Here's something I wrote in November of last year. I figure it's safe to post it now. I've already burned most of these bridges at any rate. Enjoy.
You know, I was sitting in the food court at the Roosevelt Field Mall, finishing up my shrimp teriyaki, and it dawned on me that I really am an asshole. If Sammi really is using me for her new standard for guys, her standard is that of an asshole-in-denial, which admittedly, is far worse than your everyday, run-of-the-mill, fully out loud and proud, you-know-what-you're-getting-yourself-into-with-this-guy asshole. An asshole in sheep's clothing is capable of inflicting much more damage, because nobody sees it coming. I mean, on that third date with Stacy, I tell her "…on paper, you're perfect…" and sip my water awkwardly as she gets up and runs out so nobody can see her crying in a crowded Ukrainian restaurant, leaving me full of pierogies and remorse. Who does that? Someone who is clearly an asshole.
Also, while in denial about being an asshole, I managed to break up with my last girlfriend accidentally via text message (involuntary text-slaughter) - quite possibly the most egregious offense one can commit whilst in a committed relationship in the non-adulterous department. The only thing worse in this category is to actually murder your significant other (by accident). It doesn't matter that I didn't want to break up with her in a text message. It still happened. It was kind of bloody that way. It was like a bungled mob hit. I shouldn't have even been dating her. I was never truly attracted to her physically. I just figured that maybe if she was that cool, I would just magically overcome the other obstacles. But chemistry doesn't work that way for a guy. From what I understand, a woman can grow to love a man, but a man is either hot for you or not. There's no middle ground. This would go a long way in explaining why the best sex we ever had was when I was what should have been too drunk to fuck or when I was ill to the point of almost being dead. At those times, my body had been running purely on alcohol and preservation instinct.
So, in my mind I was trying to do a good thing. When we started dating, she said she was surprised, because she didn't think that she was my type. I had an out right there, but was too stupid to use it. I really thought that this would mean I was shallow, and I have spent my whole adult life trying to not be shallow. So instead, I dive into this thing, even though i knew what would happen, and then I drag it out and wait until I am literally repulsed by her touch to realize that this is a real problem and that I need to call the whole thing off. The non-asshole method would have involved telling her upfront "Look, I haven't had sex in over two years, and you seem like the most viable candidate, but I'm not looking for anything too serious" and left it at that.
That's not what I did. Nope. Instead, I make these grand gestures and deny my true nature, until I stress myself out, get hives, hide from her for a week, and then when confronted, say nothing, and wind up breaking up with her via text message, even though I was trying to wait to do it in person. Seriously, I am such an asshole, don't you think? I mean, being a serial monogamist doesn't preclude you from assholedom. In fact, it may even encourage activity of an assholish variety.
Take the time, for example, that I broke up with someone because she was a virgin (she was 19), and I had decided after the last two women I dated who had been virgins that I didn't want to go down that road again. I mean, there's a big difference between a 19 year old virgin and someone who is a virgin at 24. I said that I was still not over my ex (which was not untrue), but I never fessed up to the whole virgin angle. And that was some time AFTER I had waited until receiving a blowie to tell her about the death of an iconic figure in rock 'n' roll that she actually knew in person! And the hits just keep on coming!
And I wonder why I'm single?
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Suddenly, Last Summer
I was thinking that I need to update this blog more, because I can't just spend all my blogging mojo on my newish endeavor of "Ok Cupid Letters That Never Got Responses" when there's so much more to say (or so I would like to think: but let's face it; having been unemployed for almost a year, my life hasn't been all that exciting, save for the people I've met and hung out with at shows, but I've spent way too much time alone and in my own head, and I won't lie, dear readers, 'tis a scary place to reside full-time).
Nevertheless, I was gonna troll around my notebooks for something I never typed out, but as luck would have it, I found this instead. I wrote it in July of last year when I was dealing with some heavy changes, none of them very good. Luckily, nobody died, but there has been some fallout. Life is messy, but chances must be taken. However, some truths are hard to tell someone to their face.
7/11/09
Bugbites lined up like track marks on my arms and stomach as I grapple with my sanity and a weird heat rash on my abdomen. Are they bedbugs? Mosquitoes? Spiders? Other? I am up past dawn, freaking out frequently. I am anxious about the possibility of infestation and the impossibility of us. I love her, but I am not in love with her. She is everything, almost, that I am looking for, including that look that I always said I wanted someone to look at me like. But when I look back at her looking at me like that, it's hollow, empty. I'm a shell staring into the abyss - I don't feel as much as I want to, as much as I should. I should want to be with her every minute she is not here, instead of wishing on a disappearing beer.
Here I sit, i am debating testing the "nothing good happens after 2am" postulate. But instead, I am trying to sort out my thoughts so I know what to tell her that won't destroy her. I don't like confrontation and pain. When you get involved with someone you're friends with, there is the debate "oh but what if it doesn't work out?" versus "Well, what if it does?" - and I'm always saying "well, I'd rather take the chance than regret it the rest of my life." So naturally, I try it and it bites me in the ass.
She told me that she didn't think she was my type and so when I said I liked her, she got too excited. I have a high opinion of myself and like to think that I am not beholden by looks or body type. I was trying to cast against type, as it were, but once again, it just makes me uncomfortable and repulsed. I liked her so much that I wanted her to be my type, but you can't control who you are attracted to.
Nevertheless, I was gonna troll around my notebooks for something I never typed out, but as luck would have it, I found this instead. I wrote it in July of last year when I was dealing with some heavy changes, none of them very good. Luckily, nobody died, but there has been some fallout. Life is messy, but chances must be taken. However, some truths are hard to tell someone to their face.
7/11/09
Bugbites lined up like track marks on my arms and stomach as I grapple with my sanity and a weird heat rash on my abdomen. Are they bedbugs? Mosquitoes? Spiders? Other? I am up past dawn, freaking out frequently. I am anxious about the possibility of infestation and the impossibility of us. I love her, but I am not in love with her. She is everything, almost, that I am looking for, including that look that I always said I wanted someone to look at me like. But when I look back at her looking at me like that, it's hollow, empty. I'm a shell staring into the abyss - I don't feel as much as I want to, as much as I should. I should want to be with her every minute she is not here, instead of wishing on a disappearing beer.
Here I sit, i am debating testing the "nothing good happens after 2am" postulate. But instead, I am trying to sort out my thoughts so I know what to tell her that won't destroy her. I don't like confrontation and pain. When you get involved with someone you're friends with, there is the debate "oh but what if it doesn't work out?" versus "Well, what if it does?" - and I'm always saying "well, I'd rather take the chance than regret it the rest of my life." So naturally, I try it and it bites me in the ass.
She told me that she didn't think she was my type and so when I said I liked her, she got too excited. I have a high opinion of myself and like to think that I am not beholden by looks or body type. I was trying to cast against type, as it were, but once again, it just makes me uncomfortable and repulsed. I liked her so much that I wanted her to be my type, but you can't control who you are attracted to.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Who Wants to Read a 2 1/2 Year Old Review?
Hey folks,
I've been sitting in a Borders Cafe for the past hour or so, fidgeting, drinking coffee, nibbling at a chocolate chunk brownie and surfing the internet while not really working on any work. And it's been relatively quiet. So naturally, the minute I start to get anything done, some douche sits nearby, joined by a woman who he proceeds to talk too loudly at while generally just annoying me with his presence. And then some guy sits behind me and his phone doesn't ring so much as repeat "Uh oh!" until he picks it up. SO I figure the most productive thing I can do is finally finish typing out a restaurant/movie review that I wrote down in my notebook in the summer of 2007, with the intent on making it a regular feature of my blog, since, you know, eating and watching films were the most interesting things I was doing at the time. But, like everything else in my life, I never followed through with it.
I will probably find more of these soon, since I'm trying to write a novel, and as a result, have started a new blog cataloging the letters I've written to women on OkCupid.com that have not received responses. Procrastination is in my bone marrow, but at least now I'm procrastinating within the right paramaters (ie, writing). Now on with the much-delayed show!
J-Ro’s Day in Review Blog (originally written 6/19/07)
So, instead of being the weird guy who goes to diners or coffee shops alone, writing and staring at people, I’m the weird guy who sits at the sushi bar alone, writing and staring at people. But hey, I’m hungry and want to be outside (it’s officially dine on the patio season), and my movie doesn’t start for another hour, anyway. And the best part of eating here at Bonbori is that the waitress looks like an Asian Jennifer Aniston. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it is. I want to call her Rachel. How great would it be if that was really her name? I would totally change my name to Ross just to go out with her. She’s probably way way too young, though (side note: she can’t be WAY too young, because I saw her at the Nag’s Head on a Tuesday night).
A Myspace friend of mine had plans tonight, otherwise, I might possibly have had sushi not alone. But, such is not the case tonight. Maybe some other night. I have to say, though, that it might be nice to meet someone else. If I don’t end up moving soon, I might want to try that. Radiohead said that meeting people is easy. Which is a great joke, since someone who looks like Thom Yorke could not have gotten a lot of women if he wasn’t the singer in one of the biggest bands to come out of England in the 90s. I’ve been threatening to move for something like two years now. It really is time to shit or get off the pot, the pot being Long Island.
Boy, do I love sushi! I might try the Masago if there’s time. I should have ridden my bike again today, but I was actually cleaning my bathroom and vacuuming lightly. Hopefully this will keep me from getting sick all the time.
So, I had the sushi appetizer, which consists of one piece shrimp, two piece salmon, one piece yellowtail and one piece tuna (if I remember correctly). For a main course, I went with the Hotate roll, which is broiled eel, avocado and scallions, topped with spicy scallops. Hoo boy, was it tasty! When I finished that, I had one piece of Tako (octopus). Not bad. I did not get the Masago (smelt roe) this time. Maybe I will next time. I like trying different things, and so far, I’ve had the shitake rolls (great for vegetarians), the Red Bonbori rolls, the Louisianna Rolls...the sushi here is quite good. I also love Tomo Sushi in Smithtown (the Huntington location is good, too, and they even have hibachi there), but the sushi here is different.
Just in case you think that I will eat sushi anywhere and love it, that’s only almost true. Shiki in Smithtown (do your own search, the official website is for the Babylon location. Also, someone reviewed Shiki Smithtown, but didn't eat the fish, so what was the point of the review?????) is decent, but I’m not crazy about it. So, even though it is only down the street, most of my Tuesdays I get food from Tomo.
