PART 1: WAITING FOR THE MAN
An old flame of his was coming to visit for the night. She would be in New York for business and had gotten in touch with him via email to see if she could stay with him. They'd had a brief relationship their first year of college and had stayed in touch at random over the years. Whenever they saw each other they'd have sex and it was always good. They hadn't seen or heard from each other in almost five years, though, and he was a little taken aback when she first contacted him.
She lived in Cinicinatti, Ohio, and he'd written her off, assuming she'd gotten married and had started a family. Turns out this was not the case. There seemed to be a little flirtation going on between them in their email correspondence and he was excited to see her again and "catch up".
He was almost certain they'd have sex that night. Of course they'd have sex that night. Why else had she gotten in touch with him and been so eager to stay with him?
He decided he'd be prepared and called up a guy he knew who had a Viagra prescription. Not that he needed it. But damn if he was gonna fuck this up! He had sex so infrequently he was worried he'd get drunk, not be able to perform and have to wait another year before an opportunity to copulate presented itself again.
His left a message on his Viagra friend's cell phone asking for "a little help".
Two days passed and he never heard from the guy. His old flame's business meeting would be over in a few hours and he was getting worried. On the way to the hotel where her meeting was, however, his "dealer" called and they arranged to meet at a bar on St. Mark's place later that evening.
He picked up the girl at the hotel and they went out for dinner and caught up. everything was going swimmingly. After a few drinks at the restaurant he suggested they go to the Village "to this cool little dive bar on St. Mark's."
They arrived and met his "connection". He bought the man's drinks for almost an hour and they all talked and laughed and had a good time. Eventually his woman friend excused herself and went to the bathroom.
"Alright," his erectilely-challenged friend whispered, leaning closer. "Let's do this."
The man pulled a white pill from his shirt pocket and handed it to him.
"Just take half at first," the man informed him. "If you need more of a boost later, take the rest. But half should do ya good."
"Thanks."
"Oh, and you'll probably have a killer hangover tomorrow. Or maybe not. I always do, though."
"Oh...really?"
"Yeah. But small price to pay." The man laughed.
The woman came back to the bar, where they sat, and they finished their drinks. The Viagra supplier downed the rest of his drink and excused himself. He had somewhere to be, but it was nice to meet her. And then he left.
PART 2: A NOT SO SURE THING
When they got back to his apartment they continued drinking. They flirted and talked about their respective love lives over the last five years. They watched some television, smoked and drank, and at one point, when she had gone to the bathroom, he ate half the pill, washing it down with his beer.
When she returned she informed him that she was feeling tired. He grinned and could feel a tingly sensation start to brew in his crotch.
"Is this where I'm sleeping?" she asked, pointing at the futon.
"Um...uh..."
NO! his brain screamed. You'll be sleeping in the bedroom. With me.
"I guess," his voice said. "If that's what you want."
"Yeah, I'm not feeling well," she said, then laughed. "We had a good time tonight, huh?"
"Yeah," he said. "I guess."
The tingling sensation was growing. So was his "friend". He had to put a stop to this!
"You really should sleep in the bedroom. It's more comfortable. It'd be nice to wake up next to you in the morning."
She smiled nervously.
"And I promise I won't try anything if that's what you're worried about," he added quickly.
"I'd rather sleep out here," she said matter-of-factly. "On the futon."
He turned, dejected, and got an extra pillow out of his room and a sheet from the hall closet. He gave them to her.
Apparently she hadn't wanted to sleep with him after all. He wasn't surprised. But he wished he hadn't popped that pill already.
"Sleep tight," he said. He gave her a hug and tried to plant a kiss, but she pulled back skeptically, unsure of his intentions. She moved in slowly and he gave her the weakest, tiniest peck on the lips.
"Goodnight," she said.
PART 3: ONANISM
So there'd be no sex tonight. There hadn't been sex in almost ten months. There'd only been six separate sexual encounters over the last five years. And now here he was with a raging hard-on and a beautiful girl asleep in the next room!
He sat with this self-inflicted thrombosis of the genitals that he couldn't put to use.
He wasn't going to let this go to waste, he thought. He would give himself the most mind-numbing masturbation ever!
But his pornography collection was secretly stashed in the other room. Where this beautifu girl was sleeping. On the futon.
He walked through the kitchen to the bathroom and picked up The Village Voice off the kitchen table on his way.
He spread the paper out on the bathroom sink and stood over the toilet. He flipped to the back of the paper where all the sex line numbers and nude pictures were. He kept flipping through the pages looking for a good picture to toss off to. To his disappointment, 95% of the ads were for transexual he/shes. This just didn't do it for him. And why did New York have such a huge ratio of tranny sex phone lines? Was this really representative of the Voice's readership's fantasies?
As he flipped the pages he looked at the ads for escort services.
He wondered if he had any money to spend on a prostitute?
