Black Don't Crack and beans don't burn on the grill

This Bernadette Stanis now. She was Thelma on "Good Times" and I had a big crush on her. This would cause my my Archie Bunker like biological father raise his hand to me, as if to say, "I'll kill you if you ever..." Wonder how he'd feel now that I date (read:plow) guys.

Personal Ad Requirement Part II

Must accompany me to at least 3/4 of all Catherine Keener films made per year (exceeds five some years).

Wow...He's got a Muse to boot

When I worked in L.A. @ Largo we would get so many solitions from neer do wells in the music industry. It ran the gamut from struggling artists with great if not poorly written plea's to let them play there to PR people sending faxes with their flavor of the months new foray into music and begging/demanding we have them play there.
One hotshot at the moment was the brother of one of the most powerful agents in Los Angeles. His name was Rick Yorn. His brother Pete, was at the time this struggling, spoiled musician. Flanagan booked Pete based solely I think on this starfucker quality (being a starfucker himself) and the fact that at The Viper Room; Pete Yorn attracted a crowd. I believe Pete had done a few gigs before I joined Largo, so as usual I was the one to let the musicians in while they rehearsed and had a sound check as I did my afternoon duties in the office.
L.A. is kinda weird in the way that you may see someone you completely fall head over heals in love with, but they are in a car and you do not know if they are from 3 hours up the coast going on an audition or if they are your next door neighbor. Every hottie you see is in a car. So when I opened the back door to Largo that day I thought I was in hottie heaven. This is the guy I fall in love with basically every single day who is driving some 85' Bronco looking hot. I was like (upon glancing at his bandmates), 'do these fuckers gather in clusters?' Bronco convention?
The nights he played were uneventful. Mounds of wanna be's and frequent Leo sightings (his bro's client) and 1,000's of Cosmo's and bad tips. The music was marginally reproductive from whatever was on the charts. Pete Yorn, gorgeous Nose and all was quite the disappointment.
About a year ago I noticed Pete all over the place. I figured it was the Power Machinations of the brothers' relationships to all things Leno and the press.
I was in my favorite overpriced Thrift Store the other day when I noticed that all CD's were a buck. I was checking out the soundtrack to the movie "Orange County" and noticed a tune by Joe Henry (who happens to be Madonna's Bro in law), who also played at Largo and who never disappointed, and I figured "hey, I'll pay abuck for this song" as well as a song from Dave Grohl and then one from Pete Yorn and Wilco.
I downloaded and entered them into my shuffle. One song kept on coming on my shuffle that I could not quite identify it's author, yet I fucking loved it, and I would replay and blast and replay again. The song is called "Lose You" and it is by Pete Yorn. It is fucking awesome.

HEY!!! Dickbag

you are what? 35, 37? Yeah, lose the skateboard. That goes for you too, tree hugging Vegan chick on your Razor Scooter. You look like an asshole, okay?

I see you everywhere

That thumping that you hear is my heart pounding. I fucking saw him again.
This is so fucking retarded. (Sorry retarts).
In 1986 I met Anthony. I was staying @ my Moms for a bit while I regrouped. I had just lived in Holland for 3 months and I was saving money to either move back there or bolt to somewhere else. I took a job at this Mafiosa place near her new house in (gasp) N.J.
We were all training because the place was about to open and then he walked in. He was like a Greek god, I kid you not. He was so fucking gorgeous that I missed about an hour of the training because I was so insecure about myself sitting near him. I fixed my shirt...tucked, untucked. I smoothed my hair (yeah, I had it then), I crossed and uncrossed my legs so much you would think the ferry was beneath them. I stared.
When the training was over I found out that he was a busboy. I left and jacked off as soon as I dropped my girlfriend Claire home.
The next day at training he came in late again. I had kind of forgotten to situate myself near him and get a good seat to ogle as I was trapped in a corner deuce on the patio. Someone pulled up and he got out of the car that sped away. He walked in, surveyed all the empty seats and sat next to me. (cont.)

Grey Gardens- The Home Version

At this moment of this day I am residing with my mother here in Staten Island. There is nothing sadder than a late thirties dude living with his mother (goodbye Craigs List Hostings) yet I give myself somewhat of an immunity to feeling completely like a loser because I moved out at 16 and 1/2 when I went to college and have only used her domiciles since then as 'hostels' (yet quite hostile at times) or dumping grounds for my accumulated magazines and books and journals and shit from every stomping ground I decided to leave in favor of one in a better state or country.
I love my mother, don't get me wrong. I actually hold her in the highest regard of women. At one point holding her in such high regard that when someone asked me why I was not dating or serious with someone, I would tell them that no female I have met could hold a candle to my mom. By the way, "Meet my 'Best Friend' Brian".
I am my Mom. I believe in Genetics solely based upon the slim chances that one boy out of four could get every ailment and physical trait that he has watched his mother suffer through, only years later. I got the good and I got the bad. By the way, I'm the one who innocently squealed to her that 'some lady' sends 'daddy' cards and he hangs them in his store. I was nine and my maliciousness had not yet been fully formed.
So, here we are living in this 3 room and it is FREAKING UNBEARABLE. I'm too old for this shit. And that's why some of my previous posts are reflecting how I am so friggin sorry for the mistakes of my past.
"Mick...American Idol is on".
"Mah!", I scream back like a Gavone, "I never watched American Idol in my life. Why are you asking me to watch this shit."
Yet, she is so inviting. I can't refuse. I light a cigerette and go join my Momma.

She's The One

I have been with women sexually. I've always been attracted to women. I've never wanted to be a woman. Yet, they've had the sixth sense to stay away from me to some degree. Maybe their gaydar was more honed then mine (which is spot on) and they stayed away for fear of me leaving them for a guy down the line. It just seems that with very few exceptions, girls are not really attracted to me in the sexual sense. They find me attractive yet not boyfriend material. These are basically my kooky ramblings and there is no backup proof for this, but it's what I've always felt. The few times that a woman has basically swept me off of my feet I could not get the time of day from her.
So, when I'm out walking around, people watching, I do check out the girls as well as the guys. For a while I considered myself Bi and I was happy saying that (although a lot of gays hate bi people) but then Joyce asked me when was the last time I was with a women and I had to slot myself back into the gay category. I fucking hate labels anyway because that leads to generalizations but everyone does it. "Fallen Gay senator Jim MaGreevey".
"Oh, you know, my friend Dawn, you know, the Lesbian?"
I was just watching Season 4 of 'The Sopranos', and I think I missed a couple of these episodes. Either that or I was high as a fucking kite. Anyway, what a surprise when Tony had dreams about Gloria Trillo aka Annabella Sciorra. It was after he found out that she committed suicide (which I do remember). The dream involved Annabella, her Wolfe Stove and a long scarf that she hid her hanging marks from, and the chandellier which she swung from. It was brilliant. I was just watching it and I actually daydreamed for a moment wondering if she is married and why is she so under-used and "God, she is so freaking gorgeous."
I mean if we did hook up, I know I would not be the Travolta/Cruise type husband because she really rocks my world.

Green

I went on this interview today for a job for the summer which will be located on an island usually thought to be predominantly gay in the East Coast. These guys interviewing me were all about my age and the poster boys for Chelsea. Although thankfully they did not all look alike with the same trend going on for all three like you see so much of in clusters of gay guys in Manhattan. Each had his own little trendy thing going on and they each worked it pretty well. There was Mr. Steroid King, Mr. Cool Hairstyle that every guy is working( the gelled faux hawk) and finally Mr. Looks like a hot Biker but probably takes taxi's. They were all very cool and Loaded to the fucking gills. I mean, these guys either own or run basically the whole gay part of town. Shit, talk about the gay Mafia. But, I looked at myself afterwards and I found myself kind of envious. I think I've said before that I have not been jealous of people or peers in decades because I know exactly what that feeling does to me, but, shit man.
The pre interview consisted of me faxing or Emailing my resume with a picture. (Leave it to the gays!) And I was bumming when I hadn't heard from them for like two weeks. Here come those freaking insecure feelings. But they called, and it wasn't a total disaster, yet I'm pissed at myself for not asking more questions.
Who knows.

Random Bullshite...

The Muses struck me hard yesterday @ 4 pm while I was hanging out in Union Square Park. My mind was wandering as always and then I started to put together this television show; just bouncing around an idea, and before I left there a few hours later I had the outlines for 7 episodes. Maybe I'm delusional, who the frig knows; but as I was coming into Manhattan, I was passing these "condo's" being put up right around Battery Park. It's a huge building with about a year to go before completion, and in one instant I knew I would be sitting in some leasing office or such purchasing one of those.

Happy Meal

My life is kind of fucked right now but I'm still hanging on to the strength that the Welbutrin time releases into my bloodstream. I'm on a Temp Assignment for the next coupla days @ this University named for a Saint where I work in their cafe; biding the time until I hear about a Hawaiian job I'm up for for the summer and a gig in The Hamptons and a gig in Fire Island. All three are potentially relapse jobs but so is every day, I guess. Anyway, I've always liked younger guys; but It would usually be only 7-10 years older than them; not 20. Yet, I could kind of see myself being with a few of these newborns that I've met in the last couple of days. I'm an Aesthete, I know it. If your a bow wow chances are I will not recognize your glowing personality for a while; sad but true yet it is only a condemnation on the part of me and how sad a shape I must be in to think this way.
The place where I'm rolling wraps and 'dropping' fries is a dorm so you basically see the same people three meals a day, and frankly, my presence there had them all clamoring to know who I was and will I be replacing the guy who is out (who is from what I hear a real pervy skeeve who is high all the time and is scaring the co-eds. For it is because of their complaints that he is meeting with the union tomorrow to determine his fate). Today was day two, and I basically got 'hired' if these students have anything to say about it. "Dude, that was the best wrap I've had all year" and the like, meanwhile my mind is on the menu of my future restaurant and wondering if the broccoli rabe should be served with the Cavatelli or the Rigatoni and I wonder how much black truffles will cost by then. I mean, I was smiling when they were complimenting me and asking me to stay and I was not going to rip out a copy of my resume and ask them to sing "One of these things is not like the Other" comparing this gig with my former jobs. Like, even the studs were like, "Bro, your awesome, that was great." It was like when I was forced to cook for my three other brothers starting @ 9 years old and waiting for their approvals on how the meal was. It does feel good that someone enjoys what you made them whether it be a freaking Reuben or Chicken Cacciatore. It feels good because I grew up with the phrase that my mother always told me. She said; "You have to love to cook and you have to cook with love and no one will ever be disappointed."
I started off talking about guys and ended up with food. Typical Italian.

