poor clay aiken...

I had an hour to kill before Project Runway came on last night, and lo and behold who was on Larry King Live? Clay Aiken. Perfect. An hour of hilarious entertainment prior to the entertainment that is Project Runway! I don't follow Clay's career. I really only know that one awful song:

If I was invisible
Then I could just watch you in your room
If I was invincible
I'd make you mine tonight
If hearts were unbreakable
Then I can just tell you where I stand
I would be the smartest man
If I was invisible
(Wait..I already am)

Oh Clay; you and your non-gender-specific pronouns and stalker-like phrases.

From watching this Larry King interview, I've deduced that in 20 years Clay Aiken will be the new Robert Blake. Some ex-celebrity who is now back in the lime light because he cracked and killed his wife. I fear our beloved Clay is on that path.

He was talking about being depressed and having panic attacks and all that fun stuff he goes through "due to his fame". Larry asked him, "What do you think causes these panic attacks?" To which Clay replied, "I'm crazy..." Then laughed it off cuz he's "not really crazy," haha, no he's "being funny," ha, and he's "joking about it."haha....ha...... oh boy.

One of the viewer questions was something like, "Clay, how come that one song you wrote didn't end up on the album?" Clay answered the question by explaining this was the first time he ever was asked to write lyrics for a song, and he didn't really know what he was doing. He sat down and wrote this song, and he really liked it. Unfortunately "it was a little too depressing for the rest of the album." He laughed again because, see, haha "it's funny that he's depressed," haha and "it's not a serious problem or anything," nooo hahaha.. and don't worry fans, "he loves what he does."haha...ha...... ooooh boy.

the lyrics he wrote can't have been more depressing than, "if I was invisible, wait. I already am"? can they? right??? oooooh boooooy.
Good luck to ya Clay.

I think that the entertainment industry is so fucked up that if you don't have a sense of yourself and hold on to that, you are screwed. It's hard to separate who you are versus the product that these record companies and corporate executives are trying to sell. They're selling this packaged, wholesome, yet sexy, good Christian boy image that lets 40 year old housewives and their closeted sons fantasize over him sans guilt.

It's a lot of pressure, sure. But this is your life Clay Aiken!! If you aren't happy doing what you get paid millions of dollars to do, you got to be strong and stand up for what you want and what you believe to be true! You are NOT invisible! NO! Let your voice be heard, Clay! Sing Out! Loud and Proud!

Ok. That's about all the energy I'm willing to exert into dissecting the life of Clay Aiken. I've done my part; now I can sit back and laugh without feeling guilty as Kathy Griffin makes fun of how his concerts are the gayest thing on earth.

Is this racist?

When I was in elementary school, all the 5th graders went to a place called Nature's Classroom. "Nature's Classroom is a unique educational experience for students and their teachers, offering the very best in environmental education." Translation: you leave school and go to sleepover camp for 5 days, dissect things and play games in the woods. It was pretty rad if you ask me.

Now I haven't thought about Nature's Classroom in the longest time. Until this weekend that is. I was at my friend Kate's cabin in Moosup, CT when my memory was sparked. It was dark, and a group of us were blindly making our way through the the woods back towards the cabin, desperately trying not to sprain an ankle or run into a barbed wire fence of some sort. I made an off-color comment to my friend Mike along the lines of, "wow, this must have been what it was like to be a slave in the underground railroad" and all of a sudden my memory was sparked: the Nature's Classroom people made us play a game called RUNAWAY SLAVE.

I shit you not. Did anybody experience this? Any Hebron Ave Elementary School alumni out there?

I had completely forgotten about this peculiar activity until that moment, but oh, how the memories came flooding back. The counselors at this "educational retreat" split all of us up into small groups, "families" if you will, told us that we had just escaped and were running to freedom and sent us off into the woods to hide. These counselors, probably in their early twenties, were the "bounty hunters" and came after us. It was kind of like Hide and Seek, except when a Bounty Hunter found you, you could stand still and be "invisible" to them--the theory behind this was since we were pretending that our skin matched the blackness of the night, we were able blend in seamlessly...As long as we didn't move and kept our eyes closed. The other details are semi-fuzzy. I remember some sort of jail, and there must have been a home base of sorts--a Harriet Tubman house or Mason Dixon line--not really sure. I also vaguely remember the bounty hunters carrying big sticks.

