Let us Throw Eggs!

Idaho Republican Senator, Larry Craig

What really steams me about this whole Larry Craig issue is that nobody seems to realize that it is not gay men who commit these crimes of public lewdness and reckless behavior, it is, in fact,"straight" individuals so consumed by the very lives they are trying to repress, they do the very thing they speak against.
Every time a scandal like this pops, (4 within the 2006-2007 year alone) the gay community gets slapped with a sneak-attack backhand of homophobia. There seems to be an idea, deep rooted within American culture, that gay men come pre-programmed with a creepy innate sense to prey upon unsuspecting straight people. That still in 2007, gays lurk in dark corners, salivating through sharp teeth and ready to pounce on the poor, unsuspecting white American family man. This is not the case. But unfortunately, when an event like this occurs, it is gay men who get tainted with this picture at the fault of the very man condemning the actions himself.
Larry Craig, may or may not be gay, but we're sure of one thing- he likes cock. As does Anti- Child pornography Republican Mark Foley (he likes 16 year old cock,) and Republican Florida House Rep Bob Allen (he likes black cock), and Christian Mega-Evangelical leader Ted Haggard (he likes cock and crystal meth!) Does anybody not see a pattern here? Is this not obvious to anyone?
These acts are not being committed by gay people! They are being committed by people so repressed about an aspect of themselves, they spend entire lifetimes speaking out against the very thing they desire. Mark Foley, so scared that he might be a pedophile, built a shell around himself of anti-child exploitation and activism so he and nobody else could expect him of being the very thing he was afraid of. Ted Haggard, a Christian leader of thousands preached against homosexuality and taught morals to his congregation to only go behind their back and hire a gay huslter to use crystal meth with and have sex.
The homophobia comes next. It's not the act or crime that becomes the main issue it's the outright denial that these man could possibly, for one instant, have desired another man's body. That there is no way they might possibly be, even a little bit, the tiniest bit, gay. No, it becomes excuses of racism (Allen,) alcoholism (Foley,) tempted by the devil (Haggard.) And nobody seems to mind this. Nobody even bothers to discuss that these men might be repressed homosexuals, because alcoholism, racism, and just being plan old crazy is more easily excused than the idea of just being gay. It's as if being an alcoholic or an accidental racist, or meth user is somehow better than being gay.
Take Ted Haggard for instance. Throughout the years Haggard gained tremendous love and support from thousands of people to whom he preached. He made incredible impressions on people, motivated them, gave them inspiration, something to live for, taught they were all equal and be kind to one another. His congregation grew to masses, then filled stadiums. Then his scandal falls and all of these people who grew to love him and were taught not to judge and to accept that "we are all sinners," deserted him in an instant. Nobody came to his defense. Nobody said, "Ted said we are all sinners and I accept him as one too." What happened to all the teachings, the impressions, the "we're all sinners?" Yeah, he could have gained that back if he cheated on his wife or was involved in a pit-bull gambling circuit, but no, since he's gay- he's done. There are sinners and then there are fags. It's as if the pre-gay Ted Haggard never existed, as if every service he held in the past suddenly became, muted.
It is the gay community, suffering yet again, from these political fallouts. We, the ones who live as our true selves, mind our business, live in reality are the one's getting punished from the behavior of these sad, pathetic, self-loathing men. These men and scandals that are all coming to a head are a product of a repressed and backwards society.
While these men go to "rehab" for their problems or pay worthless bureaucratic fines with their white-collar money it is our names and lifestyles that get dragged through the dirt.
Instead of paying fines, or going to rehab, or getting exiled from the Church I would much rather have these men stand in the middle of Union Square and have the public throw rotten eggs and tomatoes at them. They can handle it. God knows, it's what they've been doing to themselves for their entire lives.

More Chris Crocker!

Serious (NSFW)


Silly

I'm Hooked on this Kid too!

YouTube is amazing because now talented people everywhere have the means to voice themselves with little to no production costs. Talented people are popping up everywhere in vast fields of binary code.
Lately I've been following Video Blogger/Performer, Chris Crocker, deliver his opinions and philosophies through a seemingly well crafted, but certainly on the spot, tell-it-like-it-is ghetto-princess cum gay boy hilarity. Many of his spots are driven to be humorous but when he takes a more serious tone, like the video posted below, he comes across as more than a performer, more than a comedian, but an activist standing up for himself and everyone else daring to be themselves. According to the link above Chris has become so popular through MySpace and Youtube he is working with producers on show deals in both New York and LA.
You may roll your eyes at first, but give it a chance. You'll find the genius in it.

It's Raining Fierceness

I first saw this video on PerezHilton.com
Drag performer Britney Houston does a hilarious parody of Lil Mama's "Lip Gloss."
I love the beginning with the (real) lyrics being "I gotta ax him. Cus if I don't. I don't know. Let's go!
My lip gloss is cool/my lip gloss is poppin'/I'm standing at my locker and all the balls keep stopin'" I just doesn't get any more genius does it?

Adventures in Unemployment- Korea Town

Day 47...

Matt Lewkowicz- Korea Town, NYC

Riot showed up at Rapture Cafe where I was emailing and doing everything possible to find a job. She shows up wearing a bikini, ya know, on a Monday, in the middle of the day, why not? How fierce.
One of my best bro's in the world, Matt Lewkowicz, is in town from Los Angeles visiting family and what not and blocked off time with me and two other friends of ours, Jannica and Gruber, to grab dinner and drinks. I was in the mood for Korean food and Jannica, being Korean recommended we go to Korea Town for dinner. Korea, where? What? There's a Korea Town in Manhattan? Oh. Ok, let's go.
Matt, Jannica, Gruber, and I sat down to a wonderful Korean Barbecue restaurant and caught up on our current lives as well as talked about the days of our distant youth. All four of us, much like my core group of inseparable friends, have known one another since Junior High. It is always a wonderful and often crazy time when we can get together. And tonight was no exception to this rule.
Jannica, being quite an adventurer mentioned we should all go to Rick's Cabaret around the corner and get lap dances. Having 1) never been in a strip club before and 2) never received a lap dance, I shrugged and said, "Sure, what the hell..."
$40 dollars and a few drinks later, I had a girl grinding herself into my body and beard and also my wallet because when she was through she told me I owed her $20 bucks. I didn't ask for this lap dance but I suppose I didn't say "No thanks," firmly enough either and before I could say "stilettos" I had an empty wallet. Then she asked, "Did you enjoy that," to which I grinned and responded, "um, yeah, that was nice." "Good," she said with a wink, "Do you want to go upstairs?" "Uh, er...No thank you but I really enjoyed your moves, quite swanky." She rolled her eyes and then preyed upon Matt sitting adjacent, pointing and laughing at me.
After we all spent more money than we had planned to we decided to book out of the joint and hit some other place. Jannica made another recommendation which was to go to a local karaoke place. We're in Korea Town, right? We ended up going to this place which I can't blog about because it was all in Korean and I wouldn't be able to even tell you the name of the place. We went up the elevator and ended up being lead by a small man down a narrow corridor into what looked like a cell block straight from the movie Blade Runner. Everything was metallic, shiny, and complete with a touch of 80's cheese- everything I expected from a true classic karaoke bar. We ordered some drinks and were handed a massive remote control which, of course, was all in Korean and after much deciphering couldn't make heads or tails of how to work it. Finally, Jannica punched some numbers in and American songs started popping up. We sang along to a few songs. Gruber: Slim Shady by Eminem. Matt: that song by Dido, ugh. Me: Milkshake by Kelis. Jannica: just stared at us with an appalled look on her face. We very quickly grew tired of trying to figure out the remote and singing songs to one another so, having a whole room to ourselves, what else is there to do besides get rowdy, wrestle, and scream obscenities into the microphone. We proved to be more talented at being obnoxious than singing and more fun doing this too.

