Thursday, July 28, 2005

w/ The Heartaches and TBA
Tickets available from the venue, and online at



I was going to write a post using a metaphor comparing how nice and mentally stimulating this morning was and how incredibly boring this afternoon has been, but I wound up talking about food and something about a Hungryman dinner. It was kind of funny but in the end the chef shoots me in the head and that part wasn't really funny.

I have food on my mind because tonight I am going to try cooking Chicken Fried Steak for the first time, because I saw a girl do it on PBS Saturday afternoon and it looked simple enough that I could pull it off. I doubt my gravy will turn out as fantastic as hers looked, though. Somehow I always manage to fuck up gravy. Lord knows how.

I've been on a frying binge for the past couple of weeks. All I've wanted to do is deep fry. We don't have a deep fryer so I'm limited to what I can do with two or three inches of oil, but if you have some ideas leave them in comments. I think so far I've only done porkchops, squash and zucchini. Everything has turned out really well, though. If tonight goes well I'm going to try pickle chips. Oh my crap, just typing that just sent a wave of urgency and need through my body worse than any nicotine craving. Pickle chips are the inspiration for at least three of the seven deadly sins in one beautiful, golden brown, salty package. Now I can't stop thinking about them.

I'll let you know how tonight goes.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Security vs. Convenience

I try and keep this place relatively free of politicking and mostly free of seriousness, but I’ve been mad for a couple of days and somebody needs to say something. So bear with me. Manhattan Users Guide is a daily newsletter intended to keep us up to date on what is going on around here, but once in awhile they throw in some social commentary or something, presumably because they realize the wide audience that they can reach. A few days ago when the NYPD implemented random bag checks at subway stations in response to the London bombings, MUG ran an unfavorable op-ed about the searches. I wanted to comment then, but I’ve always heard that you should keep quiet for a day and see if you still feel as strongly about the subject before attacking it. Well, this morning I still feel as strongly about it and today the email from MUG was another piece focused on the reader’s responses to the first one. The second critique, rather than appealing to our intelligence as rational human beings, simply degrades into an emotional rampage, ruining any chance of being taken seriously. It’s neither informed nor rational. But I’ll let you read it for yourselves, all emphasis mine:

Fearful Times
July 27, 2005

I was going to run a different article for today’s MUG, but something happened last night that scared the hell out of me. And it was a reader who did it.

As it happened, I had just come from seeing "Primo," the extraordinary one-man show by Anthony Sher that lays out, in unembroidered language, what existence was like in Auschwitz for Primo Levi. One of the key tenets for survival at the camp, Levi learn early on, is don’t ask questions. He also comes to understand that if your intent is to dehumanize, this prohibition works well.

On Monday, in response to the newly instituted random subway searches, MUG questioned the efficacy of these searches as they are currently set up. It seemed to me that this deployment of resources is largely cosmetic (and terrorism experts I have heard interviewed have said essentially the same thing), designed to make riders feel better. That’s not a bad goal in and of itself, but the benefit of making people feel better now is outweighed, perhaps, by the unease it will have created when, despite this, a bomb goes off. If the searches are stopped, and there is a bombing, people will say that we should have had searches. But I’d still like to see a more rational approach to threats than knee-jerk reactions after an event.

I’d like to see things done that might reduce the threat or minimize the casualties in an attack. Specifically, fix the communication problems among the first responders, where virtually no progress has been made since 9-11. Improve underground communications, invest in more cameras, increase ease of egress, use bomb-sniffing dogs. Consider using in subway cars the special glass that breaks in such a way as to minimize injuries in a bombing. And the technology is there, the Israelis having developed it, to use bomb-sensor technology for passengers boarding buses.

The mail from Monday ran 79 against the searches and four in favor of them. Even if it had been the other way around, I see no harm in asking the question. One reader wrote, "You might have heard in the real press (see for polls) that the average New York subway rider sees the searches as positive (which should also make you uneasy about broadcasting your anti-search views to your NYC readership)."

That made me uneasy all right, but not for the reason the author of the email supposed. I was uneasy that the author would think that simply because, even if true, New Yorkers favor the searches, that that is a reason not to point out what seem to me flaws in the logic of those searches.

And then, after seeing "Primo," last night, I found this in my email, from D. Stein: "How dare you question the subway searches???!?!?! You sound completely ignorant and foolish."

