My life is a Seinfeld episode

I write about...nothing! Jerry turned it into a living, maybe I can too. Hmmm...

Anyway, two things I forgot about my satellitetv-gasm...

1. 21 Grams
See this film. It's dark and disturbing and sad and it jumps all over the place in a way that makes Memento seem easy to follow. But in spite of that, and in spite of how fat he gets or how greasy or awful his character is, Benicio Del Toro is just HOTTTTTTTTT...dear moses. Not to mention that Sean Penn is just sexier and sexier the older and craggier he gets. And for those of you who don't watch movies for the same shallow reasons I do...see it anyway. It's pretty brilliant. And oh yeah...Naomi Watts can actually ACT! Who knew? Who cared, really?

2. An old friend popped up as a busboy in one of the gazillion episodes of Law & Order I watched, so of course I gave him shit about it today. Funny thing is, my first reaction was, "Hey, that's one cute busboy right there!" And then..."Hey, wait...I made out with that busboy! On several occasions, even!" Heh...New York is such a small town sometimes...I really must move soon.

Not much else to report today (lucky for you...)

The Fruits of Unproductivity

Who knew that being sick in bed over the course of an entire holiday weekend could be so much damned fun? Sat-O-Lite teevee is the only way to be! I watched about 12 episodes of Law & Order and 10 of NYPD Blue, I shit you not. My eyeballs still hurt, and I'm not the least bit sorry about it.

So here are my reviews of the movies I watched...be afraid, Roger Ebert. Be very afraid.

Solaris
Four words: George Clooney's Bare Ass. Does the plot or the cinematography or any of that crap even matter? Um, no. Not even a litte. I think there was some stuff about, like, space or something. And some people died, and some were already dead, and some that had been dead weren't anymore. Whatever. Loved it!

Daddy Day Care
About 1/10 as annoying as Jerry Maguire, 53 times more believable, and the little kid was just as cute. Works for me.

Radio
I was always that kid in school who got in fistfights with the assholes who picked on the special ed kids, so there were parts that made me furious, but mostly it was kinda sweet. Had this film been straight fiction, the whole triumph-of-the-human spirit thing woulda inspired projectile vomiting...but Radio is a real guy, and he rules, so yay. If I had kids, I'd make them watch it and then threaten to kick the shit out of them if they ever picked on anyone who couldn't fight back.

The Hot Chick
Down-and-out social deviant Rob Schneider changes bodies with cunty high school cheerleader. Wacky hijinks and innumerable dick and fart jokes ensue. Standard Rob Schneider movie, but make no mistake...this is no Deuce Bigelow. Me, though, I love dick and fart jokes, so it was an a-okay waste of an hour and a half of my life.

White Oleander
Meh. The book was so, SO much better. Isn't it always, though? But I think this was filmed before Michelle Pfeiffer's plastic surgery got outta control, so she still had her own nose (as opposed to Michael Jackson's) and looked really hot. So that's something.

Holes
No, it's not a porno (unfortunately.) But it was cute...nice little family-type film. Pretty good story, too. Now if you'll please excuse me for moment...my gorge has risen and must be attended to. (It was the only thing on last night, okay? Eff off.)

The Untouchables
When I saw this the first time, around the time it came out, I thought it was really good. I must have been drunk. Really drunk. Even Sean Connery kinda sucked. Kevin Costner's beauty is so painfully marred by his ability to speak...

Sid & Nancy
I watched Sid & Nancy on Thanksgiving...I am, like, SO punk rock, yo. This is still my favorite rock movie of all time (besides Spinal Tap, of course), and I think it may be my favorite biography as well. Sid was one fucked up cat, god love him, and thus we have one fucked up film on our hands here. The only thing that bugged me this time around was Whoretney Love's presence, which didn't register the first time I saw the movie umpteen years ago. That's because no one had heard of her then. I miss those days. Yeah, Love kills alright...especially if you're Kurt Cobain. Wait...did I just digress? I did. Whoops. (But could I really let that little scrap of irony slide by unnoticed? I don't think so.) Anyway, Sid & Nancy rules. That's where I was going with that. Yeah.

There you have it, my four-day weekend. Thank me later. I'm gonna go home and, you know, watch TV now.

Tofurkey?

Nah, I'm just gonna order a pizza.

