Fat Kid Series--part 1

This is the first installment in my 'Fat Kid Series'. I think it's important to come to terms with, laugh at, and prevail over a once humiliating time. Former fatties, you know what I'm talkin' about! Many of you know these stories, but for those who don't I hope you enjoy and I encourage you to openly laugh at and mock my former woes.

Second grade dime.

Lunch is a favorite time for any second grader. For a fat second grader however, lunch time is more than just a favorite part of the school day; it is what you live for, dream about, its what your chubby bones work for.
Lunch time has a specific smell. Maybe it’s the smell of government subsidized meals, maybe it’s the smell of freedom and anticipation; who knows for sure. For me, it was the smell of gloriousness and this day was no different. The smells were as ripe as ever and my spirits soared.
The halls of Hebron Avenue Elementary School were congested with lines of students following their teachers, and the air was punctuated with the mumbled roar of every K-5 kid on their way to lunch. Mr. Schoen navigated our class fearlessly through this jungle of animals eagerly thumping towards their sustenance. Every man for himself, which, as a second grader, I always found awkwardly intimidating. I made my way though. My stout legs, packed full into their denim encasement, worked vigorously to keep up with the class. I always found it much easier to work this fervently when I knew there was a generous reward awaiting me.
We finally reached the cafeteria, or the “all purpose room” if you will. The irony of this room was amazing. The place that fatties were able to relax and gorge themselves with sandwich meat and French bread pizza, was the same room they were ridiculed and silently laughed at for not being able to climb the rope or do a pull up. At lunch time though, the echoes of competitive disapproval and insecurities were now replaced with those of mindless conversation and banter.
The class divided up, half going straight to the table to unwrap their brown paper bags containing a myriad of tastes, the other half forming the line. The endless line that somehow always lead you to your $1.50 prize. The lunch line was the earliest form of blue balls. You were always so close, but never quite there. Any sort of conversation I had in the lunch line was a half-assed contribution on my part. How could I hold a cohesive conversation when my thoughts were in one place and one place only.
The line was moving quickly that day. Quicker than normal. The lunch lady working the register was now in sight and only a handful of people away from me. It was time to get my money. I impatiently stuck my portly hand into the tight slit that was my pocket. After tussling around I pulled out the crumpled up dollar and change and began to count. “A dollar twenty-five. A dollar thirty. A dollar forty…hmm I‘m missing a dime.” No big deal I thought. I knew I had enough money. I counted again, “ A dollar twenty-five. A dollar thirty. A dollar forty…“ I squeezed my hand back into my pocket and began to search the constricted quarters. I knew that dime was hiding somewhere; somewhere deep, in a crevace inaccessible to my pudgy fingers. Damn these pants. Damn my fat. Damn the dime! I was now 2 people away from the register. I wouldn’t give up. Franticly trying to search the two-square inch pocket, I began to panic. The sweat forming on my hand did not help the friction between my skin and the cotton lining of my pocket. One person away from having to pay, I took an action unknown to me. I left the lunch line.
My soul sank. Embarrassed, ashamed and confused, I fought back the tears. I went to sit down justifying my lack of lunch with trite, unbelievable statements such as “I’m not hungry.” or “I don’t feel good.” Maybe I hid out in the nurses office, I don’t really remember. It was a tragic day to say the least, one that would not be forgotten.
I needed to make a change in my life. Conform my ways as to avoid any mortification of this sort again. I needed to regain my dignity and start with a fresh foot forward. Every young fat boy comes to the realization when he knows its time to make the change. This was my moment. From that day forward, every waking moment was spent wearing sweatpants. That’s right, no more skin-tight, body-hugging, unbreathable denim jeans. From then on I wore nothing but stretchy, pocket-less pants with an elastic-stretch waistband. I carried my lunch money in the security of a plastic baggy which I stored in the spacious lodgings of my backpack.
I continued to wear the stylish styles of Hanes sweatpants (sometimes accompanied by the matching sweatshirt by the way) until the kids at my sixth grade bus stop started making fun of me and asking why I wore sweat pants every day. Ten cents cost me 5 years of ignoring the current fashion trends and adding to my self-conscious feelings. But you may ask, if I could do it all over again, would I change a thing? And the answer is Yes. Yes I would.

A blog about Emily, Dom and Melissa (cuz they made me)

sometimes you meet people who force you to write a blog entry about them the next day.


I went out last night with Carolyn--which always proves to be a raucous good time. Add her crazy cohorts to the mix and you get a joyous chaos that leaves you eating skillet-grilled ham and someone else's macaroni and cheese at 4:30 am.




Emily is my new best friend. Here she is circa 1992(??) She's the one to the right of Mary Poppins with the unfortunate bowl cut and wearing a solar t-shirt. Clearly I am in love with her because, much like me, she was a fat kid who I'm sure with that haircut was mistaken for the opposite sex on multiple occasions. Now people only mistake her for a lesbian. Much improved. (I was trying to add one of the numerous lesbianic pictures that I have of Emily at my disposal...But blogger isn't being my friend and letting me do it right now.)