------------------------------
Part Two: Movie!
Okay, I saw “Once” and it is fucking brilliant! It moved very slow and natural, never seemed forced, and was totally human. Glen Hansard is a fucking genius songwriter and my only complaint is that nobody ever told me that The Frames (the Irish band, also known as Frames (dc), not the American Christian Rock group) would change my life.
In the last year, my musical tastes have run from The Frames to The Hold Steady, with a steady diet of The Mountain Goats and Nick Drake. If you haven’t heard The Frames yet, their latest opus, Cost, came out on Anti-/Epitaph this February. All I can say is wow. With a voice somewhere between Cat Stevens and Van Morrison, and backed by a crack band that can whisper and scream at the same time, your life is incomplete if you haven’t heard them. I knew I was going to be obsessed with them as soon as I heard “Falling Slowly” in the movie.
So yeah, see “Once” - unless you don’t have a soul, in which case, don’t bother, you won’t like it.
I've been sitting in a Borders Cafe for the past hour or so, fidgeting, drinking coffee, nibbling at a chocolate chunk brownie and surfing the internet while not really working on any work. And it's been relatively quiet. So naturally, the minute I start to get anything done, some douche sits nearby, joined by a woman who he proceeds to talk too loudly at while generally just annoying me with his presence. And then some guy sits behind me and his phone doesn't ring so much as repeat "Uh oh!" until he picks it up. SO I figure the most productive thing I can do is finally finish typing out a restaurant/movie review that I wrote down in my notebook in the summer of 2007, with the intent on making it a regular feature of my blog, since, you know, eating and watching films were the most interesting things I was doing at the time. But, like everything else in my life, I never followed through with it.
I will probably find more of these soon, since I'm trying to write a novel, and as a result, have started a new blog cataloging the letters I've written to women on OkCupid.com that have not received responses. Procrastination is in my bone marrow, but at least now I'm procrastinating within the right paramaters (ie, writing). Now on with the much-delayed show!
J-Ro’s Day in Review Blog (originally written 6/19/07)
So, instead of being the weird guy who goes to diners or coffee shops alone, writing and staring at people, I’m the weird guy who sits at the sushi bar alone, writing and staring at people. But hey, I’m hungry and want to be outside (it’s officially dine on the patio season), and my movie doesn’t start for another hour, anyway. And the best part of eating here at Bonbori is that the waitress looks like an Asian Jennifer Aniston. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it is. I want to call her Rachel. How great would it be if that was really her name? I would totally change my name to Ross just to go out with her. She’s probably way way too young, though (side note: she can’t be WAY too young, because I saw her at the Nag’s Head on a Tuesday night).
A Myspace friend of mine had plans tonight, otherwise, I might possibly have had sushi not alone. But, such is not the case tonight. Maybe some other night. I have to say, though, that it might be nice to meet someone else. If I don’t end up moving soon, I might want to try that. Radiohead said that meeting people is easy. Which is a great joke, since someone who looks like Thom Yorke could not have gotten a lot of women if he wasn’t the singer in one of the biggest bands to come out of England in the 90s. I’ve been threatening to move for something like two years now. It really is time to shit or get off the pot, the pot being Long Island.
Boy, do I love sushi! I might try the Masago if there’s time. I should have ridden my bike again today, but I was actually cleaning my bathroom and vacuuming lightly. Hopefully this will keep me from getting sick all the time.
So, I had the sushi appetizer, which consists of one piece shrimp, two piece salmon, one piece yellowtail and one piece tuna (if I remember correctly). For a main course, I went with the Hotate roll, which is broiled eel, avocado and scallions, topped with spicy scallops. Hoo boy, was it tasty! When I finished that, I had one piece of Tako (octopus). Not bad. I did not get the Masago (smelt roe) this time. Maybe I will next time. I like trying different things, and so far, I’ve had the shitake rolls (great for vegetarians), the Red Bonbori rolls, the Louisianna Rolls...the sushi here is quite good. I also love Tomo Sushi in Smithtown (the Huntington location is good, too, and they even have hibachi there), but the sushi here is different.
Just in case you think that I will eat sushi anywhere and love it, that’s only almost true. Shiki in Smithtown (do your own search, the official website is for the Babylon location. Also, someone reviewed Shiki Smithtown, but didn't eat the fish, so what was the point of the review?????) is decent, but I’m not crazy about it. So, even though it is only down the street, most of my Tuesdays I get food from Tomo.
------------------------------
Part Two: Movie!
Okay, I saw “Once” and it is fucking brilliant! It moved very slow and natural, never seemed forced, and was totally human. Glen Hansard is a fucking genius songwriter and my only complaint is that nobody ever told me that The Frames (the Irish band, also known as Frames (dc), not the American Christian Rock group) would change my life.
In the last year, my musical tastes have run from The Frames to The Hold Steady, with a steady diet of The Mountain Goats and Nick Drake. If you haven’t heard The Frames yet, their latest opus, Cost, came out on Anti-/Epitaph this February. All I can say is wow. With a voice somewhere between Cat Stevens and Van Morrison, and backed by a crack band that can whisper and scream at the same time, your life is incomplete if you haven’t heard them. I knew I was going to be obsessed with them as soon as I heard “Falling Slowly” in the movie.
So yeah, see “Once” - unless you don’t have a soul, in which case, don’t bother, you won’t like it.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Sometimes Rejection Is Better
Hey folks! I found this post from February on my Myspace blog. I totally forgot about this. I think it's awesome and forgot I wrote it.
sometimes rejection is better.
better than wondering.
better than wanting.
better than thinking things will ever change.
better than waiting around for someone who clearly isn't ready or willing.
for someone who says to wait for her.
wait for her while she does god-knows-what with god-knows-whom.
yeah, because that's clearly a recipe for success.
sometimes rejection is better.
when the message is crystal clear.
no crossed wires, no mixed signals.
no raising of hopes to be dashed again every couple of months.
the dumbest game of cat and mouse.
either put up or shut up.
don't tell me things that make me think you're human
and then contradict it all in a myspace survey.
how stupid do I look?
I hope this is better than a drunk dial or email would have been.
exactly six hours of sleep awaits.
awaits a way to forget about you.
but then I wake up. damn.
'nuff said.
sometimes rejection is better.
better than wondering.
better than wanting.
better than thinking things will ever change.
better than waiting around for someone who clearly isn't ready or willing.
for someone who says to wait for her.
wait for her while she does god-knows-what with god-knows-whom.
yeah, because that's clearly a recipe for success.
sometimes rejection is better.
when the message is crystal clear.
no crossed wires, no mixed signals.
no raising of hopes to be dashed again every couple of months.
the dumbest game of cat and mouse.
either put up or shut up.
don't tell me things that make me think you're human
and then contradict it all in a myspace survey.
how stupid do I look?
I hope this is better than a drunk dial or email would have been.
exactly six hours of sleep awaits.
awaits a way to forget about you.
but then I wake up. damn.
'nuff said.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Another 6am Epiphany
Naturally, my epiphanies only come at 6 in the morning. Hours after trying and failing, yet again, to actually fall asleep. My mind, it doesn't tend to shut itself off, even after my body has begged and pleaded for sleep. Not that this is surprising, in and of itself, as the sun rises over the river that my window looks out upon, but I digress.
I was thinking about calling a woman I met up with for drinks last week. Did I say the right things to her? Did I try too hard? Did I try enough? Did we really mean it when we said that we had a really nice time and we should do it again? Sometimes I can't see the subtext forest through the pleasantries. I am really good at over-analyzing everything, though. Sometimes I wonder if I have even lived twenty-five percent of what my life should have been, or if I have squandered way too many precious moments thinking about living. I'd like to think that I've gotten better at not doing that, but sometimes I'm not so sure.
Thinking about that led me to thinking about the bigger picture. Maybe these internet dates are doomed for failure in and of themselves, irrespective of whether the woman in question and I have chemistry, witty banter and maybe even similar lawn ornaments that we keep on top of our respective television sets. I think aforementioned failure is inherent in the design. I don't like picking out dates from a catalogue. I want to be surprised. I want to be smacked in the face with fate. Slapped upside the head.
And here I am, the clock now reading 7:37am, taking myself entirely too seriously and yet still watching Dawson's Creek. Still thinking about how the best romantic moments in my life have all taken me by surprise. They were few and far between, fleeting, but all completely unexpected. No pre-screening or auditions, like some lame casting call for the walk-on part of the love interest in the movie adaptation of my memoir. I'm not putting out a craigslist ad for this. For once (again) in my life, I am trying to bury my head in the sand and not look for love in all the wrong places. I don't want to look for love at all if it means I am never going to find it. Or is that why I obsessively keep looking? Just like that itch I will scratch until it is raw and bleeding, I keep picking at it obsessively, this scab on my heart. Also, I really want to use the word alacrity here. Don't ask me why. It's 8am and I haven't slept at all.
I was thinking about calling a woman I met up with for drinks last week. Did I say the right things to her? Did I try too hard? Did I try enough? Did we really mean it when we said that we had a really nice time and we should do it again? Sometimes I can't see the subtext forest through the pleasantries. I am really good at over-analyzing everything, though. Sometimes I wonder if I have even lived twenty-five percent of what my life should have been, or if I have squandered way too many precious moments thinking about living. I'd like to think that I've gotten better at not doing that, but sometimes I'm not so sure.
Thinking about that led me to thinking about the bigger picture. Maybe these internet dates are doomed for failure in and of themselves, irrespective of whether the woman in question and I have chemistry, witty banter and maybe even similar lawn ornaments that we keep on top of our respective television sets. I think aforementioned failure is inherent in the design. I don't like picking out dates from a catalogue. I want to be surprised. I want to be smacked in the face with fate. Slapped upside the head.
