrics, so maybe this would be the best way for me to express it.

Jeff Buckley - Lover, You Should Have Come Over

It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when i slept so soft against her
It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

Van Morrison - Sweet Thing

Oh sweet thing, sweet thing
My, my, my, my, my sweet thing
And I shall drive my chariot
Down your streets and cry
’hey, it’s me, I’m dynamite
And I don’t know why’
And you shall take me strongly
In your arms again
And I will not remember
That I even felt the pain.
We shall walk and talk
In gardens all misty and wet with rain
And I will never, never, never
Grow so old again.

MC Hammer - Pumps and A Bump (Thanks to Maggie and Shannon)

Pumps and a bump, now many say a big butt
But if you're hip you know that it's a phone crud
It's making the brothers go crazy in the 2-G
Shake like a bottle girl fine as wine G
So when I here I got a step (to a fine thing)
Never been a coward (cause it's a eastside thing)
Just step right up to the girl with the big butt
Tell her what's up you got the pumps and a bump

Saturday Looks Good To Me - Since You Stole My Heart

And every time you're close to me
Since you stole my heart
I feel an electricity
And it just won't go away
And no, I can't give it a name
And nothing seems to feel at all the same
Since you stole my heart
I walked through the graveyard
And sang to the cold stars
All the names on my dancecard
Left me standing down by the ocean
All alone and out in the open
Somebody told me that everyone's lonely
But I was the only fool there waiting
Down by the ocean
With my heart half the way broken
I don't know what's come over me
Since you stole my heart

If you have never heard these songs I would advise you purchase them as soon as possible. They are a meager representation of an overall feeling that I have been having trouble expressing through words. But there will be many more blogs to come. Oh yes there will.

Listening to Many Rivers To Cross by Jimmy Cliff

So ... is the grass really greener? In all things, are we continually unhappy with our lot in life. In my life up unitl this point I
have heard that phrase most often in connection to relationships. Other people use it when talking about jobs, apartments, etc. I think that there are things that undoubtedly transcend an everyday envy. I mean, I hope they do. For instance, I would hate to think that if I ever had children I would compare and contrast them to other kids. But maybe I would. Maybe I would wish that my child was a little taller, more athletic, prettier, handsomer, etc.
You know what?
No I wouldn't.
I would be happy and love that child no matter how difficult their lot in life was, or how difficult my life was
And I think that the same could be said of a relationship. Now I have been guilty of leaving relationships for grass is greener scenarios, as I am sure we all have. But I think that at a certain point you transcend that way of thinking. Eventually all of the memories you have built up with someone outweigh the work you would have to do with someone new. I understand that marriages fall apart, people change, etc. But there's a sense of traditionalism from generation's past that has been lost on us I think. I think that we have forgotten what it means to work on a relationship, on ourselves, on our lives with another person. Social conditioning has led us to the point that a divorce or a "starter marriage" is an acceptable process by which to establish our love lives.
Maybe it is. Or maybe it is another nod towards the INEVITABLE DEMISE OF OUR CIVILIZATION. Just kidding. Not really. I think as you get older you learn that the next option isn't necessarily going to be better, Especially when you don't even have a next option yet. We are all accorded our lots in life and we all live with the choices we make. When it comes to love, it is so hard to come across something worth any value these days that to let it go is beyond foolishness. And maybe that will change over time, or maybe you will be one of the fortunate few who can slug it out until you reach that easy twilight of love. The time when all the hard times and good times have melded into a shared life of family and friends and pain and pleasure. When all of the jealousy or envy you had for things that you didn't have pass into the dusk of a well-lived life.
Because, again, isn't that the ultimate goal? To have a life that has been well worn. Like a photo album where the corners are wrinkled and worn, the leather scuffed in some places, polished in others, but well used?

Listening to Arthur's Theme by Christopher Cross

Here is a list of my favorite burgers in numerical order. 1 being the best:

1. The huge-ass Burger at McHale's on 46th and 8th. I get it with Blue Cheese and bacon on it.

2. My own recipe burger. When I mix it all together I add Worchestire sauce, A-1, Horseradish, Barbecue, and tabasco. Then I put a big fat slice of cheese on it. It's not first simply because I have to make it myself. If I had another me making it then it would be perfect.

3. A Burger King Whopper with no tomato, add cheese and bacon, with their bbq sauce put on it.

4. Corner Bistro (come on, that's on everybody's list).

5. Joe Junior's greasy spoon burger on 12th and 6th avenue. These guys are all Yankee fans, but they make a hell of a burger.