He believed prostitution should be legalized. In fact, at this very moment he strongly felt it should also be subsidized. Wouldn't it be great if you could take out a "hooker loan" from the government? He could consolidate it with his student loan and get a forebearance every year. He thought about the interest he would conceivably accrue on said loan. He'd gladly spend the next 32 years paying off a loan on a blowjob if it meant he'd be able to avoid the blue balls this Viagra-induced erection would most certainly cause.
His mind kept wandering like that throughout the course of the "task", so it took him an extremely long time to finally achieve the much needed release, but when he did accomplish it he was more than ready for bed.
PART 4: PLEASE KILL ME
The man who'd given him the pill was not kidding when he warned about the hangover. He felt like a bucket of pounded assholes. He had the most excruciating headache when he awoke the next morning. And, of course, a fully erect penis. He got up and went to the bathroom, expecting it to go down after he'd emptied his bladder, as per usual. It didn't. In fact, it stayed hard for most of the morning, so he pretended he was asleep, even after the woman in the next room had gotten up, taken a shower, fixed herself some coffee, and watched half of "Zoolander" on pay-per-view.
He took several Advil and rode with her on the train back to the airport. She said how good it was to see him again and how much she had missed him and how glad she was to be back in touch with him and all he could do was try to concentrate on not getting a hard-on. Everytime he saw a half-decent-looking woman get on the subway car, everytime he saw the slightest bit of leg (and this being summer, it was constant) he felt himself getting aroused. He would try to think about how the Mets were doing or the free checking offered at the bank on that advertisement on the cieling of the car or how many miles he thought he walked in an average day, anything to keep his mind off sex!
When they got to the airport they said goodbye to each other and he kissed her on the forehead, knowing that she didn't want his mouth anywhere near hers. She laughed and went inside and he went back to the train station and wanted nothing more than to sleep off this horrible "hangover".
After he watched one of his porns and wanked it for awhile, of course. Laying in front of the television. On the futon.
Monday, August 01, 2005
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Ah, New York...
I was walking to work this afternoon and right in front of my building, on a crowded Manhattan street (29th and Park Avenue), I saw a normal, well-dressed man pissing into his truck's gas tank.
I turned the corner and there were several construction vehicles parked along the street and two new model pickups. Against a large white pickup leaned three men, dressed in business-casual attire. One of the men held a beer in one hand and had his crotch pressed into the open gas tank area.
I did a double-take and walked to my building. I stood in front of the building, finishing my cigarette and watched to see if the men left. I figured that perhaps it was somebody else's truck. Somebody they didn't like.
But the pissing man zipped up, took out his keys and opened the driver's side door and tossed his bottle in. Then they sat against the truck and talked for a bit. I went inside to work and started my day.
I like seeing weird things like that.
One day I was entering the subway and passed a man in a neatly-pressed, expensive business suit. His hair was neatly combed, he was freshly shaven and looked like any other Wall Street businessman. Except that he was not wearing a shirt. Or socks. Just a fine suit. With no shirt. And this was in December!
I saw another guy on the subway with the most ridiculous, poorly drawn tattoo of Garfield the cat holding a smoking bazooka. I could only imagine that he had gotten the tattoo in junior high school after drawing that bad-ass picture of Garfield in study hall.
"Dudes, check out this drawing of Garfield. With a bazooka."
"Aw man, you should totally get that as a tatoo. It's sweet!"
"I will! Woo-hoo!"
15 years later he sits on the subway, trying in vain to pretend it's still a really cool tat. He tries to look menacing so no one will talk to him about it.
I turned the corner and there were several construction vehicles parked along the street and two new model pickups. Against a large white pickup leaned three men, dressed in business-casual attire. One of the men held a beer in one hand and had his crotch pressed into the open gas tank area.
I did a double-take and walked to my building. I stood in front of the building, finishing my cigarette and watched to see if the men left. I figured that perhaps it was somebody else's truck. Somebody they didn't like.
But the pissing man zipped up, took out his keys and opened the driver's side door and tossed his bottle in. Then they sat against the truck and talked for a bit. I went inside to work and started my day.
I like seeing weird things like that.
One day I was entering the subway and passed a man in a neatly-pressed, expensive business suit. His hair was neatly combed, he was freshly shaven and looked like any other Wall Street businessman. Except that he was not wearing a shirt. Or socks. Just a fine suit. With no shirt. And this was in December!
I saw another guy on the subway with the most ridiculous, poorly drawn tattoo of Garfield the cat holding a smoking bazooka. I could only imagine that he had gotten the tattoo in junior high school after drawing that bad-ass picture of Garfield in study hall.
"Dudes, check out this drawing of Garfield. With a bazooka."
"Aw man, you should totally get that as a tatoo. It's sweet!"
"I will! Woo-hoo!"