Just One of those Nights

I wasn't exactly drunk when I met Lindsay at 1Am on the corner of Christopher St. and 7th Avenue. She was coming from a bar in midtown which was "a great venue but filled with the cheesiest Italian guys with shaved arms and fake tan" and I just escaped from the howls and growls of the bears at Ty's. We both weren't ready to call it a night and decided to duck into some place for a night cap.
A beer, a scotch, and a planter's punch later our innocent plan for a night cap turned into a whirlwind night of sloppy and obnoxious goof ball mania. Somewhere between gently sitting at the bar and my three-quarter empty Planter's Punch Lindsay and I lost it. Then, we grew wild.

Luckily I have my camera to illustrate the progression.

First it was like this









Then it became this









Then all hell broke lose





...Apparently, from what Lindsay told me the morning after, we owned the juke box and at some point Lindsay pretended to be a writer for a magazine working on article about escorting and hustling in the West Village, going up to people and asking them if they knew about "the scene." In all honesty I can't remember much after the Jukebox and as Lindsay was on the phone this morning, the receiver placed far away from my throbbing brain, I asked, "Lindsay what the hell happened to us last night?" and bewildered, as if she couldn't tell if she had seen a moose or a ghost responded simply, "I don't know..."

Listen Up!!

This is a hamburger!

Chat N' Chew- Union Square, NYC

This delicious monster was purchased and enjoyed to the point of human snail-trail at Chat N' Chew near Union Square.

Here's a burger enjoying tip: Be aggressive with the handling of your burger. The second you think you can get by and hold it by pinching it together without getting ketchup or grease on your hands, you've lost the battle. Take control of the burger. Own it! Don't let the size, or amount of toppings intimidate you, just take the palm of your hand and squeeze down on the bun while using your other hand to prevent, lettuce, tomato, pickle from sliding out the sides. Mold the bread like clay to your fingers and really grip it. Don't pinch. Hold. Own. Master.

oh and- there's napkins, relax.

Adventures in Unemployment

Day 46...?

"JazzFest" Thompkins Square Park- East Village, NYC

...I jumped up the subway steps of the 7th Avenue, Park Slope F train and stood on the corner waiting for Jill. Friday made the start of her last weekend in town and I met up with her to grab dinner and drinks and wish her off. Jill is a rip-my-heart out utterly close friend of mine. I bleed love for her. She and I became friends at 5 years old and there hasn't been a time in my life when she hasn't been a constant presence of friendship, understanding, and absolute hysterics. Jill is the epicenter of the just-one-the-guys type girls. Bawdy, tough, witty, brilliant and naturally gorgeous, Jill ranks high, if not highest, on the coolest chicks alive chart.
Park Slope, Brooklyn is one of those neighborhoods where on a perfect summer day you'll want to drop to your knees, unzip your chest, and allow the bucolic urban beauty to seep into your soul. I took a few moments, leaning up against the street light, taking in the old, classic brownstones, their age and craft, the level of lush in the green of the humid tree-lined streets, people at a sidewalk cafe, took a deep breathe and resumed waiting for Jill.
She arrived, we hugged and I kissed her so many times on the cheek she had to push me away. She handed me a cigarette and with my arm thrown over her shoulder we walked to a restaurant to catch up and keep being the friends we've always been.
After dinner another very close friend, Gwen was throwing a nearby rooftop barbecue. Jill and I went over, ascending the seemingly weak ladder to the roof and found Gwen and about 15 other people swigging beer and eating ribs cooked over a tail-gate bbq grill. Classic New York style. What else you going to do? Where else are you going to go? I ate some dessert, drank a beer, smiled at the NYC skyline during the wrap of summer and caught the F train back home to bed.

I just don't under"stand" it

That's not a burger!

As I delve further and further into the quest of finding New York's best hamburger I consulted the latest New York Magazine Cheap Eats issue. In this issue they have a feature, "The Year in Burgers: The City's Best New Beef.

Yesterday, as I walked aimlessly throughout the city I realized I was close to Stand, one of the Best Burger restaurants featured in the article. The article awards Stand two ketchup bottles out of five amongst the best in the city. The write up: "A fine burger, but a case of the sum not being quite as great as the parts. Getting the too-sturdy bun and patty to play nice is like shoving the positive poles of two magnets together."

Ok, I didn't excatly have a problem keeping my burger together but I will say the presentation outweighs any tastebud delight. Served with no lettuce or tomoato the Bacon Cheese Burger I got was "eh" at best. The actual burger was great. Tender, full of flavor, moist, juicy. But that's all you get. You don't get the lettuce-tomato-burger crunch with each bite and it doesn't come with any fries or sides. This is a gourmet burger- not a real classic American Burger. It should be treated as such and fed to those looking for a sandwhich and not a classic burger. For $10 dollars you just get this modest sized burger and 2 minutes later you're finished. Please.

NEXT!

Commercial Shoot

A slippery way to make $$$$

So I'm not completely unemployed. Between jobs I often find impromptu ways in which I can make money. From painting houses in Fire Island to Producing my friend's commercial I stay, just barely, above the surface.
Eyal, founder and President of Boy Butter Lubes hired me to produce his first commercial shoot. Having an affinity for Billy Mays and OxiClean I gladly accepted the offer. Eyal and I scouted locations and ended up filming at a mutual friend's house. The shoot went well, Eyal is becoming an in-front of camera pro, and I found money in my wallet.

Reading Rainbow

...Here's just a sample of some the books I've been reading this year. Since reading Andrew Holleran's Dancer from the Dance I've kind of been stuck in the genre of New York gay-based literature. In fact, I've read so many titles, both past and modern, that I've had to broaden my horizons and pick up a copy of Rubyfruit Jungle, which follows a country girl's coming of age into lesbianism. I finished it right here, on this bench in Washington Square. (haaaaay)

It's important to keep these books in mind. Some of them are the only history books we have, the only artifacts the gay community has to recall their histories, memories, pains and passions. There certainly aren't any American schoolbooks that will touch the subject.If looking to start a new book I recommend any of these titles.

The Beautiful Room is Empty- EB White
Dancer from the Dance- Andrew Holleran
The Beauty of Men- Andrew Holleran
Night in Aruba-Andrew Holleran
Grief- Andrew Holleran
Faggots- Larry Kramer
The Normal Heart/Destiny of Me- Larry Kramer
The tragedy of Today's Gays- Larry Kramer
City of Night- John Rechy
Numbers- John Rechy
Rushes- John Rechy
Ruby Fruitjungle- Rita Mae Brown

"Buh-Buh-Buh"


"Kevin hates me. Rick hates me. Everyone hates me except Sandy!"


Carmaleta Chu!


It's official, after years of debate her name is, Moonchild.

When Bears Attack!