I know I blanched, because I felt the blood instantly drain from my face. It’s not the second sentence – I’m ignorant and foolish on a daily basis. It was that a fellow New Yorker was so fearful that he was willing to fall into lock-step with authority and was shocked that someone else would not. Isn’t asking questions, as Primo Levi learned, one of the fundamental elements of freedom?

–Charlie Suisman

This article, to me, illustrates the difficulties of reporting that “the media” has recently had to begin defending. Blogging, if you ask many of the influential bloggers, was supposed to be the Deus ex Machina that remedied the pitfalls of MSM, but if you just use this article as a reference point, it’s pretty clear to me that blogging has not, and will not, become the fair and balanced news source that many would like it be.

I know that it’s about as obvious as a punch in the face, but just to make sure you caught it, the crux of this article is comparing every New Yorker in favor of subway searches to fascists. That is the point of this article. If you like bag searches you may as well have killed Jews. If you need any more commentary on that then may whatever supernatural force you have faith in have mercy on you.

The second blatant problem with this article is the complete disregard for opposing viewpoints. The theme of the piece is “with us or against us,” and in a city as diverse as New York this is a dangerous mindset. It seems to me that the problem is one of appearances. To those who lean left of the political spectrum, New York appears to be a liberal paradise. A dissenting opinion is rarely heard, and those in power begin to assume that it doesn’t exist. This not only makes conversations very boring, but it also leads to a deluge of one-sided commentary and a marginally voiced and oft attacked minority. To be sure, MUG does not advertise itself as a news outlet (nor do they fit that label), but that does not serve to qualm my unease at such a large outlet using it’s popularity to attack a minority who may believe that the security measures implemented could serve effective as, at the very least, a duct-tape deterrent to copycat bombings on our own soil.

To be fair, there is at least one good point raised in the editorial. The fact that there are no drug or bomb-sniffing dogs in the subway system should be a concern of everyone. Personally, I know nothing about the availability of these dogs, nor why this measure has not yet been assessed in other new sources. Beating up everyone who fucks up a little seems to be the pastime of both of our gloriously infamous newspapers, The New York Post and Daily News. The fact that neither of them has proposed dogs in the subway system is actually quite astounding, and I’m rather ashamed that I didn’t think of it first myself. That doesn’t change the fact that cameras and “bomb proof” subway cars are by no stretch of the imagination measures that we could enact in a quick manner. Raising these issues in an article focused on practices implemented in response to an attack days earlier seems like a red herring, to me. I’ll grant you that maybe some of these should have been examined earlier, but that’s a moot point, and they know it. Simply stated, the reason that Suisman brings up complicated and long-term measures is to create an offensive, not to bring up feasible alternatives to searches. The only, only feasible alternative to searches in the subway mentioned are dogs.

If I looked shocked this morning after checking my inbox, it wasn’t because someone disagrees with me. In fact, a lot of people disagree with me. The real reason my jaw dropped after reading this editorial was a complete lack of respect for anyone with an opposing viewpoint. Clips from two emails out of four defending the searches are cited in the piece. First of all, I find it doubtful that the author chose two representative sentences from the four emails. I try to be fair, so I hope that I’ve misjudged the author and all four emails were as full of the drivel what he copied into the editorial. Why else would you choose the sentence with five exclamation marks and two question marks? Well, you know as well as I do that you would choose to repeat that sentence because it makes your opponent look like a moron. At best, that was rude and uncalled for. At worst, the author is an insensitive ass, and mean and underhanded, to boot. Respect does not stop at party lines. Or, at least, it shouldn’t.

Lets sum up some stuff and be as clear as mud on this topic: I. Hate. Bag. Searches. When I flew to Raleigh for the first time (first time flying, not to North Carolina) the friendly folks of the FAA made sure that, in addition to my apprehension of flying, I was pissed as hell when I got on the plane, too. And did you know that they don’t serve liquor on the little shit prop planes that wobble when they take off? You should have cases of whiskey on hand for the takeoff. 95% of the cargo should be liquor. I took it out on my girlfriend and felt bad about it, but those fuckers took my lighter, too. They spent fifteen minutes fishing a pair of scissors from a nail-care package out of her purse. Fuck them. But if fifteen minutes of that saves a few lives, I guess you just have to suck it up and get the fuck over it. It doesn’t mean you can’t be mad about it. It just means that the good outweighs the bad. And your inconvenience is nothing compared to even one life. If bag searches deter one person from walking onto the E train at 8:15 when I’m on my way to work, and I’m alive to prove it, than that shit works. Attacking a practice with no statistics, references, historical studies etc is just plain misguided, especially when your only real objection to it is running around yelling “racial profiling” like a chicken with his head cut off. But if it does work, and it keeps some people who shouldn’t be down there out of the subways, it’ll be damn hard to prove. Hell, if it keeps one guy from stealing one iPod I’d be happy. But Suisman took the easy way out, and attacked a security measure that we will (most likely) never see work. And if it does work, he’ll never be able to thank the cops who saved our asses.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Hot times, summer in The City