And here I am, the clock now reading 7:37am, taking myself entirely too seriously and yet still watching Dawson's Creek. Still thinking about how the best romantic moments in my life have all taken me by surprise. They were few and far between, fleeting, but all completely unexpected. No pre-screening or auditions, like some lame casting call for the walk-on part of the love interest in the movie adaptation of my memoir. I'm not putting out a craigslist ad for this. For once (again) in my life, I am trying to bury my head in the sand and not look for love in all the wrong places. I don't want to look for love at all if it means I am never going to find it. Or is that why I obsessively keep looking? Just like that itch I will scratch until it is raw and bleeding, I keep picking at it obsessively, this scab on my heart. Also, I really want to use the word alacrity here. Don't ask me why. It's 8am and I haven't slept at all.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Salon Beards and Korean Instruction Manuals For Life (and how NOT to live it)
Would someone please tell me what I'm doing wrong? I get the feeling lately that the universe is trying to fuck with me. When I was growing up, I was taught to work hard, do what you love when you're not working hard, and everything should fall into place. I don't think this equation works anymore. Or at least, it never seems to work for me.
I must completely suck at life, but I guess that's to be expected when you get the manual and it's all printed in Korean. It's not similar enough to Hebrew for me to even fake understanding it. All the skills I thought I had are becoming more apparent to me to be like how you think you're all smart and special when you're in junior high and high school, until you start applying for colleges and find out that there are literally a million other kids applying for the same schools and some of them never got a 64 in Calculus in 12th grade. Although I do wonder how many of them broke up with their 8th grade girlfriend who went to another school because one dude said she was a slut.
They say good things come to those who wait and also that if you aren't looking for it, you will get it. Well, I'm 35 now, so how much more waiting do I have to do? As far as not looking for it, the only thing I'm not looking for is a punch in the nose, so I suppose tomorrow morning will greet me with one of those.
But enough about me, maybe its time for me to rant about something else that is driving me crazy. I was watching the new "90210" the other night and some shitty band that should be selling motor oil and beer was playing a party. Not only was the music trite and watered down, but they had perfectly trimmed beards that looked like they were done in a salon. SALON BEARDS!!! That is what music is to people? Manufactured pabulum with salon beards???? So of course, now VH1 is telling us that you oughta know about them. Also, I am not mentioning their name because I do not want to help their hype machine.
Go and listen to this band instead:
The Capstan Shafts.
I highly recommend 2007's Environ Maiden as a starting point.
I must completely suck at life, but I guess that's to be expected when you get the manual and it's all printed in Korean. It's not similar enough to Hebrew for me to even fake understanding it. All the skills I thought I had are becoming more apparent to me to be like how you think you're all smart and special when you're in junior high and high school, until you start applying for colleges and find out that there are literally a million other kids applying for the same schools and some of them never got a 64 in Calculus in 12th grade. Although I do wonder how many of them broke up with their 8th grade girlfriend who went to another school because one dude said she was a slut.
They say good things come to those who wait and also that if you aren't looking for it, you will get it. Well, I'm 35 now, so how much more waiting do I have to do? As far as not looking for it, the only thing I'm not looking for is a punch in the nose, so I suppose tomorrow morning will greet me with one of those.
But enough about me, maybe its time for me to rant about something else that is driving me crazy. I was watching the new "90210" the other night and some shitty band that should be selling motor oil and beer was playing a party. Not only was the music trite and watered down, but they had perfectly trimmed beards that looked like they were done in a salon. SALON BEARDS!!! That is what music is to people? Manufactured pabulum with salon beards???? So of course, now VH1 is telling us that you oughta know about them. Also, I am not mentioning their name because I do not want to help their hype machine.
Go and listen to this band instead:
The Capstan Shafts.
I highly recommend 2007's Environ Maiden as a starting point.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Why Don't You Walk Over A Bridge?
"I am a dork" he thought, as he trudged back across the bridge from whence he slunk, having at least told the hot girl that she was; going home alone even though he was suited up for the first time ever with a lack of reason. "I know that a taller, slimmer, less sweaty man already danced with you, but I had to tell you that you are extremely hot. Now I can leave. Goodnight."
i was on the prowl, ya know? I'm like a shark with no teeth. Of course, this was after that one (straight) guy started dancing with me. I had just gotten back from the bathroom upstairs, when I was approached. "Just keep dancing" he said, as I looked about uncomfortably, humoring him, because, let's face it, I could always use some excitement, plus, I have been through these things before. "How much are your friends paying you?" I asked, knowingly.
"Forty dollars."
"I want a cut." We danced, us two straight men, for a couple of minutes.
"It's because you were alone," he mentioned, as if I needed reminding. I had just come from a different club, where I had been hanging out with some friends of mine until it got superlame. I had come to this here bar for the hour of free PBR and the 50s & 60s dance party. Hence the suiting up. The guy, his friends stiffed him. No money. Real friends would have bet him ten dollars and never welched on it.
I saw him on his cellphone as I left the club. "Nothing? Really? What's the matter," I yelled as I started walking onto the bridge, "did I not look uncomfortable enough??" Not only did I not impress the attractive woman, but I couldn't even make money being the butt of a joke. It was like high school all over again.
Of course, as I was crossing the bridge, my best friend calls me from Portland, Maine, telling me about how she just made out with a really hot girl. Not bad for someone who's been single for like ten minutes. I told her "I bet I'm the best-dressed guy who has ever walked over this bridge at 4am listening to Frog Eyes on his iPod." I'm gonna end this there because a) I don't want to get anyone else in trouble and b) I have some "pleading the 5th" of my own to do.
i was on the prowl, ya know? I'm like a shark with no teeth. Of course, this was after that one (straight) guy started dancing with me. I had just gotten back from the bathroom upstairs, when I was approached. "Just keep dancing" he said, as I looked about uncomfortably, humoring him, because, let's face it, I could always use some excitement, plus, I have been through these things before. "How much are your friends paying you?" I asked, knowingly.
"Forty dollars."
"I want a cut." We danced, us two straight men, for a couple of minutes.
"It's because you were alone," he mentioned, as if I needed reminding. I had just come from a different club, where I had been hanging out with some friends of mine until it got superlame. I had come to this here bar for the hour of free PBR and the 50s & 60s dance party. Hence the suiting up. The guy, his friends stiffed him. No money. Real friends would have bet him ten dollars and never welched on it.
I saw him on his cellphone as I left the club. "Nothing? Really? What's the matter," I yelled as I started walking onto the bridge, "did I not look uncomfortable enough??" Not only did I not impress the attractive woman, but I couldn't even make money being the butt of a joke. It was like high school all over again.
Of course, as I was crossing the bridge, my best friend calls me from Portland, Maine, telling me about how she just made out with a really hot girl. Not bad for someone who's been single for like ten minutes. I told her "I bet I'm the best-dressed guy who has ever walked over this bridge at 4am listening to Frog Eyes on his iPod." I'm gonna end this there because a) I don't want to get anyone else in trouble and b) I have some "pleading the 5th" of my own to do.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
This is the best photo of me, ever
Few people know of the Roren that lives under the stairs and steals away pizza in the night.
The caption is the best part.
Thank you Rob!
The caption is the best part.
Thank you Rob!
Monday, December 10, 2007
Two blogs for the price of one!!
So, this is two separate entries that I am forcing to coexist in the same space, because I think that the two, when presented back to back, clearly illustrate the dichotomy that is the true nature of my fucked-uppedness. Heartfelt apologies to the young lady who I sort of squashed in the process of coming to certain conclusions about myself, and especially for uttering the phrase “on paper” aloud, to you, the night I caused you to run out of the restaurant and subsequently delete me from your Myspace and write a blog or two about me and how your friends were kind enough to offer to TP my house, as if I were the Vice Principal at Belding High. So yeah, sorry about that. I’ll discuss that one soon. But this is about my feelings and not those of ones I’ve run roughshod upon, be it intentionally or accidentally.
12/3/07
I really wonder about myself sometimes. Is it that I am unwilling to make meaningful contact with other people (close friendships with anyone of either sex fall under this aegis), or am I just unable to actually connect with anyone who isn’t the person I’m concentrating on at the time (in a perhaps not-so-friendly way)?
I moved to the city because I felt alone and unhappy (I’m not a suburban guy, it’s just not in my nature. You can ask my uncle who lives in Chelsea about his hatred for Long Island as well, it just might stem from the same place, although maybe a little to the side), and now, like in a Dan Bern song, I’m in a city of millions, more connected than ever, and I’m still lonely.
I came to this show my friends (well, slightly more than acquaintances, but not exactly my close friends, but hugs abound when we hang out, which granted, has been a lot more infrequent since they left Long Island a few years ago)were playing, instead of going to my usual comedy show because I wanted to see familiar faces that once brought me a casual joy, to remind me of what it feels like when that human contact is made. But after the initial warmth, I’m not sure there’s anything real left there -- nothing presently, anyway. We left Long Island far behind, not just physically through all the miles we each of traveled across this great land, but emotionally and metaphysically -- the new lives, the significant others taken in and let out, new friends and jobs and the whatnot of modern existence. I used to be a part of these lives and vice versa, but now there’s this invisible wall where a common feeling once was...
12/9/07
(written the day after a wonderful night spent reconnecting with completely different friends from back on LI, some on purpose, some accidental, all leading up to my walking home practically skipping (and me a grown-ass man of 34 no less) with a shit-eating grin from ear to ear as Rosanne Cash belts out “Tennessee Flat-Top Box” on my iPod, followed, i shit you not, by Sly & The Family Stone singing “Hot Fun In The Summertime” in December as a chill wind takes the temperature down a notch from already cold -- well played, oh sardonic iPod, well played.)
Sitting in a corner café in my adopted home, sipping my mocha cappuccino and reading On The Road - The original Scroll, not focused on anything but, when the Chinese Bootleg DVD Guy (CBDG from here on out) asks me if I want to buy a movie. I absent-mindedly said “No” without consulting myself. That certainly would never happen at the Brown Dog Cafe, where all I ever saw was some group of middle-aged potential pinochle players pretending to be a book club of some sort. I know it was just a cover for them to get to know each other well enough to invite each other to clandestine swingers parties on Avenue K, on the other side of the tracks. Of course, the Brown Dog would also have delicious soup. Since this is but the first stop on my journey, I’ll make do without the soup.
It’s funny, reading this rough draft of On The Road since it’s been so long since I’ve read the published version. At least I can still hear Kerouac’s actual voice in my head as I read, from having listened to the many recordings I once owned, now lost to the Gods of the War of the Sexes, too kindly I gave these up, still wish I’d gone to Buffalo soonthereafter, broken in to take what was rightfully mine. Too much I gave up, none of it did she deserve -- in retrospect -- but so be it, may Jack’s estate benefit from my follies of youth. I wonder how Dr. Sax is these days, if Dr. Sax still is these days. That kitty cat adopted us, and I was sad to have to leave him, packing up that banana yellow volvo deathtrap for my new old life -- pressing a virtual reset button, living and working right where I had left off 4 years later.