Listening To The Look Of Love By Burt Bacharach sung by Dusty Springfield

To be honest, I am unsure why I am listening to this song at this point in the morning. I think it is a very very sexy song and all I want to do is go the bathroom and eat some eggs and bacon. Not exactly what I would call sexy behavior. But then again, what would I call sexy behavior? Many times throughout my life (so far) I have tried to ask myself about my own sexuality (not orientation - just sexiness). I think that I am a human being that talks a lot about sex, thinks a lot about sex, enjoys having sex, but ultimately, is not sexy. Take, for example, this blog. This very entry for instance. Is it sexy to discuss what is sexy? No - it isn't.
I guess I just look at myself as a goofball with a weird sense of humor and a tendency towards borderline offensive behavior. I also thik that I am a very kind and understanding person with a boatload of integrity, but none of these qualitiess really apply when alking about sexiness.
So then, what it is? I mean, the paradigm for men typically is tall, dark, handsome, mysterious, right? For women, it is beautiful, alluring, mysterious, right? Those are supposed "sexy" qualities. But, I think in today's day and age we attrubute emptily sexual images with the concept of "sexiness." Maybe if there is one quality that all of these things share, it is confidence. But when I thikn about what I find sexy in women it is almost always the same thing, and not necessarily physical at all. I think a great sense of humor is sexy, intelligence, independence, kindness. These are all things that turn me on. Even if a woman gives me a little bit of shit, I love that too. But rarely to I ever find a mysterious alluring stranger sexy. I might lust after them briefly, but more often than not those people always seem to be lacking in the personality and bedroom department.
And speaking about the bedroom, I think for me to feel sexy in there, and probably for anyone to feel sexy in that situation, you have to be absolutely comfortable. I am not going to lie - I think that most men have some body issues too. I think that when you are being intimate with someone you want to feel like you are being loved aesthetically and mentally. That your partner, god forbid, is not harboring any sort of ill will towards your body. That, I think , is a product of the above socialization of what is "sexy" and what isn't.
When do I feel sexy, if ever? I guess I feel sexy when I put on the right clothes. When I say the "right" clothes I mean that on that day, whatever I am wearing comes together correctly and I feel like I look good. Like when I throw on a sharp suit, or my leather jacket, or jeans, a tee-shirt and my boots. That's it. That's the only time. And even that's not a sure fire thing. The only other time when I feel "sexy" i guess is much rarer. It's not when I make people laugh, or when I perform, it's intermittent and it has to do with a person's eyes. It's a rare thing, but every once in a while I will say or do something (maybe it's funny, or kind, or serious, or all three) and you can see a mix of desire, and admiration, lust and maybe even envy in the eyes of the person that you are talking to. If you're extremely fortunate, you may even see love in those eyes.
This look can happen in daily life, but it happens all the time in the eyes of someone that loves you. Out of all the women I have had sex with, I have been in love with very few, and each one gave me that look. And I, in return, gave them the look back.
I don't know what you would call it. Unconditional acceptance, unguarded love, unwavering acceptance and affection, whatever it is. Maybe that's what it is. Unconditional acceptance. No matter how you feel, or how you feel you look, that other person accepts everything about you unconditionally. As for the paradigm for "sexy" maybe those are individuals that just don't care what other people think. And that uncaring leads them to unconditionally accept themselves.
I think that everybody wants to feel sexy, or at least feel attractive, unless you're the uni-bomber. Then you just want a cabin and some fertilizer. But is it possible to feel sexy without other people for a reference? I think so. But that, again, has to do with the idea of confidence. Paul Newman once said that "sex symbols are sex symbols because they have time to rehearse." What he meant was, someone who is sexy on screen is someone who has been carefully crafted by many different people, including the screenwriter, director, the media, etc.
In our daily lives, sexiness is not just an image quality, or saying the right thing at the right time, or a laugh, or a smile, or a look, or what we wear, or how we move. It is all of these things. And it is all in the eye of the beholder.

Listening to a melange of Bruce songs. Right now "The Price You Pay." But I will update the song throughout the blog.

I was told by one of my blog readers that I write entirely too much in my blogs. I am not saying that I will shorten the lengths of my entries because that would imply that I was writing for someone other than myself (wink). But I will make a concerted effort to be more concise in my theses.
(song change - now it's 'Used Cars' from Nebraska)
I just bought a new pair of shoes at a vintage clothing store. As I get older and become more acclimated to my own sense of my heterosexuality I recognize some traits that separate me from a lot of my male friends. I had someone tell me the other day about a group of guys that she hangs out with. Now, during the course of a single Sopranos episode, these gentlemen will hoot and holler at any piece of ass that may wander across the screen. I have never felt magnetized to that sort of behavior. This is not to say that i never act inappropriately. On the contrary, if you have ever spent any amount of time around me you know that i can be one of the most foul and tactless individuals ever. In fact, I worry about the day when I step over the line in the wrong place and get sued for harassment. I don't denigrate women though. Never been my style.
So... along the lines of my questionable masculinity, I think it is important to note that I am a little bit of a shoe whore. I think I get it from my father. He loves his shoes. Admittedly, most of them have tassles and were bought at Johnston & Murphy, but the man doesn't lack for what he thinks is style. He frequently wears Cosby style sweaters, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway - back to the shoes. I don't know. I just think that nothing epitomize a human being better than what they wear on their feet. Stella Adler has an acting exercise which simply consists of finding what your character would wear on their feet. Genius! The same goes for life. Women who want a wealthy husband look at shoes and watches. I don't even own a watch! It's all part of the stupid dance that goes on night after night in bars across America.
Tonight I got in a discussion about POWER with my friend Susie. She said that she would like to have power to do what she wanted. To change the world. I said that i would rather have respect. I said that I would love to paint boats in the Caribbean and have folks just say "Hey - you sure paint those boats well," than to be able to decide who gets a boat or not. I think that as we get older we learn that you don't figure out the answers to those difficult questions - you just get more adept at learning to be okay with the fact that they don't get answered.
You know - I said I was going to be more concise in this entry but I think I failed. Oh well - I'm drunk. AGAIN! Jesus Christ on a pogo stick! What is wrong with me. I have got to whack off and go to sleep. More tomorrow.
As a side note - I just want to say that I just read what I wrote and it doesn't make a lick of sense to me. Oh well!

Listening to Anything To Say You're Mine by Etta James

Before we begin tonight's essay I think it is important that I get a few things out of the way.

1. Alex - thank you for this song. I adore it and probably (at this point) could not live without it. I really appreciate everything we talked about the other night. As always - you are insightful, thoughtful and mature beyond your years. I am unsure as to where I would be without your influence. And your huge fun bags.

2. Katie Ray - I am sorry that I never mention you in my blog. I guess I never speak to how much I appreciate our dialogues. I don't think that Bad Boys is your favorite movie. I also don't think that it is your favorite movie because it has black people in it. I know how wonderful you are and if I could be an elementary school student you would be my favorite teacher. But I would make you watch Bad Boys. Because that would be my favorite movie. And not because it has black people in it.