Dom shat himself in the womb and was born covered in poop. Fortunately he lived to tell about it. UNfortunately, I don't have a picture of it. Today is his birthday, so he used that as an excuse to make demands on people. He may be a little upset that this entire blog entry is not about him but he can deal. He also learned that he was gay when Emily gave him this very prideful rainbow bracelet.






This is Melissa. She kept walking away in order to, as she put it, "poot." She blamed her over active gas on the vegetarian/vegan diet she kept and the fact that she hadn't eaten all day. I blame it on her overactive gas problem. To her credit, we were drinking $2 pints of piss-water (Bud Light)--that'll keep anyone pooting all night.





And finally here we have Carolyn who pretty much just laughed her full-body cackle at the events of the entire evening. This may have been after Emily drunk dialed Dom's mother at 3:30 to "Thank her for conceiving and giving birth to Dom." Or maybe it was right after we over heard the bartender saying "nah, its been pretty quiet all night, except for these drunk hags..."



All in all it was a shamelessly fun night. And thus concludes the blog entry I was coerced into writing about my new friends. What kind of world do we live in where in order to make and maintain friends you have to blog about them. Maybe Carolyn is right. Maybe blog IS the new reality.....

Praise Yaweh

Praise be to Matt Saccullo for passing this along to me. If you could see me right now, you'd see me dancing like this lady.

Who is Yaweh and why should we praise him? Judging by the way she is executing this fierce choreography, he must be somethin'--but I've never heard of him. I'm not being politically incorrect or ignorant for saying that, right? I just want to know the origins of this religion. Are all believers in Yaweh required to dance to that music? Are the mumu and ill fitting hat included in the registration? These are legitimate questions that need answering. Please people, help me out here!!!

we love wasting time!

indulge me as a try to entertain myself here at work. Today is Thursday. Only Thursday?!?! are you kidding me? ugh. I still have to get through friday till I make it to the weekend? Oh, Father Time, you fickle, maniacle beast, you. Why do you forsake us? Who are you, really? In search for answers to these questions, here are some depictions of this so called "father":






Yes folks, here he is: Father Time. and he's carrying a SICKLE?! He's gonna fuck you up! What's that in his other hand, a motorcycle helmet? So what this depiction is telling me, is the force that controls the past, present and future is actually a drunken, old timey, serial-killer, biker with grizzly hair. kick ass.





Well this one makes me feel better. In this rendering, artist brian o'conner portrays father time as a rapist, eerily carrying a drunkenly passed out Mother Nature over his shoulder. I don't know about you, but i suspect foul play--look at her hanging lifelessly off his naked back. I know what you're thinking, and I have an answer that will make you smile: YES you CAN buy this painting!! For only $3,500 you can hang this picture above your bed serving as a constant reminder of the delicate balance (abduction) between nature and time.




And finally, I hand you this: An interpretation from Michael, a 4th grader in Mr. Leatty's class. Great work Michael. How ever did you come up with the idea to draw Father Time as a googley headed man with a beard, wearing a robe? Oh, and he's standing on a grandfather clock--wow, that's really clever and original, Michael. And, wait--are those more grandfather clocks floating mysteriously in the air around him? And, no...wait, yes!!! You drew colorful squares at the base of each of those floating clocks!!! How whimsical!!! Michael!!!! Your creativity is astounding! And just incase we didn't get your subtlety, you gave us "father time" sloppily crammed in at the top. douche.


I know what you're thinking. and, yes, i did do a google image search of father time. So? you're just jealous cuz you didn't think of it yourself! And so what if i have to make fun of a 4th grader's art assignment in order to feel good about myself. You're just jealous cuz you don't have a boring ass job making $20,000 a year w/ no benefits.

sigh.

Well i hope you feel you didn't waste too much of your time today perusing these random pictures of a fictional figure. It served my purpose though--its now 5:04 and I only have an hour and a half left of work.

an hour and a half...hmmm...

ok, bear with me. here's a picture of Mother Nature:





Oh boy. Fuck global warming--this bitch is why the weather has been screwy. one more drink and I think she's ready for that father time to carry her home...


And thus concludes my blog entry about Father Time and Mother Nature. Wow. We've hit a new low....i hope you enjoy it as much as i do.

YOU can cure cancer. Yeah, that's right. YOU!

My friend Will passed this message along and I wanted to keep it going into the dark trenches of the internet. William Paul Barrett is awesome and one of the kindest people I know. Clearly, I shall heed whatever advice he gives me via a myspace bulletain, as should you. Together, Will and I make up AGD--the critically acclaimed, painfully talented theatrical duo. Our comprhensive catalogue of work includes, and is limited to, "Agony", "Summer Nights" and a behind-the-scenes documentary exposing the people behind AGD. In short, A gesture of support for him and his family is a gesture of support for me. Just take a look at the link. If you're reading this blog, I'm fairly certain you have the time to click HERE. or HERE. or even HERE.

HEY FUCKO! YEAH YOU, THE ONE WITH THE SHIRT! CLICK HERE!