But what I meant to say, reading this now, is that I feel like I am On The Road myself, even though I am in one place, but it’s still a foreign place, filled with secrets and mysteries to be discovered and uncovered, so much to see and do and be, I embrace it all -- so excited to just be new, or at least be the same old me in a new context. My wanderlust given room to roam, even though I have a home -- it all feels still like camping out, albeit with an urban feel, perhaps that is the wave of the future knave -- urban camping -- I am testing my mettle, seeking my limits -- how much can I afford to go out, financially and physically, before I become spent and useless, broke and toothless, traversing this vast concrete jungle that is infinite within its finite measurements, with a skip in my step and a song in my heart, so eager for the new, anticipating the old mixed in like the fruit in the bottom of the yogurt that they are now saying is bad for you because of all the sugar -- hate to say I told you so, Yo...plait dead!
12/3/07
I really wonder about myself sometimes. Is it that I am unwilling to make meaningful contact with other people (close friendships with anyone of either sex fall under this aegis), or am I just unable to actually connect with anyone who isn’t the person I’m concentrating on at the time (in a perhaps not-so-friendly way)?
I moved to the city because I felt alone and unhappy (I’m not a suburban guy, it’s just not in my nature. You can ask my uncle who lives in Chelsea about his hatred for Long Island as well, it just might stem from the same place, although maybe a little to the side), and now, like in a Dan Bern song, I’m in a city of millions, more connected than ever, and I’m still lonely.
I came to this show my friends (well, slightly more than acquaintances, but not exactly my close friends, but hugs abound when we hang out, which granted, has been a lot more infrequent since they left Long Island a few years ago)were playing, instead of going to my usual comedy show because I wanted to see familiar faces that once brought me a casual joy, to remind me of what it feels like when that human contact is made. But after the initial warmth, I’m not sure there’s anything real left there -- nothing presently, anyway. We left Long Island far behind, not just physically through all the miles we each of traveled across this great land, but emotionally and metaphysically -- the new lives, the significant others taken in and let out, new friends and jobs and the whatnot of modern existence. I used to be a part of these lives and vice versa, but now there’s this invisible wall where a common feeling once was...
12/9/07
(written the day after a wonderful night spent reconnecting with completely different friends from back on LI, some on purpose, some accidental, all leading up to my walking home practically skipping (and me a grown-ass man of 34 no less) with a shit-eating grin from ear to ear as Rosanne Cash belts out “Tennessee Flat-Top Box” on my iPod, followed, i shit you not, by Sly & The Family Stone singing “Hot Fun In The Summertime” in December as a chill wind takes the temperature down a notch from already cold -- well played, oh sardonic iPod, well played.)
Sitting in a corner café in my adopted home, sipping my mocha cappuccino and reading On The Road - The original Scroll, not focused on anything but, when the Chinese Bootleg DVD Guy (CBDG from here on out) asks me if I want to buy a movie. I absent-mindedly said “No” without consulting myself. That certainly would never happen at the Brown Dog Cafe, where all I ever saw was some group of middle-aged potential pinochle players pretending to be a book club of some sort. I know it was just a cover for them to get to know each other well enough to invite each other to clandestine swingers parties on Avenue K, on the other side of the tracks. Of course, the Brown Dog would also have delicious soup. Since this is but the first stop on my journey, I’ll make do without the soup.
It’s funny, reading this rough draft of On The Road since it’s been so long since I’ve read the published version. At least I can still hear Kerouac’s actual voice in my head as I read, from having listened to the many recordings I once owned, now lost to the Gods of the War of the Sexes, too kindly I gave these up, still wish I’d gone to Buffalo soonthereafter, broken in to take what was rightfully mine. Too much I gave up, none of it did she deserve -- in retrospect -- but so be it, may Jack’s estate benefit from my follies of youth. I wonder how Dr. Sax is these days, if Dr. Sax still is these days. That kitty cat adopted us, and I was sad to have to leave him, packing up that banana yellow volvo deathtrap for my new old life -- pressing a virtual reset button, living and working right where I had left off 4 years later.
But what I meant to say, reading this now, is that I feel like I am On The Road myself, even though I am in one place, but it’s still a foreign place, filled with secrets and mysteries to be discovered and uncovered, so much to see and do and be, I embrace it all -- so excited to just be new, or at least be the same old me in a new context. My wanderlust given room to roam, even though I have a home -- it all feels still like camping out, albeit with an urban feel, perhaps that is the wave of the future knave -- urban camping -- I am testing my mettle, seeking my limits -- how much can I afford to go out, financially and physically, before I become spent and useless, broke and toothless, traversing this vast concrete jungle that is infinite within its finite measurements, with a skip in my step and a song in my heart, so eager for the new, anticipating the old mixed in like the fruit in the bottom of the yogurt that they are now saying is bad for you because of all the sugar -- hate to say I told you so, Yo...plait dead!
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Thursday Morning 3AM
So, tonight was my first time checking out Kingdom of Heaven at The Creek & The Cave in Long Island City. I gotta say it was totally awesome. I got a little too drunk on Stoudt's Winter Ale (it was very stout-like), plus a free yeungling! I had birthday cake (thanks Melissa's parents!) and talked about Beowulf in 3-D sucking, kind of, while comedians played shuffleboard, just like my crazy grandfather used to (he refered to himself as "Wild Bill").
Anyways, I had some random thoughts that recovering from being drunk at 3am and feeling the need to share retarded non-sequiturs to get them out of my dreams (and into your car)....
Dear argyle socks that I bought at Target two months ago,
Why the fuck do you have a hole in the toe already. I've worn you maybe three times total. Douchesocks! Not only was it weird that my feet were sliding around inside my shoes because of you, but nobody even noticed I was wearing argyle socks. What's the fucking point if nobody sees them??
Dear Times Square Subway Tunnels (specifically, the part near the 7 Train),
You are freaking awesome! In a total of 12 steps (yes, that's a joke, but not far off the actual count), I received a flier for The Church of Scientology AND some kind of kooky apocalyptic Christian propaganda that I can't look at right now because I'll probably get nightmares (thanks, Grandma Flo). I collect all this crazy shit, so thank you! I also recently acquired a free Book of Mormon from a hotel in Reston Virginia! Who knew? So, not only do I have my Jew Bible (I have at least two mini-Torahs, a tiny Tanakah (not the breath spray, silly Gentiles!), two different Haggadahs, the New Union Prayer Book, the Jewish Book of Why (not the Jewish Book of Whine, though), AND the Book of J), but I also have a tiny New Testament that my college roommate Hoka gave me (complete with a dedication to read a certain line!), several Chick tracts, and a book on how Rudy Giuliani is a fascist dictator-type (or the devil himself, whichever..tomayto, tomahto). I have a lot of religious studies to catch up on. I think I'll finish Ulysses first, though.
Dear belt buckles (I knew a guy named John Buckles in Buffalo...any relation?),
Why the fuck do you keep itching my belly and making it red? Stop it, it's not nice!
And one more thing before I call it a night before waking up still drunk in four and a half hours for work...
Did you know you can microwave spaghetti squash? I didn't until the little sticker on the actual squash told me so. Yay, microwavable spaghetti squash - for the drunk and hungry asshole who can't wait 40 minutes to eat squash at 2am while watching an episode of "Smallville" from November 1st (spoiler alert - family reunions make me weepy, and this proved no exception. Finding out that Kira was the one who named Clark Kal-El and that her dad wanted to have sex with Helen Slater (well, can you blame him, she still looks good) was kinda awesome. But I digress).
Just be careful, though. It says to let stand for five minutes. Well, let me tell you something. I let it stand for maybe 7 minutes (I was dealing with some rogue asparagus), and it was still TOO HOT to hold, and I used to hold hot pieces of lead in my hands for work as a kid, so this was way too hot.
Oh and I lied. I just remembered a conversation I had with a co-worker this morning about Dunkin Donuts. He was saying how when your mom (or someone like a mom) makes doughnuts and bread and coffee, etc. that each item has it's own distinctive taste. Yet, he said, everything at Dunking Donuts tastes the same. The coffee, the donuts, the bagels, etc. He said that it's like they are all covered in the same coating (I suggested that it was really all coated in the soul of the "Time To Make The Donuts" guy now that he is dead. At least he can live on in your Bostom Creme! "Time to make the donuts. I AM the donuts!"
Anyways, I had some random thoughts that recovering from being drunk at 3am and feeling the need to share retarded non-sequiturs to get them out of my dreams (and into your car)....
Dear argyle socks that I bought at Target two months ago,
Why the fuck do you have a hole in the toe already. I've worn you maybe three times total. Douchesocks! Not only was it weird that my feet were sliding around inside my shoes because of you, but nobody even noticed I was wearing argyle socks. What's the fucking point if nobody sees them??
Dear Times Square Subway Tunnels (specifically, the part near the 7 Train),
You are freaking awesome! In a total of 12 steps (yes, that's a joke, but not far off the actual count), I received a flier for The Church of Scientology AND some kind of kooky apocalyptic Christian propaganda that I can't look at right now because I'll probably get nightmares (thanks, Grandma Flo). I collect all this crazy shit, so thank you! I also recently acquired a free Book of Mormon from a hotel in Reston Virginia! Who knew? So, not only do I have my Jew Bible (I have at least two mini-Torahs, a tiny Tanakah (not the breath spray, silly Gentiles!), two different Haggadahs, the New Union Prayer Book, the Jewish Book of Why (not the Jewish Book of Whine, though), AND the Book of J), but I also have a tiny New Testament that my college roommate Hoka gave me (complete with a dedication to read a certain line!), several Chick tracts, and a book on how Rudy Giuliani is a fascist dictator-type (or the devil himself, whichever..tomayto, tomahto). I have a lot of religious studies to catch up on. I think I'll finish Ulysses first, though.
Dear belt buckles (I knew a guy named John Buckles in Buffalo...any relation?),
Why the fuck do you keep itching my belly and making it red? Stop it, it's not nice!
And one more thing before I call it a night before waking up still drunk in four and a half hours for work...