3. I have been smoking entirely too many cigarettes lately. I will stop shortly.

Whew! I am drunk. Drinkety-Drankety-Drunk. Bippity-Boppity-Boo. Obviously, not so drunk that i can't still type. But I thought it important to document something tonight before sleep washed all the memories away. My friend Sarah says that your birthday isn't truly over until you get your last present. Tonight, after my 3 week hiatus from New York, I got my final present. I returned to my seedy blue-collar bar in Brooklyn and bar-tended. Who was there? Well... all my regulars of course. They drank and sang and made merry and eventually, after many shots, sang 'For He's A Jolly Good Fellow.'
I am not sure if you are often on the receiving end of compliments, but they are not easy to accept, especially for me. Tonight was an exception. I mean, I blushed a little, but I allowed myself the ability to revel in something nice. I let myself enjoy a nice warm glow of friendship and mirth. I was struck at how diametrically opposed my two jobs are. One bar is so caught up in what is so unimportant in life. People look around to see who laughs at a joke before they let themselves laugh. They are so concerned with what the most fashionable thing to drink is, they never laugh from their bellies, and yet they pay so much. For what? And yet tonight I was faced with a bunch of people who were all drinking the cheapest liquor possible and yet so happily reveling in each other's company. Plenty of laughs and claps on the back. It was a great night.
And so I ask you...what is it that we have at the end of it all? What currency do we have stored up that is truly worth anything? Is it money in the bank? Is it the objects we have accumulated in our households? Is it our relative health? No - it is none of that.
It is our memories.
When two people fall in love they agree to more than undying affection and fidelity - they agree to the communal effort of building shared experiences. Why do you think people from high school who meet years later get back together? Why do you think we are so close with our friends?
Communal experiences.
Why did Citizen Kane say "Rosebud?" All the same reason. The memory of what transpired is worth more to us than anything we could have purchased at any given time. The reliving of stories, adventures, deaths, laughs - those are all things that buoy us from one day to the next. It is the very reason why Alzheimer's is the darkest of thieves. All that we have to hold close in our most isolated moments are our memories. I think that that is the reason that oftentimes some people can't sit still. They recognize that we are allocated a certain amount of time in our lives to accomplish what it is we want to do. And to pass up a single second is to pass up a chance to create a new memory.
Oof. The steam just went out of me. All that lousy beer just caught up with me. I have got to go to sleep now or risk losing my train of thought completely. Okay. No worries.x

Listening to Bitches Ain't Shit by Ben Folds

I feel like I have been talking about dogs a lot lately. In the past I have lamented the fact that I don't have a dog, how much I want one, how much it would mean to me. There are two main reasons why I don't have a god presently.
1. With my schedule it would not be fair to a dog.
2. I don't think apartment living in NYC allows a dog the appropriate room it needs. At least the mid-sized dog that I would want. I can't stand most of those little lapdogs.

When I was a kid I really wanted a dog. Like real real bad. The desire peaked at a locally owned restaurant called "Carbur's." It was one of those 50-beers-at-the-bar-100-types-of-sandwiches-1920's-memorabilia-on-the-wall joints. I was 9 or 10 and out with my parents. I begged and begged. I cried. The waitress thought that my parents were getting a divorce. She kept bringing free sodas.

The next week we drove through southern Vermont until we reached this small daycare. It fenced in on all sides and one section was adjacent to a very steep hill. When we pulled into the drive there were several dogs running around, leaping over the 4 foot high fence, sprinting back and forth. When we went inside there were several puppies in the litter. I selected one of them.I can't remember what the criteria was - only that I 'felt' as if he was the right puppy. He threw up twice on the way home. I called him Socrates - "Sock" for short.

I ended up having him for about 3 years. He loved to run. I mean, he loved to run. If we left the front door open he would bolt. Just bolt like crazy. The only way to get him back was to drive around in our truck and stop and open the door. The only thing he liked better than sprinting was getting a ride in the car.

The vet said that there was probably a lot of in-breeding in his family. He would suffer severe epileptic fits. He would just lie on his side and twitch and shake violently until the fit passed. We tried to give him medication but sometimes they were unavoidable.

He died from one when I was in 8th grade. I remember it pretty clearly. He was on our garage floor. The fit wouldn't stop. I tried to force feed him some of the medication but he wouldn't take it. Rather, he couldn't. My parents eventually made me go to bed. My Mother told me that his heart just gave out.

When I was in my 2nd year in grad school I adopted Buckley. He was a pit bull mix that was left at a city shelter. After walking him once I knew that I wanted to adopt him. He was a great, energetic dog. In fact, he was a driving reason for one of the biggest physical altercations I have ever been a part of. He now lives in VT with my friend Dan. He chases his tail. I had to give himi up when my life got too hectic in my third year of grad school and I moved into a smaller apartment. Now he has a big house to roam, a park to run in, and lots of boy dogs to hump (apparently after leaving New York City Buck turned gay. Who woulda thunk?).

So now here I am. Dog-less. Both my brothers have dogs - Boston (that sweet old girl has cancer in her ears) and Jax (he is one of the sweetest/dumbest dogs I know. But fucking FIERCELY loyal to Josh) and I have none. I'm sure that this speaks to much larger differences between my brothers and I. Choices that we made at some point in the past that has allowed us to have dogs, or families, or 401ks, or trucks, or steady meals, or vacations, or hahahaha. I don't know. I don't envy my brothers. Well ... maybe sometimes I do. But it's never permanent. It's just glimpses of what could have been. I have never regretted the choices that I have made. And I'm sure that all those things will happen in their due time anyway. Which is why I am not too worried about my dog. Someday.

Listening to Why I Cry by All-Time Quarterback

I think I have probably spent an inordinate amount of money on ITunes. I didn't play that much x-box today. I had dinner with my friend Sarah and I met her new boyfriend Dave. They seemed really happy together. They had put the tv in the bedroom. I said:
"TV in the bedroom. That means domestication!"
She said:
"I never put the TV in the bedroom!"
I said:
"See - domestication!"
Dave laughed. She laughed. I laughed.
In the car the other day my brother told me that he was going to take his kids to a weekend getaway at Six Flags to a hotel with an indoor water park. The hotel costs about 250 a night and includes free passes to the water park. When I commented on the high price of the hotel he said "It's only money."
Now before you go off and think that my brother is loaded and doesn't give a shit about money let me tell you a couple things. My brother and his wife make pretty good money. But I didn't expect him to express that sentiment. My Father and middle brother have always been very money conscious - not misers - just money conscious. It is a trait that I and my Mother do not possess. I have always made enough money to subsist at whatever level I may be living at, but a savings account? In New York City? Who has a savings account?
When my brother said that I felt especially proud of him. I guess that I have continually misjudged him throughout our lives. Or maybe he is just changing. He is willing to spend whatever amount of money for his kids to have more than we had growing up. WE WERE NOT POOR. He just wants the best for his kids. And who doesn't? I certainly would. Kids will fuck you up. I remember my Father holding my niece for the first time and I thought just how utterly humanizing it was. How devastatingly, utterly, beautifully vulnerable he became. And I wanted to laugh about all the times he had threatened to "take his belt off." He never did, mind you. But the threat would loom.
Hahaha. I just said "loom." That his how my father pronounces "Loam" in his Rhode Island accent.
I was raised primarily by my Mother. I think that is why I have always had an affinity for women. She taught me a lot about emotions, acting, impulses, intuition, sexuality, and hosting a damn good party. My Father's influence has sort of come on slowly in later years. You see -he was never really around. Now hold on, hold on, this ain't no sob story. I just wanted to speak to the fact that nowadays I often feel a lot closer to my Pop than to my Ma. I think that my Mother and I are so similar that we drive each other crazy. At least we use to. Now when I see them I see two people. Two individuals with their own insecurities, needs, desires, fears. parents didn't have those when I was growing up. They were sphinxes; riddle-speaking sages of unquestionable authority. I told my Mother once that some kids had offered me pot and I turned them down. I remember how she looked. She smiled and looked like I was too honest. like she couldn't believe that she had a child that would offer up that kind of information freely. I remember thinking "Wow. My Mom thinks I'm a really fucking lame kid." What can I say? I was a pretty sweet-hearted kid. Oftentimes I think that childish naivete is still there.
To this day I will give someone the benefit of the doubt again and again. My friend Sarah holds grudges. And she does it well. I, however, tend to forgive and forget. Maybe too easily. I've gotten better about it over the years, but barely. Sometimes I think a little animosity helps ease the pain, confusion, whatever. Other times I think it is an unnecessary emotion. Not true - I think it's necessary. But time and a place, right?