To all of my friends,
I just wanted to pass this along to all of you. My mom is participating in a 3 day/60 mile walk to raise funds for breast cancer research. Below is the link to a site where you can read more:

www.The3Day.org/Boston06/Lynn

My mom is walking in honor of her sister and best friend, Lynn, who passed just over two years ago after a decade-long battle with breast cancer. Lynn was a beautiful person and a warm soul who loved her family very much. I promised my mom that I would forward this website to everyone I know, and I plan on keeping that promise. Please continue to forward this on to anyone and everyone that you think might be willing to pledge their support (Donations can be very small, or as big as you want - All are welcome). It is a very important cause for my family and I. My Aunt Lynn is still very close in our hearts, and we would all like to make her proud. Again, send this to everyone who might be interested! My mom needs all the support she can get.

Thank You,
Much Love
Will

PS Corey Johnson is possibly the coolest dude I know. You should totes do anything he says and after you donate money to support my mom, you should donate money to support him.

ok. i added the PS...i don't think Will would ever say "totes"

If I ever go to court, I shall request this judge

Guilty: Judge Accused Of Using Penis Pump In Court

I realize i'm blogging like crazy today--but this cannot go unnoticed.

i really don't have much else to comment on this except: this gives me an idea....

corey goes to www.penispumps.com and orders 2. one for his apt and one for under his desk at work. no longer will he be bored at work. blog goes un-updated for months.

a movie you should see

This movie is important. Go see it.

I'm always skeptical about seeing documentaries that may have an alterior political motive (which, don't get me wrong, I support Al's political aspirations---i think it just weakens the film's point of view a little), but this movie makes you think. It makes you think in a broader, global, universal sense about our existance. I know--who really wants to think that way, right?

It's hard not to feel a little hypocritical though. I left the theater wanting to help save the world, but as I thought about my actions, I felt sad. Just 2 hours earlier, I took the advice of the concession worker and upgraded to the combo which gave me a giant ass tub of CO2- filled Diet Coke. The gas I ingested from that tub of soda which I ultimately exhaled in a series of unflattering, but satisfying burps, is enough to raise the CO2 levels some minute, but considerable percentage, which in the long run will increase the world's temperature, causing the ice shelves of Greenland and Antarctica to melt and raise the sea level 20 feet, wiping out about 60 million people. Job well done on my part.
But seriously, towards the end of the movie I felt hopeless. What's the point anyway? Then, like the fearless leader he would have been, Al said something along the lines of "People tend to go right from disbelief to despair. But there's an import step inbetween: Action." Something like that. That's so true--the movie wasn't even over yet and I had already given up. But there are simple actions everyone can take to help contribute
www.climatecrisis.net
check it out. save the world, bitch.

On another note: Do you think Al Gore is going to run in 2008? I mean, I've heard talks before, and after seeing this movie, I think he will. I wonder if he'd stand a chance by running on an environmental platform. Maybe he could get the nomination running on the environment....maaaaybe---not if Hillary has anything to do with it though. I kinda want to see a Gore/Clinton ticket. That'd be a strong-ass team.

Maybe I should turn this into a political blog. But then again, I know everyone would miss hearing about Bronwyn, my gym antics, and seeing musical theater 'mos lipsyncing to wicked.

Remember the Summer?

Once again, I have no real inspiration that warrants a blog entry, but I'm SUPER bored at work, and figured writing aimlessly until something coherent formed would be a practical way to fill my time. I wonder if I can consider myself a professional blogger since I'm getting paid $10/hr to write this. (that's right, I make $10 PER hour. As in every HOUR that I am here, I get paid 10 DOLLARS. bet ya didn't think you were reading the blog of a rich guy, huh!)

Oh! So let me fill you in on my gym experience thus far! So I've been going regularly, and I must say, I've adapted to fit into the gym-world quite easily. The first day there was a little awkward moment when I didn't know where the towels were, and the only person to ask was an old naked dude sitting on the bench near me. He kindly told me "they're out front" while subtly covering his junk. I didn't want to ask the old naked guy, but he was the only viable option.
Swimming is fantastic though. I really enjoy it--it has all the great qualities of running, sans the suckiness and stress on the joints. It's relaxing and if I imagine hard enough, I can transport myself back to those care-free summer days swimming under the steamy July sun.