Did you know you can microwave spaghetti squash? I didn't until the little sticker on the actual squash told me so. Yay, microwavable spaghetti squash - for the drunk and hungry asshole who can't wait 40 minutes to eat squash at 2am while watching an episode of "Smallville" from November 1st (spoiler alert - family reunions make me weepy, and this proved no exception. Finding out that Kira was the one who named Clark Kal-El and that her dad wanted to have sex with Helen Slater (well, can you blame him, she still looks good) was kinda awesome. But I digress).
Just be careful, though. It says to let stand for five minutes. Well, let me tell you something. I let it stand for maybe 7 minutes (I was dealing with some rogue asparagus), and it was still TOO HOT to hold, and I used to hold hot pieces of lead in my hands for work as a kid, so this was way too hot.
Oh and I lied. I just remembered a conversation I had with a co-worker this morning about Dunkin Donuts. He was saying how when your mom (or someone like a mom) makes doughnuts and bread and coffee, etc. that each item has it's own distinctive taste. Yet, he said, everything at Dunking Donuts tastes the same. The coffee, the donuts, the bagels, etc. He said that it's like they are all covered in the same coating (I suggested that it was really all coated in the soul of the "Time To Make The Donuts" guy now that he is dead. At least he can live on in your Bostom Creme! "Time to make the donuts. I AM the donuts!"
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Random Thoughts Before Bed - 11/26/07
I started writing a piece for a blog earlier today, but it isn't done yet. The four of you probably don't want to read an unfinished thought that spans 3/4 of a page. I mean, if you want, I can post it, but that only means I have to finish it soon so that I can post part two, which if you read the last blog that I didn't finish before posting, you know it doesn't work out so well.Enough about that. I'm going to sleep soon, but before I do, let me just say that I'm in the process of re-watching "Freaks and Geeks" on my roommate's DVDs (my brother used to have the deluxe super-cool version that came in the yearbook with two bonus discs, but someone fucking stole it), and I just have to say again how much I love this show. Yet more proof that people in charge of network TV hate everything I hold dear. It'll be great when I start writing for real. It'll be like Larry David's stint on SNL, where they only aired ONE of his sketches.
So, I was watching the Pilot episode, the one with the school dance. I thought about how I was always into the Lindsay Weir type girl -- smart and hot, but damaged and trying not to be smart. Sort of like the female version of how I viewed myself back then (although I didn't think I was hot...apparently, neither did the girls in my school). I'm pretty sure a cheerleader (and a senior at that!) did like me my junior year, and I know I liked her a lot, but I was too wrapped up in being an outcast listening to The Cure and The Smiths (before it was cool to like these bands outside of a John Hughes film). In particular, I remember a scene from the day we had a field trip to the Vanderbilt Planetarium. I may have even held her hand in the dark. All I remember is that while waiting for a ride home from the school, she looked at me longingly (I did not know what this meant back then) and I shit you not, she said "Why are you so far away?" probably not even realizing that she had just quoted my 7th favorite Cure song at that time ("Perfect Girl", "Pictures of You", "2 Late", "How Beautiful You Are" and "Charlotte Sometimes" outranked it, and "Like Cockatoos" fucking destroyed every other song on the planet to me at the time...O Robert Smith, wherefore art thou?).
I think that at the Planetarium, she and someone else had said that I should raise my hand and ask "Where's the Little Dipper?" or something at a weird moment. I probably could have made out with her if I had. Why was I such a stick in the mud? Did it have anything to do with being a "Mathlete?" Technically, it was called MESH (Math English Science History), and I was always more of a EH-xpert myself (math started eluding me in 7th grade, around the time the Space Shuttle blew up and I got a 49 on an algebra test. I thought my head was gonna explode after that). I never got to dance with her. Not like Sam danced with Cindy to "Come Sail Away." In fact, I'm pretty sure that any girl I tried to dance with turned her back to me as soon as I came near them.Wow, I have to be awake in 5 hours. Awesome!Oh, and in the one in 100, 000, 000 chance that you're reading this, Linda Cardellini, stop by and say hello.
So, I was watching the Pilot episode, the one with the school dance. I thought about how I was always into the Lindsay Weir type girl -- smart and hot, but damaged and trying not to be smart. Sort of like the female version of how I viewed myself back then (although I didn't think I was hot...apparently, neither did the girls in my school). I'm pretty sure a cheerleader (and a senior at that!) did like me my junior year, and I know I liked her a lot, but I was too wrapped up in being an outcast listening to The Cure and The Smiths (before it was cool to like these bands outside of a John Hughes film). In particular, I remember a scene from the day we had a field trip to the Vanderbilt Planetarium. I may have even held her hand in the dark. All I remember is that while waiting for a ride home from the school, she looked at me longingly (I did not know what this meant back then) and I shit you not, she said "Why are you so far away?" probably not even realizing that she had just quoted my 7th favorite Cure song at that time ("Perfect Girl", "Pictures of You", "2 Late", "How Beautiful You Are" and "Charlotte Sometimes" outranked it, and "Like Cockatoos" fucking destroyed every other song on the planet to me at the time...O Robert Smith, wherefore art thou?).
I think that at the Planetarium, she and someone else had said that I should raise my hand and ask "Where's the Little Dipper?" or something at a weird moment. I probably could have made out with her if I had. Why was I such a stick in the mud? Did it have anything to do with being a "Mathlete?" Technically, it was called MESH (Math English Science History), and I was always more of a EH-xpert myself (math started eluding me in 7th grade, around the time the Space Shuttle blew up and I got a 49 on an algebra test. I thought my head was gonna explode after that). I never got to dance with her. Not like Sam danced with Cindy to "Come Sail Away." In fact, I'm pretty sure that any girl I tried to dance with turned her back to me as soon as I came near them.Wow, I have to be awake in 5 hours. Awesome!Oh, and in the one in 100, 000, 000 chance that you're reading this, Linda Cardellini, stop by and say hello.
Jonathan in Williamsburg and Margot At The Wedding
So far, I have lived in Williamsburg for three full weeks (this is my fourth week), and aside from having to stand most of the time for my entire ride on the L and A/C/E trains to get to and from work, it isn’t all that bad. I’m still getting my city legs, as it were. I mean, I love walking and it was one of the primary reasons I wanted to move out of the sticks (standup comedy, socializing and career options being the others), but I’m still adjusting to walking all the time again. Mind you, I’m no slouch. For shits and giggles last weekend, I walked from my apartment to Chinatown, crossing the Williamsburg Bridge in the process. It took me about 40 minutes, all told (I think I got where I was going in the same amount of time I would have had I taken the J train).
I’ve had a blast so far, having caught up with some friends from college that I haven’t seen in excess of a decade, and catching up with close friends I’ve missed since their own moves westward. Three full weeks and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to stop into a cafe for a bit to write down some thoughts electronically. Of course, most of what I was thinking I would type out is totally gone from my memory banks. Other things are too fresh to post now. In due time, there will be more stories. All just a part of life in the big city.
I’ve been going back and forth to Long Island on the weekends to pack up more and more of my crap. I am not into material possessions, as it were, but I AM a record collector. This puts me in kind of a quandary. I want to own less things, but all I own are records and CDs and tapes (well, and books and DVDs, to be fair, but if I had a smaller CD collection, like say, more normal people, it wouldn’t be an issue), and I am concerned that my furniture won’t fit in my bedroom in my apartment (although my bedroom is bigger than my previous occupancy, a quaint summer cottage on the water deep in suburbia that I lived in year-round, there was a living room and a front porch where all my CDs seemed to reside, all over everything). Mostly, I just want to have my bed and my TV in my room. And my other chair. I’ve been waiting for my other roommate to get back from tour to move the bigger items, because he has a van. I think he has returned from tour, but I haven’t seen him yet. I hope we at least stay in this place for a little while. Hauling all my belongings up three flights of stairs ought to last me awhile. Especially considering that I haven’t moved really in nearly seven years (I hardly count moving across the driveway, although my brother still managed to drop one of my speakers, breaking the peg that fastens the grille to the body of the speaker).
I made pretty good use of being on Long Island for the extended holiday weekend, though. On Thanksgiving, I saw “Margot At The Wedding” AND “The Giant Claw!” First off, I will preface my comments on “Margot” with the disclosure that I am a HUGE fan of Noah Baumbach, going back to several years ago when IFC would show “Kicking and Screaming” (not the Will Ferrell vehicle about kids playing soccer) in regular rotation, all because I heard that Dean Wareham did the music for his film “Mr. Jealousy.” As a big fan of Galaxie 500 and Luna, I knew it had to be good. Oh, and it was. Needless to say, I am a fan of Whit Stillman’s movies, as well. That whole Upper West Side intelligentsia thing that I had sort of mythologized and romanticized when I was a youngster (I envied my Uncle as I helped him move into his Chelsea co-op, imagining how amazing it must be to work and live in the center of the city).
Anyways, I had high expectations for “Margot” based on previous Baumbach excursions. I had heard some negative rumblings, but I held them in check until I could see for myself. First of all, let me say some nice things about the film. Jack Black was fantastic. He gets to show a serious, sensitive side that we should get to see more. Jennifer Jason Leigh is always wonderful, and her turn as Pauline is no exception. The actors playing the teenagers are superb as well. Unfortunately for all other parties involved, Nicole Kidman can’t even muster up enough emotion to portray a cold, neurotic bitch. Margot is a role that seems written for Parker Posey. Granted, that was probably what everyone would expect her to play, but I think the film would have been helped considerably by that casting choice. I mean, the film is a character study (it certainly isn’t an exercise in plot writing), so why bother employing an actor who can’t show depth? Margot is a complex woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She should vacillate between barbed insults and overly prodding suggestions and sheer lunacy. Ms. Kidman doesn’t really do this character justice.
What’s funny to me is that while I enjoyed watching this film, and I enjoyed a lot of the dialogue and pithy barbs tossed at a steady stream to whomever is in the room with whichever character opens his or her mouth, I was disappointed with the way it ended. The reason this is funny us because I am a big fan of Raymond Carver’s short stories, which are generally just snapshots of characters’ lives. They rarely start at the beginning or have a real end. Carver tended to fill in the colors, almost like a still-life with words. I love his approach. Yet, apply this approach to this film, and it left me perturbed. Is that a double-standard? Having said that, I would like to watch this again, and not just because Jennifer Jason Leigh gives the camera a little something something in one scene.