Home sick, but suprisingly undepressed, yay! I think my new satellite TV action has something to do with that...nothing like eight solid hours with the Hill family to cheer me up.

Well, that and the fact that aside from my recent whining, I recognize that I'm a lucky lil' beeyatch with lots of things to be thankful for...great friends I love immensely, an insanely inexpensive and spacious apartment in New York City, plenty of critters running around, an awesome job, and a full belly (or soon to be full, anyway...hope the pizza joint is still open...)

So yeah...Happy Pizza Day, everyone.

Small things that are actually kinda huge (and for once, no, I'm not making a dick joke)

Okay, the Nicest Man in New York City Award for 2004 goes to...

MR. CHARLES JENKINS of Fort Greene, Brooklyn!

Lemme tell you about this guy...

He's a satellite TV installer who had the misfortune of being assigned to hook up our apartment. This sounds simple, but we live in a converted commercial building with all kinds of restrictions regarding such things, so he spent most of the day yesterday trying to make TV happen for us. Before he was finished, my roomie Stephanie had to leave, but instead of making us schedule another appointment and take more time off, he just gave us his cell number. "I just live around the corner from you, so let me know when someone's home and I'll come by and finish up tonight." Great, right? Incredibly nice of him! But wait, it gets far better...

So I call Charles up at around 7:00 when I'm almost home, and he comes to the house shortly thereafter. By this time, the room he needs to access in the basement of the building is locked, so he goes about installing the boxes and whatnot until our psychotic super comes home (he lives next door. Lucky us.) He finishes with that and starts calling freako, who isn't answering despite the fact that we can hear his phone ringing through my bedroom wall. Charles and I are kinda half watching this show on Fox, in the meantime. It's some hospital drama type thing with a vitriolic bastard genius doctor character...kinda Scrubs meets ER in the middle...and we're both so into it that I tell him to sit down and finish watching, even though it looks like the work won't get done tonight. We're like old pals sitting around watching the game on a Sunday afternoon. My cat falls in complete and immediate love with him and spends an hour glued to his side...it's great.

It's 9:30 by now, and Stephanie comes home from her volleyball game (which she won by forfeit, incidentally.) Her and Charles go bang on dickface super's door, and of course he refuses to get off his fat ass to unlock a door one floor down for ten minutes. God forbid he take even a brief break from screaming obscenities at his wife or swilling Bud Lite. Bastard. Whatever. This means Charles has to come back in the AM to finish things up and make sure we have plenty of channels of crap to sit and drool in front of through the upcoming cold-ass winter. At this point, the guy is a total camper. BUT WAIT AGAIN...there's more...

This morning at about 8 AM I get a frantic call from goofbag Stephanie, who locked herself out of the apartment when she went out to walk the dog. Our other roommate Drew is either comatose or in the shower, as he hasn't answered her 53 phone calls or responded to 20 minutes of her ringing our doorbell. Rut ro...

Long story short, Charles VOLUNTEERS TO DRIVE HER TO MY OFFICE from BROOKLYN to pick up my keys. No joke. Who IS this guy?

Drives her here, and since her photo ID was locked in her car thereby rendering her incapable of getting past building security, he leaves her in the car and comes up to the 21st floor to get the keys for her. Then, of course, drives her BACK to Brooklyn, where he finishes installing our satellite TV. The whole time, he just shrugged off our profuse thanks..."No big deal, I don't mind, glad to help." We invited him over for beers as a thank you, and he said "I'd be happy to come hang out with y'all, but you don't have to thank me."

Maybe it was no big deal to HIM, but I've lived in New York City for long enough to know that people like Charles Jenkins are an incredible rarity. Just a sweet, calm, wonderful, funny guy...never showed even a hint of frustration or irritation through this whole ordeal. Amazing. Talk about having one's faith in people restored...Usually when something inspires me to say "Don't worry, I believe in karma and so-and-so will get what he deserves," the person in question has a speeding bus with his name on it somewhere. It was nice to think of the things that Charles clearly has coming to him without uttering my evil snicker and vaguely hoping to be the driver of said bus.

So Charles Jenkins, thank you thank you thank you. If I had an oven, I'd bake you a cake. Since I don't...well, I'll probably buy you one or something. But it still, you know, comes from my heart and stuff. Yeah...wow...thanks.