SPACE INVADERS is now available on thecoolstore...it's down by the summer reading list 

I was a boozer, a loser and a user. There is no Flatpoint High for me, and although I am a little younger than Jerry Blank, I'm kind of living with my Mom right now as I transitioned out of the 1/2way House (read: Kicked Out). So now I can humor you with tales of Staten Island Guido's and their very poor cruising methods, hooking up with CL S.Islanders, tales from the Crypt (I mean the Ferry) and other 'hilariously sad' adventures from my life. 

SWM

This is the new Header for my personnel Ad which may or may not go into print once all of these idiosyncratic traits are found. I have tons that I've been compiling in the junk drawer of my mind.
We will start with the easy stuff:

#1 MUST BE A READER.

This might seem vague. (Whenever I say that word I think of Julie Brown's (the white one) parodying of Madonna's "Truth or Dare" tour and "Vogue"...'Nick-O-Let Sher-I-Dan')... I know "Dare to be Truthful" almost better than "Goodfella's".

If you are my type and you are on the subway and just sitting there staring into space without a book or music....Brrrnnnt. I'm sorry; you could be thinking of the cure for Cancer or you could be wondering why we, on the subway do not fall into the middle of the Earth. You are Thrown Out...Potential is Inconclusive.

If you are reading the 'Metro' or 'Habla' or one of the free newspapers that are given out on basically every subway stop; you are immune...for the time being.

If you are reading "The Hobbit" and/or "the Lord of The Rings" and it's ilk, Immune. You may be reading it for class or something. Even though I 'm not into Sci-Fi and I can almost predict what our after sex life viewing will be, I'll let you slide this time. But, then again; I swore off anyone under 21 when I was 21.

If you are reading a sport's players Biography; I'd trepidate a bit. If we hooked up, I know we would have great sex, but I'd have to high five you at weddings and events so everyone could think we were hetero.

Mob, Serial Killers and 'Chick Books' get a free pass for one ride and then if you are looney I could bail quickly with an excuse. Hey, I even read "Like Water for Chocolate".

Any guy with a 'Harlequin' type male on male book could go visit the daydreamers from above.

"Geek Love" or "The Corrections" or "A Prayer for Owen Meany" would have me instantaneously stalking you.

"Catcher...", "On the Road", "Basketball Diaries" would be too taxing of an involvement with you because I could never trust you.

There are others I have yet to discern. I was just reading or trying to read, "Tropic of Cancer" and I could not get past page 20. Should I go on with this supposed "classic"?

When will the lambs stop screaming?

I'm assuming that when you cringe at something you've done it is a sign of low self esteem. I'm thinking that it can't be that low, because at least your able to determine whether you were in fact wrong or an asshole as opposed to those 'beings' who take no shame or blame in what they do.
From working @ C___________ recently, I had noticed how some people woke up with the predestined role of ruining other people's days. The more the merrier was there motto.
Today I witnessed a woman walk into a store after seeing this domestic type woman spend five minutes to set herself up as she washed the stores windows. I was smoking a cigarette while trying to pass another half hour away before my interview. There was this uptown women's clothing store with big ass windows. I was watching "Lupita" get all these things ready to go as she tackled the windows. Mop bucket, squeegee, pole, sponges; and as I was watching this whole process, I noticed "Grizelda" watching as well. Finally, Lupita comes outside with a step stool and looks around. The coast was clear she felt. She got a good spongefull of soapy water, climbed up the stepstool and was about to start on the windows over the shop's entry when Grizelda made a mad dash for the store. Lupita had no time to even get a soapsud on the window that she had do come down so this Uptown Bitch could get in the store. Now, based on the clothes in the window and what this Telethon totebag holding troglodyte was wearing was no where near a compromise. I needed no fantastic odds to see what was going to happen next. As soon as Lupita got back up and situated herself the Trog would exit the store. Which played as predictable as a prosecutor screwing up a major trial.
These are the flies in 'our' ointment of life. Apologetic feelings are replaced by those of entitlement. These people do not cringe or reflect on their mis doings.
My interview sucked. I sat down with this guy interviewing for a position I have held, have succeeded at, and I became this incomprehensible dick. The instant replay of this interview is still playing in my head as I nod back and forth saying, "No. I did not say that." Self deprecation is a feeling that I thought I was getting over. I was so ill prepared for a good tet a tet interview that I spoke in 'valley girl' lingo of, 'ya knows' and 'likes'.

Urgghhh, I think; as Lucy pulls that fucking football away from me again.

The well is dry...

Before entering Rehab, and basically for the last 8 years I have been prone to crying like a dog home alone. A commercial would form a lump in my throat, I would empathetically have changes in my voice while helping a friend through their stuff and I would completely LOSE IT on movies.
I was just telling my fuck buddy the other day how if I was in a movie and they needed me to cry, you could forget the yank the nosehair technique, all I would have to do is watch the last five minutes of "Longtime Companion".
But these times are kind of lost on me now. I don't know if it has anything to do with me being sober or has sobriety turned me into this hardened fuck. All through Rehab @ S_______, guys poured their hearts out and I heard the sickest shit. They were crying buckets as I sat by and nodded. I worked through the inner turmoil's, the father Hating, the abuse in all forms and still I was as dry as a triple lined Huggies. This did not go unnoticed by my counselor S____ and my peers. It seems, they stated that I have just not reached that point yet. Always the nay sayer, I felt that I had soaked too many sheets with my blubbering and this is progression for me (not crying).
Man, I have been testing the limits lately with some of the movies I have been renting. You know how usually during the resolution of the film, that's when they (movie makers) want the tears to come a flooding, but nothing. I get a little choked and I feel the build up of the tears getting in place at their respective ducts, but nothing comes out. It's like the sneeze that never comes out or better yet, the "crack head" boner that never comes.
I'll gladly take suggestions of films and keep you posted.
Somberly,
Mickey

Oedipus casting

Last night I watched 'Vera Drake' (2004) and I was really impressed with the performance of Imelda Staunton (Vera). It seems I have this older woman, kind of nurturing mother role in a chaotic situation thing going on.
It bums me out to see that if your not playing the flavor of the months mother in a film, you might as pack up your belongings and move to that Old Folks Movie Star Retirement Village in Los Angeles.

I fell in love with Fernanda Montenegro after seeing 'Central Station' (1998) and I wanted to write her into every screenplay I could muster up.
Don't even get me started with Rena Owen.
Rena Owen played the mother in one of my top ten favorite, greatest movies; 'Once Were Warriors' (1994-holy shit...time is freaking cruising by). This movie generated at least $100 in ticket sales from me alone and the people I had to take to this this great, disturbing and beautiful New Zealand film. (Which by the way was directed by Lee Tamahori; whom cops recently arrested in drag, in Los Angeles about to sell a cop a blowjob).
I was walking down Sunset Boulevard to my apartment. The area I was coming up to is called Sunset Plaza which has a couple of high end boutiques, but mostly Iranian Gaudy Restaurants. It's like a three block strip where people actually walk (and your not considered a hustler or a hooker). Oooh. Coming from my direction is a restaurant called 'Chin Chin' which is awesome. I've had a few cool run ins @ Chin Chin and it is usually a kinda of oogling parade when you walk by. Having always had those Lana Turner hopes for myself, I would be very self conscious when approaching.
Anyway, I had seen '...Warriors' about 4 months before hand, and as I'm coming up to the first table I see Rena Owen. I was speechless. The movie was so profound (everytime I use that word I think of Oprah and her 'profound' phase-Maya Angelou is so profound {2002 ish}) and her role as mother to this family was so taxing and full of sorrow that I transferred all of that acting to her, as a real mother. It was like seeing your favorite distant aunt a funeral for one of her kids. You just want the silence and the hug to speak volumes.
The transference here was to do the same. I stood before her and had my arms partially at my side as if to say, "C'mere; let me hold you". She was sitting down waiting for someone. Probably some Hollywood clown who heard a buzz about her performance, never bothered to see the film while inviting her out top Los Angeles.
She looked up at me standing there; mouth agape and with inviting arms and smiled back at me. I think I mouthed the word, 'Wow' and I'm guessing I had a lump in my throat (I'm a softie some times).
I half smiled at my stupidity and put out my hand to shake hers. I said 'thanks' and walked on. I smiled and shook my head at being foolish and smitten the rest of my walk home.

"Don't confront me with my failures, I (pause) Have not forgotten them.