Listening to "Billie's Blues" by Billy Vera

I think that if there is a music that plays in my heart it is cheesy late-seventies/cheezy early eighties songs.

I just ate a big roast beef sub with bacon, lettuce, pickles, onion, american cheese and mayo.

This afternoon I played an ungodly amount of x-box and tomorrow I plan to do the same.

Now I am lying completely naked in my bed at 3:15 am and blogging.

Sometimes I think that not everyone likes the things that I like.

When I think of that, I feel bad for the people who aren't me.

And I feel bad for the people who don't like the things that I like.

But most the time I can't be bothered.

I could really go for a Flinstone vitamin right now.

Banana hammock.

Sorry - I just had to see if it was as funny typed out as it is when you say it aloud.

"Banana Hammock."

Okay, scratch the vitamin. Now I want a vitamin water. The red one. Dragonfruit or some shit.

In England "Fuck All!' implies ignorance. I would like to adopt "Fuck All!" so it means something more along the lines of "Shit!"

I got a couple pieces of good news today.

Does camouflage even really work? I mean, aren't deer colorblind? That's why they have the orange ones, right?

Would you rather stub your toe or hit your funny bone?

Have you ever seen a picture of Truman Capote as a kid? Whoah! Freaky!

I am pretty sure that 4 out of 5 "adults" I know in my circle of friends still have stuffed animals.

If you were gonna start a chain of steak joints would you name it "Bonanza," or "Ponderosa?" Neither, right? I thought not.

Is loneliness relative? How come it never shows up at family reunions. Oh wait - it does!

Been having really fucked up dreams lately.

Kenny G. steps out of an elevator. He says "That place ROCKS!"

I went to a bar tonight and had one beer. Just one. It can happen.