Day 41...View Bar- Chelsea, NYC

...No thats not puke on the floor. It's actually peanut shells, which the patrons venturing to Max Scott's Woof Night at Viewbar get to throw on the floor. One of the many perks included in this friends and friends of friends furry-favorable festival.
Super-friends of mine Eyal and Brendan cooked and fed me a pasta dinner with an outrageous (thank you Brendan)! chicken-sausage which not only satisfied my tastebuds and stomach but also kept my wallet from it's constant habit of binging and purging.
Eyal and I chuckled our food down while catching up on the latest Tivo'd episodes of Family Guy while Brendan was on the phone in the bedroom, exasperated as he tried to help his mother fix an email problem through the inevitable intergenerational technological miscommunication gap. Here's a for instance:

mom: ok, now what?
kid: well, just click there.
mom: where?
kid: (sigh) there! (points to computer screen) on the link!
mom: oh (brow-beaten and lost, moving the mouse in aimless directions).......what's a link?
(kid & mom share and a silent, awkward instant and avoid eye contact. both breathe)
kid: Mom, a link is the underlined blue font. When you click on it, it brings you to that web page.
mom: Oh so I have to be on this webpage to go to this other webpage....?
kid: (eye roll...sigh)

We've all been there with our parents. It's like there's a matrix-hole in the bridge between generations. We, in our 20's and 30's come with a sense of tech-entitlement like we own computer wisdom while everyone else has to earn it. As if, by just being alive this day and age, in America, one should just know how to use a computer and if you don't well then...sigh (hummmmph!!)...
It's a true test of patience in the child-teaches-parent dynamic but it's important for us to breathe and remember, when they were our age, color tv was as impressive as it got.
After the call Brendan hung up and declared he needed a drink. I had wanted one and Eyal was down to go.
Eyal and Brendan live in the same neighborhood as View Bar and I recommended we go there as they hold Woof every Monday night. Something quick something local sounded like a good plan and before we knew it we had jumped from the concrete sidewalks of an urban street and into an alcoholic amazon of beasts and bears.
We paid our $3 cover, grabbed our raffle tickets and enjoyed $2 drafts at the bar. Before we could say, "lions and tiger's and-" bears were oh-my'ing themselves left and right. Something was in the air, maybe the humidity of the wet mid-August air or the fog steaming from a nearby sewer but shirts were practically forbidden for this Monday night.
I ran into a bunch of familiar faces while intermittently getting mauled by several herds. What a fun bunch of guys! I was glad we decided on View. It was friendly and laid back and easy going and full of beer, not sip-tinis or vodka-splashes. Just easy. Just a drink.

Adventures in Unemployment

Day 40...Dance Floor- PS1 Dance Party, Queens

This weekend came and went faster than a quadriplegic's surfing career and in the end everyone was left cold, wet, and miserable.
Having experienced the quiet and comfort of the southern New Jersey suburbs I felt I couldn't possibly handle another aimless day wandering around the sweltering, stuffy city and decided to head 20minutes west of me to my parent's new condo in Little Falls, NJ. Making this an even more serendipitous event is the fact that my parents are away in Dallas, TX visiting my older sister, Rachel. This meant I would have an entire 2 bedroom/2 bathroom condo, complete with new house smell, central AC, and all the On Demand cable microwavable popcorn could handle at my dispose. I salivated at the idea and by Thursday night I was there: feet up, shirt off, and remote in hand scanning everything HBO had to offer. Unfortunately, the On Demand selection was too vast and I started shaking with a "Sophie's Choice" anxiety like I wouldn't be able to pick the right movie. In the end I decided to ditch the entire menu and dive into my father's DVD collection like a 4th grader to his first pinata. I flung Dreamgirls and Pirates of the Caribbean over my shoulder as that same 4th grader would have a small packet of Necco Wafers or a box of raisins. I finally went with Bobby, one of the few in Dad's selection I haven't seen and figured judging Lindsay Lohan in a serious role would be satisfaction enough for me to give it a shot. You know, what? It wasn't half bad. In fact, it was quite good! I really dug the "not really about Bobby Kennedy's death" but moreso "the time's surrounding his death" approach. And that Lohan, man, I'd say she's as proficient in acting her lines as she is snorting them! I'll give it the I'd see that again thumbs up review. After the movie was finished and I chewed the salt out of my fingertips it was 2AM and I was ready for sleep. My mother left a note for me, in case I came home, entitling me to sleep in either my parent's room or the guest bedroom but since I was scared of New House Monsters, I decided to sleep on the couch with the television on all night.
Friday was an easy day. I watched more Bravo programming (I love it!) Particularly enjoying their new show Flipping Out in which a quintessential LA douche-bag monster of a Weho gay man with overdone chemical peel (AKA Gay skin) tries to flip n' sell houses faster than he can say narcissist to his brow-beaten employees and equally gay skinned friend/new gay Dad on the block/ex boyfriend. The whole show drips with that bubble gum snap of pure popumentary and I ate up every second of it. Even the crumbs on the floor because I actually went to the Bravo website and watched "Behind the Scenes" footage. And yup, that main character Jeff Lewis reaffirms every reason why I left West Hollywood behind in the dust. Ugggh- he makes me shiver! I can't wait for the next episode! Bravo, Bravo! Afterward, I went to the gym, carefully cruised every Italian guy there (especially the one's who resembled construction workers, delivery guys, cable guys- basically anyone looking as though they'd love to beat me up) and took a drive in my mother's emasculating PT Cruiser convertible, with the top down, listening to KTU: The Beat of New York all while smoking a Marlboro Light. Yeesh! Well, I suppose you can take the boy out of Weho but you can't take the Weho out of the- yikes!
I spent the rest of the day lounging around the house, becoming one with the AC, laying on the carpet, eating everything in the fridge and falling asleep again in front of the TV. Ahhhh, Mom and Dad's!
Saturday I snapped myself back into the city via an old Jersey pal wanting to take his dog to an NYC dog park. I was back on the streets of Manhattan by noon and finished with the gym by 1:30PM. Nice! The whole day was now open. Saturday in the city in the summer with nothing to do? What's that you say? PS1 dance party. Hell-shit yeah! I called Scott and low and behold my bearded friend already had plans to go around 4:30. I told him I'd catch the E Train after lunch and meet him there. I threw myself into a Union Square Diner, my stomach ravenous for a Bacon Cheese Burger and ordered upon sitting. When my food came I savored the first few bites and realized I was eating a burger with bacon and cheese opposed to a Bacon Cheese Burger but for $6.95 I wasn't going to let it ruin my day. I sat in Union Square for a bit and finally made my way to Queens to listen to DJs, dance, and drink beer all day with my friends.
By the time I arrived at PS1 the main courtyard was already packed and the unce-unce-unce of the bass beat was getting me all hot and bothered. I ran into Scott, already two beers in, and decided to catch up quick. PS1 is a huge, old elementary school (PS1=Public School 1) that The Museum of Metropolitan Art converted into a new exhibition art space. Inside the buildings are exhibits of everything from photo to installation to paintings while outside, every Saturday in the summer, in the enormous courtyard is a huge, eclectic, community-feelin' dance party. Just my type of scene. People are there to have fun, mingle, drink and enjoy the summer. It's a beautiful thing. I strongly suggest checking it out before the summer runs out. I took my time chillaxing/dancing with my peeps, meeting new peeps, raging-out and as 9PM rolled around I realized my feet were bleeding from blisters and took that as a cue as having an outrageous time and headed back to Manhattan to debate the night's events.
In desperate need of water I crashed through my apartment door and finished off an entire Brita before I had taken off my backpack, kicked off my shoes, or threw my wallet and keys on the kitchen table. Needing some mellow music I flipped on Bright Eyes: I'm Wide Awake and It's Morning turned off all the lights and laid on my couch in the dark (cliche or deep? you tell me...) I drifted off, losing all sense of time or obligation to go out, and let the quiet summer darkness consume me.
The next thing I know is it's midnight and I've missed 8 text messages. There were a few from my usual Saturday night gays, a few from my roommate, and one from an unknown number talking about some birthday party at some lame club in the Meat Packing District (obviously a mass text of which I was unfortunately included.) One of those, "Hey you! What's up? Come to so and so's b-day party at wherever...see you there." Please people, the gig's up. Nice try. I decided to by-pass my gays knowing they were either at The Eagle, or uh...The Eagle and punched on the dial pad to my roommate. He was drunk and in some undesirable location and asked if I had any ideas. I didn't. I told him I'd see him at home unless he could think of something local, shut my cell phone, my eyes again too and didn't open them until it was a very overcast and cold Sunday.
It was about 10:30AM and I shook myself awake still a little tired from the running around of Saturday. 1o:30 was late enough and felt I shouldn't sleep any longer. Eric's, my roommate, door was still closed so I began making my usual "is he or isn't he sleeping" noises. First I groan, then I chirp, then I make squeaky mew noises like a new born kitten until he yells, "shut the *!@^ up!" or he gives a pleasant, "hiiiiiiiiiii." Fortunately I got the pleasant "hiiiiii!" Excited like a 6 year old on Christmas morning I wrapped myself in my blanket, busted through his door and jumped on his bed as if I were to exclaim that Santa had come over night. Eric was already up watching the pubic hair's end of his Six Feet Under, 5 seasons on DVD in one month, journey and together, each wrapped in our blankets like a pair of twisted, "we're too old" for this slumber party Russian dolls enjoyed an episode of Six Feet Under.
We were both hungry for an early brunch and I received a text from Riot to meet her at Mud. I threw on my shorts, tee shirt, backwards cap, chain wallet and backpack- gear for the day and Eric and I walked to Mud. It was cold out, literally no more than 67 degrees and I wondered if shorts were going to be enough coverage for the day. Dare I even pull out the hoodie? No- no way, this was summer and whether it's 100 degrees or snowing, if it's August I'm wearing shorts. Tough it out! Deny that it's past the middle of August! Don't even think it!
Eric and I met Riot at Mud and grabbed a small table in the garden. Riot was only able to hang with us for a few minutes as she had to be at an East Village tattoo parlor for her latest addition of body art. I've had brunch at Mud before. Eric had not even realized they served a brunch and declared the experience positive by stating, "I love this place" and enjoyed his frothy-foamed hot Mud coffee. We had a nice time talking about which of our friends were to get married next, the longevity of relationships, monogamy, and the difference between our generation and our parent's . They got married because that's what you did. We get married because we run out of having anything better to do.
We wrapped up and Eric walked me to NYC Adorned where Riot was getting her latest permanency needle-buzzed into her arm. It was chilly outside, windy and just on the taste-buds of rain.This was the first tattooing I ever fully witnessed before my eyes and Riot handled like a champ. In fact, she even winced-smiled throughout the whole thing in that sexually ambiguous pleasure/pain, feel-good-hurt, kind of way, and in that, I grew the urge to scratch a mosquito bite and dump antiseptic into the open wound. Owww-aahhhh!
The tattoo is fierce! A simple lotus flower with the word RIOT in black bold type-font above her elbow. What a hot mama! Rad.
Randee and I walked back to our apartments promising each other that we'd hang out later in the day. Little did we know the cold would keep us all to the dismal confines of our apartments, holding a power over us that said, "don't get up- you know what, don't do anything." And that's what I did, for the rest of the day. Nothing. I watched the gray sky break open and spray-mist water, then rain, then fade to deep blue and eventually black. Eric mustered the strength to go to the gym but I couldn't bring myself out from under my laptop. The day was done as was the weekend and all we had to show for it were a bunch of good memories smudged into blur by this awful, unexpected weather.