It's kind of hard to be in my shoes these days. Drug Counselors and their ilk all say that I (upon being sober) am basically at the age when my addiction first started. So now, instead of looking like a really young 39, I'm a really old looking 15. Kind of like those kids with alopecia (sp?) you see on Maury.
So, this was my job history @ 14-15-16. I would get a job to obtain what I needed and quit afterwards. I wanted to go to 'Joe Namath Football Camp' so I delivered the Daily News for 5 months. I wanted to go to Italy with my class, so I worked like a slave in a diner for 6 months. I looked at a job as just a bartering tool for action and travel. I never had any strings nor cared if they moved me up or held the position open for me once I returned, I'd just wait til I got the traveling bug or the need for a new pair of 'Capezio's (white. natch) and scan the Staten Island Advance for a job.
I've got to break this cycle. My great friend Donna's only goal in life was to have kids and get a house, and she achieved this by the time she was 23. My friend Joyce started settling down a little later and now she has the house, the career and a great traveling schedule. I've never wanted these things because I knew I would have to give up drinking. I swear. I had foregone being in a relationship for the last 8-10 years because I knew I would have to give up my true love (alcohol) or at least be exposed as being a drunk/druggie if I got too close to someone, and quite frankly, I was NOT READY to do so.
I notice a lot of people after they've been through Rehab start getting their teeth fixed and start working out and that's great, but for me I've got to start keeping a job and possibly work towards another goal.
For the last two days all I did was sleep. I was so freaking depressed. And trying to sleep in a busy halfway house where you have to be out of your room by 8 am is difficult. I spread a blanket on the bathroom floor, I contemplated sleeping under the bed and all from what. Because I'm so pissed that I did not hook myself up with a job before I quit C________. I felt so vindicated when I walked out of there. They; stringing me along for 3 months with my raise that never materialized, and for the fact that they will never find someone like me again. I knew for sure they would be calling me back.
It just goes to show, we are all replaceable. Even people I thought who would never re coup from losing their partners have moved on to 'newer' spouses. If I stopped writing this blog without a warning and it just hung their in cyberspace. Would people who check in from time to time and just see the same last entry; would they even speculate to where I had gone? What's up?

Ya Fat Fucks...

So, smoking is down among tweens. What the frig do you expect when you charge $8 for a pack? But, instead of fashioning these pre-pubes out for a "Marlboro Miles Iron Lung" we can always look forward to burying them in a piano case. The obesity epidemic is now threatening to be this countries most major concern for the future (next 20 years), next to Cancer. Not lung, but all cancers. So, when are we going to impose taxes on some of these fatties favorites. Yeah, I think obesity might get the shot in the arm it needs once we start adding a 6 dollar tax to Big Macs or boxes of Russell Stovers. How about weighing stations for the two ton Tessie's I always see getting out of tiny Japanese cars at the local Wendy's drive thru. I'm not being this pissy because I'm a smoker. I just can not see why we have to pay for government programs with the huge taxes we pony up on every pack. Maybe all the taxes should be put in a fund for when and if we come down with emphysema or other smoking related diseases. Meanwhile Marty Menthol who is most likely shooting blanks is putting 5 kids through aftercare.

It Lives

I never would have imagined I would regain those feelings you get when you are younger and in lust. The feelings I mean are akin to dropping a bowling ball on your relaxed stomach while you are laying down, shooting your legs up with novicaine and drawing the breath out of you like the Grim Reaper. I can't recall ever really going with these feelings and hooking up with the person with whom I experienced them from. Once, when I was 17, I was a messenger for the summer in Lower Manhattan. Unlike the other messengers you would see around bearing bike gear or carrying one of those boxy suitcases, I worked for this respectable place where I had a cool attache case and I wore a tie. My deliveries were mostly to import/export shipping offices which were all located in and around the World Trade Center.
After a week or two of walking up and down lower Manhattan you would recognize repeat people, which is kind of weird considering the magnitude of the square miles and the people within them.
I was still a virgin by this time in both genders, but I was more educated. I had a stash of porno mags and after 12 years of Private Catholic School which stunted my sexual education education as well as explorations, I knew more than ever and was eager to act on my feelings towards either sex. I thought.
My first foray was with this other messenger. he dressed as well as me, but I would always see him walking around. He was a great looking Latino guy, my age, great olive skin and black oily hair. Kind of a pre-pube moustache and a great Romanesque nose (one of my favorite facial features). He attracted me enough so that when I first noticed him I got a little flushed with attraction and when I turned around 10 feet later to see which direction he was going in, he turned and stared at me. I nearly fainted on the spot and when I had to double check if it was me he was looking at again, 5 feet more down the line, he turned and I had to sit down.
Now, maybe "Juan" was more adept at this than me in the cruising department, because if I knew than what I know now...
This continued for about 2 months. Everyday I would scan the busy streets looking for a glimpse of the attache he would carry or I would retrace the places where we would infrequently pass. I had a sighting about every three or four days and after each one I told myself I was going to say 'hey' or 'what's up' or in my wildest scenario's I would just stop him, grab his hand and duck into battery Park for a make out session and more.
I had about two weeks left on my job before I went to college and I wanted so bad for something to materialize. I was in one of the WTC towers which I knew like the back of my hand. I had to pee, so I went to a floor which I knew was completely vacant, construction crews were remodeling this floor and all the bathrooms were unlocked. I got in the express elevator that would whoosh you up to 79 or so and transferred to the 'local' that would take me to 87. As I was getting off the local @ 87 he was getting on. I stood there, completely wrecked of all possible functions of how to proceed with this "GIFT ENCOUNTER". I stared at him for what seemed like a minute but in real time was only a second or two as I let him get on the elevator and another second later, I got off.

Long Story Short
I was walking down the street in Queens the other day and feeling pretty good. I saw this total hottie approaching (rare in this particular area) from about 20 feet away. I checked him out for a good second or two and worked my way up to his eyes which were consequently doing the same to me. All of a sudden, those feelings of the novicaine and the bowling ball from the above story came flooding back. Feelings I thought I was too grown up to ever feel again. Too jaded to ever feel again. And you know what, I am so glad I can feel again.

Acceptance Speech if their was an award for this story
I would thank the makers of Welbutrin, Lexipro, my Therapist, the Medicaid System for allowing me to afford these drugs, My New Fuck Buddy and God.

Shit Happens...a lot!

It seems that a lot of people filled with the spirit of a divine creator are always stating, "There are no coincidences". I'm with these thinkers on a lot of things, but what do we call these 'happenings'? My friend Lisa calls them "synchronizaties" and I've kind of adopted this word as well, but it pains me to say it sometimes because it reminds me of Sting and I hate Sting so much. (The Police had an album, "Synchronicity").

It never fails but everytime I look at the clock it's my birthday. Two times a day, it happens like...clockwork. Someone intellectual remarked that "You probably look at the clock a lot." Au Contraire mon frere...He went on to state that these things are just the law of averages and we only notice it as a 'coincidence' (me with 9:24) because that # means something to me.

The other day I had an interview for a decent managerial job. As I was showering I was trying to pick out my wardrobe in my head. I was going to wear this hot Hugo Boss suit I have and I was imagining what shirts I had here with me at the halfway house. I went to get my clothes out to iron when I came upon a shirt that I had totally ruled out because it required cuff links. But wait, I thought. My brother Philip gave me a pair of his @ Christmastime. Cool, because this shirt is one that I bought @ a Thrift Store a year ago for a buck,and it was hand tailored in Hong Kong.
As I was getting dressed, I was putting on the links when I noticed that the cuffs were monogramed. "Shit".
I put on the suit jacket and figured the monogram would be covered by the jacket sleeves anyway, no biggie.
I was on the train, 3 stops away and I closed my book and was checking out my fingernails when I saw the initials. I smirked and started basically inventing an alter ego with those initials or thinking of Celebrities with them.
Union Square stop, I walk up the stairs to see my possible new employer, Whole Foods.
My heart stopped for a second. I glanced at my shirtsleeves to check...The monogramed initials were: W F

GLINT

A friend who doesn't bullshit told me that the "Strangers with Candy" movie should be out in the next 2 months. I wish I could post a picture of Geri along with this.

Grace

New York City (Manhattan especially) allows one to explore their KooKoo side. I mean, you could basically be the biggest nutbag and you would be shouldered alongside Mr. Investment Banker on the train. And this scene, viewed from anyone but a stranger to this City, seems so normal, yet a snapshot of it would seem surreal.
My shuffle was loaded with new songs. A lot of the music I picked up in Florida when I went to retrieve some of my stuff. A Jeff Buckley song came on which I had not heard in a long time, and I, oblivious to the surrounding people on the train felt the need to "air sing" this song with so much passion you would think I was auditioning for a role in "Dreamgirls". It felt so good. I could care less of what I may have looked like ( a major issue of mine). The whole scenerio was perfect; the lyrics, the accompaning music, the train, the way I was dressed, the effect of the Welbutrin & Neurontin. I hit replay, Brilliant.

Reminds Me Of...

Man, Sienna Miller is just morphing into Edie Sedgwick every time I see her in a photo. From what I've read, I thought the movie "Factory Girl" had already finished filming. If she is still going around flaunting this Edie look, she might be a little unstable ala George Reeves (Superman) and that guy who played Jesus. (<---- I tried IMDB to find his name. Do you know how many people have played Jesus? Tons, is the answer; and I'm on a timed computer)

"Falling" <--- Not the Alicia Keyes Version either

I thought long and hard while I was waiting to get my ashes. I mean, I usually blow whatever it is that I decide to give up for Lent, but I seem to do better than I would if it was a New Years Resolution.
For those who are wondering what the frig is this guy talking about. Lent begins on Ash Wednesday. That is the day you may see people walking around with coal like smudges on their foreheads (this happened last Wednesday by the way), eventually lasting 40 days and nights leading up to Easter Sunday. Someone (Can Hallmark be blamed for this one?) came up with the idea to abstain from something for this time period. It carries the same false promises one might make to themselves on New Years Eve as well.
Since I am free of Alcohol and Drugs and I do not eat chocolate I tried to think of some vice of mine that I need to chill on. I was at a loss @ the time, probably owing to my Narcissistic personality, so I basically was going to ride this Lenten Season out.