Listening To No More Auction Block by Bob Dylan

You know...I certainly talk a lot about romance in this thing. Right now I am hurtling through space on a train, approaching what I now consider to be my home - New York City - and contemplating the place that lust occupies in all of this conjecture. You would think that a heady discussion of lust and animalistic desire would be like oil and water. That I might be unable to really talk about what sex feels like when detached from any romantic inclination.
Well...you’re wrong. I have been through some shady interactions with women, had my fair share of partners, and been both flattered and humiliated when it came to sex. I have approached women on pure chemistry, on an intellectual basis, and on looks alone.
Why am I bringing this up? Well - it has more to do with a woman sitting across the aisle from me on the train. She isn’t especially pretty, not outwardly magnetic, or even sending any signals. But the idea of sexuality, of the sexual act, is still present. Does that happen with women? I mean we all know that stupid “Men think about sex every 7 seconds thing,” but do women? Some women claim that they do. Right now, I am imagining what it would be like to drop a note on the woman’s seat - something non-specific - “Meet me in bathroom. 2 minutes.” waiting with the ‘vacant’ sign undone in some shoddy amtrak toilet while she may or may not ever show up. I won’ t do it of course, but the idea is there.
Do I remember feeling this way when I was with someone? Well....yes. Because when I would be with someone I would simply write them the note. But being single...well...why not. And what is it that I am looking for? Maybe a simple tryst during a 3 hour train ride. No names, no words, a complete fantasy fulfilled. There is a short story by Italo Calvino - ‘The Soldier’ I think. It’s about a widow and a soldier who haphazardly sit together on a train and during a period when the train passes through a tunnel many things happen in the dark. Things that would tarnish the honor of a recent widow and undo the integrity of a soldier. They still occur. And each person is better for it.
I think we all have someone in our past. Maybe we were in middle school, maybe in high school, but someone that represented sexuality to us. Maybe they were a little older, maybe our first kiss, maybe it was someone younger. Somebody ‘experienced’ at the time. Maybe it was a movie or a magazine. But there is a token or a totem...something that represents our earliest ideas of sexuality. Hopefully, for many of us, it didn’t involve the terrible power play that can result in molestation or any mental damage.
But in a way, I think we all become mentally damaged. For instance - If I ever smell Pert Plus combined with Trident gum I almost always get an erection. Now these smells are associated with one of the first times I ever became intimate with a woman. We didn’t have sex -I was maybe 13 - in fact, we hardly did anything. But that heavy petting that so many of us participated in...wow. And now, what do we do? Many of us rush right to the sex. And is there anything wrong with that? Maybe, maybe not. There’s something to be said for the quickie every now and again. But the quickie is always more exciting when it is with somebody you know very intimately or someone you don’t know hardly at all.
What I propose is that there is a balance to the heightened experience of a sexual act. Either you don’t know the person and the sexual circumstances are such that playing hide the Chorizo is extremely satisfying. Or you know the person intimately, you are perhaps in love, and the act is elevated because of the emotional connectivity of the entire endeavor. Then, logically, it would follow that an emotional connection dealing with extraordinary circumstances would yield the greatest sexual feelings ever.
For example - the best blow-job I ever had was on a beach in the Caribbean during a one month archaeological dig by a girl I barely knew. She was from Michigan. That should say a lot. Do you know anyone from Michigan? All crazy. And she had a hyphenated first name. i won’t say it here, but it was pretty bad. So those are two strikes against her (come on - birthplace and first name are two definite factors against dating someone. Especially if they’re from Michigan and the first name is “Boy name HYPHEN Girl name). So there you have it - little emotional involvement but extreme circumstances
Now, my two semi long term girlfriends? Never had a problem sexually. In fact, there was something a lot more fulfilling about being with them than other partners. I can’t say that we were the most experimental group, but we certainly racked up some pretty high numbers. That is the emotional connection played over regular circumstances. It should be said that there was a fair amount of sexual desire included with both. God - that sounds really clinical, right?
For a counterpoint, let’s talk about women that I slept with under five times, in what we might call “regular circumstances” that I did not have an emotional connection with. We’ll call this....hmmm.....the ‘One Night Stand.’ Sounds familiar, right?
Now, to be fair, I have not had a whole lot of them. But the experiences I have had with them almost always yield the same result. The first couple times, when we are almost always drunk, are satisfying and exciting. Then the time or two after that is always lackluster and I sometimes lack interest. Then it is almost always over by this point. it should also be said that I have had some of the most ‘Ripley’s Believe It Or Not’ one night stands in the history of mankind. I have had a woman ask me to punch her in the face, a woman alternate between pleasure and hysterical fits of crying during the sex act and orgasm, I have had a woman goes cross-eyed and speak in Greek, a woman who fell asleep, a mousy girl that made my back bleed with her fingernails and teeth, two women, not at the same time mind you, who (in perhaps the eeriest acts of sexual congress I have had) remain absolutely silent, another woman who had to have my stomach touching hers for her to have an orgasm, a girl who was on so much cocaine that she fucked me for 2 hours straight and neither of us ever came and that’s not even half of it. I had a woman chase me out of her room calling me a faggot because I refused to fuck her. I have had sex in bedrooms, bathrooms, pool furniture, hammocks (awkward), couches, floors, lounge chairs, stairwells, closets, trailers, and campgrounds.
It’s a little crazy to think about. I am positive that I have had more partners then my two older brothers put together. At least, I hope I have. One brother has been married for over 10 years and the other is practically a monk. I don’t bring it up much with them. Sometimes I think that I masturbate regularly to suppress most of my sexual urges. I think that if I didn’t do it then I would become some kind of sex-crazed fiend. Maybe not. The longest I ever went without, after starting that is, was for a single month. I was 18 years old. That’s willpower. Do you know what that first time was like after a month? Heaven. Absolute heaven. Sigh.
But I am still interested in this idea of a sexual totem. I know that in my past it was a person. A girl, actually, who in middle school was simply more sexually adventurous then the rest of us. It turns out later that she was actually molested by a cousin earlier in her life. This girl was persecuted throughout middle school and even some of high school for her behavior. That whole ‘slut’ label that is so unfair gender-wise. We were a mixed school of Jewish and Catholic kids. So while we were all enthralled with the idea of sexuality and sex and touching/holding/squeezing we were also deathly afraid of any penance we would have to pay at the hands of our teachers, parents, God, etc. Guilt is a powerful thing. Here is the fucked up thing. I still think about that girl. Well....to be exact....I think about how I felt then. I don’t necessarily think about her as a 12 year old. God no. Rather, I guess I think about myself as a 12 or 13 year old. How I felt then.
Does sex get old? Do we ever stop liking it? Why are men and women’s sexual peaks so maladjusted?
I think about vaginas a lot. I think about the fact that I can be shy when asking for the sexual act. Well...that’s not entirely true...but I do think that I might objectify/deify the vagina. There is certainly a dash of the conquest/notch in the belt mentality. But a lot of time there is simply the reverence for it as this enigmatic object.
But as time goes by, that enigma becomes less and less mysterious. As an adolescent boy, and my close friends and I have talked about this, we had no idea what a vagina was like. We had NO IDEA. I mean, we had seen pictures in ‘Health’ class (Why the fuck was it called health class?) and had seen magazines, but we really truly had no idea what it really looked like. I think that more than half of us actually believed that the first time we came inside someone we would actually see fireworks. That actual fireworks would erupt before our eyes and our penis would simply explode in this agony of pleasure and uncontrollable sensation. A chiaroscuro of life and death and pain and pleasure and love and hate and dry and wet and fear and comfort and mother and father and anything else our little psyches could grasp onto.
Do you want to know what I remember about my first time? Hahahaha. I can’t tell you that. I can tell you it was clumsy and wonderful. I remember sunlight streaming in through a window. I remember being nervous. I remember her eyes and her hair. And I remember not feeling anything like the above passage (pun intended). In fact, I lasted a rather long time I think. It was the time or two after that. Those were the times where I was like “Whoops. Sorry. Done.”
I guess it was the way it was supposed to happen. At least, the best way it could have happened for me. When I think about love and lust and the marriage of the two I think of that time. I think how I felt then and the desire I felt for her. I think about the excitement being with her and the act that we were going to perform. It’s funny - we waited a long time. I mean, 6 months or so. She wasn’t a virgin - I was. Back then 6 months seemed like an eternity. But I didn’t mind waiting. Today? Well, six months still feels like an eternity. Except I would mind waiting. Kinda fucked up, right?

Listening To Solitude by Billie Holliday with Eddie Heywood

But isn't it true....I mean, we all go through so much pain in a lifetime. Sometimes I wonder about that. You will have to excuse any meanderings that occur - I have been out drinking with my brother and some of his friends at a pool hall in Wakefield, Rhode Island. As for the pain that occurs in a lifetime - do you think that it is all balanced? Do you think that everyone receives the same amount of suffering as everyone else? That if you have a happy upbringing you are destined for an unhappy end? I am not sure. I certainly don't think so from all of the empirical evidence out there. I have known people who's lot in life is simple bad luck. All of it hurtful and unfortunate. What about them? Are they paying penance for a past life of sin and evil? Who knows.
And as for only love being able to break your heart - that is the truth. Your family fucks you up, your lovers, your friends....My Mother told me a story in Vermont about a woman she works with that now works with the most popular cheerleader in her High School (the woman's that is). The woman, who we shall call 'S,' continually tries to impress this ex-cheerleader (both are over 50 years old by now) with her past exploits, her present exploits, her children, etc. Does it ever stop? If you know me intimately I will tell you about some horrific experiences that occurred in middle school. I will regale you with stories of popularity and bullies and insecurity until you want to beat the piss out of me. But it is all relative, right? I mean - we all went through that kind of hazing back in the day. I'd like to believe that most of us get over it.
B ut as for love - well, we never get over that do we? I had someone remark to me some things that I have felt for a long time. I don't think she would mind if I shared them with you. If she does, then I am sure I will hear about it at some later date. Anyway - here is her insight -

"Which brings me to fulfillment. You seem a lot like me, and prob like most other middle class twentysomethings, in that we had wonderful upbringings, wanted for nothing, and probably still don't. Our family and friends are what shape us and support us. But that we feel something is missing and somewhere along the line have decided that what is missing is not a 'what' but a 'who'. But I am cautious to think that someone can make one feel fulfilled - that's a dangerous mission isn't it, to rely solely on another person for your happiness and contentment? Aren't you setting yourself up for a fall? In an ideal world, we should be able to feel fulfilled in ourselves. Having said that, my parents couldn't live without each other, but I doubt 37 years ago if they were looking around thinking "I must find someone to complete me", they just found each other, and after 37 years, I think it's fair enough to rely on someone else for your happiness. And yet we still search...."