15 years later he sits on the subway, trying in vain to pretend it's still a really cool tat. He tries to look menacing so no one will talk to him about it.
The 1/4 Million Dollar Man
"We can rebuild him. We have the technology."
Not everyone has had a near death experience by which to judge the rest of the events in their life.
I have.
On January 13, 1995, I was severly beaten by five teenagers while going to college in Pittsburgh. I was 20 years old.
I suffered a concussion and was in a coma for a week. i had to have facial reconstruction as my face had been kicked in during the beating. My head was rebuilt with resorbable plates and screws. After two weeks in intensive care I was transferred to a rehabilitation center in the suburbs of Philadelphia, closer to where my family lived.
There, I learned how to walk again, how to tie my shoes again, how to talk again, and even how to think again. I had a different therapist for every facet of my recovery.
My entire left side was completely paralyzed for a month and my hands were clenched into fists that had to be pryed open over a period of four weeks. (My left side still feels numb when I think about it. It feels like novocaine wearing off.)
I had the loving support of my family and friends. People I hadn't seen in years came to visit me in the hospital, wishing me a speedy recovery. I had a girlfriend in New Orleans and I wanted to completely recover before she came to visit. I didn't want her to see the broken me.
I was told I could be in the rehab hospital for up to six months. I was determined not to be there that long. I worked hard at getting better and was released after a month. Two days before my 21st birthday.
My hospital bills came to $250,000, which was covered by my parents' health insurance. A group of neighbors set up a recovery fund at the local bank and people from all over my hometown donated money to help me, a dollar here and a dollar there. Seven months after my beating in Pittsburgh, I moved to new Orleans to be with my girlfriend. I withdrew the money from my fund to cover the moving costs. $2,600 that had been donated anonymously by strangers and friends.
I learned later that had the ambulance been a minute late in arriving the night I was attacked, I would have probably bled to death.
It makes you think.
So, here I am, ten years later, asking myself: "Why? Why me?"
A lot of work went into saving my scrawny ass, and for what?
I have given the world nothing in return.
I was given some extra time and I've squandered it. Over the last ten years I've completely lost my way.
There have been countless times over the years that I've cursed the whole affair. I would think, "I was supposed to die on January 13, 1995, and all those people interfered!!"
I was the happiest I've ever been right then. I was in love with a wonderful girl, I had vivid dreams of the future, I had goals, I had friends. It would have been a perfect time to die. I know that sounds morbid, but I think it is better to die happy (even if you are young) than miserable and hating life.
Which is how I've become over the years. The last ten years were pretty shitty. And as a result I've been depressed a majority of the time. Everyone says that your 20s are the best time of your life and you'll never forget them. I hope that is not the case for me. I hope I'm a late bloomer and my 30s will be better, because quite frankly, my 20s sucked major ass. I'd hate to think it's all downhill from there.
When I got out of the hospital and moved to New Orleans everything seemed to start disappearing. First, the wonderful girl I was in love with, then my friends, then my dreams began to fade and I lost my passion to do anything with my life.
Each new day brought a new flaming pile of shit to my doorstep. And each day I stomped on the flames and got shit on my shoe and yelled at the heavens. I was Job being tested.
But by whom? And for what reason?
When I was a kid, my favorite show was "The Six Million Dollar Man". I even had the little action figure where you could pull back a flap of skin on his arm to see the wiring and machine parts underneath. Because he was bionic.
But Steve Austin actually did stuff with his powers, even if it was because the governmet told him he had to. I am "The Quarter Million Dollar Man" and I've done nothing. My show would be infintely boring to watch.
Maybe someday I'll have some reason to have been saved, and I'll give something back to all those people who went through the ordeal with me and pulled me through. I hope so, anyway.
Another regret is that I can't make that cool noise when I run in slow motion, which is really fast motion, but shot in slow-mo to drag out the time and make it more dramatic and fill air time because there's not much story and we have 56 minutes to fill...
Not everyone has had a near death experience by which to judge the rest of the events in their life.
I have.
On January 13, 1995, I was severly beaten by five teenagers while going to college in Pittsburgh. I was 20 years old.
I suffered a concussion and was in a coma for a week. i had to have facial reconstruction as my face had been kicked in during the beating. My head was rebuilt with resorbable plates and screws. After two weeks in intensive care I was transferred to a rehabilitation center in the suburbs of Philadelphia, closer to where my family lived.
There, I learned how to walk again, how to tie my shoes again, how to talk again, and even how to think again. I had a different therapist for every facet of my recovery.
My entire left side was completely paralyzed for a month and my hands were clenched into fists that had to be pryed open over a period of four weeks. (My left side still feels numb when I think about it. It feels like novocaine wearing off.)
I had the loving support of my family and friends. People I hadn't seen in years came to visit me in the hospital, wishing me a speedy recovery. I had a girlfriend in New Orleans and I wanted to completely recover before she came to visit. I didn't want her to see the broken me.