Well, for all of the complaining I've been doing about the heat in NYC, it looks like our neighbors to the west got hit a little harder than we have thus far in Heat Wave 2005. My dearest friends in Chicago, I would send you some sympathy, but I'm going to assume that you have central air so I'm not cutting you much slack. As an aside, sexin' in the middle of the day during the summer is so much fun. It’s like a slip 'n slide except nakeder.

Speaking of naked girls running rampant around my apartment, we've run into a touch of bad news. Our good friend Andrea will not be joining us on a new Manhattan adventure. It's sad, but by staying in the Forbidden Borough we'll have a lot more money lying around to buy new furniture. The way that came out it sounds like I'm Uncle Scrooge from Ducktales and every afternoon I slip into a smoking jacket and dive into my pile of money and do the backstroke. Because that is exactly what I do.

Aside from complaining about the heat, there isn't really all that much going on around these parts. Yesterday I did laundry and today I'll be purchasing a new stick of deodorant. I get the Old Spice with the click-wheel. I had to use hers this morning so I smell vaguely like baby powder. I'm pretty sure my pan-seared (and butter soaked) shrimp pasta last night gave me a minor heart attack. It kinda hurts right here. Not that a heart attack would surprise me. The other day riding in to work on the subway I went into a cold sweat for a minute and thought I was having a stroke. I don't even know what a stroke is. But I knew that it was the end. No, really. New York rocks during the summer. Just ask Manhattan Transfer. I seriously have to start hanging out with that motherfucker. Because it sounds like he knows how to party.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Great way to end a Friday

Good lordy, Craigslist makes me so happy. One. Two.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

I feel like such a schmuck. It's the middle of the summer and I am missing all of the advantages and getting all of the drawbacks. New York City is hot. It might not be hotter than what I'm used to, but here I have to walk my fat ass everywhere I go so by the time I get to work I look like I got beat up by a giant fish or a shark with arms. My hair is all messed up and I have sweat running down my face. At first I would jog into the office panting and tell everyone that I had just run the Boston Marathon and then jogged back to Manhattan, but I think everyone except Arlene has caught on. I sleep naked with no covers but, for some reason, The Wife thinks that she should be allowed to sleep in the bed too, so our body heats reflect off of each other or something (It's complicated physics. You wouldn't understand.) and it makes it twice as hot as it would be if she would just sleep on the couch like a normal girlfriend. I told her I only need her in the bed for, like, two minutes a night, but she won't listen. Like it's her bed or something. I mean it is, but whatever.

I have learned, though, that despite the elderly-killing temperatures, heat alone will not give you a nice, healthy tan. In fact, I am white like freshly fallen snow. Which is kind of funny because thinking about freshly fallen snow just shorted out my brain, I think. I've been sitting with my hands on the keyboard for like five minutes staring off into space and then suddenly I remembered what snow was.

There has been one good thing about the heat. Since it's too hot to move I've been watching a lot more movies. In the past couple of weeks I've watched The Office in its entirety, more Simpsons than I can count, and a bunch of Studio Ghibli films. I got Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke and Kiki's Delivery Service. I think I like them in that order, actually. So if you have some recommendations for me I'm ready to hear them. So far my summer list is On The Waterfront, Dig!, and it's too hot to try and remember the rest of the list. Jesus did I mention it was hot? I'm going to go get something from the Coke machine.

Friday, July 15, 2005

I never ever stopped wondering


Good knight unless you're at work you should read the new Q and Not U interview up at Fuck You, Pay Me because if you're at work you will surely get fired for laughing and milk coming out of your nose and peeing in your pants at the same time.

If I had a bigger apartment I would get a huge bell jar and take her and put her in it and put it in a corner by a window and feed her crickets every day.


Cool things to hear at work:

a) "Thanks, Ben."
b) "I didn't expect this back today!"
c) "I know you're busy, but I need your help."
d) "You're my lifeline."