Funny, eh? I mean - it pretty much hits the nail on the head. Do you know what I did today? I took my Grandmother out to lunch and I played with my niece and nephews (pictures below). I told my Grandmother that I was going to wait until I found someone special before I got married. She told me that if my Grandfather was still alive then they would be married 60 years this coming fall. She told me that I was doing the right thing. She also told me that she prays for me all the time and that something special was going to happen to me soon! You heard it here first from Dolores Plante! When I asked my 5 year old nephew Zach if his parents loved each other he said "Of course!" as if I had asked him if the sky was blue. So where does the truth lie? is it even a question of truth? Where does love lie?
Do you want to know?
Do you really want to know?
Are you sure?
I'll tell you....
Well - it's somewhere in-between.
It is somewhere in between the innocence a five year old feels when he looks at his married parents (by the way -Zach just broke up with his first girlfriend, Tatum, so he is not necessarily THAT inexperienced) and an Eighty-seven year old woman looking back on her life and seeing that she was only meant to be with one man, even if he passed on almost 10 years ago. And where do we fall? Do we think that we are so precious that we can only find that one and special Juliet/Romeo to complete us? Do we think that it takes no work to make a relationship function? Or is it something more? Something worse, even? Is it society, technology? Is it the big city? Could New York just make us want to be married later? Who knows? Is marriage even a viable option for a twenty something living in any major metropolitan area? Are we TOO connected technologically? Will this rash on my inner thighs ever go away?
Are all of these questions just simply the means by which we sustain our lonely lives? Are we even lonely? Or, instead, are we just whittling away the minutes until our eventual deaths? More importantly, are we doing a disservice to ourselves as animals by figuring out ways to postpone our demise? How long will our children survive? Is it even remotely conceivable to expect them to stay with one partner their entire life?
I don't know.
I drank too much beer and now I have to go to the bathroom.
It is high time I cast these questions into the night sky like a dark balloon whose tethers have been severed. Let it fly into the heavens never to be seen again. And may tonight's rest be deep and dreamless.
As for you, the unlucky few that may be reading these poor ramblings, I leave you with the wondrous photos of today's adventures. My beautiful niece Hannah goofing around and Zach, Hannah, and I posing for ye olde camera phone. I don't know what the deal is with the toothbrush. You will have to ask Hannah.

Listening To Jungleland by Bruce Springsteen from his live concert at the Hammersmith Odeon in London 1975

I can't get over this live album. I know you all know that I am a huge Bruce fan. I've seen him live about 5 times. He's informed most of my adult life in a lot of ways. Or, at least, I have felt that way. One of my first blogs was about escapism, a theme that has run through all of his songs to the present. He has such an impassioned way of approaching what it is he does. My buddy Dan and I were talking about it last night. The inability to approach anything else. How difficult it is to perform a regular job. I explained that if I couldn't be in front of people doing something, anything, I would go crazy. He said that if he wasn't able to write and perform his music then he would go crazy. We talked about our Fathers, the things they sacrificed to allow us the luxury of what we are pursuing. We talked about how they are proud of us in their secret hearts. That somewhere deep inside they wish that they could do what it is we are doing. Although the door may have closed on their secret wishes they can still live vicariously through us. And maybe, because of that, we are indebted to them to try our hardest to succeed. And our children? What will happen to them? There have been a couple articles here and there, some books published, focusing on the end of civilization. American civilization. The claims are that we have an egocentric uninspired workforce. A misguided youth. Child-adults unwilling to commit to a job let alone a career. We have untethered materialism. A cultural identity that is becoming more and more separated from the fabric of what America was based on. There is greater interpersonal distance with the advent of communication technology. There is an entire young generation of wealthy kids with no aspirations being referred to as "Yipsters." They say that the kid Seth from the O.C. epitomizes this movement. Singer-songwriters don't write about anything anymore. Cynicism about the governement has been so accepted that general apathy has reached an all time high.
So where does that leave us?
Why do I continually have post-apocolyptic nightmares?
What will my children do?
Do I want children?
Sigh. It's a beautiful day in Vermont. The sun is shining and everything is alright for now.
This is a pic of Lake Champlain in Vermont. In the background are the mountains of New York.
'Go West, Young Man!' Not quite yet....

I'm gonna make dinner for my friends tonight. My Ma said I could make a filet with a special gorgonzola sauce. I feel kinda bad - it's Lent. She won't have any. So maybe I'll pick up some salmon instead. We'll have to see. I think that I will probably make some bacon wrapped scallops and broiled or steamed or roasted asparagus with parmesan as side dishes. And a big heaping pan of roasted rosemary potatoes.
I love cooking for people. I think it is because I love hearing the words "thank you." That probably has a lot to do with why I work in the service industry. I think it is really important to thank people for the things they do for you. I am erally big on recognition for deeds done and when I don't feel like someone has been recognized fairly it really gets under my skin. I had a roommate once that I cooked for all the time and he never thanked me once. I bought all the groceries, I made the dinner, I washed the dishes. Everything. Not a thank you once. It reached the point of hilarity. My girlfriend and I at the time would sit around and wait for him to say thank you.
Whatever. Wanna see what the view is like from my childhood window?

