Thursday, August 30, 2007

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 o
n 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.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

More Chris Crocker!

Serious (NSFW)


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
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?

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

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.

Monday, August 27, 2007

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.

Friday, August 24, 2007

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.


Thursday, August 23, 2007

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.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

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


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

Carmaleta Chu!

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

Monday, August 20, 2007

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*

Friday, August 17, 2007


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)"

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.


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;
8 knows it.
bitches know what they're getting into
when they make eye contact.


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"

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

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.


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.


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

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.


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


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


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.


You were a legend even before your
legendary album,
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."


We are but beads inside God's
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

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.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

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...