I can't tell if a bunch of very white, very middle class 5th graders running through the woods pretending to be slaves is ridiculous or ridiculously awesome. I mean, they didn't put us in black face or anything, and to my recollection no one dropped the N-bomb. There was some definite role playing though. When a bounty hunter captured you, they were not friendly. Oh no. They played their role the best they legally could: making you crawl on the frozen ground, or stand silently in the jail until you were rescued. It was loads of fun. I'm fairly certain we convinced them to let us play it again at the end of the week.

I took a little trip back to Nature's Classroom via the internet and whilst tooling around I was surprised at a) how out of date the pictures are and b) how they now call this wonderful game The Underground Railroad. Is this their attempt at being more PC? Now, its possible this was the name of the game all along. Maybe I'm merely projecting the more inappropriate title upon my memory in order to create a more interesting blog entry, but I really don't think so. I'm pretty sure they called it Runaway Slave.

Bravo to Nature's Classroom for bringing suburban white kids one step closer to understanding the struggle and history of the African American slave.

Tony Blair to resign as Prime Minister within a year

In a resignation letter of his own, Tom Watson, a junior defense minister had this to say to Blair:

"It is with the greatest sadness that I have to say that I no longer believe
that your remaining in office is in the interest of either the party or the
country. I share the view of the overwhelming majority of the party and the
country that the only way the party and the government can renew itself in
office is urgently to renew its leadership."

In response to Former Junior Defense Minister Tom Watson's letter to Prime Minister Tony Blair, I shall write an open letter to Former Junior Defense Minister Tom Watson:

Dear Former Junior Defense Minister Tom Watson:

So, you wanna come over here and write a letter to our president? You don't even have to write a new letter, you can just change
around some names in the one you already wrote. If you're too busy, or whatever, I can change it around for you. I just don't have a fancy title like you do, so if I wrote a letter, I don't think anyone important (the president) would read it. Unlike you, I don't think he reads my blog, so I can't rely on that as a means to reach him. Let me know what your thoughts are on this issue. We could use your persuasive influence.

Sincerely,
Sir Corey W. Johnson (I'm not really a sir....I just added it for effect)

I'll let you all know when he responds to me!!

Endorsements

I, Corey Johnson, as editor-in-chief/CEO/President/and Lord High Priestess of Umm...i didn't know i was starting a blog, would like to endorse the following things:

REBECCA DRYSDALE: One Woman in Several Pieces


Named by Variety as one of "the top 10 comics to watch" this woman is making waves. At least I think so. Her show is a mix of several vignettes that range in style from low-brow sketch, to limit-pushing, issue driven satire. The conglomeration of material gives a sense of who this young comedian is, and what she has to say. With songs titled, "when can we make fun of 9/11" and a rap comprised solely from 3 words--one of which being 'nigga', this show puts issues on the table people normally shy away from. Drysdale forces her audience to look at what makes them uncomfortable and dissect it a new light--a comedic light. I believe laughter is a common denominator between people, so what better way to discuss and examine issues that affect us all?

Rebecca Drysdale: one woman in several pieces
plays at the UCB Theater for only one more performance.
This Friday, August 25th at 8pm, $8
www.ucbtheater.com


LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE

Go see this movie. That's really all there is to it. One of the best films of the year, it is a heartwarming, hilarious, story that is superbly written with across-the-board brilliant, touching performances. Toni Collette, Steve Carell, Greg Kinnear, Paul Dano, Abigail Breslin, and Alan Arkin = magic. Cinematic magic.

I don't know how many theaters it is playing in right now, but it is worth the research and a 2 hour drive. Yes...A 2 hour drive...Even with the price of gas.

HUMMUS


OK. So i know that hummus is no secret and nothing new...In fact I've been eating for years. But its so god damn good people, i must endorse it. If you have never had hummus, A. i would like to know who you are. And B. Please go out and buy it. i suggest Tribe of Two Shields Roasted Red Pepper or (my newly found favorite) Scallion. Goes best with wheat thins. Seriously, its the perfect snack--or in some cases, breakfast.