Those were the days, my friends, those were the days: when the biggest problem you faced, had to do with being scared to go in the pool shirtless (I think only the former-fatties can relate to that). Think about what a sweet deal being a kid is--especially during the summer. Days upon days of having NOTHING to do but chill out in a pool, make up games, and play sports (I didn't really enjoy the latter option, but some of you out there may have, and I wanted to give an example that would include you too.) My sister, Katie, and I would spend most of our time playing with Nicky and Julie who lived 3 houses down. We would make up games such as, "Mansion", which was an elaborate version of "House". This is what you get when you spend most of your time playing with girls (all 3 of whom could have prolly kicked my ass) I don't really recall if we did much more than declare "let's play Mansion" and talk about who we were. The game would most always end abruptly with someone running home in tears--but magically, much like a Saved By The Bell episode, all our troubles would be forgotten by dinner time. It was those endlessly warm nights when your parents forgot about your bed-time, mixed with the long days inbetween that made summer what it was.
I don't think I really took full advantage of my childhood summers. Sure I did fun things--went boating, swimming, played mansion, etc. but for some reason, I feel like I could have enjoyed everything more, or not taken it for granted. You don't realize as a kid that 2 months of getting to sleep in late and not having any real responsibility whatsoever isn't the norm. There's no way to know that really though, is there?
As a kid, I always wanted to be grown up. I always knew I was going to move to NYC and be an actor and live my dream--but now that I'm there, I kinda wish I could go back to being a fat kid, swimming in his shirt, with a sandwich and chips waiting for me on the deck.
Can I just take 2 months off to do with what I please? Probably not--well at least not until I've saved up enough money to backpack through Europe. Until then, I will have to settle for the 1/2 hour I get in the pool, swimming laps with strangers--pretending they're Nicky, Julie and Katie beating me in a race. Convincing myself there will be a ham and cheese sandwich waiting for me when I get out.

The point of the story is 2-fold:
1st fold. I must learn to find those youthful simplicities now amidst all these "rules" and "responsibilities". 15 years from now I do not want to be writing a blog entry saying "I wish I hadn't taken my mid-twenties for granted "
2nd fold. I've been swimming 3 times already and I STILL don't have a swimmers body. wtf?!

Update on the shenanigans of 5C

So I come home tonight, climb the stairs, reach the fifth floor, but instead of finding a clear path to my apartment door, I see a pile of crap. Not feces, but someone's actual belongings: a big blue duffel bag stuffed with clothes, a backpack, Chinese food leftovers in a half open Styrofoam box and a gateway laptop--all hastily piled in our tiny little hallway. Clearly there has been more drama in 5C!!

I step over the shit and fumble with my keys, desperately trying to get in my apartment before having to deal with whoever's shit this is. I almost make it. I'm searching for the right key, when all of a sudden, my door slowly and kinda creepily opens for me--like magic. My roommate Courtney was standing at the door trying to get a glimpse of the action and saw me struggling. I step in my apartment as the dude (I'm assuming the one who doesn't know why he lives there) opens his door and comes out. If I wasn't so disoriented and confused, I could have taken a leisurely time to look around in hopes of seeing a disheveled apartment, or someone in tears. At this point, though, it was too late.

When I get in the door and take off my ipod, Courtney gives me the rundown.

According to Courtney:

-The dude comes home and there is some arguing.

-Bronwyn asks, "Are you DRUNK?"

-a slap is heard.

We are not certain who received the slap and who delivered it.

-The old lady staying with them screams a bit

(apparently Courtney has mingled with Bronwyn on occasion and learned that the dude's mom was staying with them for a while)
-More arguing.
-Door opens and he starts throwing his stuff in the hallway.

By the time I get the order of events and take another look out the peephole, all the stuff in the hallway is gone. The whirlwind had passed, and left in it's wake... A broken home.

Maybe I should go over and see if Bronwyn needs some comforting; a shoulder to cry on, or hug. Maybe I'll just let the mother-in-law take care of that and go to bed

NYSC

I joined a gym. New York Sports Club. I'm really excited because they have a pool, and I enjoy swimming, so for me, it's the perfect workout.

I've never belonged to a gym before. Never had the time, the will, or the desire. I was perfectly content wishing and praying really hard for a better body. However, I have reached the point where wishing and praying is taking up too much time with too few results.

Some of my friends are a little alarmed that I joined the gym. I've never been the gym "type." I was a sweat pants-wearing fat kid who went on to become vice president and co-founder of The Fat Club. Fat Club members just don't go to the gym; they just don't. Fat club members watch TV. However, I feel that in this day and age, Fat Club members can coincide with gym members. It's time to bridge that gap...and hope the bridge doesn't collapse when we walk over it. We live in exciting times.

I must say, though, along with the excitement of this new adventure, comes some hesitation and nervousness. The gym is like its own separate community with its own separate rules and lingo. The only rules and lingo I'm accustomed to have to do with the all-you-can-eat pasta special at The Olive Garden. I don't know the first thing about gym etiquette.

1. Do I shower naked? I don't know if you have your own stall or if you're out there flappin' in the communal breeze. I don't want to be the loser whose uncomfortable with his nakedness and wears a bathing suit. In turn, I do not want to be the weirdo who showers naked.

2. Do I shower before I go into the pool or just after?

3. If I do shower before I go into the pool, do I shower naked or in my bathing suit?

agh. There are so many variables.

It's pretty much the whole shower thing that gets me. That and the logistics of how to get where I need to be. I don't want to get lost on my way to the pool and end up standing over by the free weights looking confused and disoriented, while wearing my bathing suit, swim cap and goggles, dripping all over some dude's 50 lb dumbbells cuz I thought I had to take a pre-shower. That's just embarrassing.

In any case, I have a lane reservation for Friday afternoon, so we shall see what the outcome will be. I'm fairly certain it will be slightly akin to that of a Seinfeld episode.

Boredom + Randomness

So I've been under some pressure from a few of my devoted readers (I think I'm up to 4 now?) to update this thing.