I'm home. Well....home in Vermont. My parents took me to see 16 blocks (skip it) and then to Outback Steakhouse. I met up with some good friends for some drinks in the fine fine city of Burlington. All the tragic characters were there: the posturing Northfacers, the reticent Hippies, the eager underagers, the girls all dressed up for each other. They all made their appearance. I was there too. Lost in the confusion of not knowing who I was anymore in this town that had reared me. A town that I had a lot of affection for because I had known no other. And I absorbed it all. I took it all in through a cloud of cigarette smoke and bourbon and beer and came out knowing that it is no longer my home. And this sentiment - a feeling that would have sent me reeling in years past - made me feel as if an anchor had been raised. That a different port was meant for me. And only time, that fickle mistress, would allow me to see my way clear to the shore.

Listening to Second Option by Thad Cockrell and Caitlin Cary

Let it be said that courtship is a clumsy endeavor if not the clumsiest. I don’t claim to be a Lothario, a Valentino, a Cyrano, a (dare I say it?) Romeo. (Why the fuck do all of the great historical lovers’ names always end in “O?” What is up with that?) I flirt. Am flirted with. Flirt around. Flirt-a-licious. Whatever. But when it comes to someone I like I am always tongue-tied. Stumbling, stammering, sputtering my way through statements until I can’t even operate. I say something and then think about it over and over again in my head until exasperated. And that’s even if I say anything at all.
I do know a couple of things however. First off - talking about an ex the first time you meet somebody is one mistake people make. that happened to me a couple night’s ago. I had just finished an enormous amount of work and I wanted to have a little bit of a quiet night. I had driven the employee van home after a 16 hour working day that lasted until 7 am through a shitload of Los Angeles traffic and the girl riding shotgun was coked -up off of her ass. Now, if you know me, you know that I don’t do coke, never have, hopefully never will. I’m not preachy about it. But if anything, this helped solidify my decision.
Please allow me a moment to re-enact her conversations/monologue/cocaine-fueled soliloquy as an indulgence:
IsitwarminhereBencanyouputupyourwindowohwaitareyouguyscoldbackthere
BencanyouputdownyourwindowGoditisreallyhardtofindsomethinggoodontheradiorightnowcananybodythinkofanything
goodtolistentodidyouseethatbillboardIneversawitbeforeAbsolutKravitzthat’sreallydumbIhateLennyKravitz
BencanyouputyourwindowbackdownagainOhitisdownnevermind
whenarewegoingtogethomeisthisreallywhatLAtrafficislikeatthistimeofthemorning?

So I think that my decision to not do Cocaine has reached a point of solidity. Anyway, where I was going before I got caught up in that little indulgence was that by the time I got back to the hotel I did not want to talk to anybody. I know, I know, hard to believe but even I need some silence sometimes. Sometimes even I have to just turn off the lights in the house on the hill and let the crickets cricket. That night, however, I was not going to be granted that little bit of solace. I got dragged out of my room by everyone that worked that night and got plunked down on a bed next to a girl that I had been flirting with for the past couple of days. She had just recently done cocaine and she began to unload a lot of personal details about her past boyfriend, her parents, her weight, etc. It was really touching. She kept on telling me that she was sure I was bored and sure I wanted to leave and sure that she was driving me crazy. I, however, was so tired of talking and yelling that I was happy to have someone to do it for me. The irony of her being coked up and opening up so suddenly was not lost on me. She made it seem charming while my co-pilot an hour earlier made it seem repulsive. Plus, she wasn’t chewing her bottom lip off like the girl in the van.
It was strange speaking with her. It was really nice and easy and I think I probably fell in love a little bit. But that falling in love was tinged with a little bit of melancholy. She repeated things that I always say out loud about marriage, and romance, and kids and life. She lamented the fact that she felt like her first love was the strongest, She told me that she always asks herself why no one wants to date a nice, pretty, funny, caring girl. And I had no answers. These were always things that I have asked myself. But in the past few months have let go. She told me about how an on-going drama that she was having with an ex-boyfriend still drove her crazy. Well.....indirectly. She went on and on about him and I felt another kinship. Whether coked-up or nervous it is pretty inadvisable to go on and on about an ex to somebody that you are interested in. She had admitted to me a few night’s earlier that she was interested (this is a different girl than the blurt “but you wouldn’t want to go to dinner girl.”). When approached by her I found myself at an impasse. And when she started talking about her experiences in Romance I felt like I really understood where she was coming from. I tried to explain how I felt about it, that I felt that you really have to let go of the longing and the need, and that if you never find somebody that’s right for you then you will have at least held yourself to a standard that was worth something. When I told her that she remarked that she was fortunate in the fact that if she didn’t find someone by the time she was in her mid-thirties she could still have a child and that would fulfill one need she believed she had.
While we spoke I felt a little bit of sadness. Sadness for her because she felt the way that I had felt for so long. That everything might be okay if you could just fine that one right person. That everything would fall into line neatly and just “click.” Sadness for myself because I saw that a little bit of the romanticism in me had died. That somewhere along the line during these past few months of my enforced celibacy and heart-policing I lost that belief. And in a lot of ways I am okay with that. I tried to tell her that it was time she needed. That it is time that lets you heal. Time helps you to get to the point where everything hurts a little less. Where everything doesn’t seem as sharp and shiny and prickly as it once did. Time shows us that sometimes the heart needs to be quiet as well. That sometimes the heart feels like it has spoken too much, has been out of bounds, and can look around the room and see that all the other hearts are sick of hearing about it. Sometimes a heart just wants to come home from a long day of work, put on a pair of jeans, pour itself a bourbon and listen to another heart unload it’s lover’s laments. Sometimes that’s enough.
But I didn’t succeed in telling her. I don’t think she was ready to listen. And at the risk of being something that I hate - an ageist - I felt like she was maybe a little too young still. So I simply laid on the hotel bed in my jeans surrounded by a dozen people coked up at 8 am with my bourbon resting on my chest and listened to someone that was a little less weary then I speak her heart. Then I went to bed alone and she ended up making out with a guy in a hot tub.