I’ve had a blast so far, having caught up with some friends from college that I haven’t seen in excess of a decade, and catching up with close friends I’ve missed since their own moves westward. Three full weeks and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to stop into a cafe for a bit to write down some thoughts electronically. Of course, most of what I was thinking I would type out is totally gone from my memory banks. Other things are too fresh to post now. In due time, there will be more stories. All just a part of life in the big city.
I’ve been going back and forth to Long Island on the weekends to pack up more and more of my crap. I am not into material possessions, as it were, but I AM a record collector. This puts me in kind of a quandary. I want to own less things, but all I own are records and CDs and tapes (well, and books and DVDs, to be fair, but if I had a smaller CD collection, like say, more normal people, it wouldn’t be an issue), and I am concerned that my furniture won’t fit in my bedroom in my apartment (although my bedroom is bigger than my previous occupancy, a quaint summer cottage on the water deep in suburbia that I lived in year-round, there was a living room and a front porch where all my CDs seemed to reside, all over everything). Mostly, I just want to have my bed and my TV in my room. And my other chair. I’ve been waiting for my other roommate to get back from tour to move the bigger items, because he has a van. I think he has returned from tour, but I haven’t seen him yet. I hope we at least stay in this place for a little while. Hauling all my belongings up three flights of stairs ought to last me awhile. Especially considering that I haven’t moved really in nearly seven years (I hardly count moving across the driveway, although my brother still managed to drop one of my speakers, breaking the peg that fastens the grille to the body of the speaker).
I made pretty good use of being on Long Island for the extended holiday weekend, though. On Thanksgiving, I saw “Margot At The Wedding” AND “The Giant Claw!” First off, I will preface my comments on “Margot” with the disclosure that I am a HUGE fan of Noah Baumbach, going back to several years ago when IFC would show “Kicking and Screaming” (not the Will Ferrell vehicle about kids playing soccer) in regular rotation, all because I heard that Dean Wareham did the music for his film “Mr. Jealousy.” As a big fan of Galaxie 500 and Luna, I knew it had to be good. Oh, and it was. Needless to say, I am a fan of Whit Stillman’s movies, as well. That whole Upper West Side intelligentsia thing that I had sort of mythologized and romanticized when I was a youngster (I envied my Uncle as I helped him move into his Chelsea co-op, imagining how amazing it must be to work and live in the center of the city).
Anyways, I had high expectations for “Margot” based on previous Baumbach excursions. I had heard some negative rumblings, but I held them in check until I could see for myself. First of all, let me say some nice things about the film. Jack Black was fantastic. He gets to show a serious, sensitive side that we should get to see more. Jennifer Jason Leigh is always wonderful, and her turn as Pauline is no exception. The actors playing the teenagers are superb as well. Unfortunately for all other parties involved, Nicole Kidman can’t even muster up enough emotion to portray a cold, neurotic bitch. Margot is a role that seems written for Parker Posey. Granted, that was probably what everyone would expect her to play, but I think the film would have been helped considerably by that casting choice. I mean, the film is a character study (it certainly isn’t an exercise in plot writing), so why bother employing an actor who can’t show depth? Margot is a complex woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She should vacillate between barbed insults and overly prodding suggestions and sheer lunacy. Ms. Kidman doesn’t really do this character justice.
What’s funny to me is that while I enjoyed watching this film, and I enjoyed a lot of the dialogue and pithy barbs tossed at a steady stream to whomever is in the room with whichever character opens his or her mouth, I was disappointed with the way it ended. The reason this is funny us because I am a big fan of Raymond Carver’s short stories, which are generally just snapshots of characters’ lives. They rarely start at the beginning or have a real end. Carver tended to fill in the colors, almost like a still-life with words. I love his approach. Yet, apply this approach to this film, and it left me perturbed. Is that a double-standard? Having said that, I would like to watch this again, and not just because Jennifer Jason Leigh gives the camera a little something something in one scene.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Blog Parts
blog parts 5/23/07
Dear Giant Ants,
Please stop hanging around in my bathroom, especially when I am sitting on the toilet. It is NOT cool, seriously. Climbing on my ass while i'm trying to take a poop is just crossing the line. It really eeks me out. Did I mention I found a can of RAID?
------------------------
6/18/07
Ever have that dream where you're at a kind of party with Seth Rogen and Paul Rudd and you meet them and start hanging out, having a good time and whatnot, and then sometime after that, you're living in a gas station in a desert with your mom? And then your grandma comes to visit and the first thing she does is break your brand new acoustic guitar because it freaked her out? And then you find your backup guitar and it's covered in three different kinds of tape -- clear packing, electrical and duct? And then you realize you're going to be late for work.
So, you walk into this big building and there's yoga instruction going on, but you forgot your coffee in the guitar-mutilation mayhem, so you go down the escalator to the Koffee R Us or whatever, and Seth Rogen is there, and he's getting a coffee, too. So, you're palling around, the hostess is asking him if he knows anyone on "the inside" who can help her with her acting career, and he's all like "yeah, no, I'm not really in touch with anyone "on the inside" because, um, that's prison lingo, and I'm a Canadian Jew, so I uh try to keep a low profile, because I wouldn't survive a night in jail. Besides, the only people I have an in with are the kind that can get you a good grilled cheese with bacon sandwich. Because I'm fat." The hostess is offended because this whole speech went right over her head, so she disappears in a huff.
Then, you get up to the counter to order your grande mocha, because, even in your dreams you order the same damn drinks, and the barrista just stares at you. Ten seconds later, and he starts doing a standup routine on the stage. And it's good! He's totally killing! And then he leaves the stage, filling his mouth with whipped cream and disappears. You're left with the option of making your own damned mocha or going to work without coffee. Is that a valid excuse when you're late to work?
---------------------
So, every commercial on the ION network is for a drug -- there's the one so you can breathe better, but it might prevent you from taking a crap. There's another one that helps your eyes produce tears if you've been born without working tear ducts -- but you can't take it if you have eye herpes! That's right, they actually say EYE HERPES in the commercial. Classy! (I know part of this was in the last blog, so eat it).
Dear Giant Ants,
Please stop hanging around in my bathroom, especially when I am sitting on the toilet. It is NOT cool, seriously. Climbing on my ass while i'm trying to take a poop is just crossing the line. It really eeks me out. Did I mention I found a can of RAID?
------------------------
6/18/07
Ever have that dream where you're at a kind of party with Seth Rogen and Paul Rudd and you meet them and start hanging out, having a good time and whatnot, and then sometime after that, you're living in a gas station in a desert with your mom? And then your grandma comes to visit and the first thing she does is break your brand new acoustic guitar because it freaked her out? And then you find your backup guitar and it's covered in three different kinds of tape -- clear packing, electrical and duct? And then you realize you're going to be late for work.
So, you walk into this big building and there's yoga instruction going on, but you forgot your coffee in the guitar-mutilation mayhem, so you go down the escalator to the Koffee R Us or whatever, and Seth Rogen is there, and he's getting a coffee, too. So, you're palling around, the hostess is asking him if he knows anyone on "the inside" who can help her with her acting career, and he's all like "yeah, no, I'm not really in touch with anyone "on the inside" because, um, that's prison lingo, and I'm a Canadian Jew, so I uh try to keep a low profile, because I wouldn't survive a night in jail. Besides, the only people I have an in with are the kind that can get you a good grilled cheese with bacon sandwich. Because I'm fat." The hostess is offended because this whole speech went right over her head, so she disappears in a huff.
Then, you get up to the counter to order your grande mocha, because, even in your dreams you order the same damn drinks, and the barrista just stares at you. Ten seconds later, and he starts doing a standup routine on the stage. And it's good! He's totally killing! And then he leaves the stage, filling his mouth with whipped cream and disappears. You're left with the option of making your own damned mocha or going to work without coffee. Is that a valid excuse when you're late to work?
---------------------
So, every commercial on the ION network is for a drug -- there's the one so you can breathe better, but it might prevent you from taking a crap. There's another one that helps your eyes produce tears if you've been born without working tear ducts -- but you can't take it if you have eye herpes! That's right, they actually say EYE HERPES in the commercial. Classy! (I know part of this was in the last blog, so eat it).
June 19, 2007 Day In Review, Part One
J-Ro’s Day in review Blog
6/19/07
So, instead of being the weird guy who goes to diners or coffee shops alone, writing and staring at people, I’m the weird guy who sits at the sushi bar alone, writing and staring at people. But hey, I’m hungry and want to be outside (it’s officially dine on the patio season), and my movie doesn’t start for another hour, anyway. And the best part of eating here is that the waitress looks like an Asian Jennifer Aniston. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it is. I want to call her Rachel. How great would it be if that was really her name? I would totally change my name to Ross just to go out with her. She’s probably way way too young. (side note: she can’t be WAY too young, because I saw her at the Nag’s Head on a Tuesday night)
A Myspace friend of mine had plans tonight, otherwise, I might possibly have had sushi not alone. But, such is not the case tonight. Maybe some other night. I have to say, though, that it might be nice to meet someone else. If I don’t end up moving soon, I might want to try that. Radiohead said that meeting people is easy. Which is a great joke, since someone who looks like Thom Yorke could not have gotten a lot of women if he wasn’t the singer in one of the biggest bands to come out of England in the 90s. I’ve been threatening to move for something like two years now. It really is time to shit or get off the pot, the pot being Long Island.
Boy, do I love sushi! I might try the Masago if there’s time. I should have ridden my bike again today, but I was actually cleaning my bathroom and vacuuming lightly. Hopefully this will keep me from getting sick all the time.
So, I had the sushi appetizer, which consists of one piece shrimp, two piece salmon, one piece yellowtail and one piece tuna (if I remember correctly). For a main course, I went with the Hotate roll, which is broiled eel, avocado and scallions, topped with spicy scallops. Hoo boy, was it tasty! When I finished that, I had one piece of Tako (octopus). Not bad. I did not get the Masago (smelt roe) this time. Maybe I will next time. I like trying different things, and so far, I’ve had the shitake rolls (great for vegetarians), the Red Bonbori rolls, the Louisianna Rolls...the sushi here is quite good. I also love Tomo Sushi in Smithtown (the Huntington location is good, too, and they even have hibachi there), but the sushi here is different.
Just in case you think that I will eat sushi anywhere and love it, that’s only almost true. Shiki in Smithtown is decent, but I’m not crazy about it. So, even though it is only down the street, most of my Tuesdays I get food from Tomo.