Epilogue
I have been a major c word lately (rhymes with Linda Hunt). I've given up on all the 'earthy crunchy love thy neighbor/There- but- for- the- Grace- of- God- go- I' stuff. People are assholes no matter how you slice em. People are stupid no matter if I teach them the right way or not. And finally, I am so much 'better' than these people, that I pity them.
This type of thinking makes for great conversations in my head, but being short on nearby acquaintances and not really being a 'phone talker', I have begun to notice myself slipping into this negative mode.
This as you will learn when you see my movie and the educated person in the goofy counselor role wearing the requisite dangling earring and smoking like a fiend will explain that this shift in personality is the number one cause of relapse. Throw into the mix me walking from my job the other night after receiving my seventh week in a row paycheck lacking my supposed correct salary and the fact that I have to find a place to live within the next two months and all you have to do is know basic math as to what followed.
I got off the train @ 2 pm and walked the long stretch of Rooservelt Avenue looking for a Liquor Store. For all the bigots out there who cling to their cry of 'drunken' when describing Latino's I couldn't find a store that sold Hootch in about a half a mile. When I finally did see that familiar type of Italy Shaped logo saying "Liquors" down a side street, I had no regrets upon entering. I chose a nice potato Vodka which was triply distilled and bought a couple of Mango Arizona drinks in those big cans. I went back to the halfway House and drank the bottle. At 4 am I had to wake for my flight to Florida, and the only thing I can remember from the night before while I rode in the taxi was not procuring a better hiding spot for the empty bottle while I was gone for the next two days.
I cringed on the plane ride down as certain faces from the previous night popped into my head and wanted to hide my head in the sand when I checked out my phone to see who I drunk dialed as well. One happened to be this guy 'friend' from Rehab that I felt unceremoniously dropped me from his life like a stalker.
The first few hours in Florida with Joyce and Sloan seemed to have me acting 'jet lagged' and distant as I thought of myself being kicked out as soon as I arrive back in NYC. All the 'losers' I made fun of who got kicked out before me (the girl who dreamed she was smoking crack with her ex and actually turned up positive, the guy who I had pegged as a closet case and a possible prospect for a quick bj in the 'broom closet' who got kicked out for being in a police/hooker sting, et al) seemed to pop into my head as I wondered where they were living. I wanted so much for this weekend not to end; being in the womb like comfort of my friends but all I could think of was what was going to be my plan of action if I did get kicked out. I wore a fake smile the whole time having in the back of my head visions of garbage bags full of my stuff waiting outside the house.
I could not even pray for help, because I felt so guilty (thanks Catholicism).
After arriving back, a block from the house I had a cigarette. I rang the doorbell and was greeted by two guys who I kind of talk to. I expected to hear "Your back for your stuff" or something of the sort, but they just said hello as I walked up to my room which was still the same as I had left it. The Oliphant Vodka was still in the same bad 'hiding' space and I felt glad to have escaped eviction. This Time.

Crushed

It's so weird. Some of my earliest memories involving my mother and myself together involve us both watching award shows and/or beauty contests. I would always have my list of picks. At six or seven I had not seen any of the movies up for awards so I just went on aesthetic impulses, like someone who goes to the racetrack for the first time and knows nothing about odds or jockey's and just picks the prettiest horse or the one with the most interesting name (which is what I still do when I have to pick something in the animated short or other minor awards like that). I always use to draw my favorite stars with a bubble caption saying "and the winner is..." This is way before they started saying "...and the Oscar goes to". It would usually be females like Tina Louise or Sophia Loren with some unidentified male; holding the statuette clad in a creation of my own smushed cleavage drappery.
In the years of VCR's I would tape every award show and then edit them onto a seperate favorite parts tape with my second VCR. I would buy every follow up magazine to scour pictures containing probably the one or two people I cared about who might posssibly be at the ceremony. Check out what they were wearing and all.
And then, about 4 years ago it all came to an abrupt end. I can recall being at a friends house and someone was watching it in the living room and I just breezed by a few times to see what award they might be up to and exit the room. It was not intentional, it just seems that I had something else to do. I guess the days of someone on the short list of favorites of mine winning seemed as long a shot as I have in procuring a rent stabalized apartment. MTV awards, Emmy's and my last hold out, The Golden Globes all went unwatched these past two years.
Yesterday I flew back from Florida, where I went for the weekend and had the option of doing a few things. I picked entering all my cd's that I brought back with me into my laptop for my iPod. I didn't want to watch Catherine Keener graciously clap for the other winner (Rachel Weisz) or see Dolly Parton lose out ala Aimee Mann to some asshole (too true: Dolly lost to some rappers from Hustle and Flow and Aimee to (gasp) Phil Fucking Collins).
I was listening to the BBC news last night as I fell asleep and I heard no mention of any of the winners until this morning when I heard a blurb of upcoming stories on 'All Things Considered'. I nearly blew the contact lens I was about to put into my eye when exclaiming a loud "Holy Shit" upon hearing "Crash" had won Best Picture.

hey all, I had access to my bloggerbot this weekend 

Young @ Indie Heart

The other night I was watching the movie 'Paris, Texas' and I realized that my window for getting my script made is probably over. I remember in the early 90's me and my friend Yasmine would go to the movies a lot after our shifts at The Russian Tea Room. We knew the ins and outs of the Angelica and the other Art House Theaters, because this was the fair we both enjoyed. At the time I had been playing ping pong in my head with a story called 'Alter Ego' which was loosely based on me because @ night I would turn into this club crawling bar fly/slash sexually charged risk taker while in the daytime I was this normal 20 something. Indie films were getting bought by the handfuls (meaning a lot), few getting made but securing nice paying jobs for some of the writers.
In 1997 I had a friend of mine budget my recent tome at the time to the tune of 3 million to make. It was still do-able enough to gather up an audience and make a still profit and perhaps garner a few awards and accolades.
Now it 2006. I just feel that the state of the movie making business is going to fucking hell. Reese Witherspoon is getting 20 something million for her next picture and all the piracy going round. The fact that "The Squid and the Whale" hardly made a dent in audiences except those in major cities and it was a really good movie. The fact that I heard Don Cheadle talking the other day about Crash (he was a producer), and that no studio wanted to touch it and only did so after Brendan Frasier was on board, not the fact that the director and writer just won tons of acclaim for "Million Dollar Baby". It's all bullshit. The way we are all going to be subjected to shopping at 'Wal-Marts' and 'Sports Authority's' and 'Costco's' is the reflection of movies starring only safe box office stars (for the moment) vehicles. So be prepared to walk into your local Cineplex Odeon Million Theater and see 30 movies with Tom Cruise and Reese Witherspoon and Reese Witherspoon and Tom Hanks and Tom Cruise and Julia Roberts and Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts and all will have narration by

Gateway Pleasures

Pot was never anything more than pot to me. It never led me to do anything I did not want to do, and for a while I basically became immune to it. I could do everything in my day perfectly fine while being stoned.
Due to weekly piss tests at this place I'm at, I can not get high (now), hell I can not even take cold medicine without facing an evict.
Here's the conundrum. I need a dube for my screenplay. Like the heroin addict who needs to get through his withdrawals with a hit, I need that extra creative part of my synapses exposed so I can get over this one hump, and the only way that I know to rectify this safely is with a joint. I started thinking of excuses I could make to the administrators of this place if I get busted. I pictured myself exclaiming "I work with all these Rastas" and blame it on second hand smoke, but how frigging lame is that. Freaking United States with it's puritanical ways. Holland as my home land is getting closer and closer to being real.

Ohio and 17 other states are trying their hardest in Legislature to pass a bill that would prevent anyone who is gay from adopting children. Some asswipe was talking on NPR the other day about how he had one 'victim' from a lesbian household explain how she herself turned gay and is so unhappy about her life now.
Is this their precise for this ban? I could get blue in the face (or fingers) typing out what is so wrong with these 'legislators' warped thinking. Sexual abuse among Hetero's, Your Born gay you don't vicariously become gay et al.
I get so disillusioned by this country so often. I get pissed and wish I could follow half of these mother fuckers who start these bills around and see if this is not some hidden agenda with a Roy Cohn like self hatred. I want to expose these bastards, what right do they have from preventing ANY child from having a home.
After I heard this story and the purported 'home-made lesbo's' denial, I was thinking of the first time I was attracted to guys ( I try to think of this often). Each time I think of an example I could pre date it with another. It's kind of fun because my attractions towards guys (even before I knew about sex) were always different from what attracted me to the females I liked. Like, the male attractions were saying to me, "More will be revealed later".

What to do...What to do...

Do I Compromise my integrity and watch this freaking 'Spanglish' movie because I love Tea Leoni and absolutely abhor Adam Sandler and have always consciously said I will never watch anything he is in? The Elmhurst Library's pickings are slim.

***UPDATE: I'm glad I watched it. Tea was great and she floored me in this one scene where she was having sex w/ Adam S's character and he pats her body and says"Look at this body", and MAN, you had to she her body in this shot. She had like a freaking 8 pack going on. Screw shadow make up and lighting, this was a hard core body. A lot of reviewers were saying when this first came out that she would be nominated for an Oscar, then all that buzz slowed down and everyone was on the bandwagon of an over the top preformance. Having lived in both L.A. and UES and UWS of Manhattan, I have seen these women. I have dealt with these women. Any Nanny or Maid or Butler will concur, but usually they do not speak English to blab this.
Adam Sandler looks like a 5 year olds drawing of a man. Just a blobby looking guy with a fro and sallow skin and such. It's such a fucking shame that casting couches are not around for schlubs like him, denying him roles that someone with any sort of pedigree in acting could have made a little bit more interesting. Shit, it happens to women all the time.
Maybe now I will watch "Punch Drunk Love" because I dig Emily Watson tons as well.

Payton Revisited...