The problem is that in lieu of inspiration, my creativity is overwhelmingly being drowned in boredom. But, as they say, the blog must go on. ( I really don't know who says that...But maybe "they" will start saying it now) So anyway, here is a collection of random thoughts:

--Looking for apartments is arduous. I've only looked at one and already I'm over it. There are so many crazies out there who just decide to get into the real estate game. This one apartment my roommate Courtney and I looked at today was totes redic. This crazy guy Mark who had bleached eyebrows and was wearing a "white house staff" t-shirt decided to turn this house in Astoria into 3 separate apartments. Basically he wanted to cram as many people in there as possible so he could get as much money as possible. After walking 25 minutes from the subway, we get to the house and are forced to wait in the hall as he talks for 5 minutes to another tenant. After he finished up with the call, he tries to explain to us the situation with the other tenant--but clearly it didn't make sense--he's crazy. He told us he was in the process of installing spiral staircases into the basement where there would be two bedrooms. two musty, windowless, cement bedrooms. The place had a "back yard" consisting of a dirt road, cement wheelchair ramp, and a rolled up chain link fence. and the price was $1900/month. No thanks, Mark, I think we'll pass.

--I'm gonna be a Soap Star. Well at least my back is. I did extra work on One Life To Live this week. It was actually really fun and quick and easy. The scene took place in Rodi's Bar and I got to fake drink fake beer and eat tostidos as quietly as possible. If you've worked on a soap before, you know how fucking fast they go. most films shoot 2-3 pages of script a day. Soaps shoot 60-80 pages a day. its crazy--they get up on set, block the scene with all the cameras, then shoot. The directors and stage managers are talking on top of each other and as an extra your job is to be there and not get in the way, which is why it was horribly awkward and hilarious when one of the extras got screamed at for blocking one of the actors. It was even funnier and a little more awkward because it was indirectly my fault she was in the way. whoops.

--Do you guys remember the phrase "I don't give!"? I used that ALL the time as kid. I think it stems from "I don't give a shit" and was shortened when swearing was still way too bad to do. For example: "You didn't do your homework?" "um, doi! I don't give! it was stupid" **"doi" is slang for "duh", which was also popular in my elementary years

--I think it's super awkward when you're sitting on the subway infront of one of the maps and someone comes over to read it. I lean forward a little bit, but try to make it look like I'm not inconvenienced at all; but really, I am inconvenienced. I'm sitting there trying not to move as strangers are leaning over me with their crotches and fanny packs in my face. I don't want to get up because then they'd feel bad they made me give up my seat. I don't want to be in their way. I'm caught in the middle. I pretend like everything is normal and fine, but really I'm thinking "ugh, are you done yet? hurry the fuck up." It's really not that big a deal--but those 20 seconds your personal bubble is popped and oozing out all over the subway, you can't think about anything else.

--one of my co-workers is crazy. Like mood swings-talks to himself loudly-sends wired, irrelevant emails-throws things on the ground-crazy. I get nervous when he talks to me.

2006 Tony's

My favorite part of the 2006 Tony's had to be the super-ridiculous Hal Prince tribute. This man has won like 20-something Tony's, so to add to his life-time achievement award, they decided to honor him with character tableaus of each of his shows followed by a performance from The Phantom of the Opera.

At first I couldn't tell if these"tableau-people" were real or not. I quickly learned they were very real. They were standing there in full costume, not moving, and as Brian Stokes Mitchell went down the line announcing each title, they came to life in a pose depicting the basic gist or theme of that show (the creative team behind this montage should be given a special Tony for retardation) They started out with West Side Story and had the Jets and Sharks pop into a standard, mean/gay-looking "fight" pose. The Fiddler on the Roof pose consisted of a Tevye and Golde standing next to each other looking like sad, desolate Jews, Golde holding a pot and stirring it's imaginary contents. The lady playing Evita in the Evita pose was out of control! You could tell she was SUPER psyched when she got that call from her agent and she was gonna give the "don't cry for me Argentina" pose every ounce of gusto she had.

After all the titles were announced and the Poses set, the guy currently playing the Phantom walked out to sing Music of the Night. Now, this dude sings that same exact song 8 times a week. He should be all set, right? Well, actually no. The weird cut of this song went a little something like this:

to the tune of Music of the Night...

"Slowly, Softly, Night unfurls is splendor"

awkward silence. awkward silence. panic. figuring out what the orchestra is playing. panic. awkward arm sweeping motion.

Loud and bold, as if nothing was wrong,
"HELPLESS TO RESIST THE NOTES I WRITE. For I compose the music of....The niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight"

End Song. 30 seconds altogether--15 of which were confusing and embarrassing

This just confirms that when I was a kid, and convinced that I could play the Phantom on Broadway--I was actually right. I used to laugh at my immature thoughts, but after that Phantom phoned in the performance comparable to that of a fat 8 year old's...I humbly stand corrected.

An open letter AND "Bangs are for ladies, Clay"

Dear cracked out lady standing outside my building last night at 2 am:

No. I do not want to buy a dresser drawer.