I was told I could be in the rehab hospital for up to six months. I was determined not to be there that long. I worked hard at getting better and was released after a month. Two days before my 21st birthday.
My hospital bills came to $250,000, which was covered by my parents' health insurance. A group of neighbors set up a recovery fund at the local bank and people from all over my hometown donated money to help me, a dollar here and a dollar there. Seven months after my beating in Pittsburgh, I moved to new Orleans to be with my girlfriend. I withdrew the money from my fund to cover the moving costs. $2,600 that had been donated anonymously by strangers and friends.
I learned later that had the ambulance been a minute late in arriving the night I was attacked, I would have probably bled to death.
It makes you think.
So, here I am, ten years later, asking myself: "Why? Why me?"
A lot of work went into saving my scrawny ass, and for what?
I have given the world nothing in return.
I was given some extra time and I've squandered it. Over the last ten years I've completely lost my way.
There have been countless times over the years that I've cursed the whole affair. I would think, "I was supposed to die on January 13, 1995, and all those people interfered!!"
I was the happiest I've ever been right then. I was in love with a wonderful girl, I had vivid dreams of the future, I had goals, I had friends. It would have been a perfect time to die. I know that sounds morbid, but I think it is better to die happy (even if you are young) than miserable and hating life.
Which is how I've become over the years. The last ten years were pretty shitty. And as a result I've been depressed a majority of the time. Everyone says that your 20s are the best time of your life and you'll never forget them. I hope that is not the case for me. I hope I'm a late bloomer and my 30s will be better, because quite frankly, my 20s sucked major ass. I'd hate to think it's all downhill from there.
When I got out of the hospital and moved to New Orleans everything seemed to start disappearing. First, the wonderful girl I was in love with, then my friends, then my dreams began to fade and I lost my passion to do anything with my life.
Each new day brought a new flaming pile of shit to my doorstep. And each day I stomped on the flames and got shit on my shoe and yelled at the heavens. I was Job being tested.
But by whom? And for what reason?
When I was a kid, my favorite show was "The Six Million Dollar Man". I even had the little action figure where you could pull back a flap of skin on his arm to see the wiring and machine parts underneath. Because he was bionic.
But Steve Austin actually did stuff with his powers, even if it was because the governmet told him he had to. I am "The Quarter Million Dollar Man" and I've done nothing. My show would be infintely boring to watch.
Maybe someday I'll have some reason to have been saved, and I'll give something back to all those people who went through the ordeal with me and pulled me through. I hope so, anyway.
Another regret is that I can't make that cool noise when I run in slow motion, which is really fast motion, but shot in slow-mo to drag out the time and make it more dramatic and fill air time because there's not much story and we have 56 minutes to fill...
Sunday, July 24, 2005
eHarmony
Last summer I tried signing up for an online dating service.
I've never been good at meeting women. I'm just not that much of a catch. I certainly can't meet women at a bar because I'm one of those "invisible" people. I'm quiet, not too attractive, and don't wear outrageous clothes to draw attention to myself. I like to blend in. Or, in my case, fade into the background. In fact, I am so non-descript, I think I would probably be a real good international spy. My complete lack of distict, individual characteristics would be perfect for stealing microfilm documents and slipping unnoticed into a large crowd.
However, this does not help me in attracting the ladies.
I have only been with one girl in my life who said I was "hot" and that only lasted two weeks and I'm not sure whether it ever really happened or was just the result of bad food and an overactive imagination. Every girl in my life has bided their time with me because they thought I had a good personality. I find it hard to show off that "good personality" on a first encounter so I choose to mind my own business and not put forth the effort.
I have several male friends who do the online dating thing and they suggested I give it a try.
As I had no other viable options, I figured what the hell?
I decided to sign up with eHarmony, as it was recommended by one friend as being a real good one.
eHarmony has this bullshit 29 levels of compatibilty that they use to match people. In order to properly assess these 29 levels of compatribility, they make you fill out the longest profile questionnaire I've ever encountered. It took me almost an hour to fill out and then I sent it and waited for my confirmation email.
I received it within seconds.
It was short and to the point. It read: "Due to the high success rate of our matches, eHarmony would rather not take you on as a client than risk an uncertain match." And then they said I could retrieve my personality profile free of charge. I guess so I could see what was wrong with me and how I could change myself to become a better suitor.
I printed it out and laughed at my fortune. I knew I was doomed to eternal loneliness and now I had the electronic proof!
I wondered what could've thrown me off their list of appropriate clients.
I think it was my income level.
When filling out the profile of myself I had this kooky idea that I should be honest! I clicked the “Less than $20,000” under my income. I am almost certain that is what took me out of their database.
