Fuckin' A!! We are in the finals of the World Cup!
Update: As you know, we won. It was so great watching this in a bar full of real Italians, not guido's or gasp Lenny Kravitz (Did you see him in the newspaper going bonkers and holding up an Italian flag?).

Fizzle

"Today's the fourth of July,
Another June has gone by.
And when they light up our town; I just think,
What a waste of gunpowder and sky"


Aimee Mann

Debra Messing has left the building...

The Emmy people have finally changed their standards of nominations. Now, brilliant actresses who never get recognized are going to get a chance at losing to Edie Falco or Patricia Heaton. (I worked @ the agency that repped P.H. <---before 'Raymond' we were sending her dismal audition reel out constantly to no avail. But, after nabbing 'Ray' she ended up being a big bread winner for the agency). I guess the gayest thing about me (besides the obvious man loving) is that I dig 'The Gilmore Girls'. I guess some would call it a guilty pleasure, but, fuck it, I don't feel guilty about it. If you never watched it, it is kind of like 'Days of our Lives' mixed with 'Northern Exposure' with a little 'Sienfeld' tossed in. Lauren Graham (pictured) is fantastic, but the star of the show is Kelly Bishop, who plays Lauren's mom, Emily.
Update: Lauren got snubbed again. But fucking Debra Messing skated in with a nod. Absolute Shite!!

Central Casting

I took the ferry to the Pines @ Fire Island yesterday for a job. It was hysterical. Every type of gay guy or woman you can possibly stereotype was on this ferry. It was like in the movie "Airplane!" when they were showing all the different airlines and attatching the obvious stereotype to each. (The Isreal Airline had hasidic locks around the big nose of the plane). But the more I think of it, I guess once you are assosiated in a culture or nationality, I guess everyone is put into a little box. I know that in "Italian" culture, we have various labels for different type of person. Puttana's, Gavones, Mafiosa, Finoche...(answers* Whores, Slobs, Crooks and Gays).

Dear Guido's and Guidettes;

Please. I beg of you. Refrain from dousing yourself in your Designer/ Imposter Designer fragrances before you go to work out or go jogging/walking. There is nothing worse than breathing in a big gulp of J.Lo or Gaultier for Men or (in Staten Island) some Hilton sisters idea of 'beautiful'. It's bad enough with the stagnant heat, but then to pass by you with me all huffing and puffing and then inhaling that merde is mind numbing.
Have you ever heard of pheromones? They are our Natural scents. Far more sexier (in my opinion) than some contrivance of thistle, lemon, patchulli and lotus flower! Have you ever been into like, minute 13 on the stairmaster or whatever that skiing gizmo is, and then some 'Joey Boombatz' takes the next machine smelling like he just baptized himself in the River Chaps? It's kind of obnoxious people.
Thanks

Too many Margherita's ?

Yesterday, I glanced down at the little headlines on Yahoo and it said:
Buffet to give away three quarters of his fortune.
And I was like, "That's cool, but I still hate his music and those parrot-head fans of his." I had read somewhere a year or a two ago that he was one of the highest grossing touring acts of that year. "Cripes, did he make that much money off of a few hits?"

Then I was listening to BBC News and they said it was, Warren Buffet. "Ah, that makes more sense now Mickey, doesn't it?" The story went on to say that this humongous amount was going to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. And Bill and Melinda have all this money and Bill and Melinda have given away billions...But wait? Shouldn't it just be like, Bill's gazillions? I mean, what did Melinda come into the marriage with. Was her dowry that high? Does Bill just cringe when he hears this 'Bill and Melinda's money'? Is he driving in his Prius and listening to NPR and mumbling to himself, "Yeah right, Bill and Melinda's fortune...sheesh."
Like, did she say,
"Um, Bill, maybe now that were kind of living together, maybe we should get a joint bank account? Let me just make my next payment on my Discover card, and we'll just combine em', kay?"

Had a Dad...