Conversion

So I'm taking this trip to Dublin next week...it's not a cheap city, and I'm not a rich girl, thus I'm scraping up cash from all available sources.

One of those sources happens to be a jar of change that's been sitting in the corner of my room for several months now. I've added to and pinched from it here and there, but the bulk of that spaghetti sauce jar's contents are the result of a joint venture between...He Who Shall Not Be Named, and myself.

Hence, every time I look at said change jar, I can't help but think about that day last spring when we made a label with his ancient & barely functional labelmaker that read "Vacation Fund," and excitedly emptied our pockets and personal coin stashes into it. Big plans were made. When we got to $100.00, we'd open a joint savings account just for our vacation money, and we'd keep saving it up and go...somewhere. Together. Didn't matter how long it took to save enough to go somewhere good, because, you know, we'd always be together. Right.

Last night, I dumped the jar out onto my bed and began to count coins to be rolled and cashed in. Five bucks in quarters...ten...fifteen...Unfortunately, the counting didn't sufficiently occupy my mind so as to prevent it from wandering to the place it spends waaaaay too much time these days. As I made stacks of dimes, I thought about how excited both of us were each time we dropped any coins in the jar, and how we competed too see who had more scratch at the end of the day. I slipped nickels into rolls and wondered which ones had come from one of our trips to Dom's Market to pick up dinner, or from vodka slices at the pizza place on the corner. I thought of the $25 he took out to go visit his mom, because at 33 he doesn't have a stable source of income, and of the shame I know he felt (and feels) about that. Every memory saddened me more, so I just kept counting. Thirty bucks...forty...I remembered the day that, at the tail end of one of our many huge, awful fights, I grabbed the labled jar off his kitchen counter and dumped half its contents into my bag as I was leaving. Wanted to make sure I got my half, since I was leaving and never coming back. Right. Fair's fair. No matter that it made him cry. And, you see, that's how half of this joint venture ended up in my own jar in the corner of my room.

I've spent all this time trying to figure out what went wrong, who's fault it is, which of us to blame, what either of us coulda shoulda woulda done differently so that this money was collecting interest in a bank somewhere instead of stacked in rolls on my gray comforter. As I sifted through the last of the coins, I realized that I'll never really know for sure, any more than I'll know which quarter came from where, which of our hands touched it last, or where the vacation fund would have eventually taken us. It's all a giant, inexorable tangle of things we both said and did and didn't do that all adds up to...well, a jar of change. Continuing to wonder and pine about it is as pointless as the penny, only far more painful. All there is to do is take what I earned from our venture, cash in what's left, and move on.

Sixty dollars, give or take. That's what it came out to. Sixty dollars.
I'm not quite ready to turn those rolled coins into bills. I need to look at them for a few more days, sitting on my nightstand. Then I'll haul them to the bank and let them go.

I'm taking that sixty bucks to Dublin with me. Those green U.S. dollars will turn into Euros, and at least a few of those Euros will turn into pints I'll drink to him, and to us, and to what was and what isn't, and to what is, and what will be for each of us, separately. When I come home that money will be gone, and while my memories of it will certainly linger, the joint venture will be behind me and I'll move forward, on my own.

R.I.P. HTF & DOW, 10/4/03-10/21/04

There are morals to all of these stories...or not.

So think the good thoughts for my friend CBass. Seriously. Her family needs them right now, and every bit helps, whether you know them or not. Thanks.

In other crappy news...R.I.P. Pablo Schatz, of the Park Slope Schatzes. He was a cool cat, cooler than most...sorry J. He's missed.

On a lighter note, here's a reminder to invest in some Head & Shoulders prior to committing your next robbery...ain't forensic science a bitch! I've really got to start watching C.S.I.

And I finally saw Finding Nemo this weekend. Okay, I get it. In spite of the fact that absolutely everything, including this damn cartoon, makes me cry these days...I'll admit, I loved it. Ellen Degeneres is the shiznat, fa rizzle.

CBass

We love you, and we wish we were there with you. She's an amazing woman, and if anyone can pull through this, it'll be her.

All good thoughts and wishes and our versions of prayers are with you, honey.