And what’s with this “Less than $20,000” category? I’ve seen it on many applications for any number of things. It asks your income and you have a bunch of choices like “$80,000 to $100,000”, “$50,000 to $79,000”, “$21,000 to $49,000”.
And then there’s the “Less than $20,000” category, which I currently fall under.
But look, this is completely misleading. Say I make $19,999 a year. I’m not setting the world on fire here, I’m living hand to mouth, but I’m paying my bills, a little late from time to time, but I’ve got a roof over my head and food on the table. But you look at this application that says I make “Less than $20,000”. That puts me in the same economic bracket as the guy collecting beer bottles in front of my apartment every morning.
What the fuck?! How am I supposed to find a date when I’m essentially in the same playing field as a homeless man? I can’t. Cuz he’s got sideburns and I can’t grow facial hair!
Well, I never did try signing up with another service and forgot about the whole thing. I've decided that I can't possibly date anyone until I have a job and make lots of money. I'm not sure if that will ever happen, so I'm not sure if I'll ever get to meet anyone. Thanks eHarmony! For reminding me that I have very little reason to keep going.
Eh. What're ya gonna do?
I've never been good at meeting women. I'm just not that much of a catch. I certainly can't meet women at a bar because I'm one of those "invisible" people. I'm quiet, not too attractive, and don't wear outrageous clothes to draw attention to myself. I like to blend in. Or, in my case, fade into the background. In fact, I am so non-descript, I think I would probably be a real good international spy. My complete lack of distict, individual characteristics would be perfect for stealing microfilm documents and slipping unnoticed into a large crowd.
However, this does not help me in attracting the ladies.
I have only been with one girl in my life who said I was "hot" and that only lasted two weeks and I'm not sure whether it ever really happened or was just the result of bad food and an overactive imagination. Every girl in my life has bided their time with me because they thought I had a good personality. I find it hard to show off that "good personality" on a first encounter so I choose to mind my own business and not put forth the effort.
I have several male friends who do the online dating thing and they suggested I give it a try.
As I had no other viable options, I figured what the hell?
I decided to sign up with eHarmony, as it was recommended by one friend as being a real good one.
eHarmony has this bullshit 29 levels of compatibilty that they use to match people. In order to properly assess these 29 levels of compatribility, they make you fill out the longest profile questionnaire I've ever encountered. It took me almost an hour to fill out and then I sent it and waited for my confirmation email.
I received it within seconds.
It was short and to the point. It read: "Due to the high success rate of our matches, eHarmony would rather not take you on as a client than risk an uncertain match." And then they said I could retrieve my personality profile free of charge. I guess so I could see what was wrong with me and how I could change myself to become a better suitor.
I printed it out and laughed at my fortune. I knew I was doomed to eternal loneliness and now I had the electronic proof!
I wondered what could've thrown me off their list of appropriate clients.
I think it was my income level.
When filling out the profile of myself I had this kooky idea that I should be honest! I clicked the “Less than $20,000” under my income. I am almost certain that is what took me out of their database.
And what’s with this “Less than $20,000” category? I’ve seen it on many applications for any number of things. It asks your income and you have a bunch of choices like “$80,000 to $100,000”, “$50,000 to $79,000”, “$21,000 to $49,000”.
And then there’s the “Less than $20,000” category, which I currently fall under.
But look, this is completely misleading. Say I make $19,999 a year. I’m not setting the world on fire here, I’m living hand to mouth, but I’m paying my bills, a little late from time to time, but I’ve got a roof over my head and food on the table. But you look at this application that says I make “Less than $20,000”. That puts me in the same economic bracket as the guy collecting beer bottles in front of my apartment every morning.
What the fuck?! How am I supposed to find a date when I’m essentially in the same playing field as a homeless man? I can’t. Cuz he’s got sideburns and I can’t grow facial hair!
Well, I never did try signing up with another service and forgot about the whole thing. I've decided that I can't possibly date anyone until I have a job and make lots of money. I'm not sure if that will ever happen, so I'm not sure if I'll ever get to meet anyone. Thanks eHarmony! For reminding me that I have very little reason to keep going.
Eh. What're ya gonna do?
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Questionnaire
So over the years I've gotten a lot of those e-mail questionnaires that people send around to find out about their friends' favorite colors and type of car they'd like to have.
I've only filled one out once, about 3 1/2 years ago. I thought my answers were pretty fun, as did my brother, who was recently cleaning out his email folders and came across that questionnaire and resent it to me.
Incidentally, after reading my answers, the girl who had originally emailed the thing to me, suggested that I should look into going into therapy.
So here they are (c)2002:
1. LIVING ARRANGEMENT?
a shotgun apartment in uptown new orleans, with a
practicing witch for a roommate.
2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
a biography of michael o'donoghue, "the man who made
comedy dangerous" according to the book cover. he was
a writer for national lampoon magazine and the
original saturday night live.