One of my favorite scenes in moviedom has to be when Rebecca DeMornay as Payton in "The Hand that Rocks the Cradle" confronts the little boy @ the schoolyard who has been picking on the girl she has been tending to. I'm paraphrasing here, but 'Payton' is alerted to the fact that the little boy is present in the playground. he is surrounded by a few of his cronies and she grabs him by the collar and says, "Call her one more name and I'll kick your fucking ass to the ground..."
Again, I'm paraphrasing (Every movie of my past must be reviewed as a sober dude), but it reminded me of how I acted no longer than 20 minutes ago.
We are all waiting for the library to open (@ 10 am) and everyone is on line. It's about 3 minutes to 10 when these two Paki kids walk up and sort of hover around the front door. I actually saw the fatter of the two look at the long line and decide not to get on it, nudge his friend and park it by the door.
The doors open and the little fucks squeeze in behind the oblivious 3rd and 4th person.
Now, I would not be pissed if it was not for the fact that I knew that these little bastards were going to use the computers, and the fact that there are only a few of them made me more incensed because that is why there is a line. I could just see them getting a PC so they can send Emails and check their MartyrSpace.Com web pages, but I'll be damned if I get shut out.
When everyone started lining up for the computers we were told that they were down. I knew this was probably temporary so I started looking for a new book to read (having ditched "Drink" by A. Burroughs at page 78 <------ quite possibly a first for me, that I can recall; and I just finished "Strong Motion" by J.Franzen).
As I'm going down the aisles I see the little turd and I cornered him and his friend and told the fat one, "Do you know what a line is?" And he looked at me as if I was asking for directions or something. But I interceded and said, "If I ever see you cut the line again I am going to personally throw your ass into the street." His glasses fell off his face and the skinny one looked like he had to go take a quick shit as the sand color drained from his face.
I kind of felt triumphant, thanked my Wellbutrin for the Assertiveness (albeit to a child!) and left.

"Living inside my head, not much room for the two of us..."

...The Lemondrops.

• The subways in Queens are all mostly run above ground and requires all patrons to climb two, three and sometimes four flights of stairs. Why in the world do I always get stuck behind this fat assed meanderer who seems like he/she just got shot with a tranquilizer gun from Marlon Perkins and they are about to collapse at any second. It's either that, or I get behind the mother who is finally teaching her kid how to walk stairs and decides what better place than the freaking 'Stairway to Seven'.

• Like Bart, I am wondering why I am not famous (or near there). It seems every week or so, someone I hung around is making it. Last week I was reading the poster to Harrison Ford's new movie "Firewall" on the subway platform and as I read the credits I noticed a name of someone I was pretty well acquainted with. So much so, that she sent me a 'homemade ' Valentine's Day Card. I mean, good for them. I sincerely mean this, but...(In rehab they have a saying: everything after but is bullshit). So, does this mean when I finally give an interview I could say, "Yeah, it was myself, so & so and so & so hanging around The Formosa Bar..." Kind of like the crew of Scorsese, Lucas and Speilberg et al who hung around L.A. in the early 70's or this one: Kevin Spacey, Val Kilmer and Mare Winningham all being classmates!

• I read today that most men would choose to have Tom Cruises' teeth and smile. Who the fuck do they ask these things to? I have never been 'poled' in my life about stupid nonsensical bullshit like this. And most of all, how the hell do they get this tidbit in the newspaper? First off, Tom Cruises smile? That forced 'Glamour Shot' that he has been sporting since his third or fourth movie. It's like I want to hear a canned soundtrack playing "Ahhhhh" when he smiles. In porn it's called the money shot. On him it is this forced botox frozen expression that internally is saying, "I am such a fraud"..."I am so fucked in the head"...

• These Muslim leaders are getting picked off like flies on a screen door. I think Joyce DeWitt has better security than these Imams.

Do newspapers have a retirement age?

I freaking hate Liz Smith and Cindy Adams. There. I wrote that first sentence so many times, all the while trying to use a different word than hate, but none of them had the impact or resonated enough. These two bitches should be a GreenPeace target. The amount of paper and squid ink these two morons waste with their blathering senile comments and kiss ass bold face names is deplorable. Liz Smith, who "by the by" ( I FUCKING HATE when she writes that! It reads like she's a fucking nosy bitty in a bad Harlequin Romance.) came out of the closet at like, 96 years of age, makes so many mistakes in the name of Gossip. Doesn't this woman have IMDB? How she can GO TO PRINT with so many errors is beyond me. In spite of that, yesterday she was talking about the 'controversial ' movie, "Crash". If any of you have seen this movie you would see that it was a contrived piece of bullshit ripping off Magnolia so badly that I wrote about it here months ago, and weaving a story around all these coincidences it felt like a Disney flick with it's amount of unbelievableness. Cindy Adams on the other hand comprises her columns by going to real interviews that celebs give other publications. If Meg Ryan says she likes Gouda Cheese in 'Lady's Home Journal' you can bet your ass it will be a whole column along with others who enjoy cheese in this bitches daily parrot cage filler. I used to picture myself bumping into Rupert Murdoch's son (he was kind of a hottie) somewhere in NY and asking him why the fuck he employs these two bats. I need to start an impeachment trial for these two. Only in New York Kids!!

Short Yellow Bus

So, I take a couple of Seasons of the Soprano's on DVD from my moms house and watch like an episode a night. I've seen them all, once, twice or ad nauseum (sp). But, I was wasted as well, so what I thought was excellent then, might seem unbelievably great now. I'm checking out this one episode and Carmela is in the supermarket and as she is about to round the corner of the aisle she notices one of the moles of a now deceased Mafiosi demoing pigs in the blanket. I shut the dvd off and contemplated life.
Since I am living in the halfway house of horrors, a working one, there are certain specifications that I must follow. We have two mandatory meetings per week in which all must attend, these being on Tues and Thurs @ 6 pm. Whichever job you take, you must allow for these, which kind of sounds like no biggie, but it does act like the monkeywrench a lot of the times. Add to this the fact that we can not come into the house past 11 pm or you will be tossed out. (Actually, the person on duty refuses to answer the door after 11 pm). So, with a background in food service and management and cooking, it's kind of hard to finagle something other than corporate dining around these stipulations.
The job I have is bullshit, I know and add to it the fact that I'm on the Upper East and West Side of town and you can see where my insecurities lie. Manhattan has always made me feel 5 inches shorter and 25 pounds overweight and now throw into the mix a seemingly smart looking guy, like myself, wearing a baseball hat and an emblazoned store apron handing out gourmet food. I wonder if I was me as a customer, would I stop and ponder this situation. Like, "How did that guy end up with this?''
I'm putting the finishing touches on my second original script which I hope to present as a 'calling card', along with the first for any writing assignments in idea arid Los Angeles.
Just thought I'd let you know.

Evil Ugly Twin

Did you ever meet someone you liked a lot while being a supporter or fan of this person. Like a musician or an actress/tor or a politician or writer? How many of us have the clarity or hindsight afterwards of now determining if something they kind of did sort of irritated us and well, I'm really not into them anymore. The lack of love and support does not just end there but it sort of wanes over time whereas a couple of months back you may have circled a day on your calendar regarding this persons newest book or album or movie, now it seems you notice it while you come across it in the bargain bins or when it's on cable. This happens to me a lot with everyone, but in celebrated people more often. My favorite actor/actress/musician list dwindled considerably after working with a lot of my favorites at my job in Los Angeles. It could be their phone manners or the way I would observe them treated their crew members or fans or the way they acted outside when that imaginary 4th wall (or is it 3rd) is broken down.
I also sour on some when their fame is too big for their once small britches.
I've seen some of my favorite bands play clubs with 15 people and now all they play are stadiums. I've gone through reams of order forms and hours of search time trying to obtain movies that are so rare but they star someone I'm totally into. And then, one little song or scene might propel them into the stratosphere of Joe Buttcrack in Peoria and then I lose interest.

I'm reading "Drink" right now by Augusten Burroughs and is it me, or is he trying too hard to make me laugh? Or am I skeptical because he is the author most often thought to be a member of the Bullshit Memoir Club that James Frey started up? A book that I would have consumed with glee in two days now has the potential of a library late charge and a bookmark opage 38.

The Gift

About 12 years ago I gave up the coolest apartment in NYC right across the street from Washington Square Park to move down to the up and coming town of South Beach: Miami, FL.
This had to be the biggest scam I ever was a part of. Bigger and more self deprecating than the time I bought those Stereo Speakers from the guy in the parking lot of a Mall in Jersey, only to have purchased empty shells of speakers with bricks inside. But I digress. South Beach was supposed to be this burgeoning Mecca of show business, with supposed studios in the works and production crews scouting around and blah, blah, blah. I took the bait hook line and sinker and like a good addict, I took someone very close to me along for the ride. I ended up staying there about two months. This after shipping every single thing I owned down there via Parcel Post and cutting all ties with my hometown. Why the frig didn't I sublet or contact a corporation that puts up out of town employees, I don't know. What I do know is that South Beach was a bust. You saw the same people everyday, in the 8 square blocks of usable terrain. So, if you saw Joe and Beth at the gym, you then saw them at the supermarket, and then you bumped into them when you were buying your Cuban Coffee, and then you saw Joe rollerblading Ocean Avenue while Beth was tanning on the beach and you wrapped up the day with seeing them at one of the clubs. Every Fucking Day, every Fucking Person Living There. I had just went through my fifth job in a month, and the square mile or so mentioned above turned into square footage of space where I could possibly show my face.
My friend Brian whom I had coerced into moving down was experiencing similar woes with the modeling business for which he was pretty successful at. He ended up quitting the business due to the caliber of people who amass the industry, from the bookers to the agency heads and to the cut throat models he was having to see (repeatedly) at go sees. His new Cocker spaniel, Ben was dying of the heat that also permanently stained the armpit spots of many a cherished shirt of mine. Walking one block in the Summer in South Florida is akin to being a break dancer on the Equator.
I, besides hating most of the above, could not stand to be around these so called hipsters and nellies who basically got 86'd from New York for one thing or another. Every drag queen who burned his bridge in the club scene in NY was manning (for lack of a better word) the doors of the clubs in Sobe, as they tried to called it, but embarrasses me just to write it. Every failed waiter and waitress, which means actor and dancer from NYC (myself included) scurried down there. The lure of cheap and plentiful drugs could not entice anyone with half a brain left to consider planting your feet there. So, I left.

Epilogue: I cringed when I read in yesterdays gossip column how Jon Bon Jove could not contain his loud guffaws as Chris Kattan (of SNL) did his Night @ the Roxbury dance as Paris Hilton looked on as well.