REGINA SPEKTOR'S 'BEGIN TO HOPE'




If I was crafty and blogger-savvy enough, I would figure out a way to upload some sample songs so you could hear the magnificence of this album. Its quirky, folky, poetic, bold and diverse. Go to her Myspace page and take a gander. Can you take a gander at music? I don't really know what the phrase 'take a gander' actually means...disregard. Listen to the album. ALSO she is playing here in NYC at Town Hall on September 27th--who wants to go?? More importantly, who will buy my ticket??





NOW FOR SOME THINGS THIS BLOG DOES NOT ENDORSE:




Paris Hilton's new self-titled album


I haven't listened to this. I don't ever really want to. And I don't think we should add to this ho's wallet by shelling out $10 on itunes to listen to her try to sound sexy.

"I, like, cry, when I listen to it, it's so good." She says talking up her debut album, Paris, to Blender magazine.

So do we Paris. so. do. we.





THIS KID IN MY OFFICE

For annonyminity (sp?) sake, I'm using this stick figure in lieu of an actual photograph.

He totally snubbed me just now when i was walking to the bathroom. As I opened the door to the stairwell i said, "Hey, how's it goin'?" He looked me up and down and kept on walking completely ignoring my very casual, benevolent greeting. Ew. Who do you think you are? done and done. i DO NOT endorse him

brilliance

Sometimes when I feel the need to update this thing, but have nothing specific to say, I just start writing and something magically appears. We all know how that turns out: Random ass ramblings and Google images of Father Time....oh boy. This post will not turn out that way. No. This uninspired rant will be brilliant. It will change the way you think about your meaningless life. It will give meaning to the way you think. I might go so far as to say it will be gold. Pure. Orgasmic. Fart-ripping gold.

are you ready?

I'm gonna go ahead and answer that for you: I don't think you are. I don't think you're ready for what is about to astound you. I don't think you are nearly in the right frame of mind to laugh as hard as you will laugh, or to shed the salty tears you will cry. My words will seep deep into your black soul and enrich it with bursts of colors unimaginable to the petty human eye. Will you be able to handle that? I don't know. That's not for me to decide. What I do know is that I will touch you. I will touch you in places you haven't been touched in for quite some time--those dark, trenchy places you've been waiting for someone to unlock for years upon years. This blog holds the key--are you willing to open that endless treasure of suppressed emotion?

You and your pessimism. Don't think I don't know what you're saying, "What treasure is he talking about?" "This is weird." and "Can I ever get this time back?" Go fuck yourself. With a pitchfork. You people and your lies. You disgust me.

I'm sorry. That....that was uncalled for. Please keep reading. I promise you the most glorious, awe-inspiring, sensational reward you can imagine. What you are about to read will affect you in a way that makes God looking you in the eye telling you your His most glorious creation seem as impressive as a used condom lying limply on the floor. Still don't believe me? Fine. I'll tell you something though--the people who read the first draft of what you are about to read were blown away. They were heard saying things like, "My life now has clarity and purpose" and "This blog entry should be considered the most important piece of post-civil war literature in the American cannon"

I don't want to build it up too much. We all know what its like when you have high expectations that aren't met. Wait. Hahaha. Who am I kidding? I don't have to worry about that. My brilliance knows no un-met expectations. I could be a blind, limbless oaf typing with my tongue and create something that would be taught in 9th grade english classes for centuries...Nay...MILLENNIA. That's right, my tongue has more talent than your "published" name or your "inspired and creative" heart. Oh, I feel sad for you. When I think about you and all that you aren't doing with your life, it almost makes me want to weep--if I actually cared, perhaps I would be shedding actual tears...But I don't, so I remain dry. Oh, how I wish I could share even just the slenderest slice of my burgeoning talent. If I could package it up with a crisply tied bow and give it to you for your birthday--I would. I'm generous like that. But much like love, happiness, and gut-renching jealousy, talent is intangible--so you shall remain talentless, for I cannot break some of mine off and feed it to you.

I can only hope you have mentally prepared yourself for this, the second coming of Christ (in blog form). By reading this you have legally agreed that ummm....i didn't know i was starting a blog or any of its contributors shall have no accountability or hold any responsibility for any and all consequences of its forthcoming magnificence. In layman's terms--if your brain explodes from me blowin' your mind--I ain't payin' for the cleaners.