3.WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSEMAT?
don't have a computer, much less a "mouse mat". that's
too bourgeoise.
4. FAVOURITE BOARD GAME?
I used to love the MAD magazine game, in which your
goal is to lose all your money and go broke (a feat
I've accomplished in my real life), but I still love
Trivial Pursuit.
5. FAVOURITE MAGAZINE
right now, Creative Screenwriting
6. FAVOURITE SMELLS?
puke, piss, shit, and stale alcohol. hell, that's why
i live in new orleans.
7. FAVOURITE SOUND?
"two bricks being bashed together"
8. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD?
the realization that you can't connect with any single
person on a fulfilling and meaningful level and your
days will be lived out alone and angry at the world. i
mean, that would suck, right, i mean, not that i know
what that feeling is like, cuz i'm like, uh, real
happy and stuff.
9. WHAT IS THE 1ST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE
UP IN THE MORNING?
you mean i'm not dead yet?
10. FAVOURITE COLOUR?
i'm color blind you assholes
11. HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE PHONE?
i usually don't wait for it to ring. i sit in my house
and pick up the phone over and over again,
"hello.(click) hello.(click) hello.(click) hello."
sometimes there's someone there.
12. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME?
Kid.
13. WHAT IS MOST IMPORTANT IN LIFE?
being on time for your death.
14. FAVOURITE FOODS?
sushi, grilled stuft burritos from taco bell...
15. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA?
vanilla with chocolate syrup, or chocolate with
vanilla syrup.
16. DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST?
what's the rush?
17. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL?
yeah, my last girlfriend, ba-dum-bum. ah, no.
18. STORMS - COOL OR SCARY?
cool
19. WHAT TYPE WAS YOUR FIRST CAR?
a banana-colored Plymouth Horizon
20. IF YOU COULD MEET ONE PERSON DEAD OR ALIVE?
Groucho Marx
21. FAVOURITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK?
whatever does the job.
22. WHAT IS YOUR ZODIAC SIGN?
pisces
23. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI?
yup.
24. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB YOU WANTED WHAT WOULD IT
BE?
a journalist for the Weekly World News. I want to blow
the lid off of Batboy's secret life as a CIA op. I
smell Pulitzer!
25. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOUR?
i'm running out of time, but i would go for grey, so
then i would feel that i've progressed naturally to
the bald stage.
26. EVER BEEN IN LOVE?
falling in love is the most masochistic thing you can
do and i'm a sucker for punishment. as my friend melissa
told me last christmas, "you love being in love dave."
it's only through pain that we know we're alive.
27. IS THE GLASS HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL?
i hate to get into semantics, but is half-empty
possible?
28. FAVOURITE MOVIES:
the big lebowski, goodfellas, jacob's ladder, the
'burbs, texas chainsaw massacre, evil dead trilogy,
dead alive, fear and loathing in las vegas, catch-22,
the graduate, etc, etc. i could go on for days listing
movies.
29. DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS?
fingers? you use your fingers to type? hmm. that would
explain the strange looks i've been getting. better
put this away...
30. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED?
i should probably look under there sometime. we used
to have another cat.
31. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE NUMBER?
i've always been partial to the googleplex myself.
32. FAVOURITE SPORT TO WATCH:
i fucking hate sports.
33. SAY ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS
TO YOU.
she left a good night message on my answering machine
the other night after we'd been hanging out and that
was really sweet and cool and it made me happy.
34. PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO
RESPOND?
if i write their name i guess they have to reply then
35. PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS LEAST LIKELY TO
RETURN IT:
you know who you are and you suck..
36. WHAT CD (OR TAPE) DO YOU HAVE IN YOUR STEREO RIGHT
NOW?
AMFM, "getting into sinking"
37. FAVOURITE TV SHOW?
since i only get Fox and NBC on my TV my selections
are rather limited, but of course The Simpsons. when i
get to see cable at a friends' i like South Park
(which has been in top form lately) and The Daily
Show. and the occassional cultural trainwreck on Fox:
Celebrity Boxing, The Glutton Bowl, etc.
38. EARLIEST MEMORY?
My earliest memory is a recurring nightmare I had as a
child in which my mother was driving my siblings and I
to our grandparents' and she gets sucked out of the
car on the highway and I have to take control of the
car and drive my brother and sister and I the rest of
the way to my grandparents' house.
39. DO YOU CRY AT THE MOVIES?
I'll get choked up at really lame movies, like
"backdraft". when kurt russell yells "that's my
brother, goddamnit!" as william baldwin fights the
flames, i felt that lump in my throat and thought i
was gonna lose it.
39. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY CAR, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
when i was a kid my friend's dad had an old
Astin-Healy sitting in the garage and we used to play
in it and pretend we were driving it. i really liked
that car. the family up the street had a delorean and
that was cool too because it never rusts.
40. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE GROUP OR BAND?
the mothers of invention
42. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE TIME OF THE YEAR?
early autmn
43. IF YOU COULD TRAVEL, WHERE WOULD YOU GO?
everywhere.
44. IF YOU COULD BE THE PRESIDENT OR CEO OF ANY CO.,
WHAT
COMPANY WOULD IT BE?
the biggest company of them all, the united states of
america, hell if you're gonna dream, dream big
45. MONEY OR HAPPINESS?
money. to pay off the vultures that come picking at
you and your silly dreams of happiness.
I've only filled one out once, about 3 1/2 years ago. I thought my answers were pretty fun, as did my brother, who was recently cleaning out his email folders and came across that questionnaire and resent it to me.
Incidentally, after reading my answers, the girl who had originally emailed the thing to me, suggested that I should look into going into therapy.
So here they are (c)2002:
1. LIVING ARRANGEMENT?
a shotgun apartment in uptown new orleans, with a
practicing witch for a roommate.
2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
a biography of michael o'donoghue, "the man who made
comedy dangerous" according to the book cover. he was
a writer for national lampoon magazine and the
original saturday night live.
3.WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSEMAT?
don't have a computer, much less a "mouse mat". that's
too bourgeoise.
4. FAVOURITE BOARD GAME?
I used to love the MAD magazine game, in which your
goal is to lose all your money and go broke (a feat
I've accomplished in my real life), but I still love
Trivial Pursuit.
5. FAVOURITE MAGAZINE
right now, Creative Screenwriting
6. FAVOURITE SMELLS?
puke, piss, shit, and stale alcohol. hell, that's why
i live in new orleans.
7. FAVOURITE SOUND?
"two bricks being bashed together"
8. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD?
the realization that you can't connect with any single
person on a fulfilling and meaningful level and your
days will be lived out alone and angry at the world. i
mean, that would suck, right, i mean, not that i know
what that feeling is like, cuz i'm like, uh, real
happy and stuff.
9. WHAT IS THE 1ST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE
UP IN THE MORNING?
you mean i'm not dead yet?
10. FAVOURITE COLOUR?
i'm color blind you assholes
11. HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE PHONE?
i usually don't wait for it to ring. i sit in my house
and pick up the phone over and over again,
"hello.(click) hello.(click) hello.(click) hello."
sometimes there's someone there.
12. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME?
Kid.
13. WHAT IS MOST IMPORTANT IN LIFE?
being on time for your death.
14. FAVOURITE FOODS?
sushi, grilled stuft burritos from taco bell...
15. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA?
vanilla with chocolate syrup, or chocolate with
vanilla syrup.
16. DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST?
what's the rush?
17. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL?
yeah, my last girlfriend, ba-dum-bum. ah, no.
18. STORMS - COOL OR SCARY?
cool
19. WHAT TYPE WAS YOUR FIRST CAR?
a banana-colored Plymouth Horizon
20. IF YOU COULD MEET ONE PERSON DEAD OR ALIVE?
Groucho Marx
21. FAVOURITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK?
whatever does the job.
22. WHAT IS YOUR ZODIAC SIGN?
pisces
23. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI?
yup.
24. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB YOU WANTED WHAT WOULD IT
BE?
a journalist for the Weekly World News. I want to blow
the lid off of Batboy's secret life as a CIA op. I
smell Pulitzer!
25. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOUR?
i'm running out of time, but i would go for grey, so
then i would feel that i've progressed naturally to
the bald stage.
26. EVER BEEN IN LOVE?
falling in love is the most masochistic thing you can
do and i'm a sucker for punishment. as my friend melissa
told me last christmas, "you love being in love dave."
it's only through pain that we know we're alive.
27. IS THE GLASS HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL?
i hate to get into semantics, but is half-empty
possible?
28. FAVOURITE MOVIES:
the big lebowski, goodfellas, jacob's ladder, the
'burbs, texas chainsaw massacre, evil dead trilogy,
dead alive, fear and loathing in las vegas, catch-22,
the graduate, etc, etc. i could go on for days listing
movies.
29. DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS?
fingers? you use your fingers to type? hmm. that would
explain the strange looks i've been getting. better
put this away...
30. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED?
i should probably look under there sometime. we used
to have another cat.
31. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE NUMBER?
i've always been partial to the googleplex myself.
32. FAVOURITE SPORT TO WATCH:
i fucking hate sports.
33. SAY ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS
TO YOU.
she left a good night message on my answering machine
the other night after we'd been hanging out and that
was really sweet and cool and it made me happy.
34. PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO
RESPOND?
if i write their name i guess they have to reply then
35. PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS LEAST LIKELY TO
RETURN IT:
you know who you are and you suck..
36. WHAT CD (OR TAPE) DO YOU HAVE IN YOUR STEREO RIGHT
NOW?