We are DOOMED

The recent activities of Muslim Extremists has me questioning one part of that sentence. Is their any Muslim NON-Extremists. Doesn't it seem that for every single outcry by this fanatical sect, they all jump and caterwall and light fires and throw rocks and denounce a WHOLE COUNTRY by the actions of one person. These people are doing exactly what they tell us they do not do. Generalize. They freaking generalize every situation. If Denmark pisses them off, then it is Death to every Dane, if it's Somalia or freaking a Antartican they fucking write in their 900 newspapers "Death to the Antarcticans".
You probably heard about the ferry crash where their are like 900 presumed dead Muslims (hand me a tissue, please) coming back from work. Did you hear that while the Shippers where out helping in the search, all these "fanatics" torched their offices. Did you hear that the captain of the boat evacuated first? All these Koran thumpers spew venomous quotations at the media, yet when their backs are half turned they contradict themselves by doing the opposite.
We are doomed folks. Would you trust any one of these fuckers with the rights to a Nuclear warhead? I wouldn't, I'd have trouble giving them a freaking water pistol. Look how they make weapons out of the most primitive sources of nature. People still get stoned to death on a regular basis. The inciter of this whole Danish rigmarole happens to be a buddy of one of the 9/11 hijackers.
Not to leave you in limbo, but I now live with this Muslim guy in the halfway house, I feel like a sixth grader saying this, like I was talking about my new love, but I can not wait to tell you about this CHARACTER!!

More Agita

So I do what might be construed by the typical reader as Demo-ing. Which means that I hand out shit to people as they shop at the store I represent. Now, this isn't Cosco we are talking about here, this is an Upscale Upper East Side Gourmet Store, where customers get their hair done before coming to shop and the soccer moms have Bentley's instead of Dodge Astro's. But, just like you can not buy class it seems that the Manners Store also went out of business where these people are concerned.
I take Neurontin for my anxiety and shit, and these fuckers really seem to test the RDA of my Rx. Besides the grabby old men who come up and reach for the first thing they see; these the men for whom "Please Wash Your Hands" signs in bathrooms were invented, the same old bastards who dribble their honeycomb yellow piss all over the seat that they leave down in all bathrooms, the same guys who forget to flush and constantly pick their ears and noses with no avail to who is watching. Their screechie voiced shorter spouses whose vitrolic comments to anything resembling a pleasantry come up grab and than go, "Whats this?" like I fucking owe them something and It'll just make my day if they like what I'm showcasing. And they will take it anyway. These ladies are a few dollars away from being like their ilk down in Florida who attend functions with plastic baggie lined pocketbooks so they don't have to eat cat food in the coming week.
The ones who really fucking kill me are these uglyish Broker Types who make a decent salary and attended an East Coast University whilst coming from Buttfuck Red State. This type of Lifetime watching chick who buys a gym membership on January 2nd of every year and is looking for a refund on January 16th. The kind who does not have a cat, but everything she owns has cat-like potential in it's cheesey down on the farmness. This one c word was showing some visiting yokel our store, going up to every counter and showing off her new cosmopolitan lifestyle. Calling guacamole with a mole at the end of the word instead of mole-ley and telling her dimwit friend that those mushrooms are pronounced Shi-take, instead of shitcakes like he was trying to read. She came up to me and she was like: "What in God's name is this" and I answered "A Demo" as someone would say, "Duh" and she was like "I have never seen such a thing at C___________." And I replied, "We do it 5 days a week" to which she had to pretend an excuse because she knows dam fucking well that she never shops here, she knows we do not sell "Chunky Monkey" here, the only item she indulges herself with to mask her miserable phoney life.
This is my misery!

BLACK DYKES

or, as I like to say: The 'N" word meets "The L Word".
I guess I missed the memo where it is okay for white guys to say the word Nigga. I guess since it is pronounced this way, leaving off the er and replacing it with an a; it's do-able. Because I've been hearing that word thrown around a lot lately. It's like when anal sex started getting a lot of press. It's weird when something that has been taboo just pops out there and is now taken as normal.
This guy in my room who is my age is having a serious Peter Pan crisis. He thinks he's down with the younger guy in my room by conversing and calling him Nigga in every sentance. I've even heard him talking on his cell (one of those stupid Motorola Walkie Talkie jobs that are so fucking annoying) with his (I'm guessing) girlfriend, calling her Nigga. You've got to be kidding me.
I remember in Los Angeles, this one flamer knew that I had been with a couple of guys, so he was talking to me one day and he said, "C'mon Girl..." or "C'mon Mary" and I nearly cold cocked him in the mouth. I was like, "Listen, no one calls me Girl (or Mary)..."
"No one puts baby in the corner".
But this girl (woman), I mean what the fuck? She lets a guy call her "his Nigga?"
The other morning, those other two roomates had to get up early for work. It's like 5:15 am and I hear, "Nigga this" and "Nigga that". It's fucking lame. It's another stupid ass attempt on the part of insecure people to try and fit in.
The funny thing is, I know it was all the rage when black guys were calling each other Nigga and then Bill Cosby got all pissed off like he had a pudding pop up his ass, but I hear it most among white guys and tons of Latinos.

No Wonder

No wonder why you always hear about these stampedes in Arab Countries with tolls of dead numbering in the 100's. I live in this part of Queens where it's kind of diverse, but I'd have to say being a white guy I am a minority. It is mostly a Latin American Pampoosa clogging streets festival or Hindi kids with thick sideburns donning Catholic School uniforms that roam these avenues. This morning I came to the library before it opened at noon. Usually if a Normal NON THIRD WORLD customer shows up, he/she starts a line, and everyone usually que's up. No such luck this morning. I show up around 11:50 ish and there is what looks like a convention of under five foot brown haired people clustered about. Upon closer inspection, it is the makeup of my neighborhood standing around the front door like those fervant morons who line up for that big Wedding Dress Sale that some Bridal Shop does every year. I figure I'm not going to cuss under my morning breath about the udder stupidity of this line up which in fact is a crescent shape. I pass the time until the doors open listening to my Shuffle which shuffles the same songs all the time while doing a Soduko puzzle. The administrator comes to the door to unlock and let us in. A passerby from England might think, "Wow, these Yanks sure love to read" but thats not the case as most people on the check out line usually have the maximum of 5 dvds to check out with an additional copy of Cosmo Latina or Sari News tucked in there. Anyway, the door unlocks and it felt like being in a mosh pit at The Lollipop Guild. My body was lifted off the ground as this wave of usually quiet people who dont eat beef rustled to get in the doors. A little girl fell and almost got trampled as some Johnny Come Lately to the crescent shape tried to get ahead of everyone and cram through the door for the computer. It was fucking insane, and could have been completely alieviated with a line.

No. We can not all 'just get along'...

Halfway House Drama

This new guy Frank just got the boot for soliciting a prostitute. We are given $23.35 a week by Public Assistance. Maybe they arrested him because the decoy cop was insulted by the amount he had offered her?

This 'big mamma' chick who just got out of Rikers (I may have mentioned her before) told the administrator that she had a dream that her boyfriend kidnapped her and forced her to smoke a crack laced blunt in a van. After she left the office, she was flagged down to be drug tested for which she came up positive for both of those. Shit, I wish I could have her dreams; only mine would be with me, annabella sciorra and Tony Ward on a desert island.

Retiring SNAP!, Macarena and Peace Out to the cemetery of Tired Phrases

You know how sometimes, something might be around forever (Cher...haha) but it is not until it is pertinent in your life does it take on meaning, and then at that point it is "old" in the coolsville world we would like to live and be a permanent resident of, so we do not admit that we want to incorporate this into our lives.
IF THAT LONG ASS SENTENCE DID NOT EXPLAIN, I'll let the newer and more assertive me take over.
In Rehab I kept on hearing the phrase, "If it don't apply, let it fly". Now, if there is one place that bests Springer or Sally Jesse (is she still on?) for using tired ole phrases it is Rehab. If you don't get the gist of this phrase, it simply means; if it does not concern you, let it go. Don't let the stupid shit eat you up inside.
I usually let a lot of shit eat me up inside. I allow a lot of people to "rent space" (another beaten to death Rehab cliche) in my head, and it's just not healthy.
I have to say that I have been great at not doing this these days, so it sort of stuck out recently when this guy in the house just BUGGED the FUCKING living SHIT out of me.
He is this gross, dated QUEEN who wears acid washed jeans that look like they came from KMart to showcase his expansive buttocks wherein his top body is lean...sort of like a Bartlett Pear. He looks like he may be a Petri dish of diseases and he is very non chalant about having long dirty fingernails, then not abiding by the rules to wear rubber gloves when you are touching or nearing the community food in the house.
I was living on salads recently until I saw those filthy talons dig into the center of a head of iceberg and I basically wanted to have my insides steam cleaned.
I hope most of you reading this know that his being a nancy boy has nothing to do with my complete disdain for this character.
He is this nosy fuck who pops up all over the house in the weirdest places as he just stares and needs to know what is going on. He shuffles through the mail before the head counselor looks at it and he Viciously talks about people behind their backs.
They say (another one!) that when you get sober, you are the age mentally of the person you were before you started. I'm basically according to that rule, a teenager. I do not want to do this High School BULLSHIT all over again.
I'm thinking devious thoughts lately about telling someone about this guys antics so I could get him kicked out, but that seems evil. Evil, yet true.
So, as I rolled out of my room today, to start this great day off, there he was, sitting by the front door, watching all the comings and goings of everyone like that pain in the ass woman we all had on the block when we were growing up who knew everyone's business.