*I plan to link this blog up but my internet is wavering and will have to do it tomorrow*

Broetry

A "bro" is your quintessential all American frat boy. You know the guy, (they pretty much all live in Murray Hill and get drinks at Tonic bar/lounge) button-down shirts, works in financial, loves to talk about his frat days and how much he'd drink, get stoned, get laid and listen to heady music (Grateful Dead, Phish, Bob Marley.) These are the characteristics which make up a true "bro."
My friends and I love to imitate and make fun of these guys. What it became was a very long email chain where we would write poems from a bro's point of view.

Below you will find, Broetry.
Please enjoy, they are quite on point and hysterical.

Unfortunately I don't have the name's of the author responsible for each piece, but here are the people who created them. Mark, Max, Josh, Zach, Eric, Eric

_____________________________________
"first date"

it used to be that a babe had to know
that dinner and a movie meant
beer pong and blunts in the rec room

but i've grown up a lot since last semester.
now a babe can expect at least
Chili's and a rental.
i keep it elegant.

but, babes, beware
though i'm not a gambling man
it's unlikely that i'll ever call you again
unless you're into stuff like
lebowski, herb, and feelings.
plus hot.
___________________________________________

"Art can be for straight people, too" (a dank seminar)"

introduction:
So, yeah, I officially smoked so much weed in front of my "Beer: helping white guys dance" poster, that the poster itself literally turned into weed, and i smoked it. It was like a heady-high, kind of like mixing being really drunk and really high.

the poem:
O Woe is me.
there is a blank spot on my wall (the only spot not covered in weed resin)
should i fill it with a "mixology 101" poster?
how about a "what i really learned in college" poster?
whoa, bro, look at all those different shots.
_______________________________________________________

"kobe"

sometimes when bitches say no
they really mean yes.
it's not like it's really a crime
to give them what they want most;
cock.
8 knows it.
bitches know what they're getting into
when they make eye contact.
____________________________________________

"Mellow"

I'm vibing right now on the new Nas joint (speaking of joint, lol)
I can also chill out and listen to Coldplay
But when my boys are around I might hide that CD
I'm not embarrassed or whatever
I just chill differently with my ipod
chillingly, mellowly, weedingly.
_______________________________________________

"To Lauren on Her 22nd Birthday"

Lauren,
You breathe passion,
and fire to a world gone mad.
And when we break bread,
together,
We consecrate life,
with your laughter.

Lauren,
My heart is but a needle,
the world a pillow of reeds.
For you, my Lauren,
the needle surely bleeds.
And Lauren, though we are seniors now,
you are just as hot as you were freshman year.
Almost.
_________________________________________________

"Variety"

I have a passion to listen to Jack and Dave,
They are my inner ear, my voice,
I listen to the magic and harmony within the music,
but really only listen when i want to smoke a blunt.
When I go to the gym, or am pre-gaming I listen to
DMX, Luda, and the Game. All of which these artists smoke
the herbal, and so all of them are there in turn packers of the
bowl of music and chilled out vibes.
Unless i want to kick someones ass.
______________________________________________

"Unsureity"

I am but a confused guy.
My bro IMed me and when I wrote back,
Alas; I noticed that he had a jack johnson quote in his away
message.

Jack, the prophet, spoke, from his gospel Banana Pancakes:
"But Baby, You hardly even notice
When I try to show you this
Song is meant to keep ya"

WTF, that faggot better not have left that away message for me.
________________________________________________

"deepness: a survey"

deepness is like a lake
full of the stillest water
deepness comes from the
depths of the truest souls

deepness cannot be achieved
it can only be attained
through mind expansion (shrooms)
and journeys, like road trips
and meditating, which is like chilling
only it's related to yoga.

some dudes may come down
hard on deepness because
of the whole yoga thing.
but i say to you dudes
that gayness and deepness,
while similar, are not the
same thing.

true deepness is like
a cup that runneth over.
a cup of jager.
_______________________________________________________

"jerry"

a lot of bros don't know about the dead.
but they should
because that's where phish came from
dank nugs,
true vegetation
natty,
nectar of the gods
and sweet tunes

without jerry there would be
no dave,
no trey,
and no john mayer
thank jah and jer for giving
the gift of chilled out music.
and deepness.
______________________________________________

"falling water"

it's like dave once said:
'crash into me'
but, seriously bro, if you bump me again
i will kick your fucking ass
_______________________________________________

"pledging"

pledge to be honest
pledge to succeed
pledge to the brotherhood
of the fraternity

much like a jager bomb
burns so sweet
pledging will burn your soul
when we fire-brand your frosh ass
with the hallowed letters of
delta sigma ki
______________________________________________

"Hours"

We live our lives
as so much weed in God's head stash.
Until one day,
his bowl is cashed.
And then we live on in memories
like resin hits.
___________________________________________________

"Bob"

You were a legend even before your
legendary album,
Legend.
It's possibly your only album,
I'm not sure, I didn't check.