Sweet. Stroke that ego.

P.S. Holy crap it's finally Friday. If anybody wants to go on a cruise around the island Monday night (for free, I think) send me an email. I'm not going solo.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

I'll just spend the night at home cooking dinner

Assuming I had the energy to go out tonight, it is feasible to create an itinerary similar to this:

12:00 The Wailers, on your lunch break, at Metrotech
7:00 Sun Volt at the South Street Seaport
9:30 Free drinks from Last Night's Party
10:30 Free drinks at the AKB gallery opening after-party

This town kicks ass.


Happy Bastille Day!

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Movin' Out isn't just a gay musical with Nick Lachey

Let me explain something to you that you may not know about me. If there is any phrase that I would use to describe myself that could be applied consistently to my adult life it would be "laid back." I suppose that may be a bit generous, because in reality this trait manifests itself as being really fucking lazy. I mean, I work hard (no, really!) and I'll give anything a shot once (I even conceded and played a round of tennis for a second time a few weeks ago), but if things aren't going my way I'm apt to get myself right back home, head held high, and drink a beer. So apartment hunting in NYC is, as you would expect, not my forte. In The South, 'hunting' is a term we use synonymously to mean "shooting animals" and "searching for a new place to live," but I never thought that I would be willing to actually buy a gun and take out brokers just for a set of keys. I am fairly close to that point now. Let me tell you two quick stories.

Friday afternoon a few weeks ago I was finishing up work, daydreaming about the fabulously sunny weekend ahead. The plan was to go out with a few of Her friends from school, catch up on some reading at the beach, and get some much needed sleep. I'm not sure if you know anyone in graduate school in a medical field, but if you don't you should meet some. Because ninety percent of them are girls, and of those, pretty much ninety percent of them are hot. So the weekend looks like it has some potential and I'm in a pretty good mood. Since three o'clock on a Friday is about as leisurely as we get around here, I was perusing the Craigslist ads preparing for our impending move into Manhattan when I stumbled onto an ad for a two bedroom in Park Slope for $2000. I usually pass these, first off because the girls are set on moving into Manhattan, but also because brokers yell "Park Slope" if they have a place as low as 25th Street. Even if they insist on calling this area "Park Slope" I still call it "filled with Mexican gangs," but I opened the link out of curiosity anyway. It turns out the apartment was in a gorgeous section of the Slope and there was no fee and no credit check because the guy was trying to get out of the lease early. I quickly emailed him and was pleasantly surprised when he emailed back almost immediately. I called him when I left work and he assured me that he would be there all afternoon so I was more than welcome to drop by and see the place. By the time I got off the train at Union and walked the two blocks to his place I was actually getting excited. I found the building and buzzed up to his apartment. Nobody answered. I hung out for a minute and tried again. When nobody buzzed me in the second time I called his phone.

"Hi, this is Ben. I emailed you about the apartment?"

"Hey, how are you?"

"I'm good, I'm outside. Can I come up?" I asked.

"No, we have someone up here. They just took it."

A slightly overpriced apartment in Brooklyn was on the market for three and a half hours before they found someone to take it. Fuck.

This one is better.

This weekend the lovely young lady with whom we will (presumably) be sharing the mythical apartment was in town for a second job interview. I had a long day at work but, damn the torpedoes, I am pumped about moving into the heart of America. So I gathered up my pride and trekked across town to 2nd Avenue where I met the rest of my troops and we had a drink (to steady the nerves) before we walked (and walked, and walked) to Fifth Street and Avenue B. It was somewhere in the neighborhood of two million degrees Fahrenheit outside yesterday, but there was a bit of a breeze from the sewer vents so we pressed on, pulling off articles of clothing and leaving them for the bums. Millionaires in cute cafes pointed and laughed for our being silly enough to come this far east without a cab, but we were too close to victory to turn back. When we made it, we were one of a dozen or so groups waiting patiently to see a number of apartments. When he called ours we beamed and held our collective "WE'LL TAKE IT!" in until we actually saw the place. What we found on the second floor of this "LES Gem!" was three closets. Connected to each other. With a door and a stove. I know that you may be saying to yourself: "Look at this country boy. This ain't no farm, son. We measure in feet, not acres." Actually, you wouldn't be saying that to yourself because you don't say "ain't" and you probably don't know what a "farm" or an "acre" look like. I digress. Seriously. The kitchen was the size of my cubicle. The two bedrooms were slightly larger than a twin size bed. There was no living room (they call it a "two wing bedroom" in satanic rituals real estate broker talk). It was three east-west blocks from any train. And it was more than a monthly mortgage payment anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon.