From bad to "could be worse"

So I made my hotel reservation for Dublin today...and magically, I feel better. I think being alone in a foreign country 3,000 miles from here is exactly what mama needs. Anyone who's been there and can hook me up with some info, free liquor, hotties, etc. should speak up.

Looking forward to Mondo Porno tomorrow night as well...a trip overseas AND some free smut! Even better! (You should seriously come to this...Drag Citizen, Sex Slaves...good times.)

And look at this! The Giraffes on Daily Candy? WTF??
Man, those signs of the apocalypse just keep on comin'...

ODB, in his own words...Incredible.

Can't bring myself to say too much about his death...but read this.

And, after you're done, go see this.

Maybe there's some clever, ironic connection I could draw between the two, but I was awake all night (again) and am not feeling the least bit clever or ironic. Just do as I command, damn you.

Oh...and thank you David Auerbach, not only for the amazing chocolate chip cookie, but also just for thinking of me. I'm not sure that you get how kind that was, or what it did for my day.

Phrase of the day: "Pretty much not gay." (Thanks William! Mama loves you!)

New day, new horrors

I don't even know what to say about this, other than a) I wish I was even a little surprised, and b) at least things will be easier for all those poor terrorists now, who previously had to work so hard to fuck with us.

And remind me to never, EVER get in any kind of accident or injure myself in New York City in to a degree that might require emergency assistance, now that Diamond Dave is on the loose...

Wow, two signs of the impending apocalypse in one day! Yee haw!

Not sure why I'm still sober...must amend that quickly...

It's that time of year again

I had forgotten how much I love turtleneck season...

Maybe THIS will help with my boo-hooing...

Ah, the intervention of fate...or just some silly bullshit that made me giggle for a second.
Whatever. I'll take it.

Dear Helen,
Here is your horoscope for Friday, November 12:
Okay, so you've never exactly been the soul of willpower. You've always believed that if one is good, two is better and many, many more would be just great. That's going to go double for several weeks, starting now. Better hire a chaperone.

Volunteers?
No, didn't think so. I hope you're smarter than that...

Wah, boo hoo, poor Helen, yada yada

Oh jesus...I'm about to go all girly, so if you're squeamish about such things you should stop reading now and go watch football or something. No hard feelings.

I'm trying to get over this breakup. Really I am. I'm spending time with my friends, keeping busy, meeting new people, planning a trip overseas, the whole bit. I put the pictures in a folder by themselves and I try not to look at them. I erased as much of him as I could. Sometimes I feel a bit better...five or ten minutes will go by where I don't think about it and I don't notice the ache in my gut. Mostly, though, I feel like hell, and it's not letting up at all. I had an awful dream about him this morning just before I got up that it took a couple of hours to shake off...it's just gotta stop soon.

I could go on about it, but honestly, who cares? People get their hearts broken all the time. Most people's lives and relationships don't turn out the way they thought they would. There's nothing special about me that makes it somehow worse. I'm just gonna have to suck it up and deal until this weight starts to lift off my chest and I can get through a day without crying.

I guess it's just a universal thing...heartbreak is hearbreak, pain is pain, no matter who you are or where you go. Maybe once I get through it I'll understand life a little more, or something. (Fuck. Probably not.) In the meantime, I'll try not to bore/nauseate y'all with too much more of this cri-zap.

"Losing love is like a window in your heart...everybody sees you're blown apart, everybody hears the wind blow." -PS

Un-Presidents and Gay Boyfriends

I'm taking a break from politics for a few days...still collecting my thoughts on what my next moves, both political and physical, will be.

For now there's this, which describes what is to be my romantic course of action:

http://www.thesun.co.uk/popupWindow/0,,11-2003442800,00.html

Who cares if we never kiss?

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you...

the leader of the "free" world...

http://static.vidvote.com/movies/bushuncensored.mov

Hope all you imbeciles who voted based on "moral values" are watching. When you're done reading this, kindly go fuck yourselves.

For those of you with the sense to be boundlessly furious, please forward this to everyone you know.

WAKE THE FUCK UP, MIDDLE AMERICA! THIS IS YOUR FAULT, AND NOW IT'S EVERYONE'S PROBLEM!

There you have it

I don't even know what to say. Just when I thought the huge painful rock in my stomach, present due to circumstances that existed prior to this fucking election, would diminish at some point...Now I'm pretty sure I'll be lugging it around for at least four more years.