Though we never met
I feel like we're bros.
Because I have that poster,
where you are smoking that huge joint.
I bet it was 4:20 when they took
that picture.

Up in heaven,
Rip a bong hit with Jah for me
(I bet he gets the kindest bud),
And remember to tell Jerry,
"You are missed."
____________________________________________

"Beads"

We are but beads inside God's
hacky-sack
and he just landed a sick Jester
____________________________________________

"My New Glass Piece"

Bro, i got the sickest piece
from this head shop.

I don't wanna stop.
smoking weed.
My piece is like a mustang
and the weed
is like the drive.
woop woop woop...

i'm calling in a
DWFB...Driving While Fully Blazed.
This guy wanted to smoke with
me and said that i had
a nice piece.

i thought he was hitting on
me, so i
kicked his fucking ass.
then, like a cunning owl, the
smartest of birds...
i realized that he was
praising my
weed.

oops. too late, faggot.
___________________________________________

"My Djembe"

my djembe becomes my mouthpiece.
my lungs inflate with the
dankest weed and i play it
along with dave and
sometimes OAR.
yeah, you probably
have never heard of OAR but my boy
went to ohio state with them.
too bad he's a faggot.

world peace...
pieces....pieces of weed are on the floor.
my djembe calls to me.
oh yeah, like i've
really cried before.

my boy knows a guy
who sells G13 weed.
weed is like my currency.
but really what is currency in
a world where nothing is
real except my djembe...
and my weed.
bro, seriously, back up.
__________________________________________

"Chilling Mad Hard"

Yo, ok, so i drink,
no big deal.
and i smoke like tons of weed
for attention.
i love attention and i love
cutting myself.
it makes me
remember that life is pain...and sometimes
pain is pain, too.
i have a certain amount of feelings.

Adventures in Unemployment

Day 38...

New Jersey Transit Train to Hamiliton, NJ

...Meredith, my oldest sister, knowing I have nothing to do and nowhere to be, invited me down to her house in Hamilton, NJ to spend time with her and my 7 month old nephew, Max. She said my company would be appreciated as her husband (my much loved brother-in-law Jeff) is out of town on business. Having a desire to be the fiercest Uncle this side of the Mississippi I gladly accepted her invite.
I hopped the 12PM express train to Trenton, NJ out of Penn Station and was in Hamiliton, NJ by 1:15PM.

Meredith (Mer) picked me up at the train station and took me home to change into my bathing suit as Max loves the local town pool. It's been an awful while since I have been to a "town pool" and I was excited to go and spend time with her and my nephew.

I know people must say this about their newborn relatives all the time but Max truly is the cutest and most well behaved baby I've ever met. He doesn't cry all the time, nor act grumpy, or displays an unreadable manner. I swear, at all times this baby is smiling, playing, and making happy sounding noises every time I see him. (I've already gone ahead and taken care of buying him the cutest baby shirts possible: see pic to the right.)

I ventured with Mer to the town pool and took Max for a swim. The whole place was so white and suburban I couldn't help but feel guilty when I asked Mer if smoking was allowed. Mer didn't know if it was or wasn't so I decided to stave off my addiction and spent the time with Max. He and I played on the grass for awhile and then worked on our dance routine until it was time to go into the pool when I mentioned to him that (like a handsome Patrick Swayze to a young Jennifer Grey that,) "The best place to do this is in the water!"

Mer said Max and I should go for a swim and I nervously but gladly obliged. Max and I went for a swim and the whole event was completely nerve-racking (but entirely enjoyable.) I've just become comfortable with holding Max without feeling as though I'd drop or break him at any given moment. But, Mer is a fantastic, roll-of-the-eyes "you got it" type of coach and had me swimming with him in no time. Mer gave me one note- to hold his face above the water, which no matter how much she reassured me I'd be fine, still scared the living shit out of me. Max and I enjoyed our time together as we played "Jaws" and "Shark week" and she finally took him from my arms to dry him off and watch me jump and flip off the kiddie diving board.

It's been a long time, maybe since the 6th grade, since I've attempted to run and jump off a fully loaded spring diving board. None-the-less, I put my fears aside and attempted my best efforts. Fortunately I neither belly-flopped or set a bad example for the youths around me while doing so. Mer, the Super-Mom that she is, was able to dry off Max (in his Elmo robe) and document me at the same time.

Soon enough both Mer and I grew tired of our ultra-white suburban sun bathing and headed back home for dinner and rest. (Yes, don't worry- when Max was eating I asked, as John Bender and "Breakfast Club" as possible, if he "was a messy baby and did not like his strained peas and carrots.") After dinner I ducked out to the backyard to suckle from the teet of my nicotine-filled smokey friend and realized the beauty and quiet of the picture-perfect NJ suburbs. In that moment, as I sat outside, I realized that once my career is stabilized and I find "him," I'd like to leave the city and find a place just like this, in the tranquil suburbs, with the barbecue, lawn chairs, and chirping crickets, making a life for ourselves and leaving The City behind in an idea of "those were the days..."

Mer and I spent the rest of the night playing with Max, catching up on the Top Chef marathon and enjoying the benefits of saved Tivo programming. Ahh, what a vacation from a vacation this all was...

Randee Riot

Riot...
...Often billed as the Paris Hilton of the East Village Lesbian punk rock scene Randee Riot is my first Cousin and female best friend. Standing at maybe 5 feet and weighing in at 95 pounds Randee comes complete with sass, attitude, a fierce fashion sense and grass roots activist mind. Randee is one tough (and outrageously hot- I mean model hot) cookie! Always up for a night out or a day spent exploring the city, either on foot or via her longboard Randee is the closest thing I've ever had to a heartfelt, true girlfriend. Unfortunately, she's my first cousin and us both being on the queer side of fence doesn't make matters any better. Sometimes, in our most drunken and wild moments, we often have to prevent ourselves from kissing. Ok, that might be a little too much information but this my blog and dammit I'm going to speak the truth! We are inseparable. My roommate, Eric, once said in a bizarre statement of utter truth that I'm gay and in love with my lesbian first cousin. Oye!

Randee and I fastened a relationship during childhood when her father directed home movies of which we shared staring roles. There was "Indian Jones and the Temple of Beth Israel" as well as "Beetle juice" and the unforgettable "Lean on Me" staring me as Principle Joe Clark. I suppose you kind of had to be there. In any case, our relationship separated when we entered high school but rebounded at my oldest sister's wedding when we both came out to one another. We were both in college at the time. She was impressed by the fact that I knew all the Bikini Kill lyrics (of every album) and she liked me for being her bearded gay cuz. Since then, every time I visited New York Randee's apartment on 10th St. and 1st Ave. would become "Hotel Randee" and we became fast and crazy pals, rekindling everything- the silliness, inappropriateness, and high-energy level- we shared as children. I moved only a block and a half from her and I can't say I've found a love greater than her since. She's amazing and jaw-droppingly gorgeous. I love her with all my heart and actively carve out time in my week to spend time with her to catch up and cuddle. In short, she's the fiercest bitch I've ever known. She was gone this past week having traveled to the Michigan Womyn's Festival to celebrate her Sapphic lifestyle and spend time with her sisters. She called me upon her immediate arrival back in NYC. Holla, bitch. Holl-A!