6/19/07
So, instead of being the weird guy who goes to diners or coffee shops alone, writing and staring at people, I’m the weird guy who sits at the sushi bar alone, writing and staring at people. But hey, I’m hungry and want to be outside (it’s officially dine on the patio season), and my movie doesn’t start for another hour, anyway. And the best part of eating here is that the waitress looks like an Asian Jennifer Aniston. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it is. I want to call her Rachel. How great would it be if that was really her name? I would totally change my name to Ross just to go out with her. She’s probably way way too young. (side note: she can’t be WAY too young, because I saw her at the Nag’s Head on a Tuesday night)
A Myspace friend of mine had plans tonight, otherwise, I might possibly have had sushi not alone. But, such is not the case tonight. Maybe some other night. I have to say, though, that it might be nice to meet someone else. If I don’t end up moving soon, I might want to try that. Radiohead said that meeting people is easy. Which is a great joke, since someone who looks like Thom Yorke could not have gotten a lot of women if he wasn’t the singer in one of the biggest bands to come out of England in the 90s. I’ve been threatening to move for something like two years now. It really is time to shit or get off the pot, the pot being Long Island.
Boy, do I love sushi! I might try the Masago if there’s time. I should have ridden my bike again today, but I was actually cleaning my bathroom and vacuuming lightly. Hopefully this will keep me from getting sick all the time.
So, I had the sushi appetizer, which consists of one piece shrimp, two piece salmon, one piece yellowtail and one piece tuna (if I remember correctly). For a main course, I went with the Hotate roll, which is broiled eel, avocado and scallions, topped with spicy scallops. Hoo boy, was it tasty! When I finished that, I had one piece of Tako (octopus). Not bad. I did not get the Masago (smelt roe) this time. Maybe I will next time. I like trying different things, and so far, I’ve had the shitake rolls (great for vegetarians), the Red Bonbori rolls, the Louisianna Rolls...the sushi here is quite good. I also love Tomo Sushi in Smithtown (the Huntington location is good, too, and they even have hibachi there), but the sushi here is different.
Just in case you think that I will eat sushi anywhere and love it, that’s only almost true. Shiki in Smithtown is decent, but I’m not crazy about it. So, even though it is only down the street, most of my Tuesdays I get food from Tomo.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Drowning In A Sea of Self-hindrance
Something very few people probably know about me is that I have very high expectations...not just for those around me, but for myself. Ok, maybe some of you knew that. In and of itself, not so much a problem; but the fact that these high expectations I have of myself often have a tendency to result in a paralyzing fear of doing anything at all, because I might not live up to these expectations tends to muddy the waters a bit. It really makes no sense at all as to how a fear of not accomplishing something perfectly can convince someone to not do anything at all. I know this. Nevertheless, I fall into this pattern fairly often, and have loads of trouble overcoming it. I am fairly outspoken with the ideas I have, and am great at strategizing, but often fail at the follow-through. I have people around me who want to and are more than willing to help me accomplish these tasks, but I tend to keep them at bay, because I feel I need to draw up grand schematics for simple activities. I often know what needs to be done, but have trouble making to-do lists. I often complain that I do not have enough time to do these things, but I can sit and watch lots of tv, claiming that I am so exhausted from my stressful 12-hour shifts at work. I often feel that my time off is spent sleeping and that I never seem to have a chance to catch up with the world around me that has seemingly changed so much while I was working for the better part of an entire week...
There are many things that I want to do with my life. I have been lucky in that I have done a couple of those things on a smaller scale. With my monetary assistance, an amazing band was able to record an fucking incredible, awesome-sounding record. I am very proud of mid-wiving this record. Unfortunately, I have yet to manage the strength and mobility to work any kind of substantial momentum to get behind the record the way the band deserves. But all the hassles of my job are starting to get to me. I feel like I spend so much of my off-time from work stressing myself out about the record stuff that I don't fully relax. I know that if I just spent some time concentrating on this work for the band, that I would feel less stressed and perhaps proud that I have accomplished anything at all, but the amount of energy it often takes me to get that far is draining in and of itself.
Right now, I just really want to cut myself off from the world, not work for a couple weeks, try sleeping on a normal schedule, getting myself that laptop computer I need so badly, and get back to working on my erstwhile novel-in-progress. It has been so long since I have worked on it that I cannot remember many of the anecdotes of my life that had originally spurred this on. I just feel like I am stagnating because of my "day job" on the night-shift, and that it eats up so much of what should be my productive time (I work better at nights, but if I am working at night, I can't be productive for myself, and that is a big fucking problem for me right now), and I have notbeen able to adjust after 2-plus years, which means I may never adjust. Something needs to change ASAP. I think it's my job. I don't need this stress in my life. I need a more-balanced life. I need to have a couple hours every day where I can sit and bullshit through my keyboard like I am now...share my thoughts and feelings somehow...communicate. Without this ability to communicate, I might as well be dead. I don't want to be dead. I want to be able to enjoy the wonderful parts of my life while I still have them -- my friends, music, my girlfriend, my family (who I have been neglecting the last couple of years, and this neglect has been spawning a giant guilt-monster inside me that may also be contributing to my decline at this point), and even quality time with myself. It has been 3 years since the last time I wandered aimlessly in NYC for the sole purpose of watching people being people and observing their interactions and their comings and goings, and translating all that into a written account of the world from my perspective...notes taken down whilst sitting in a café somehwere. These are things that make me happy. I have been denied this happiness for 3 years now. That is kind of fucked up. I can't deal with this denial anymore. I need to be allowed to be myself. Instead, I have a job that I don't even care about, but stress myself out over, even though they very clearly stated to me the essence that while under their employ, the notion of having a life is a PRIVILEGE, that I must earn by playing their fucking bullshit game of kissing a clown's ass. Anyone who knows me knows that I simply am not wired for ass-kissing, because I am programmed to automatically dispute anyone with authority over me, because anyone appointed to such a position is always full of shit and not qualified to tell me what to do. I learn very quickly how to do my job, and once I have a handle on that, refuse to take any directions from idiots. Somehow, these idiots are ALWAYS my boss. Anyways, as such, I end up dreading going to work, and because they make a big deal out of my being a minute late, I will subconsciously manage to make myself late as much as possible, because I cannot conceivably kowtow to such fascism.
This does not make a good personal essay for a future employer, that much is certain. But that is all for now. It is time to go bowling and relieve some of that stress.
There are many things that I want to do with my life. I have been lucky in that I have done a couple of those things on a smaller scale. With my monetary assistance, an amazing band was able to record an fucking incredible, awesome-sounding record. I am very proud of mid-wiving this record. Unfortunately, I have yet to manage the strength and mobility to work any kind of substantial momentum to get behind the record the way the band deserves. But all the hassles of my job are starting to get to me. I feel like I spend so much of my off-time from work stressing myself out about the record stuff that I don't fully relax. I know that if I just spent some time concentrating on this work for the band, that I would feel less stressed and perhaps proud that I have accomplished anything at all, but the amount of energy it often takes me to get that far is draining in and of itself.
Right now, I just really want to cut myself off from the world, not work for a couple weeks, try sleeping on a normal schedule, getting myself that laptop computer I need so badly, and get back to working on my erstwhile novel-in-progress. It has been so long since I have worked on it that I cannot remember many of the anecdotes of my life that had originally spurred this on. I just feel like I am stagnating because of my "day job" on the night-shift, and that it eats up so much of what should be my productive time (I work better at nights, but if I am working at night, I can't be productive for myself, and that is a big fucking problem for me right now), and I have notbeen able to adjust after 2-plus years, which means I may never adjust. Something needs to change ASAP. I think it's my job. I don't need this stress in my life. I need a more-balanced life. I need to have a couple hours every day where I can sit and bullshit through my keyboard like I am now...share my thoughts and feelings somehow...communicate. Without this ability to communicate, I might as well be dead. I don't want to be dead. I want to be able to enjoy the wonderful parts of my life while I still have them -- my friends, music, my girlfriend, my family (who I have been neglecting the last couple of years, and this neglect has been spawning a giant guilt-monster inside me that may also be contributing to my decline at this point), and even quality time with myself. It has been 3 years since the last time I wandered aimlessly in NYC for the sole purpose of watching people being people and observing their interactions and their comings and goings, and translating all that into a written account of the world from my perspective...notes taken down whilst sitting in a café somehwere. These are things that make me happy. I have been denied this happiness for 3 years now. That is kind of fucked up. I can't deal with this denial anymore. I need to be allowed to be myself. Instead, I have a job that I don't even care about, but stress myself out over, even though they very clearly stated to me the essence that while under their employ, the notion of having a life is a PRIVILEGE, that I must earn by playing their fucking bullshit game of kissing a clown's ass. Anyone who knows me knows that I simply am not wired for ass-kissing, because I am programmed to automatically dispute anyone with authority over me, because anyone appointed to such a position is always full of shit and not qualified to tell me what to do. I learn very quickly how to do my job, and once I have a handle on that, refuse to take any directions from idiots. Somehow, these idiots are ALWAYS my boss. Anyways, as such, I end up dreading going to work, and because they make a big deal out of my being a minute late, I will subconsciously manage to make myself late as much as possible, because I cannot conceivably kowtow to such fascism.
This does not make a good personal essay for a future employer, that much is certain. But that is all for now. It is time to go bowling and relieve some of that stress.
Monday, March 14, 2005
J-Ro Live From The Tiny Room With The Computer In It At Long Last
So, welcome to my first blog post in eons. I've been scarcely present in online forums for many reasons. Mostly a lack of time to write extemporaneously about random topis of interest to anyone besides myself. Also, most of what I want to tell all th world has to do with the new love in my life. I wanted to hold off on mentioning that for a while, because I did not want to jinx it or get anyone all upset or whatnot. One learns the lesson swiftly once getting bitten on the ass by that kind of thing. But now that she and I are officially fools in love, I feel free enough to mention it.