I can not even begin to tell you the story involving this book, but it was a synchronicity of sorts. Because there are no such things as coinc...This book also began a rollercoaster ride of unaware coinc, I mean sychronicities of my DVD selections. From the sublime "The Postmen in the Mountains" (China) to "The Son's Room" (Italian) to the obvious "Father and Son" (Russian), all of these movies related to a father and his son. And the fact that God bestowed upon me the worst father since, did Hitler have kids? Well you get the drift.
By the way, I'm not some pretentious snob who only sees films with subtitles. Also a person who calls movies, films. But the library where I go has the suckiest collection of like 65 films. With doubles of "Cecil B Demented" and "Cruise Ship" et al. So, I wander into the 'foreign' section. Pretty soon I'm going to need a different branch or else I'll be watching the aforementioned.
Also, the book above "Long Way Back" is absolutely gorgeous. Recommended for anyone who is a lapsed Catholic and has a knowledge of music pre 1985 ish.

Gay Pride New York Style 

New Directions

I'm sure people in a lot of occupations can agree with me. Have you ever been told by a prospective employer who has led you on, strung you along for weeks, that they are now going to go in a different direction? I know actors can relate, but Chef's? How the fuck do you go in a different direction?
"Oh, so I guess your going to, what? Open an automat?"
Fail like "Pret a Manger" and pre wrap all your foods and sell them out of one of those refrigerators that look as though you are going through the car wash?
I don't understand.
Freaking Cowards! I should have charged them for my 'holding time'.
Complete Bullshite.

Book Shnook

I've been reading novels like a fiend. I read (6 years later) "A Heartbreaking Work..." in a day. Pretty Good, I guess. Kinda rambly.
But now I'm almost finished with the Tom Shales/Miller book "Live from New York", on SNL. I've been watching SNL since it's inception, show it's kind of interesting. I'm almost done, but before I comment on a few cast members, I have to say this.
First off, if your not familiar with the way "Edie" was edited by George Plimpton, which I believe had started this type of 'biography', the book reads like this.
Joe Blow actor
And then Joe Blow says something here for a paragraph or eight.

Suzie Doe producer
And then Suzie says some shit pertaining to the section or timeline.

Well, they speak to practically everyone who is still breathing from the show (sadly, not Laura Kightlinger) and it's like, you can see the personalities from these people just by reading the comments they made to Shales. These people, the writers and actors, are so fucking NEEDY. They are all self congratulatory on the skits that they did. I mean that's nice, but to start off a sentence by stating, "You know, I wrote blabbity blah skit. I checked the applause meter and it was the highest rated blah blah blah", it's so fucking sad. It reminds me of those eager beavers at sleep away camp; "Let's put on a show!"
The last chapter is a bukkake scene for Lorne Michaels; who comes off as kind of a dick/genious/Star Fucker.
Anyway
Chevy Chase : News Alert- He's a gigantic ASSHOLE
Garrett Morris: Seriously in Denial about his drug use. (he set 30 Rock on fire, free-basing)
John Belushi: Still dead
Dana Carvey: Kind of insecure ( he and his Wayne's World buddy Mike Meyers hated each other)
Joe Piscopo: Totally Nutso. He honestly does not take a shit w/out calling Tina Sinatra up.
Jeannine Garofalo: Disgruntled yet has Integrity
et al

Sigh...

---------->>>> Watched the stupid fucking show Hell's Kitchen the other night and could not believe the ineptness of the morons they chose for this show. 1 person out of 12 is not a complete asshole. Leave it to Fox. You know what infuriates me most? The a-hole winner gets to be a CHEF of a million dollar restaurant in Vegas. These fucking people could not (6 to a team) get out one tables APPETIZERS in under and hour and a half, a table of 2 mind you. These idiots are sweating in food, don't wear gloves, it is un FUCKING real. Man, I just caught my self. Sure it's unreal. It's reality television.