This is not a resignation. I will continue to search for a place to live. But I won't be happy about it. And I will absolutely not move to Hoboken, no matter how many hipsters tell me how cool it is. I will live here for three more fucking years and then I will buy a house and throw away every piece of crap I have ever bought that folds up so it takes up less room. And then I'll stretch out on my couch and drink a beer in my central-air-cooled home, and wonder how I was ever such a sucker for putting up with this.

Wish us luck.

Friday, July 08, 2005

Music roundup

Ah, sweet, sweet Friday. Today is not the best Friday ever, because it is pouring in Manhattan and it makes everthing smell like summer (but not in a good way), but regardless, the end of the week puts images of drugs and alcohol in the mind of hipsters everywhere and something comes loose in peoples brains so we forget how much money we have in our bank accounts. The dance continues. Here is some music news from this week.

CMJ is rolling into New York City in September and the bands have been announced. God knows why they listed Arcade Fire first on the bill, because there are some amazing acts coming to town. Unmissable are John V'slice, The Hold Steady, Wolf Parade, The Numbers, The Wrens, Clap Your Hands, Prosaics, Hella, Of Montreal, and Eric Bachmann. Yikes. That's a lot of shows not to miss.

Sufjan is back on shelves, Superman and all. If you paid like $500 for it on eBay email me so I can make fun of you.

The fucking Hot Snakes broke up. Dammit. And when the fuck is RFTC going back on tour? Like, never. Story's at Pitchfork, too, if you don't want to read John's shitty handwriting. At least he says they'll be back in NYC one more time before they disband.

Ashlee the new Britney? Maybe. Good lordy that girl is fine. Speaking of fine, I stole the link from Rocksnob.

Finally, I can't remember where I read about this band, but you should totally download Destination Diamonds by Diamond Nights. The blog I heard about them on described them as "The Darkness without the falsetto," but there is still some falsetto in there. Oh yeah and they rock hard. Gogogo.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Fifty things you really don't care about

Work is sporadic -- yesterday I was working for eight hours straight on creating a new model and today I spent about fifteen minutes putting final touches on it and I haven't done anything since. Just to keep you in the circle, we filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy on Tuesday morning. I have no ties to the company, really, since I'm just consulting, so this will be a learning experience for me, and not scary at all. But it looks like my days will go at random from high workload days to days when the only thing keeping me sane is the thought of a cold beer at 5:30. Today was a head-banging day.

This is a list of fifty things that you really don't care about. It's about me, but that's pretty much why we start blogs anyway, right? Most of us, I imagine. I'll give a little more credit to guys like Instapundit (especially today, holy hell). But to keep the mood light and keep my mind occupied, I've created this wreck of a post. Enjoy!