Globes Wrapup

Nothing made me happier than my girl, Mary Louise Parker winning for "Weeds" beating out all thos bitchie housewives who will be on a Reality Show five years from now. I don't get Eva Longoria. She reminds me of a Q-Tip or something. She's too skinny and too small and her face is not that great people.
That guy from "Lost" and "Hettie Wainwright Mysteries" Dominic Monaghan was suing some people about a year ago for saying that he is gay, yet,when I went to the Getty Images, there he was posing with Nathan Lane. That'll squelch em! Melanie Griffith looks abysmal and Virginia Madsen is the epitomy of a gorgeous REAL Woman. Saw a picture of Mariah Scarey and she always looks like she is retaining about 4 gallons of liquid and is about to bust her seams. BTW, I'm loving those fat pix of Janet Jackson, but, I dont really think that this is her. I just can't understand it. Wasn't she at Michael's trial wearing like a white hootchie suit? Wasn't that trial within the last 8 months or so? I feel like Rip Van Winkle. Yeah, it is possible to gain 40 or 50 pounds in a couple of months. I did. It was called the Vodka and totally ravenous appetite when you woke out of your stupor diet. I gained 45 pounds in like, 4 months. I also lost it all in Rehab. I just hope she doesn't go through this big Ab-Crunching Bullshit Starvation thing again. She should embrace her cherubicness.
Man, Zach Braff is not the greatest looker, is he. Kinda reminds me of what Ray Romano may have looked like in college. I love seeing the afterparty pictures and you see all these POSER RAPPERS at the parties trying to act all sophisticated and refined. Hollywood really makes me sick some (most) times. I wish I had the opportunity to invite whom I would like to some after gig. I'd personally do the door that night.
"Don't you know who I am?"
"Yeah" I would answer, "...and that is the reason why you are still waiting here."
Chris Kattan at the Golden Globes...Can you imagine how much he was seething with jealousy at every former SNL Player, Host, Musical Guest, Gaffer, Best Boy ect...wishing he had their career!
Harrison Ford is kinda dick-y huh?
I think I used to live with Kate Walsh, who is either on 'Grey's Anatomy' or 'House'. She was dating this guy I was sharing a sublet with. If it's the same one from the Drew Carey Show about 6 years ago, then it is her. More to come when I digest the afterbirth of this night and spew more venom. Looks like my Wellbutrin is not working.

Just three years behind

Being technically inept; I just found out that I can view DVD's and Burn Discs on my laptop. Scoff if you must, I'm a dink, I know it. Although the halfway house does not allow PC's and Lap Tops and Mini DVD Players; the thieves I'm living with will be the first one's to help you find what they just stole, I'm sort of sneaking around with this. Besides the fact that I have a surge plug with about 20 wires plugged in and only a lamp visible makes me a prime candidate for getting busted whenever one of the counselors comes around for a room check. That blue glow that emanates from the screen saver does not help matters much either. One of my other roommates has a personal DVD player after seeing me enjoy myself and being able to not associate with the douche bags I reside with.
Anyway, I still can't afford to join a Video Store (NON BLOCKBUSTER if there is any!) so I've been relying on the library. Today I took out "Swimming Pool." It was a small film with great reviews. It reminded me of the same acclaim that "Sexy Beast" received when it came out. Wow, this film was great; with fantastic performances from Charlotte Rampling and this young chippie names Ludivine Sagnier (whom I looked up on IMDB and found out that she has been at this acting gig for about 16 years. I thought she was some blond with nice tits whom the director pulled out of obscurity). The greatest line in the movie is when C.R's character who is a writer meets an up and coming writer in her agents office. Overhearing that he has just recently won a writing award, Rampling muses when he leaves that "...awards are like hemorrhoids, after a while every Ashley gets one." SNAP!
The movie is really good; I highly recommend it. Next up from the 'Elmhurst Library eclectic Film Batch' is "Jules and Jim."

"Match Point" Aces the Loews Competion

I was recently given a couple of free movie tickets. I had to use them at any Loews Theater (or Magic Johnson Theater <--- 5 theaters of "In the Mix"...no thanks). In Manhattan there are about 6 Loews Theaters and some of these bastards are like Milli-Plexes. I thought I could catch a lot of cool movies I missed while I was in Rehab. No such luck. It seems that every Loews has every single same movie as their sister theater. So, "Wolf Creek" playing on two of the 6 screens on 19th street is also on 3 of the 25 at 42nd street and so on. I was lucky enough to spot the new Woody Allen film "Match Point" in a solitary one screen on East 11th. The film is very good; for those who hate Woody; he's not in it. Neither is his usual star, New York. The whole story takes place in London and it stars a mostly Brittish Cast with the exception of Scarlett Johanson. Jonathan Rhys-Meyers is excellent as is the supporting cast. The movie is intriguing and it moves along with well paced editing. The London used here as the backdrop is a London that shines even when it is overcast out. All in all , I recommend checking this movie out, if you can even find it out there.

Like; it's Literally, red.

Some wrote to me to say which words seemed to be overused in 2005, which; literally, were not in too many peoples lexicon.
The ghetto house where I currently reside has me hearing new words or street terms all the time. The one I hear the most is 'shorty'. This little tub of butter who is my roomate just got out of a 21 day rehab and when my other roomie asked him if he wanted to go to a meeting (AA) with us, he said; "Dam man, I just wanna see's (sic) my (pronounced mies) shorty'. I'm guessing (his girlfriend. Yikes and shudder is all I can say to seeing there reunion.

I've gotta tell someone...

The coolest story in the world...
I tried to get the link to the story in the Daily News but it was such a small story I guess they did not put it on line. It seems this guy was burning his trash (I'm guessing this is the norm where he comes from). Anyway, I suspect he caught a mouse in his house (alive), so he decided to throw the mouse (alive) in the rubbish fire. The mouse sort of did a 'wow, it all of a sudden got very hot here' and dashed from the fire, ON FIRE, and ran into the mans house, which proceeded to BURN DOWN!!! The paper talked to him, FROM HIS MOTEL ROOM for a comment. This is the funniest shit I have read in a while!

I'm a lazy bastard...........

Well, maybe not...
With the glut of blogs everywhere by everybody in the freaking world clamoring for recognition and trying to be wittier or nastier than the next person I sort have been going through a certain malaise about writing. Although I'm featured on some of my friends blogs in the 'other sites' listings, I'm wondering if anyone really does that anymore. Shit man, I'm on the computer about three or four hours a day, and I kind of feel guilty sometimes. Like I am neglecting my other life, or is my only life what I am doing now.
I have to say that four hours on the computer goes a helluva lot faster than 4 hours at a job. Sometimes I look at the time and I'm like, shit; how the hell did that go so fast, yet waiting for five minutes on the frigging line at the bank seems like a freaking dentists visit.

Has anyone noticed that the word "queue" is becoming pretty popular these days? I would hear my friends from the UK use this word about 15 years ago and then I adopted into my vocabulary; but some a lot of North Americans were like, "Um, what the fuck is he saying?"
If you have noticed some words gaining mainstream popularity, let me know...

Miasma

• Every minute someone new in the US is creating their own Blog.
• The US Government was paying Carnival Cruise Lines $1,44o a week to house evacuee's from Hurricane Katrina, while a typical fare for a week on the same liner costs $450 with five stops in the Caribean.
• Laziness is the most sickening non-disease to witness when it is around you, especially when the person in question is gaining close to three pounds a day and farting and snoring all the time in the room in which you have to share with them, and when he decides to get up he switches on his Gangsta Rap at volume levels of ten to join his apathetic crooners in berating the white man.
• The brilliant Editorial by L.Lapham in this months 'Harpers' compares GWB and his cronies to the likes of the spoiled celebutantes that glut every magazine cover and gossip column in regards to getting what they want when they want it and sparing no one any clearance from the wrath of destruction that lays in their wake.

For the love of....

"Real World: Queens, NY"
A couple of little tidbits regarding the Halfway House I'm currently in. Every week on Friday we get $23.35 cold hard cash. Where this figure comes from and who it comes from, I haven't a clue, but it is issued to us non-workers of the house weekly until we start a job. The window which disperses this cash opens at 8am and if you ever wanted to see a group of neer do well addicts set every alarm clock in the house on Thursday Night, you should be present for this. Some of us are not allowed to work yet (me) because you need to have been residing at the house a month before you can seek gainful employment (I have been working anyway).
Now; some people, you have to understand, have neither the proverbial piss or the pot so this 23 dollar 'manna from heaven' is all they have. In NYC, this can not even buy you a weekly MetroCard (to seek employment) or help you buy some cigarettes and stop grubbing from the likes of me. (Ciggs. are about $6.50 a pack for Generics here in NYC).
This morning I came down @ about 8:06 am. We are supposed to be out of our rooms from 8am to 4pm on weekdays and at this time the breakfast room is usually packed with everyone drinking coffee and Bullshitting about the same Bullshit topic they had left off on the night before and I am forced to hear the cacophony of inane banter and loud ass Rap Bullshit and people sucking the raisin Bran out of their teeth etcetera. Wow! It must be Friday indeed. The State Funded recipients started filing back into the cafeteria in Dribs and Drabs with Booty purchased from their new found windfall. Two people came back with Mickey D's (no relation) Big Breakfasts (approx. 5 bucks each), and another beaut came back with 6 'Win for Life' Lotto Cards which are $2 each, I believe. That's 12 bucks, more than half his weekly income spent in 6 minutes on a far fetched pipe dream. It's fucking crazy.



CYNDI LAUPER QUESTION:
Does anyone reading this happen to know Miss Lauper? I have the greatest song in mind for her to remake and I would like to pass it along to her. Thanks

Oy Fucking VEY!!!