Adventures in Unemployment

Day 37...

Delancey/Essex Subway Station Platform

...Nothing too exciting or adventurous happened today. Hell, I didn't even get an ice coffee until well after 5PM. I woke up around 10AM but couldn't manage to leave my house until close to one when my stomach started to feel like it was eating itself. I flopped down the four flights of steps and was out on the sidewalk looking for a meal. I turned the corner to 10th street and decided to swing by and visit Matt.
Matt is a baker and owns the Tompkins Square Bakery on 10th St. between A & B. Yes, of course I ask Matt if he knows the Muffin Man. He assures me he does but says he's a dickhead. Matt's bakery is a brightly painted boutique pastry shop. I strongly, strongly recommend the bread pudding and my roommate loves his croissants. They're just the perfect balance of buttery and flaky while the bread pudding is always moist and either has strawberries or cherries. Today I got two servings and savored every bite, sucking on the fork like I would my lip if I were 19 and rolling on ecstasy. On Saturday the bakery can be quite a scene as a quintessential cast of East Village characters come in and out chatting with Matt and other familiar faces. It's like a gay 227 but with more tattoos, tight jeans and the latest in hipster-boi hair. With
my belly now settled I walked down 1st Ave to the F train and accidentally took it downtown to Delancey/Essex when I should have taken it up town to West 4th to transfer to the C & E to Canal. I was on my way to Tribeca to talk to a work contact about a potential upcoming gig. I said hello to the remaining old co-workers who are still wrapping up and enjoyed meeting with my old boss about an upcoming project. The meeting went well and left me with a small glow of hope that I'll land something sooner than later.
I was hungry again and craved real food. Something heavy and satisfying. In Greenwich Village there's a Cheese Steak place that promises the "Best Damn Cheese-Steak. Period." So I put it to the test. Unfortunately the Cheese-Steak turned out to be maybe the 21st Best Damn Cheese-Steak. Period. But for $4.95 I wasn't all that upset.
Every time I'm in Greenwich Village I make it a point to stop by my friend Scott's. Scott and I met just this past December but he's come to be one of my greatest friends since moving back to NYC. Scott is unique, cultured, intelligent, unfathomably witty and comes complete with a very diverse group of friends surrounding him. We met on the dance floor of Super Snaxxx and I immediately picked up on his sense of charming-obnoxiousness. Needless to say we became fast friends. Scott coined the nickname, Baby Jew Bear, for me and I've come to be known around his friends as, "BJB." (If Baby Jew Bear were an actual super hero I'd throw rainbow colored ninja Star of David's.) Scott was in the middle of work so I crashed on his couch and fell asleep for a few moments. He could tell how tired I was and urged me to lay down for longer but figured getting up and walking around would suit me better.
I was close to where Eric, my roommate, worked so I headed in that direction and found him drinking an Iced Tea at Think Coffee. We caught up and both decided to skip out on the gym. The crash nap I had at Scott's was too much and I knew if I hit the gym I wouldn't be into my workout and want to leave as quickly as I came. Eric and I played a quick game of: He spits ice cubes at me and I try to kick them and he went off to meet his Sister for her birthday dinner.
I started home and cut through Saint Mark's Place to survey the crowd and people watch. I found the same kids occupying the same corners dressed in the, "Dude, Punk's not dead. I'm serious, man! Ya know, what? Fuck you, asshole! Got any chaaaange?" fashion. I smiled at them and although I kind of feel they're a bunch of annoying douche-clowns I did have an urge to put on my sleeveless Dead Kennedys t-shirt and studded bracelet. Oh, ok...A safety pin, too.
As I approached 1st Ave my cell phone buzzed (playing my current ringtone of Avril Levigne's and Lil Mama's "Girlfriend" WeMix-ReMix) and I yelped in glee like a 5 year old peeing in his bathing suit when my phone displayed the name "Randee."
"She's home!" I chirped and began jumping in place.
Who is this Randee? Where has she been? And why, when Eric saw her name pop up on his cell phone, did he regress to the behavior of a 13 year old girl at her own Bat Mitzvah upon hearing that the DJ was about to play "Locomotion."
Randee deserves the all suspenseful...to be continued.

Adventures in Unemployment

Day 36...

cigarette stomp out- 10th st. btw Ave. A & B

...Mondays are especially hard for the unemployed. The weekend seems to grant the idea that since everybody else is off you should be too. But when Monday rolls around and everyone with a job goes back to work, waking up at noon loses it's romantic, bohemian side and becomes yet another Monday with no job.
I do the usual. Flip open my laptop, switch on IM and pick through production job sites looking for gigs and emailing all my contacts for any upcoming news or positions. After all my contacts are worn out and I've searched every possible job site I close my laptop clamshell and prepare for the day.
Preparation is a minimum. Wearing a t-shirt either purchased "on the rack" at Urban Outfitters or something purchased at a thrift store or borrowed from a friend and a pair of worn-out, A&F two seasons ago, cargo shorts containing my wallet, cell phone, keys, camera, and handkerchief as well as a backpack containing my gym clothes, lock, current book, NFT NYC Guide, glasses, rolling papers, stamps, pens, moleskin, and a single sock, I head out the door and walk to Union Square.
By the time I get to Union Square and finish scarfing down my Chipotle Barbacoa Salad breakfast/lunch it's 2:20. I read for about an hour and get a call from Max. Max, waiting for Law School to begin, similarly has nothing to do and invites me to see a documentary, Crossing the Line, about an American Soldier who crossed the DMZ during the Cold War to become a citizen in North Korea. The movie was at Cinema East and began at 3:30. Max met me in front of the George Washington statue in the south end of Union Square and together we walked to the theater.
It was a pleasure to see Max. It had been awhile since the two of us had time to catch up on one another and the walk provided the opportunity for us to do so. We talked about life, the future, his girlfriend and the movie we were about to see. Max was excited to see the film because he never has seen any actual footage of North Korea. I informed him this would be my second documentary on North Korea, the first being, A State of Mind focusing on North Korean society and life while using the Mass Games as a backdrop.
Crossing the Line was very well done and quite an interesting documentary. Like State of Mind, Crossing the Line offers that extremely rare glimpse into the forbidden and Anti-American North Korea of which we hear so much. For me, witnessing North Korean daily life was much more interesting than the soldiers story as it shed light on the idea that communist or not, oppressed by government or democratic, the human condition has a limitless ability to adapt and accept his surroundings. I also relished in the idea that people were riding bikes, fishing, jogging, talking walks, enjoying Pyongyang and the country wasn't a freedomless government controlled communist concentration camp as we're sometimes swayed into believing. For the most part, aside from consistent electric power and food rations the North Koreans seem to be pretty happy and content.
After the movie Max and I went to the gym and met up at Sushi Lounge for dinner. Max and I have a special connection to Sushi Lounge because one week this past February Max and I happened to eat there at least four times in one week. Since then whenever Max and I go out to eat it's always Sushi Lounge. Sushi Lounge is an East Village treat that takes 50% of all rolls to costumers dining in. This means that you can get about 5 rolls for under twenty bucks, a steal when eating in Manhattan.
Max and I enjoyed dinner and talked for a good while after the bill had been paid for and forgotten. We continued talking until I was to meet my friend Lindsay for Lesbian Bingo Night at Mo Pitkins restaurant.
Lesbian Bingo at Mo Pitkins is a Monday night must! Host Murray Hill and on-stage side-kick Harry Halloway (or Linda Simpson otherwise) call out numbers as the crowd fills their bingo cards and finish pint glasses. The prizes offered are mostly gimmick novelties, lewd and inappropriate sex toys and accudroma, drink tickets, and a final jackpot of about one hundred dollars.I met Lindsay and her friend Morgan and we immediately bought cards and got ready for some hot rounds of Bingo. Lindsay had never been and was surprised both Murray Hill and Harry Halloway put on such a comedic routine for a typical Monday night. The crowd grew rowdy and the games wore on. Lindsay, having a steady Head O' The Web/Video Department at Good Magazine, had to go to work the next day and she and Morgan took off leaving me all their extra Bingo cards. During the last two rounds I managed to keep on top of all the numbers called while overseeing ten cards at once yet still didn't win
.
I shrugged, thanked Murray and Harry and pushed myself through the door and out to the streets en route to my apartment.