It's really been crazy since last I posted. I had to delay pressing the new Trashed On Fiction cd to be able to afford the recording, mixing, mastering and pressing of the first Repercussions full-length, Modern Sounds. I just figured that it would be easier to use Modern Sounds to get distribution and exposure for the label, since I failed to properly do this for the Don't Fear EP and the Space Robot Scientists EP. Plus, it's easier to market 14 songs than 7 songs, even though those 7 songs add up to a minute more than a typical Weezer coaster. Of course, because I spent so much money on Modern Sounds, as well as having to buy a new car because my Saturn finally died, I have yet to rebuild my savings to a comfortable enugh level to afford pressing the TOF cd. On top of the hideously long delay (viva indie labels!) is the fact that I have been like an absentee father to TOF as well. I have missed so many shows due to work/time constraints that I'm beginning to wonder if the band secretly hates me, and wouldn't blame them if they wanted someone else to put out their record at this point.
But yes, my new car is a Hyundai Elantra 2005, with a pretty neat spoiler that I didn't ask for but liked a lot. I got the cassette deck because of my many old mixtapes. It has awesome beverage holders, and even has a beverage-holder adapter for smaller cups! There is also a hidden backseat beverage holder. And a cool drop-down sunglasses holder, which contain my recent;y purchased clip-on sunglasses that do not look like to stupid flip-up ones that made generations of baseball players (like Kent Tekulve) look like nerds like that nerd from "Riptide" whose first name in real life was "Thom." The same weekend I bought the car, I had my second date with Hilary, who must have been swayed by my new car, and soon after, we became official. I could go on and on about her for days. It's crazy to be 31 and to say that I've never felt this way about anyone before, but for those of you who know my big cosmic mess of a lovelife, it makes everything in the past feel like a joke. It's hard to supress the urge to build a chupah and steal her away in the middle of the night and drive to Vegas to get married by an Elvis with a chimpanzee named Clyde as the best man. So to those of you whom I haven't seen in many moons, that is the main reason I haven't been making the rounds to all the social events of the season. Well, that and I'm still working the night shift. Seriously, if you can offer me a job making $35,000 a year and health insurance (hell, I'll take $30G), please let me know. I need out. so so so bad.
Oh, and if you are on Myspace, make friends with my label. www.myspace.com/esche
love and x's and o's,
J-Ro
It's really been crazy since last I posted. I had to delay pressing the new Trashed On Fiction cd to be able to afford the recording, mixing, mastering and pressing of the first Repercussions full-length, Modern Sounds. I just figured that it would be easier to use Modern Sounds to get distribution and exposure for the label, since I failed to properly do this for the Don't Fear EP and the Space Robot Scientists EP. Plus, it's easier to market 14 songs than 7 songs, even though those 7 songs add up to a minute more than a typical Weezer coaster. Of course, because I spent so much money on Modern Sounds, as well as having to buy a new car because my Saturn finally died, I have yet to rebuild my savings to a comfortable enugh level to afford pressing the TOF cd. On top of the hideously long delay (viva indie labels!) is the fact that I have been like an absentee father to TOF as well. I have missed so many shows due to work/time constraints that I'm beginning to wonder if the band secretly hates me, and wouldn't blame them if they wanted someone else to put out their record at this point.
But yes, my new car is a Hyundai Elantra 2005, with a pretty neat spoiler that I didn't ask for but liked a lot. I got the cassette deck because of my many old mixtapes. It has awesome beverage holders, and even has a beverage-holder adapter for smaller cups! There is also a hidden backseat beverage holder. And a cool drop-down sunglasses holder, which contain my recent;y purchased clip-on sunglasses that do not look like to stupid flip-up ones that made generations of baseball players (like Kent Tekulve) look like nerds like that nerd from "Riptide" whose first name in real life was "Thom." The same weekend I bought the car, I had my second date with Hilary, who must have been swayed by my new car, and soon after, we became official. I could go on and on about her for days. It's crazy to be 31 and to say that I've never felt this way about anyone before, but for those of you who know my big cosmic mess of a lovelife, it makes everything in the past feel like a joke. It's hard to supress the urge to build a chupah and steal her away in the middle of the night and drive to Vegas to get married by an Elvis with a chimpanzee named Clyde as the best man. So to those of you whom I haven't seen in many moons, that is the main reason I haven't been making the rounds to all the social events of the season. Well, that and I'm still working the night shift. Seriously, if you can offer me a job making $35,000 a year and health insurance (hell, I'll take $30G), please let me know. I need out. so so so bad.
Oh, and if you are on Myspace, make friends with my label. www.myspace.com/esche
love and x's and o's,
J-Ro
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Jinkies!
Yeah, so it's already the new year for us Hebe-types, and I don't feel any different...well, I had to say that, but the truth is that change IS in the air, I can feel it. Soy un perdidor. Seriously, though...My 31st birthday was on Rosh Hashannah, and it felt harmonious. A new year started not just for me, but for Jews everywhere, and that a band from Israel (The Genders, represent) played that night, as my new year began as well, was pretty cool. The fact that I could manage to DJ more than competently, or at all, considering the amount of booze I gulped, was an added bonus. As sad as I was that some folks could not make it down (some folks got less than 24 hours notice...my bad), I was really touched by the people who did make it (perhaps there could have been more touching going on, folks...really). Definitely warmed the cockles of my heart, and maybe somewhere below the cockles, in the sub-cockle region. As the ten days leading up to Yom Kippur whiz by, I've been in a state of reflection and self-awareness. I think that I've grown a lot this past year and learned many things. Some of these things I learned the hard way. I know that I hurt some feelings and made a few mistakes. I'm honestly sorry about that stuff, and will of course seek forgiveness from those parties involved, as per the ritual. These things have helped make me a stronger person overall, I think. Though some things tend to hurt both parties involved. Right now, I feel like Doogie freaking Houser, only stupid, and without that crazy little midget Vinny climbing through my window. But 30 was really a coccoon year, of rebuilding on the inside, forcing myself to take risks and make strides to do things I believe in. I promise the people who depend on me that this year, I will do what we need done to achieve our goals. I know it can happen. It's the hard choices that get you to where you need to be. Money for nothing and chicks for free. I guess that's it for now. Not that anybody checks this anymore, since it's been months since I've said anything in this forum...kind of a holdover from a lesson I learned. But if you are reading this, check out the Chicken & Waffles blog for the new thing I just wrote...it's kinda heavy, but I like it. I just wish it were more fiction than it is. I want to write a happy story, damnit! Oh well.
L'shana Tova,
J-Ro
L'shana Tova,
J-Ro
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Repercussions TONIGHT at Arlene's Grocery!
We here at The Repercussions HQ are very excited about this upcoming
show! We are playing host to a band from South Carolina called
Something About Vampires and Sluts, friends we have met on our tours
down to The Palmetto State. They are excellent people and an excellent
band, so please do come out to support us and our friends on the road! Show them that we are just as hospitable as the southerners!
Tuesday, August 24th
The Repercussions
Something About Vampires and Sluts (our friends on tour from South Carolina!)
Nitromusk
Ghost Runner
At Arlene's Grocery
95 Stanton St
Manhattan, NY 10002
212-995-1652
www.arlene-grocery.com
8PM
21+
$5
www.mapquest.com for door-to-door driving directions, or...
F or V Train to 2nd Avenue Exit 1st Avenue, 1 block below Houston St
between Orchard and Ludlow Streets
Looking forward to seeing you there! Please check out
www.therepercussions.net for more upcoming gigs!
please dont make me disown you as friends and come on down for christ's sake
Love,
J-Ro
Chief Cook & Bottlewasher,
ESCHE Enterprises, LLC
show! We are playing host to a band from South Carolina called
Something About Vampires and Sluts, friends we have met on our tours
down to The Palmetto State. They are excellent people and an excellent
band, so please do come out to support us and our friends on the road! Show them that we are just as hospitable as the southerners!
Tuesday, August 24th
The Repercussions
Something About Vampires and Sluts (our friends on tour from South Carolina!)
Nitromusk
Ghost Runner
At Arlene's Grocery
95 Stanton St
Manhattan, NY 10002
212-995-1652
www.arlene-grocery.com
8PM
21+
$5
www.mapquest.com for door-to-door driving directions, or...
F or V Train to 2nd Avenue Exit 1st Avenue, 1 block below Houston St
between Orchard and Ludlow Streets
Looking forward to seeing you there! Please check out
www.therepercussions.net for more upcoming gigs!
please dont make me disown you as friends and come on down for christ's sake
Love,
J-Ro
Chief Cook & Bottlewasher,
ESCHE Enterprises, LLC
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Life becomes a great Song Title
According to my friend Christen, this crazy woman lives across the street. Here are the things she says screaming on the phone at people while on her front porch:
"how can you enjoy sex if your pussy is the size of a fucking watermelon, bitch?"
"they're all jealous of me becuse they're fat ugly bitches who can't get dates"
I just find this truly amazing. I wish I had interesting neighbors, and the not the kind that bring your family to court because they are too shady to have the kind of homeowners insurance that covers a tree falling onto their car, meanwhile building decks and renting out a basement apartment without permits.
Anyways, my stomach is eating itself. time for foood and a haircut. I promise to post again sooner than however long it's been. I know I suck. But I still love you all (except for you, you there, picking your teeth with the matchbook cover from that dive).
"how can you enjoy sex if your pussy is the size of a fucking watermelon, bitch?"
"they're all jealous of me becuse they're fat ugly bitches who can't get dates"
I just find this truly amazing. I wish I had interesting neighbors, and the not the kind that bring your family to court because they are too shady to have the kind of homeowners insurance that covers a tree falling onto their car, meanwhile building decks and renting out a basement apartment without permits.
Anyways, my stomach is eating itself. time for foood and a haircut. I promise to post again sooner than however long it's been. I know I suck. But I still love you all (except for you, you there, picking your teeth with the matchbook cover from that dive).
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
What I'm doing with my (lack of a) life lately
If you haven't heard from me in a while it's not because I hate you (though some of you seem to not be too fond of me lately), but because since I've gotten back from the crazy amazingness that was the Repercussions tour, I've been mostly working or sleeping. When I haven't been working or sleeping, I've been alone in my bachelor pad drinking Jack Daniels (with coffee or iced tea or straight) and watching Dawson's Creek on DVD (I just finished season three, so last night I watched Big Fish...HOLY CRAP!). I'd love to invite someone over to watch this stuff (and drink whiskey) with me, but you all have to wake up when I'm just going to sleep. I mean, shit, it's 6:48am now. I guess that's all for now. Please stay tuned for the Repercussions Tour Diary as told by J-Ro. It's crazy crap.
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