Respectfully yours,

Corey


on another note: I saw Kathy Griffin's stand up show last night! I fucking love that bitch!

Highlights of her show:

American Idol:
allegedly Clay Aiken is an aggressive top.

Seacrest got bitchy and hung up on her in a phone interview (I think there's a clip in the message boards on her website www.kathygriffin.net)

Oprah:
Having James Frey on her show was a bit overboard. Really, it was just to get the message out that "You. Do. Not. Fuck. With. Oprah."

Rufees:
"I never go on dates with out rufees. Sometimes I rufee myself. I wake up the next morning and think 'shit, did I Fuck myself last night? Yeah. I was good' "

Entertaining the Troops overseas:

Kuwait smells like a giant fart. "You can't get away from it. Open a window: fart. Turn on the air: fart. It's like Allah lifted up his leg and farted over the whole country."

So there ya have it. 2 posts in one. I'm efficient.

A (not so short) short story

The train ride from New York to Waterbury, CT is not glamorous. Metronorth is uncomfortable, smells of urine and I don't know who designed the inside--but they should be shot. Dark navy blue, maroon and puke brown? really?! That's the color scheme you come up with?

Going into New Haven isn't too bad. It's pretty much a straight-1 hour 45 min-shot. Sure it's crowded, sure, you don't necessarily know if the guy next to you farted, but whatevs. Put on your ipod, hold your breath and deal with it. Taking the train to Waterbury, however, is a bit more complicated. You have to transfer at Bridgeport and get on another, much smaller, smellier train, where the people are louder, bigger and trashier. I don't say that to be mean--its the truth. There is always at least one grizzly drunk dude wearing a stained tank top and carrying whats left of his six pack, roaming up and down the aisle. It's pleasant.

As if this miserable ride weren't normally enough--this past weekend I got an extra little treat. We were rolling along from Naugatuck, onward towards Waterbury, our final destination....FINALLY. The train comes to a stop and we sit and wait. Living in NYC, this doesn't phase me--I ride the subway every day, and this is nothing out of the norm.

Last Friday, as you may recall if you live in the northeast, was filled with torrential downpours. As we were sitting there, I looked out the window and noticed the muddy brown river the train tracks run next to was angry and woeful and had risen well above its normal level. Milk jugs and other accoutrements of trashiness were being violently tossed downstream. As we continued waiting, my concern was growing.

After about 10 minutes of waiting, the conductor comes on the speaker announcing that the river had washed out the tracks ahead and we couldn't get by.

WHAT? Are you kidding me? What is this, the fucking Oregon Trail? FORGE THAT SHIT!
ugh. So we had to go back to Naugatuck. Fine, whatever, just get me off this train.
We reverse direction and start retracing our path. As I was on the phone with my mom telling her she had to drive to pick me up in Naugatuck, the train stops again.

Fuck me. Yep, you guessed it, the track was now washed out on the other side as well. We were stuck. There I was, trapped inside the vomitous train car with all these other people...Who, at this point, were all talking on their nextel walkie talkies as their children were swinging from the luggage rack. Good times indeed.

While I was slouching in my seat, listening to my ipod, this tall, brutish man walks into the train compartment. He was about 6'3", with unwashed blonde hair down to his shoulders. He was a cross between fabio and dirt.
"Hey everyone, my name is Mike and I'm a fireman from the next town over."
He would be ruggedly attractive, if it weren't for his aura of scuz .
"I know, I don't look like a fireman with my long hair..."
The people on the train laugh as he smiles and pats a small boy on the head in an overly cliched 'everything is gonna be ok, I'm here to help, I'm a fireman' sort of way.
"So the conductors are checking things out right now, but stay calm, everything will be ok. I was just wondering if there were any doctors on board, or anyone with medical experience. I'm just trying to get an idea incase anyone is hurt, or needs anything"
No one responds.
"Ok, if anyone has any problems like asthma or diabetes, let me know" And then as he left everyone in the train gave him a collective "Thank you!" sounding all grateful and appreciative.

I did not say thank you. This guy had been waiting his whole life, watching Steven segal and Harrison ford movies, training for something like this. I saw right through his "I'm a fucking hero" act. Yeah, the thought is nice...I guess....But its a fucking train that's not moving. There was a road and civilization like 1/4 mile away. It wasn't even raining anymore. There was absolutely no danger in this situation what so ever and he's trouncing through this train like he's on a mission to stop some Iraqi insurgent from driving it into the white house.

A few more minutes go by and I see that people are starting to get off the train and walk. Great. Walking. My favorite thing to do. I file in with everyone else as they head to the door. Of course our friend is there, eagerly helping people with the 3 foot jump off the train. I made it a point to jump and land before he could touch me.

I started the journey towards Naugatuck and easily crossed the 3 inch trickling river which would have caused the train to derail. I put in my ipod and tried thinking of positive side of all this:
1. I've never walked along a train track before. I felt like a refugee--not that being a refugee is a positive thing, but in this non-threatening situation, I was able to get the cool image of being a refugee without any of the hardship, despair and pain.

that was really it. I couldn't think of any other positive aspect.