And finally, before we depart towards the heaven that is this entry--try to use your upcoming, new found wisdom for good. Let these words be a mirror in which you can hold up to yourself to see the inner beauty that resides deep, deep, deep inside you. Buried way down in there under all those layers of ugly. It's a tiny glimmer which I shall help illuminate and foster into a radiating beam of perfection shining with the intensity of the sun.

You should be ready.

Here we go.



There is no stopping it now.





PREPARE YE!!!!!!!




ahem...


ok....


alright. lets see....

OK:

Today for lunch I had 1/2 of a leftover burritto. I got it last night and only ate half so i could have the other 1/2 today for lunch. I wanted to eat the whole thing---

Ok. wait. that's no good. ok. wow. ha. Its harder to rock your mind than I thought it would be, ya know?...

OK. I'm warmed up now. Let us try this again:

Sometimes i sit here at work and think, "wow, i really have to go to pee...But i just went like five minutes ago." Isn't that funny...?

Alright. Ya know what?!

Clearly I am subconsciously not letting my genius be wasted on you. ha. I should have known. You talentless hacks are draining me. I'm gonna go--you'll have to resign yourself to a life sans my life-changing masterpiece.

It's awkward when...

You say "you're welcome" to someone and then realize they never said "Thank you" to begin with.

It seems to happen to me at work alot--as I'm hanging up with a customer, I automatically say "you're welcome" after they have said "have a nice day" or "ok, bye". I hang up quickly so the awkward moment doesn't linger.

Ya know what though? these people SHOULD say 'Thank You.' It's common courtesy.

Next time, I'm just going to keep repeating "You're welcome....ahem....You're welcome...you. are. welcome" until they finally say "thank you", and then hang up. Yeah. That'll be super awkward...but worth it.

Fat Kid Series--Part 2

In this next installment of "Corey Johnson: Growing up fat" we shall explore the effects of parental abuse. I'm not talking about dateline-style parental abuse--although this one incident was caught on tape, Stone Phillips was not there.

There is a certain home video circa 1986-87 that still, to this day, makes me cry. (ok. I'm being overly dramatic. I don't cry....anymore....)

In this video, in which my mom is the camera-person, you see my plump, 4-ft body trying to do a somersault. That's right folks, a somersault. There ain't nothing funnier than a fat kid trying to flip his body over onto the uncushioned carpet of the living room floor. Gut hanging out, sweatpant elastic stretched to its limits--hilarious, right? Apparently my mom thought so--as I'm breaking a sweat, trying to get the momentum to plop over, my mom shouts words of encouragement through her laughter, "C'mon Fatso! Get that rump over!"

Come on fat-so. Get that rump over.

Thanks mom.**

I think I was too involved with the efforts of being physical to actually hear what she said at the time--but that was not the case when I was watching home videos with friends about 7 years later. As a very self-conscious 11 yr old, stumbling across this video amongst my peers was devastating. I tried laughing it off, but as my friends cackled away and demanded the clip be rewound, the facade that was my jovial laughter could not hold back the roaring river of pathetic, emotional tears. I probably made it to the bathroom in time so my friends didn't see me openly weep--but I'm sure they were on to me. Between awkwardly hiding my face as I rushed to the bathroom and then coming back with all red and puffy, they probably figured it out. Ugh, why was I so lame as a kid?

**A word on my mom:
Mary LOVES me. I don't care that she ridiculed me and called out my inabilities while catching it all on tape. I don't care that she, with a single phrase, stunted my emotional growth. I'm ok with it. really, I am.....(runs to bathroom to hide tears)

No, I'm totes JKing (Mom, if you're reading this--that is the hip terminology for 'totally just kidding'. It's what the kids are sayin' now a days) My mom is the best and much cooler than yours---so she can call me whatever she wants. Besides...She was fat too.

In conclusion, I would like to sum up my feelings on this situation using this clip from Family Guy:

Reason Global Warming Sucks #53

It's hot out.

Like shiv-ya-in-the-groin, piss-on-your-face hot.

Now they say this heat wave has "ended", but i don't believe them. no. no, when i can sit in my livingroom without getting swamp-ass, THEN we shall declare the heat wave over.


i'm just sayin'

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.