Adventures in Unemployment

Day 34 (con't...)

W Hotel- Union Square

...Being in the West Village reminded me it was about time I finally hop the Path Train to Hoboken to visit my friend Doug who resides in Jersey City Heights. I called him on my cell and fortunately I was close enough to the C & E trains which I could take downtown to the World Trade Center (now Ground Zero)and transfer to the path. I arrived in Hoboken after an easy 15 minute train ride and upon looking at the tranquil urban beauty around me I had one of those heart crumbling moments where I asked myself if it's really worth paying so much to live in Manhattan. Tired of having the argument with myself I shrugged and said, "sure."
Doug picked me up at the station and took me to his apartment. Wow! His apartment, just a short 15 minute train ride out of Manhattan, kicks the ass of any apartment I've seen to date! It's huge and modern and lofty and has all those qualities you wish you could afford in Manhattan. We spent some time on his real balcony drinking wine and catching up. We stayed on the porch until the sun went down and just above the healthy looking trees growing in his courtyard stood a city twinkling and packed.
I took the Path back to Manhattan and got off on 14th street and 6th Ave. I didn't feel like waiting for the L train to the East Village so I exited onto the street figuring I'd walk until a bus caught up to me or I caught up with a bus. Unfortunately, but like always, neither happened and my stomach was growling. Having earlier discussed hamburgers (of which I'm a connoisseur) with Doug I got a craving for a big-fat-juicy bacon cheeseburger. I was close to Union Square and thought Big Daddy's Diner offered a good burger and I'd stop there.
Big Daddy's is one of those ultra Americana "decade" restaurants where you're supposed to feel like you're sitting in a classic fifties diner but really it's just stupid and annoying. Like, thanks, but I don't need you to pour my ketchup or display the drinking straws in that cute spiral manner which may or may not have existed in the fifties. I got it the first time when it was called Johnny Rockets and, btw, that place sucks too. I'd rather you just go away and let me do everything on my own. In fact, the only thing that's "fifties" about this restaurant is that you have a bunch of minorities serving white people hamburgers.
Regardless, the "Bad Boy Burger" is quite huge and comes with all the fried bullshit you'd expect on an American menu. As a side, you can have either fries, tatter-tots, or onion rings but you have to pay extra for a side salad. Go figs. And we're supposed to be shocked that America has 40 other countries beating us out on the life expectancy rate?
I wolfed down the burger which looked incredible before ingestion but felt awful afterwards. I paid my $14 bill and headed out with a stomach feeling as though it just consumed a basketball. I nearly cried looking for a cigarette to help aid my digestion but all I found was the M14D Crosstown Bus. I got on, took my seat, stared at all the strangers, thought they were weird and got back to my apartment.
Eric, my roommate, was there catching up on the last season of Six Feet Under which he's been ordering through Netflix. He and I caught up and discussed our weekends before I grabbed my laptop and headed down the street to a cafe.
All the cafes were either closed or closing down so I ducked into the 11th St. Bar which is right down the road. One of the best things about living in New York is that you can walk down any particular street one million times and never notice a restaurant or bar that has always been there. I walked in, my first time ever and was amazed at the size and energy of the place. Here on a slow Sunday night was an entire Irish Music Jam going down in front of the bar.
I couldn't believe it! A place so right-off-the-bat cool had always been right in front of my nose and here I was politely ignoring it each night like a passerby to a Queer Justice League.

Mexican Food Hates Gays!

Day 34...

...My hand snapped at my alarm clock this morning, or um, afternoon like a rattlesnake attacking a mouse. It was noon and in less than an hour I had to be in the West Village to help out and document the Queer Justice League's action against Caliente Cab Company. I groaned at the idea of putting my clothes on and walking to 7th Avenue. I sat up and felt the weight of sleep still on my body and collapsed back onto my mattress for another 2o minutes. At 12:20 I fling myself awake in one of those how long was I asleep?!?! panics. I turn on the shower and let some cool water hit my face. I'm awake. Sort of. I grab my clothes, backpack, and jog-walk to 9th St. for a much loved and needed cup of Mud Coffee.

Mud Coffee is on 9th St between 1st and 2nd ave and it is, hands down, New York's best coffee. I highly recommend it. It's delicious and each cup comes with a superman's dose of caffeine. When I was only a "sometimes" coffee drinker a single cup would have my flying through the next 4 hours and lead me to believe I was the single-most creative person on the planet. Now it's just the bare minimum to get me through my day. My roommate argues that 9th st. Espresso has the best coffee but because of it's East of Avenue C it simply doesn't show on my radar.
I get my ice coffee and savor the first sip knowing that once I begin fast-walking again I'll swig it down like fuel to match my pace. I walk directly through Washington Square Park which at this time during the day, with the sun at it's brightest, looks absolutely breath taking.


Finally and sweating I arrive at Caliente Cab right at 1PM. I meet the actioners and they give me a few flyers.
The Queer Justice League is a Queer/Gay rights action group formed this past year after Larry Kramer's 20th Anniversary ACT UP speech. In short, the Queer Justice League, through actions, protests and civil disobedience aims to raise awareness on any current LGBT injustices. The QJL is still trying to introduce themselves and gain members but those who are at the core of it are truly caring, concerned and resistant to the plague of apathy affecting the gay community. I respect them very much and am proud to be one of their members. The latest fight is against Caliente Cab Company Mexican Restaurant for kicking out lesbian, Alisha Farmer. Alisha, who is African-American and has a shaved head was mistaken for a male by a fellow diner who complained a guy had gone into the ladies room. A restaurant worker busted into the bathroom and demanded that Alisha leave. Alisha provided ID that she was, in fact, a woman yet the restaurant still kicked her and her friends out but not before making them pay for their half-eaten meal. When the QJL heard about this they made an oath to picket and protest outside the restaurant every Sunday during brunch until a formal apology is issued. It's always a mix of nerves and excitement when protesting, whether it's a big action or small, just because you never know what's going to go down. However, I am always impressed at the degree to which New Yorkers respond to protesting by gladly accepting fliers, paying attention to signs, or politely ignoring the ongoings. In fact, during our protest we met other actioners from Canada on their way to protest another restaurant for serving foie gras. We all shook hands and wished each other the best of luck.
An hour passed and the action began to dwindle down. We were able to educate a good handful of would-be customers who actually chose to dine elsewhere for brunch. We all congratulated each other on a job well done and I was off to yet another adventure.