As I'm walking a long the track (which became a little challenge in itself.) I heard someone running up behind me. Before I could even turn around to see who it was, Mike, our hero, trots up next to me.

"hey, just make sure if it gets dark, you stay with the group."

I gave him a look that read "you don't impress me, douche bag. Keep running." and continued on my way. He kept running ahead of me, awkwardly trying not to trip or sprain his ankle, spreading this crucial message to the rest of the group.

The whole journey along the tracks didn't take more than 25 minutes. Not a big deal. While on the last stretch towards Naugatuck I came upon Mike one last time. He was standing in front of a bridge with his shirt off talking on his cell phone. You couldn't fucking wait to brag to your lame friends about how you "saved the day"? The job wasn't even finished yet and you're lounging out, shirtless, by the train tracks! If you're gonna play hero, fucking commit, man!

I finally got to Naugatuck where my mommy was waiting for me (I can say mommy and get away with it cuz I just proved my manliness by surviving this near-death train crash). And that was it. Nothing really too eventful--just a pain in the ass. I wonder if metro north will give Mike an honorary medal or something. He deserves one.

random thing that amused me tonight:

coming into my apartment tonight there is a sheet of paper ductaped to my neighbor's door which reads, in angry handwriting, "DON'T COME IN UNLESS YOU KNOW WHY YOU LIVE HERE!"

DRAMA IN 5C!!!

i only really know the woman who lives there, Bronwyn, but just barely. we've only been introduced once, and casually ran into each other twice. I've actually never seen her husband/boyfriend/dudewholivesthere. Apparently though, Bronwyn was an-gry! i mean she put up that note, didn't she?! at least, i'm assuming it was her. maybe it was him. that would be a fun turn of events.

Either way, twice now i've gotten up to peek out the peep hole hoping to catch a glimpse of some doorway confontation--see him violently rip the note down or just standing there in tears or something. anything really.

nothin' though. whoever was there left before i got to the door. ugh.

Strangers with candy!!

So i went to a screening of this last night and it's amazing! It opens on June 28th in NYC and you should go see it.





Almost as cool as the movie was the after-party. Open bar, buffet and gift bags. It doesn't get much better than that folks. I felt like Kathy Griffin. it was a total d-list party. The only drinks for free were Stoli and Bud light, the buffet consisted of rolls, cheese, pasta and little sandwiches, and the gift bag was just wierd. altoids, tylenol pm, time out ny, and a collection of post cards with hot, half-naked guys on them. i loved every second of it! Sans the awkward 15 minute conversation my friend jeff and i were forced into when these two douchy guys came to talk to us. His pick up line to jeff: "are you a film maker?" the rest of the conversation was painfully awkward. Jeff told him his name was Liam and I declared I was from New Orleans. He asked for Jeff's screen name to which he replied "my computer's broken." Ya know, its really hard being this attractive. Sometimes i just want privacy.

the ethics of blogging

This is the comment i recieved after writing the commentary on the defying gravity lip synching video:

Hi there, this is the he.(she)? in the video Defying Gravity!! Wow...first of
all thanks for writing a blog about me!! that's really cool! Yes some might
say to do it in the privacy of my own home and then burn the tape!! but
life's to short to burn tapes!!! this video goes out to anyone who did the
same thing and was to embarassed...!! Just DO IT! Thanks again for the blog!
and PS...I'm a guy!

um. okay.

Not gonna lie, this took me by surprise. First of all, who knew people could track you down if you take their clip on youtube. i mean, it makes sense, i just never thought of it.

Secondly-- i openly mocked that video calling it "embarassing", "tingly", "a monstrosity", "priceless", "lame", "crazy", and "great fodder for my blog", not to mention my running joke about the ambiguity of his sex: and he doesn't seem to care!

Me, being the kind, good natured boy who believes in the innate goodness of people, felt badly and I took some time to reflect on the ethical questions of having a blog. After those five minutes of deep thought, I came to a few conclusions:

1. my blog is reaching into the deep corners of the cyber-world--well beyond my intended 2 readers (holla at ya Courtney and Beneatha!!!)

2. who am I to openly mock a fellow human being and post it for all the world to see?

3. I shouldn't post any more videos of people singing/dancing/lip synching/doing other things that are funny and embarassing to themselves.

after coming to those conclusions, I then pondered some more:

4. wait a minute--THEY'RE the ones that are putting it up there to share

5. (after re-reading his comment) he's PROUD of his video

re-examining my initial conclusions:

6. yes, my blog still is reaching out to the depths of cyber-space---that conclusion is happily un-changed.

7. who am i to openly mock a fellow human being? Well i was a fat kid who battled the torment of elementary and middle school--so i do have somewhat of a right. but more importantly--i'm NOT mocking. People videotape and post these videos willingingly and are proud of them--so who am I to deny the world of their work?

8. It is the duty of this blog to post more videos of people singing/dancing/lip synching/doing other things that are funny and embarassing to themselves. No more will their hours of preperation, filming and editing go unnoticed.