Listening to Anthems For A Seventeen Year Old Girl by Broken Social Scene

I don’t think that I am a very impulsive person at all. I can act spontaneous, improvise comically with the right people, be romantic on a whim, but when it comes to making decisions about my life and critical decisions I may be making I tend to examine and re-examine the decisions until I become frozen in indecision. Sometimes, however, I get a very strong impulse and feel like it needs to be followed. Sometimes I get a gut feeling that I can’t ignore.
Because of this I am coming home.
I woke up this morning in my hotel room in Los Angeles and just felt like it was time to come home. It has been close to two weeks at this point, in fact, just one day shy of it. I have had just about my fill of Los Angeles. Or, at least, my fill of the side that I saw. I am tired and I miss my apartment, my bed, my friends, my family, and my home. I took a shower, scrubbed my face, and decided that it was time to come home. I know that I had said that I was going to explore the possibility of auditioning or making connections while I was out there, but I know that it would have been to no avail. Los Angeles is going to have a hangover for at least two weeks after the Oscars and I don’t think that they want to be propositioned by a no-name actor from NYC. When I was in the middle of that party I had fun. I loved being busy bartending, because I was elbow deep behind a bar. I loved knowing that it would all end eventually but for the moment it was me against the masses. the fact that Carson Daly was one of those masses was comedy enough. However, home is calling. I have worked hard to make a difference in New York in my career and it is where I need to be for now. If Los Angeles comes calling one day that’s fine but for now New York is my home.
I think I may take the next few days I have off and go visit my family in Vermont or Rhode Island. Hell - maybe I will do both. I have a week. I feel like I need to renew and invigorate myself. I want to see my Ma and Pop and kiss their faces. I want to hold my niece nephews and fling them up in the air while I still can.

And it's over. My entire body aches. I just worked the largest Oscar party in Los Angeles from 10 pm until 7 am. I cameback from the mansion last night, got dragged into a hotel room by the other staff, poured myself a glass of bourbon from a REALLY expensive bottle I stole (it's only fair - I drove their van all week long without any payment or anything) and got my ear talked off by everybody who was super coked up. I put up with it as best I could and then went to bed. I was just too tired. I saw a lot of famous people last night. They all have normal sized heads. I mean physically speaking. I think I have always thought that celebrities had smaller heads. Is that weird?

Listening To Cupid by Sam Cooke

I am so tired. I have worked until the wee hours of the California morning for about a week now and tonight is going to be the hardest night of all. There has been a couple very frustrating moments for me as I look around a room filled with some powerful, if not THE most powerful people, in Hollywood and can do nothing except serve them a drink. There are people that would kill for an opportunity like I have and all I do is sit by and wait. Alas, I was not made to be overbearing. The first leg of the trip is winding down - the work part that is - and I just booked a little car on Enterprise for the remainder. The loose itinerary goes as follows:

Tuesday - Friday - stay in Los Angeles with a woman I have never met named "Cha-Cha"
Friday - Sunday - Go Down to San Diego to visit my friend Tucker for a few days maybe hit the beach.
Monday - Wednesday - I have no idea. We'll see what the week brings.

Things out here have been really good although I feel like I have never worked so hard in my life. My nails are crushed/shattered from opening so many Red Bull cans (Red Bull is disgusting by the way). My hands are cut and scraped and bleeding from nonchalantly picking up pieces of shattered glass. I've moved furniture, unclogged toilets, served food, made drinks, swept up puke, broken down boxes, taken out trash, cut bread, pureed watermelon, scrubbed fridges, sat in a freezing cold jacuzzi drunk on $100 dollar champagne and have only finished the first half of my trip.
I miss my apartment and my bed and my things. I miss my jackets and scarves and sweaters. I miss my friends and my bar in Brooklyn. I miss my family. I miss my alarm clock. Not what it does but how it does it. I miss my Bose sound dock. There are a lot of things I miss about New York. But maybe there are some things I should change. Maybe I should look beyond the city where I presently live and look at other options. After all, you are only young once.
Tonight's the Oscars. I hope Clooney wins at least one.

Listening to In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning by Frank Sinatra

Whew! I'm tired.I have been working like a dog lately. I'm not sure if I have it in me to fully delve into something that has been weighing on my mind lately. Or if anything has been weighing on my mind at all. I think I may have caught the LA virus where I portray depth but exist superficially. So, it is with great respect to this fine representation of urban sprawl that I list all of my favorite Disney films in order of preference.

1. The Sword In The Stone
2. Robin Hood
3. The Black Cauldron
4. The Great Mouse Detective
5. A Rim With A View
6. How The West Was Hung
7. Enema of The State
8. Pete's Dragon
9. Bed Knobs and Broomsticks
10. The Jungle Book

Just as a side note, I would like to add in The Secret of Nimh and The Dark Crystal as worthy additions to this list, although neither were Disney productions. Missing New York, the pizza there and all my friends.

Listening to Vampire Forest Fire by Arcade Fire

I feel tired. I was up late last night after working. I kind of got asked out on a date. I stress "kind of." It was by a woman I work with. In the middle of a conversation she just said "Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to go out to dinner when we got back to New York, but you took that joke a little too far and now we can't. That's just like an actor. Besides, that's not something you would want to do anyway, right? I mean, go out to dinner, right?"
Now - i recognize that there is a lot going on in this little scenario. I mean, disregarding the insult about actors (although my joke about offering to show that my scrotum resembles an Easter fruit basket may have been pushing it) it was such a bizarre non sequitur/insecurely asked question. I was totally lost and taken aback.
I know that there is no real easy way to ask people that you might be interested in to spend more time with you. But that was just bizarre. I bring it up because I always feel like that is the most awkward moment in relationships. I remember asking my high school sweetheart if I could kiss her while we were watching a movie on my parent's basement couch. I mean, we had been watching the movie for like 2 hours, I probably was "pitching a tent" and still too scared to make a move.
Is that part of the growing up aspect of romance? The fact that I had a girl in my basement alone, that she had said yes to that, and yet I still was afraid that she didn't want to make out with me? Well.....yes. That innocence can probably never be regained. But I still hold to the fact that I have to be hit over the head before realizing that someone is interested in me.
It's like Groucho Marx said: "Why would I want to be part of a club that would have me as a member?"
In relationships we already know how fucked up we are and how unlovable we can see ourselves sometimes. And so we are continually amazed and confused when someone is like "Hey! I'll love you. I would love to love you. In fact - I can't think of anything better than loving you, warts and all, except maybe Chipotle Mexican Grill. When faced with that prospect I am always kind of like "Wha?!?!"
That's why the people that chase us are so very often the people we run away from the fastest. Which is not to say that we should give everybody that comes down the pipeline a fair shake. Nosiree! Trust me on that one. But if we're lucky enough to meet someone that can meet us on so many levels - somebody that makes all the same turns as we do, somebody that sees something inherently lovable within us and we feel the same about them then I would say that that just about seals the deal.