...And it all ends up Nowhere

Day 33/34.......It's about 12:20AM Saturday night and for the past 4 hours I've been putzing around the apartment, sitting on my ass, endlessly grasping through the depths of Youtube when I decide it's Saturday night and I better make something of it! I take a deep breathe and spring from the couch with a defiance to beat the idea that I should probably just stay in. I pull on my shorts, find one of my remaining t-shirts that hasn't made it to the Laundry bag yet and swivel out the door. A few nights ago I went to Eastern Bloc and had a pretty rowdy evening so I figured I jump down there knowing the place holds quit a scene on Saturday nights. I arrived at the entrance and chatted with the door man as he's become a familiar face throughout the East Village and the gym. I go inside and it's too packed for me confirm on this venue for more than one drink. I snuggle and elbow through the crowd and order a Heineken and suck it down as if it's oxygen to an astronaut's suit. I drink quick and decide it's already time to go. I step outside and continue speaking with the doorman and bum a smoke. I bid farewell and head up a few blocks to The Phoenix to check the scene there. The bar is semi-packed but I order a Stella draft anyways and take a seat in the sideroom. I am wearing a Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master t-shirt and the guy sitting next to me strikes up a discussion on his favorite Elm Street movies from best to worst. Oddly enough, the second was his second favorite whereas I'm all about 1-3-4-5-6-2. In my honest opinion, 2 is definitely the throw away movie and we both agreed to not even consider Freddy Vs. Jason. Suddenly his phone beeps and I lose my Horror-fan friend to text message world and use that as my cue to either go home or ask the streets if there is anything left in the night. It's only 4 blocks to Nowhere bar and knowing some of the people there I decide what the hell? I might as well get a scotch.
Nowhere is nearly deserted but I look at the open space and empty stools as respite from having to move or think that I might need to be somewhere else. I order a Dewars on the rocks and nibble on the bowl of popcorn next to me. Out from the pool table emerges a very graceful and stylish man, sashaying and paying compliments to everyone on his way toward the bar. He takes the stool next to me and introduces himself as Gary. I compliment him on his boutonnières and how it must come in handy during the humid New York summers. I take the cloth from his jacket pocket and wipe his brow with it. He smiles and invites me to have a cigarette with him. In front of the bar and nearing 3AM Gary, in a sweet and let-me-tell-you-honey manner, divulges stories of his upbringing and how the love he had growing up makes him the successful and confident man he is today. I enjoy listening to him and get off on the realization that no matter who you are or what you do, everyone has an upbringing and with that comes the stories of how and why one is the way he is. The conversation comes to a halt when Gary notices a friend of his leaving. He politely excuses himself and air kisses his friend a safe night home. With my cigarette now long gone there isn't much to do except exchange a handshake and call it a night. I thank Gary for meeting him and sharing his stories with me and wish him luck. He wishes me the same and as I head east on 14th St I leave behind me a night which started from and ended in, Nowhere.

Yo-yos

Day 33 (con't)
...Of course, one of the best things about living in New York City is the limitless amount of activity and events which occur every single day. Shortly after posting this afternoon I get a call from one of my best pals, Lindsey. Lindsey and I went to University of Arizona together and were roommates for our Senior year. Lindsey also works in production as a location manager and is always employed but can never seem to find me a gig (hummmph!) Yeah, thanks Linds. Anyway she informs me that she is headed down to South Street Sea Port for the International Yo-Yo Championship. I've got nothing to do (as always) and decide to meet up with her there. In all my New York living I've never made it to South Street Seaport and upon getting there I was blown away by Americana-centric Disneyfication of the area. I nearly expected some overwhelming mascot figure to jump out at me and charge $15 for a Polaroid photo. I poked around the area for a bit taking in the atmosphere of it all before joining Lindsey and being completely blown away at these expert yo-yo'ers. I mean, these guys (and kids) rocked. They do things with yo-yo's you couldn't even imagine. I enjoyed the show and was very happy to have attended. I soaked up the sun, sat back, looked across the river to Brooklyn and thought to myself, "Damn, I love living here!"

Adventures in Unemployment

33 days and counting...

These are my shoes. They take me everywhere.

So I haven't worked since early July and have yet to book my next gig. I've been unemployed before, I'm a freelancer, it's part of my lifestyle and career but at day 33 I finally have to buckle down and ask, "what the hell am I doing with my life?!" There are several stages to my mental health during this time. When I am first released from a job there's the "Yes, I have so much free time! I'm going to hit the gym, explore the city, read books, go to cafes, focus on something creative." This lasts about a week (often less.) Then there's the, "Well, I've got nothing else to do, so fuck yeah I'm going to go out for a drink at 1:15AM on a Tuesday! Why not?" This lasts about two weeks. Before you know it I'm stumbling home at 4:30 every weekday morning and sleeping through noon. I finally wake up, loaf around in my boxers searching job sites and IMing my friends and finally make my way outside around 2pm, if not later. Now that I'm going without work for over a month I feel like my life is spiraling out of control and I'm losing any and all purpose to why I'm here on this planet. Life without duty or purpose is not easy and despite the outrage I receive from my Monday-Friday 9 to 5 friends who wish they had my schedule I mean it when I say, "I just can't sit in Union Square and read another book all day!"
Therefore, having no purpose and no focus I decided to buy a digital camera and document my life and adventures of unemployed during a summer in NYC.

Here's the deal:
My name is Eric Leven. When I work I am a Story Producer for Reality and Documentary television shows. I live in the East Village, on 11th St. and Ave B. Ok: I live on 11th St. between B & C, and actually, closer to C but for one reason or another, and despite all the cool shit that happens on C, I have a hard time acknowledging that C is a real street. This completely baffles and enrages my roommate, Eric, who you will meet later. I try to explain that Ave. C is too far from the subway and when in a cab I always get dropped off on 11 & B, so that's where I say I live. Whatever- just deal.
This is my apartment building. My roommate, who also doubles as my best friend, and I moved in a year ago August. We looked at 30 different apartments in the middle of a July heatwave and finally found this little gem. It's a full two bedroom, one bathroom with a sizable living room, nice white walls and a hardwood floor. My roommate and I don't pay and arm and a leg and we couldn't be happier.

Lately my life is as follows: I wake up around 10 or 11- ok, noon and I immediately flip open my laptop and surf production employment websites scouring for my next job. Sometimes there are many posts other times, none. I email all my contacts that I have previously worked with and cross my fingers that by the time I re-sign in somebody will have something. I usually head out about an hour or two later and stop for my single must of the day- an ice coffee from my favorite cafe, Rapture Cafe. I've become quite a local here and saddle up the bar flirting and chatting with the wonderful and eclectic cast of characters who work here. This is Joe. He's an owner of Rapture and one of those been here forever East Village guys who can amaze you with a limitless amount of stories and experiences he has gained from years of living in the city. If you haven't been to Rapture yet, I advise you checking it out. It's huge, funky, fun, the coffee is great and is complete with air conditioning. After I swig done a coffee or two I head to Union Square to sit on a bench for awhile and absorb myself in a book. I usually sit there reading, cruising and thinking, wasting time until my roommate gets off work and I meet him at the gym.

My Roommate:

This is my roommate Eric and I. He's the one without the beard and yes, we're both named Eric. Eric and I have known one another since we were 10 years old and in the fifth grade. Since then we've been practically inseperable. Aside from growing up together and always being close I lived with Eric for two years in Los Angeles before we both high-tailed it to NYC. Eric is very bright, a musician, straight, and a vegetarian. Eric and I are so close that he's beyond a best friend, he's the closest thing I've ever had to a brother and I love him very much. I'm not sure who or where I'd be without him. (Certainly still in LA).
Eric and I meet up and we hit the gym together. This is our gym where Eric and I lift "sick weight" or try our best at "getting huge." I usually go the NYSC in Union Square, but Eric enjoys going to the one closer to his work, (Mercer & 3rd.) It's slower-paced there and certainly less gay but for Eric, I'll make the compromise. I can do without my constant stealth gawking at muscle guys and cruising all the hairy monsters from time to time. After the gym Eric and I enjoy walking home together deciding what to do for dinner and discussing plans for the evening. We go home, turn on NPR and spend time catching up on our laptops until he jumps the shower and we continue our lives.