Some spoiled ass little girl celebrated her bat mitxvah (sp!!) this past weekend. Her multi-millionaire Dad rented two floors of the Rainbow Room and handed out goodie bags to all the attendees in the neighborhood of $2,000. Oh, and he flew in some recording artists for the gig. Don Henley, Stevie Nicks, 50 cent, Steven Tyler, Joe Perry and some has been or never has been named Ciara all were paid over a million dollars each to perform for approximately 45 minutes. All of the above stars were flown in Private Jets to NYC for this shilling. If your not sick now, or disillusioned now, wait. The little yeshivess' father made a couple of his own changes: namely donning a pink leather suit as he posed with the "Celebes".
It will be hard for me in the future to hear any kind of blubbering from Don Henley about 'Walden Pond' or 50 cent (even though I don't listen to him) talking all gangsta and believe they are credible and then seeing each of their money loving grins posing with our newest little JAP in waiting and her insecure father; who obviously needs love from his little future nose job so badly he spent more in one day than it took to make "You Can Count On Me" or the GNP of Guatemala. This small penised father had to bolster himself with buying the "integrity" of these "stars". Luring them with a shitload of money for a set that lasted less than an episode of "Desperate Housewives". Imagine if the little girl had just wanted to provide, oh; I don't know, maybe houses for about 100 families who lost theirs in Katrina, or maybe building a school or twenty in some African Country. But I digress. I just hope and pray that Pearl Jam would never do this or for that matter even some of my lower paid favorite singers, but why do I care so much what someone whom I considered a great musician does for a buck. Shit; I often considered selling myself to pay the rent on my two bedroom in Manhattan when I was broke. An aspiring "actress and Broadway Star" from Ohio was just murdered and when her parents got the news, they were told that she made ends meet by stripping under the name of 'Ava' at Flashdancers.

A funny thing happened on the way to Detox

While I was still in Florida a few months back, I was seeking to get some help in adressing my addictions. The only place in the Southern Hemisphere of that state which resembles a circumcised penis was this center called; DAF (Drug/Alcohol Facility) <--- Snappy Name! The waiting list was longer than a Yes song; and it could be weeks before I could get in. I spoke with someone at the facility who suggested that I call the Detox unit, and if they have a bed available, that may just slip me into the system a little quicker. Since I needed to be in this facility yesterday, I was short on time.
Every day I would call the Detox Unit in the morning and ask if they had a bed available and then they would tell me to call back at 4 pm to check again. I did this for about three days, when one afternoon a bed was available. Now the only thing I had to do was to get drunk. I had to literally break my clean date to get drunk so I can then get into a program.
The only thing Joyce had at her house was a bottle of Marsala Wine and big ass bottle of Kahlua that she recieved as a present. I guzzled the Kahlua, grimacing at the taste; usually enjoying it when it was in a White Russian, but not now, not by itself. We drove down to the DAF and started with the check in procedures. After filling in all of the necessary paperwork, a nurse came over to take my vitals. It seems that my heart rate and my blood pressure were throught he roof. Unbeknowest to me, Kahlua is about 93% sugar, and I had just glugged down a whole bottle in 10 minutes. Needless to say, the Facility did not accept me, they wanted me to go to the hospital and check myself in for the possibility that I may have a heart attack!

From the gaffer who worked on "the Edge of Night" for an internship comes ...

In the Sept/Oct issue of "filmcomment" there is an excellent article by David Mamet regarding the dismal future of Hollywood. In it he ponders as he is looking at a current movie poster why there are 18 (!) producers listed. "ON THE POSTER?" he writes. He states the sentiments exactly shared by myself; which is: What would be the financial gain or loss to that movie should none of those names appear?
I love seeing commercials or trailers wherein the Voice Over states : "From the Producers of 'Dukes of Hazzard:The Movie' comes a new..."
What the Fuck? Do they not even have 30 seconds of compelling film to show the audience without groveling to some inexistent denominator of movie goer who actually gives two shits about who Produced 'Dukes'? Are the Special Edition 7-11 Nascar Cup drinkers who traded in their food stamps for cash to catch the opening weekend of "Dukes" really going to say over their TV tray tables to one another that since "Seth Blackbury" produced 'Dukes' we better check his 'Newest Release"?
Do you think the think these ticket buyers even know what a producer does?
Mamet goes on to state that for a film: "One needs a camera, some film and an idea (optional)."
The state of the current film business bothers me to no end. All I had to do was go on one interview regarding my first script to see what the deal was. I was asked if my vision was anything like Aronofsky's "Requiem". The script I was assuming they called me in on showed no hopes of becoming another "Requiem" nor did I want or conceive it to be. In doing that, I could have had more integrity had I walked a few blocks up to Hollywood Boulevard and started selling handjobs for a dollar.

Do not try this at home

One great thing about my stint for the last hundred plus days was that besides helping to cure my drinking and drug addiction, I also put a big halt to my obsessive television watching habit. I was sitting in a common room of the Halfway this morning reading the paper as others watched the tube. What was on was the hourlong block of "Entertainment Tonight and The Insider". Saying that if I had to endure this fecal matter on a daily basis would lead me to drink and drug again is an understatement to the horrors of that disease. I emplore the United States Government to use my proposed tactic for garnering information from insurgents and other captives that we recently had to stop torturing. Let them sit with a loop of this drivel 24/7 and I assure you they will give up the goods. How do they choose their correspondants? Is there a contest to see whose voice correctly captures the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard? Do they ask passers by whom they consider the most annoying personality out there today and have board meetings to decide? Kimora Simmons! Holy Fuck! Pat O'Brian! There's more but I don't know there names. Snapshots of Brad and Angie with Maddox are scrutinized like a John Madden Football explaination, telling us the veiwer how Brad returned his shopping cart to the front of the market. Awwww. I hear the watercooler talk now. What are the ratings for these shows? What are the 'Q" ratings for it's hosts? Do people in trailers and New Orleans evacuee's who are still holed up in Shelters really want to hear that Olivia Newton John and Cliff Richard recently shared a lunch together and the tab was $5,000? (A $3,500 dollar bottle of wine and $500 dollar Kobi Steaks) Paris has a new fucking pet, a monkey and guess what? She has a new $25,000 Harley and (Awww) it's pink. Just change the channel Mickey (I couldn't, it's the house TV). Just walk away (I couldn't; we have to meet there every 9am). The reason why I'm so pissy is because I just don't get it. I was told that I complicate a lot of things in life. I over analyze and never keep things simple; but this shit just amazes me. Have a great day.

My Drug Buddy

The Halfway House I'm living in is pretty weird and often trying. The fact that I'm surrounded by adults (21-50 years of age) who act like the age from when they first picked up. This is true of addicts anyway. If you started abusing drugs at 16 and now your clean after a twenty year run; you are basically a 16 year old in a weathered 36 year old body that has been through the mill. I myself feel like a 17 year old even though I started erasing the pain at 15. I'm one of those teenagers that friends' parents would love and state that he is wise beyond his years. The rooms at this house are set up in combo's of three to a room. 24 of which are guys and 6 women. So, picture them all at their clean age (12-17 ish) and it makes for quite a dichotomy. There is all the usuall stuff that made me want to pick up in High School: Backstabbing, Unconfirmed rumors spreading like wildfire, clicks and closet cases. Being the type that loves to analyze people in these habitats, I should be giving you guys quite the earfull. One thing that kind of befuddles me is how everybody wants to top each other with their last run. These are termed "War Stories" by the professionals and at the Rehab I just went to, you could basically get kicked out for being some kind of braggart. It's hard for these chroniclers to realize that basically one upping each other on the War Stories means dick, because we are all occupying the same seats in a Rehab on Medicaid and Social Services and (most) don't have a house or an apartment to go home to, nor family. You see, with these stories comes the "one upping". Topping each others superhero like escapes from the cops or "thousands" of dollars in contraband. This program that I am following now, allows ME to be the MOST HONEST person that I could be. Lies are well behind me: "What do you mean I reak of Alchohol? It must be my mouthwash" et al. All these newly hatched 28 day programmers might as well sign up now for the next available empty bed at the nearest Detox if they allow themselves to feed into the anticts of constant relapsers who THRIVE on taking someone out with them.

Put this in your pipe and smoke it

Shit man...I've been gone about three and a half months and all this celebrity bullshite has gone on. Man, it is amazing how these Hollywood Airheads work. When someone does not have anything to promote, they either get engaged, (Paris H) seperate and brake engagement (Paris H) or they just fail to get the frig out of the spotlight (Not enough time to list; but here's one: Paris H). They feel that we are clinging to their very next move, eager with anticipation over which banquette at "Butter" did they get. Was Lindsey in the same room as her? "Oh No she DID NOT!!" Who gives a flying ass fuck? I was too busy chatting with guys who ran million dollar companies and smoked it all away, guys who started Hustling themselves because their Mother remarried some child molester and she decided to keep peace in her new family so she kicked "Tony" out. It sort of pales in comparison to what size latte MK Olsen was sipping or the new peroxided locks on Jessica Simpson. Gossip Pages would be really cool to read if the editors of such pages could break down the fourth wall and say what they really want to print instead of cowering to PR Flacks and Movie Studios. These scoopers should realize than the Pen is always mightier than the Sword, and the way ticket prices are waning these days on Big Budget Shlop, you would think the studio guys are going to say "Fuck it, our up and coming release stars that anorexic coke head and the swishy yet married Scientologist who erased all those rumors years ago, thank you very much.

I wish I had a picture of Nicholson in the Shining for this entry

Hey, anyone who's still got me bookmarked...I'm BAAAAAACCCCKKKK!!! Wow. What an intense program I have just went through. I'm living in a Halfway House right now and I'm not allowed to have my laptop, but sans pictures; I will continue writing about my experiences from Rehab. As much as the 30 minutes allots me on the Library Computer. I feel freaking great and believe me, I'm not all holier than thou. I just came to realize that if I want anything in Life, I for one can not drink anymore. Just a little tease for upcoming entries, I kept quite an exstensive journal while I was in "Drunk Camp" and I plan to write a pretty hair raising screenplay about the life of a recovering addict. Think "28 Days" minus that whole movie, it's lead actress and the assinine plot!! I read some comments and I recieved some pretty cool Emails from some of you. Thanks for the support and try and bookmark me or add me to your favorite sites on your blogs (does anyone use that term anymore? Shit, I've been gone for a long ass time).