Bottom line...If I wanted to live in Nazi Germany, I'd buy a time machine. Since I don't, I'm looking for jobs with my company in Toronto and overseas. (No, I'm not kidding, not in the least.)

We, as Americans, should be ashamed of ourselves. Some of us did the wrong thing (that's a big fuck you to Middle America.) Others, myself included, did not do enough to ensure that the right thing happened.

In a moment of frustration, I randomly asked my very favorite co-worker the desperate question of the day..."Theo, what are we going to do now?"

He didn't even hesitate, nor did he look up from what he was doing.
"If you hear a whistling sound, duck down under something."

Yep.

Election Day...

The first time I voted was November of 1992. I was 19, in college, and just about beside myself about the whole prospect...making a difference, letting my voice be heard, yada yada yada. I was all smiley and had butterflies...it was the first time in my life I felt like I was truly a part of something larger than myself. And B.C. brought it home, which made it even sweeter.

Four years later, I was far more cavalier about the whole process. Forgot to change my address? No problem...Jetted to Boulder, cast my ballot for Bill with full confidence that he'd take care of bidness yet again (which of course he did), and went on about my day without giving it much more thought.

In 2000 it was a bit different...I went in calmly with confidence in Al, and woke up the next day in a nightmare that will hopefully end today.

So that brings me to this morning, twelve years after my voter cherry was somewhat ceremoniously busted. I spent most of last night sleepless, thinking "I getta vote tomorrow!" I woke up with my stomach in knots, excited and nervous. I was careful about what I wore...I wanted to look nice on election day. (I know...shut up...I was raised by old fashioned people, okay?)

I was pretty impressed by the early turnout at PS 46. It was 7 AM, and I was surrounded by a solid variety of people (or as varied as Fort Greene gets, anyway.) Several young moms were there with their school-age and younger kids, which I found incredibly heartening. I vote because I was taught that it's important, and it was inspiring to see such a tradition perpetuated.

When I walked into that booth, I was suddenly overwhelmed. Maybe some of it was the PMS, or the difficult shit going on in my life at present, or the lack of sleep...but my hands were shaking, and I was close to both vomiting and tears (gawd, I am such a total GIRL sometimes...) That archaic voting machine, older and so much bigger than me, somehow brought the profound geo-political implications of this election into stunning perspective. I felt the burden of responsibility on my scrawny middle-class American shoulders, and a glint of the power that accompanies it. Intense.

All I could do for a minute or so was stare at this Wonka-esque machine...I read some of the names printed on it, until I got to his...Dubya. That's when the the hatred bubbled up in my belly, the anger and frustration that any semi-literate middle-class American SHOULD feel at the fact that we are even PRESENTED with the POSSIBILITY of electing such a monster in the first place. I read the list of names beneath his, the Republicans running for whatever other offices, and I blindly hated them too, whoever they were.

I've never, ever been a partisan voter. In fact, I'm not a member of any party, politcal or otherwise. But as I stared at those parallel lists of names, I kinda snapped. Those people listed below the Un-President were all willing to affiliate themselves with him, and thus they hadda go. I said "Fuck it!" and went down the list of Democrats, snapping levers. "Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!" All Democrats. Didn't know who half of them even were, I just knew, in principle, that I wanted them to win.

It took me a second to kind of collect myself...supressed my tears and my still-rising gorge...and when I walked out of the booth with my freshly-earned sense of accomplishment, I realized I had been saying "Fuck it!" out loud. Probably loud enough for the both the adorable little Puerto Rican booth attendant and the woman in line behind me to hear. Whoops. But my expletives were borne of passion and conviction, dammit...and besides, they lives in my 'hood. I'm positive they've seen and heard far worse.

Forgive the digression...At any rate, that feeling is still with me. I did something that mattered today, and not just to me or my friends or my mom. It MATTERED. That's big. I'm not about to bust into some Lee Greenwood song here, but goddamn it, if you haven't already, VOTE! Because you CAN!

And because if you can prove to me that you're a registered Republican who voted for Kerry, I'll send you a picture of my boobs. No, really.

Nervous night ahead (yes, I know that was a Hooters album, fuck off). Taking the edge off with a few beers, but only a few...don't wanna be too hung over to celebrate the new era that starts tomorrow.