1. I am really short. I mean, maybe I'm not really short. But you know. The fact that this is the first thing on the list might make you think that you could make some sort of psychoanalytical statement about me, but if you think so, you're probably just a cocky hippy.
2. Moving to a big city wasn't as life changing as I thought it would be.
3. One of my favorite songs is "She Is Beautiful" by Andrew W.K.
4. If pressed, I think that I would say that my favorite color is red.
5. I hate my cell phone.
6. I really miss my dog and I can't wait until I have a house with a yard again, so I can get a corgi.
6½. I never told Ryan that we had to give her away to a wonderful group of guys in Park Slope who love her very much because I felt terrible about it. Sorry, Ryan.
7. My favorite authors are Rushdie and Salinger, but I'm a sucker for the Beats. And Bukowski.
8. As long as work is keeping me busy, I am happy to be there.
9. I generally do not get along with white foods, including milk and ice cream, sour cream, cottage cheese, ricotta cheese, mayonnaise etc.
10. I'm scared of flying (although the trip back from Raleigh a month or so ago was a little better).
11. I am very easily entertained.
12. Roosters, as both a symbolic icon and aesthetic object, are freaking awesome.
13. Even though I sort of hate those people who say that they "listen to everything," I can enjoy lo-fi, indie rock, punk rock, country and 70's rock ballads equally.
14. I do not eat sushi.
15. It actually took going to a restaurant that charged customers for forks for me to learn how to use chopsticks, and by the end of the meal my hands were so tired I ended up poking the chicken with the chopstick in order to eat it.
16. I played the cello for more years that I can count and I've never played Chopsticks. Maybe it's just a piano thing?
17. If someone made me go to a psychiatrist, I think that I would find out a lot more about myself than I really want to.
18. I also think that he or she would confirm my suspicion that I have a pretty serious case of the OCDs.
19. I am very susceptible to peer pressure.
20. There is something beautiful about a blank sheet of paper.
21. Once, I was "the other guy," and I still feel really bad about it sometimes.
22. I never really understood why Post-It notes were that great an invention.
23. I've never been to a rodeo, but I think it would be a lot of fun.
24. It makes me feel a little self-conscious that many of these are starting with "I."
25. A couple of weeks ago I had a White Russian because I really like The Big Lebowski, and now I can't get enough of them. But only after 11 p.m. or so. They seem more like a dessert drink.
26. I don't eat breakfast.
27. I usually don't eat much of a lunch, either.
28. I've always wanted a phone number that you can make a word out of, so I could tell people: "Yeah, man, just call me. It's 917-9-BADASS."
29. Mostly I drink lighter beers like IPAs, but one of my favorite things in the world is drinking Guinness in a hot tub.
30. I use hyperbole all the time.
31. I should have said Number 32, earlier, but I don't want people to think of me as "that couple" that nobody can stand going out with.
32. Number 31 should say that I am really happy living with The Wife.
33. I am a boy and I cook kind of well. I've had to learn recently because she makes me eat vegetables.
34. I don't like using black pens. I prefer blue or red. I think the red is just because of the accounting background.
35. I cross my 7s.
36. And my Zs.
37. Smells are probably the most important scent in a relationship. Once I convinced myself that the reason an ex drove me crazy was because of her perfume (although I disliked her perfume very much).
38. I apologize for things I shouldn't apologize for.
39. I've tried to quit smoking four or five times. I'm in the middle of one of those times right now, and I'm taking a break for a cigarette.
40. I am a firm believer that a man's choice of ties can provide a great deal of insight into his personality.
41. I'll talk about politics if pressed, but I rarely bring it up because my Libertarian views tend to piss a lot of people off.
42. I'd never tried Indian food until late last year, but now I love it.
43. One of my most ingrained values is creativity, but I find it harder and harder to express it as I age (which I tend to blame on increased responsibilities, but who knows).
44. My dress has changed considerably in the past year. I can only really blame The Wife for about 50% of the change. The rest I blame on work and "maturity."
45. When I drink I often do very stupid things. These things usually involve speaking.
46. I haven't had very many relationships, but I feel like I've learned the most from the worst ones.
47. My most embarrassing past time is perusing Craigslist Missed Connections.
48. Eloquent speakers impress me.
49. My dreams do not involve money, but they do involve security. So when I have to do things that I don't want to do because of money, I justify it by thinking of the benefit of increased security.
50. As cool as it sounds, I haven't quite decided that I would rather be rock and roll and die young as opposed to living quietly for 95 years. But I lean towards rock and roll.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Don't shoot me

At the risk of losing all of my indie cred, I'm going to go ahead and say it:

Going to a Steven Malkmus concert is identical to going to Phish concert except minus the free or inexpensive drugs. The Jicks are a jam band who somehow brainwashed poor Steven into playing fifteen minute songs and playing solos sans distortion pedal. It was a mess.

Battery Park was packed, Court Street was packed, and today I can barely stand up because I think I'm a little bit drunk still. Best holiday ever.

Friday, July 01, 2005


Congratulations to my best friend Jennifer Smalley for getting engaged and not telling me for two weeks. Not only is this great news because I will have a party to crash in May at which I will be able to drink for free and hit on her little sister, but also because my little Jenny is growing up. I can't picture most of my friends from long long ago tying any knots or making any babies, but I guess the time has to come eventually. Change is funny though, because pretty soon you are talking about "what are we going to name our babies?" and "how are we ever going to be able to afford to retire?" and you don't even realize it. So maybe the phone call last night will have some lasting effects in regards to my "living on the edge" and "damning the man" but mostly The Wife has already stripped me of my forbidden pleasures. The only thing I have left, really, is running up to her right after I've washed my hands and screaming "Oh my god! I peed allll over myself!" and rubbing them all over her. Jesus that never gets old.

Also last night I really did almost pee all over myself when Little Ms. Engaged told me her fiance's last name. One guess.

Fucking. Lopez.

Ideas for wedding presents are already bombarding my sick head.