AMFM, "getting into sinking"
37. FAVOURITE TV SHOW?
since i only get Fox and NBC on my TV my selections
are rather limited, but of course The Simpsons. when i
get to see cable at a friends' i like South Park
(which has been in top form lately) and The Daily
Show. and the occassional cultural trainwreck on Fox:
Celebrity Boxing, The Glutton Bowl, etc.
38. EARLIEST MEMORY?
My earliest memory is a recurring nightmare I had as a
child in which my mother was driving my siblings and I
to our grandparents' and she gets sucked out of the
car on the highway and I have to take control of the
car and drive my brother and sister and I the rest of
the way to my grandparents' house.
39. DO YOU CRY AT THE MOVIES?
I'll get choked up at really lame movies, like
"backdraft". when kurt russell yells "that's my
brother, goddamnit!" as william baldwin fights the
flames, i felt that lump in my throat and thought i
was gonna lose it.
39. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY CAR, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
when i was a kid my friend's dad had an old
Astin-Healy sitting in the garage and we used to play
in it and pretend we were driving it. i really liked
that car. the family up the street had a delorean and
that was cool too because it never rusts.
40. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE GROUP OR BAND?
the mothers of invention
42. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE TIME OF THE YEAR?
early autmn
43. IF YOU COULD TRAVEL, WHERE WOULD YOU GO?
everywhere.
44. IF YOU COULD BE THE PRESIDENT OR CEO OF ANY CO.,
WHAT
COMPANY WOULD IT BE?
the biggest company of them all, the united states of
america, hell if you're gonna dream, dream big
45. MONEY OR HAPPINESS?
money. to pay off the vultures that come picking at
you and your silly dreams of happiness.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Daily Grievance Part 1
Obnoxious umbrellas.
There are a lot of people walking around New York with obnoxiously large umbrellas. They take up so much room and practically knock you off the sidewalk or put an eye out if you don't duck in time. These people can fit a family of five under their umbrellas. They are the SUVs of rain protection gear. These things should come with patio furniture and a table. They are meant for the beach, picnic areas or an outdoor cafe, not for walking around the streets of New York.
My stealthy little $5 fold-up job looks like a cocktail umbrella in comparison. But that's fine. It serves its purpose and doesn't intrude into other people's space. I'm not an asshole. I don't endanger passersby.
It's only water people. If you need that much safe room to protect you from getting wet, you should just stay inside. Or walk around in a hermetically sealed 12 monkeys bubble suit.
Bastards!
There are a lot of people walking around New York with obnoxiously large umbrellas. They take up so much room and practically knock you off the sidewalk or put an eye out if you don't duck in time. These people can fit a family of five under their umbrellas. They are the SUVs of rain protection gear. These things should come with patio furniture and a table. They are meant for the beach, picnic areas or an outdoor cafe, not for walking around the streets of New York.
My stealthy little $5 fold-up job looks like a cocktail umbrella in comparison. But that's fine. It serves its purpose and doesn't intrude into other people's space. I'm not an asshole. I don't endanger passersby.
It's only water people. If you need that much safe room to protect you from getting wet, you should just stay inside. Or walk around in a hermetically sealed 12 monkeys bubble suit.
Bastards!
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Life is the leading cause of Death
A friend of mine is quitting smoking and as a result I found myself looking over the statistics of smoking-related deaths. They are quite alarming. One in two long-term smokers will die a premature death. Second hand smoke kills one non-smoker for every 8 smokers. But the statistics are even more alarming than that:
*For every 6,000 smokers, 347 will be arrested for exposing themselves in public.
*Of 300 smokers, 12 will go see "Herbie:Fully Loaded". Approximately 23% of them will pay matinee price, but order $18 worth of popcorn and soda.
*Men and women going through a traumatic break-up are 75% more likely to start smoking than their more romantically successful peers. 92% of all males will sit in their cars across the street from their ex's apartment chain-smoking and listening to Journey.
*For every 3,792 smokers, one non-smoker will get mauled to death by a tiger.
Yes, it is shocking to say the least. But the most startling information I found in my research was this:
"According to leading physicians, approximately 100% of all persons born today will eventually die."
Hmm. Food for thought...
*For every 6,000 smokers, 347 will be arrested for exposing themselves in public.
*Of 300 smokers, 12 will go see "Herbie:Fully Loaded". Approximately 23% of them will pay matinee price, but order $18 worth of popcorn and soda.
*Men and women going through a traumatic break-up are 75% more likely to start smoking than their more romantically successful peers. 92% of all males will sit in their cars across the street from their ex's apartment chain-smoking and listening to Journey.
*For every 3,792 smokers, one non-smoker will get mauled to death by a tiger.
Yes, it is shocking to say the least. But the most startling information I found in my research was this:
"According to leading physicians, approximately 100% of all persons born today will eventually die."
Hmm. Food for thought...
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