Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Quick tips for successful living.

Always eat at buffets so that if you spill your food, you can just go get more.

Wingtips make you look like you are trying too hard. As do French cuffs.

Wear polka dots to your job interview. Your boss will remember your name if you stick out.

Be daring! Try the fugu!

Always yell while talking on a cell phone in public. Yelling commands respect.

You only really have to wash your trousers once a month.

If you cry after sex your mate will take notice of your sensitive side. If you laugh, the world will laugh with you, and it is sure to lighten the post-coital mood. Try both and see which your mate responds best too.

Remember to bring your "champange bong" to ritzy events. If your friends decline to try it, ask him "What happened? You get sand in your vagina?"

Garlic and onion are much cheaper (and almost always more readily availiable) than chewing gum.

Spit on the floor. There's no reason to swallow your saliva like a blue-collar slave.

If you find yourself in a odorous subway car, just light a cigarette. Everyone will thank you.

It reminds cabbies of home if you refer to them as "Durka Durka Mohammed." They won't mind if you "forget" to give them a tip, too!

Computers are terrible at math. Always do the harder calculations by hand.

Premium denim will generally make your ass look big. Cargo pockets are slimming.

Using "shit" and "fuck" more often on the job will show your boss that you are a to-the-point, no nonesense kind of guy, and that if you got a pink slip, you wouldn't be the one laying on the floor with a few missing teeth.

Open every conversation with a girl with a one-liner about the Smashmouth/Chumbawumba show you went to four years ago.

Start a blog. Everyone loves to hear the meaningless shit that you while away your day thinking about!

Hope these quick tips help! To contribute your own, email us at quicktipsforsuccessfulliving@gmail.com!

Monday, November 28, 2005

The best thing about Thanksgiving is watching four girls cook you dinner while you sit on the couch and watch football. The second and third best things are the abundance of wine and the day off work. Also the pumpkin pie.

I'll try and get you caught up on a more regular basis soon. And when I say "soon," don't be surprised if you have to wait til the Oh Six.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Spam poetry.

Never pretend a love which you do not actually feel,
for love is not ours to command.
Hurry hard and proud, Leona I yelled:

What would you do if I kissed you right now?

Just keep her smiling.
My drink is getting lonely. Would you like to join me with yours?
I am sold!
Although, not yet. And when he returns,
splitting the air
with noise
(thats what she likes)
O brother with the common tongue, which all the world speaks,
Much is done and we, led by the seer, stand at attention.

Excuse me, do you mind if I stare at you for a minute? I want to remember your face for my dreamstallahassee.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Shit yeah! Just in time for Christmas!

Sales:

Kate Spade, 123 W. 18th [6th/7th] on sale 11/18 9-7, 11/19 9-5. Kate and Jack Spade lines, including bags and accessories.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

I would never date anyone named Heather, Ashley, or Leanne. On the other hand, even if she were not as cute or intelligent as I hoped, I might date an Emily or an Elizabeth simply because of her name.

Last night The Wife heated up some leftover corn with dinner. I told her that there was no way I was eating it, because I didn't know how long it had been in the refridgerator. She insisted that I just made it Monday night, to which I responded that there was no way the offending corn was made on Monday. Monday night, I assured her, I made ham, squash and steamed broccoli. Even if I had made three vegatables (which would never happen), there is no way that I would make both corn and squash because they are both yellow. You cannot have more than two vegatables with dinner, and you can never have two vegatables that are the same color, or that may resemble the color of the meat served with said vegatables.

We went to a lounge a few avenues away a couple months ago, courting our to-be roommate. Having fallen back into another Big Lebowski kick, I was drinking White Russians. Our guest had one, too. About fifteen minutes into the drink I realized that something was wrong: The stirring straws in my White Russian were slightly different lengths. The straws were promptly removed from the drink and, to my surprise, our guest said that she too had been thinking about the fact that her straws were uneven for the past fifteen minutes. This made me a feel a little bit better, and we each switched one straw and continued the conversation.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Je voudrais tant que tu te souviennes,
Des jours heureux où nous étions amis,
En ce temps-là, la vie était plus belle,
Et le soleil plus brûlant qu'aujourd’hui.
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,
Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié.
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi.
Et le vent du Nord les emporte,
Dans la nuit froide de l'oubli.
Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié
La chanson que tu me chantais...

C'est une chanson qui nous ressemble,
Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais.
Nous vivions tous les deux ensemble,
Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais.
Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment,
Tout doucement sans faire de bruit.
Et la mer efface sur le sable,
Les pas des amants désunis.

Since you went away the days grow long,
And soon I'll hear old winter's song.
But I miss you most of all, my darling,
When autumn leaves start to fall.

Friday, November 04, 2005

A couple of nights ago, rather than going back to the bars that we always seem to wind up at, a group of us decided to go Village Idiot's successor, The Patriot Saloon. I remembered reading on Shecky's something about cheap beer and old drunks, and something about boobs. I can't remember. But we really just went for the cheap beer. So it came as a little bonus when we arrived to find a blonde in her mid 20's wearing a bikini top manning the bar. She had clearly been trained to greet the drunks with a wink and a friendly remark, rather than the terse "What can I get you?" Her southern accent completed the package, and it was clear that the majority of the bar was either thinking about her, or trying not too. The fact that she was the only female in the bar was probably helping her tips, too.

We sat a table and had a pitcher, and then another. We talked about the weekend and Star Wars, but eventually, as will happen most times you get a few guys together to get drunk, the conversation turned to girls. A friend of mine has a body that I, in my inebriation, compared to the table by banging the glass down on it. As in: her stomach is (I kid you not) as hard as a wooden table. A heated discussion about the amount of pudge one expected and needed ensued. Although I loudly expressed my displeasure at "kissing a stomach that feels like a pane of glass" and my argument was eventually defeated, I'll maintain the standpoint until the day I die.

The trip back to Brooklyn I was consumed with thoughts about what we find attractive and why. Boobs are free to see the light of day in some cultures, but in others, females are allowed only to show their faces. Here, we have a kind of "whatever" policy on clothing that suits me just fine. If you can get away with wearing it, then people will. And they do. But why is it that sometimes it's exciting (like in a bar full of guys) and sometimes not (like walking around naked at home)?

I don't know what the moral of the story is, except that I'm pretty sure I'll never really understand myself. And if I can't ever understand myself, I can pretty well guarantee that I'll never understand girls. Instead I just pretend that I do. So far it's working pretty well, but I'll warn you: If you ever decide to go to the Patriot with me, I'll probably accidentally check out the bartender. Sorry about that.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

On the radio they were talking about werewolves and the similarity between the phases of the moon and the phases of the werewolf and the, uh, phases of the woman. Speculation regarding the sex of the werewolf seemed to be heavily leant towards the impossibility of a male werewolf. That, possibly, the only sex connected by these deep rivers of mana that, maybe, your Brikenstock-wearing, mulching neighbor believes our Earth, our Mother, emits.

I'll tell you something, though.

Our Mother Earth wasn't the only thing emitting mana last night.