In conclusion--Josh: I thank you tremendously for finding this blog, and writing your comment! And you keep doin' what you're doin' man! I think we should all heed Josh's advice and "just DO it"--meaning make our own videos and post them on youtube. Seriously--make your own video and i'll put it on this blog and then write about you. who wouldn't want that?

PS. Josh--i apologize for not knowing if you were a boy or girl. i know that pain: one time when i was fat and in need of a haircut, my mom and i went to a chinese restaurant and the waitress asked my mom "is this your daughter?" i tried to awkwardly laugh it off...but i'm pretty sure i cried. in hindsight though, isn't me mistaking you for a girl a compliment? it means that you you were totally transformed in what you were doing. no? i'm an ass? ok.

a short list of things that are pissing me off:

1. the fact that it is a painful 86-unairconditioned-degrees in my office and the simple, non-energy-asserting act of sitting at my desk is making me sweat.

2. in a moment of drunken retardation this weekend, i threw out my last pair of contact lenses.

3. I was really hoping they'd get us Cosi for lunch today at work...but we got pizza. don't get me wrong, it was good pizza and it was free--i was just looking foward to a sandwich.

Defying heterosexuality

ugh. damn you blogger. I wrote a hilarious post...Which to the dismay of me and my readers (all two of them--what up mom and her friend from work!) was erased. So I'll have to rewrite it...it WON'T be as funny though. Really. The other one was insanely funny. I peed twice while writing it.

ANYWAY. In an attempt to find something as embarrassing as the two queens singing wicked in a parking lot--I scoured youtube for something equally tingly (tingly is a word my friend Lindsey introduced me to describing that feeling you get when you're super embarrassed for someone else.) After some time, and some excellent possibilities, I settled on this monstrosity. Granted, it's not AS funny as our two friends who give gays and musical theater a bad name, this is still pretty priceless. I think I blew my comedy wad by posting the other video first, but whatever. This guy (or is it a girl, I'm not really sure) is AMAZING.



Now what gets me in this video, isn't the fact that he (or she?) is so into it he (or she?) actually believes they're on stage at the Gershwin. It's the fact that he (or she?) is SO into it, he (or she?) took the time to pick out a dress in his (her?) mom's closet, find a black wig from the Halloween box in the attic, rummage through all the make up in the house so he (she?) could cover his (her?) face in green eye shadow, and then paint pointy eyebrows (seriously, that's at least a 45 minute make up job). And that was just pre-production. He/She THEN spent at least an hour setting up the camera and making sure the lighting was good. rigging the stereo and cuing the CD to the right spot, followed by a couple good hours of filming. The post production then consisted of choosing the best shots and EDITING them together and synching up the sound. Now that is crazy as it is, but this guy/girl is a professional. for him/her, the plain video will not suffice. No. He/she needs computerized credits introducing him. her.

I am not one to judge. I did some pretty lame things as a kid (including, but not limited to: turning my sun room into a theater by rigging a curtain using fishing line, bed sheets, and duct tape; and dancing to Janet Jackson in my driveway as my mom secretly watched from my bedroom window.) BUT in no way would I EVER videotape this and post it for the whole world to see! C'mon dude, show some class! This is shit you do in the privacy of your own home, when no one is there. if you DO make a video of it, you destroy it. Clearly. ugh. When will these kids learn.

in the meantime I can't really complain, its giving me great fodder for my blog.

i am NOT a barista

i don't get it. we have a nice big coffee machine in our little office-kitchenette that looks to be quite easy-to-use. ("looks to be" being the key phrase in that sentence.) all you have to do is put in a filter, open and pour in a packet of Dunkin' Donuts coffee (conveniently measured to the right amount), place the whosewhatzit back in the machine and click the "brew" button. easy enough, right? well why is it, then, whenever i "brew" the coffee myself it comes out tasting like unshowered ass?! and i mean like EVERY time i make it. what am i doing wrong here?! there is not that much room for error--they designed it to be that way.

jon suggested maybe it is the water that is funky. i disagree. although jon knows his coffee and the mechanics of brewing it, i have a feeling he's trying to comfort me, because it tastes fine whenever someone else makes it--and i've watched them do it too, so i know they're not doing anything different.

granted its not really that big a deal; i don't have any aspirations to work at starbucks or some trendy cafe. but it would just be nice to be able to brew a decent cup of dunkin' donuts bagged coffee that I can be proud of and share with the rest of my co-workers on the 9th floor. but no, i'm not proud. i'm embarrassed. and after i taste my god-awful concauction, i have to run away in fear of people coming after me because they think that instead of brewing coffee, i took a shit in the coffee pot, poured boiling water over it, and stirred it with a spoon...

as if my life wasn't filled with enough rejection, now the god damned coffee machine has to assert its power over me and tell me "NO." fine. i'm ok with that. from here on out i WILL NOT make coffee. if the pot is empty, i will drink tea.

on a happier note--one of my supervisors gave my co-worker and i $10 to go buy candy (my job is really demanding). we spent all $10, clearly, on peanut m&m's, rolos, and the assorment bag of hershy's, krackle and mr. goodbar. Candy is good to me. Candy won't reject me. Candy loves me.