---------->>>> Bravo is kind of pissing me off lately. They've been showing these promo's for some kind of gay television channel or website or comcast or something to that effect. Now, here I am, watching it with my Mom and all they show is like, models and this bullshit, with all these sexy people and nakedness. Now, don't get me wrong. I love sexiness and I love nakedness; especially when I am the one naked with the sexy, But... Can't the fucking powers that be who made this commercial show that we have a little more substance than that? Cripes! It's like hey gays!, you love sex, that's all your good for, here's a show/site for you. How bout' having a show like Biography on there or a Charlie Rose type show or a drama other than 'Wet Palms' where everything is not about screwing. "The 'L' Word" anyone? The Brittish version of "Queer as Folk". You know, gays run freaking Hollywood, so how come when it comes time for us to have our own channel we get hubris like this? Show "Butterfly" (Pia Z. not Pariah) or some campy movie like that. Have an edge, have some freaking humor (the gays love to laugh!) have a video show that features more than 'Erasure'. You know, Joan Jett, Melissa Etheridge, Rufus Wainwright and other artists all have new stuff out there. Maybe the "Crystal"
Generation can come out of their K-holes long enough to program some of this stuff. I worked at a very successful Agency in Los Angeles and I see what these up and coming 'auteurs' point of reference is coming from. They do not know shit from before 1980. Could an agent representing some big star not know who Fellini or Antonini or Houston( not Whitney!) is. I've witnessed it dozens of times in similar fashions.
P.S. While watching Bravo, prepare to maybe see me on there in the next 6 months if things go correctly.

Sidenote: I Heart Kathy Griffin and Janice Dickenson so freaking much. Besides L&O: Criminal Intent in blocks on USA, these two shows make me turn on the television.

Dorff Doffs Dungaree's Dick Display

Keeping Kathy Griffen company on the D list is a little humbling I guess to Steven Dorff. Star of nothing that comes to mind is about to turn into a gay icon (I guess) when he drops his drawers in the upcoming "Shadowboxer". According to director Lee Daniels in the latest issue of the free glossy MetroSource, "We got swinging dick from Steven Dorff. Big swinging dick". He then goes on to say that they shot him fully erect, semi-erect and flaccid. He said they decided on semi for the theater version and that the director's cut "should be off the hook". With co-stars such as Mo'Nique, Macy Gray and Cuba God Awful Jr; I say, as would Jackie Hervey from 'The Onion'; Oscar Meyer Winner!

somewhat of a good thing

If anyone can remember what I am schooled in and sometimes work as then you will be excited to know that I got a second callback from a show dealing with just this profession. It's a 'contest' with the winner getting $100 G's. When I discovered this show midway through it's last run, I almost jumped through the screen with excitement and the knowledge that I would kick some reality show ass. I'll know in two weeks or so if it is a go. I can't reveal too much information.

How Fucked is That?

So, I'm on Staten Island. The libraries are okay, but the video collection is nothing like Elmhurst, Queens. We have like two rows of DVD's here in Richmondtown, a branch they spent gazillions to make.
Making my way through the assortment, it is weird because there will be like 2 each of "Chuck and Buck" and like 2 each of that horrid John Waters movie with Melanie Griffith out of like, 100 films total. Anyway, there was this movie with a couple of guys running together on a beach on the cover and it boasted an adline of "...once their secret was told.." I was thinking cool, a G&L Film Festival straight (ha) to DVD movie. No stars ( except if you include Hume Cronin) but it could be cool. The movie is called, "A separate Peace".
I watched the movie and it was pretty good and then I found out from reading the box cover that it happened to have been a well received book and one that young boys read (when they use to read). The movie starred this guy Toby Moore who looked exactly like Hillary Swank it was uncanny. I mean, any casting agent would flip if they got to meet this guy, he could nab a great gig like miles did on 'Fraser' after DHP's agent sent a picture to Kelsey Grammers' people. And this kid Tobey Moore's character was, it seemed to me, going to make a pass @ any one of the main characters any second if you counted on my Gaydar (which is usually very acute) but I'm sure the director wanted it that way. Well the secret that the box proclaimed turned out to be that one of the guys jumped on a tree branch which forced the Swanker Doppleganger to fall and end his 'sports career' but their friendship remained. Whatever.
The same night, dying from boredom and frustration I rewatched 'Sideways' which I had only seen once before when I had consumed a bottle of Skyy Vodka that I found in the garage on a shelf at my friend's house while I was having a cigarette and she and her lover were getting it on. How does one have a bottle of Skyy sitting on a shelf with the extension cords. I don't know. Suffice to say, I did not remember ONE scene while I was rewatching it.
So, the resolution of the movie is happening. Giamatti's character is back at his teaching position and the class is reading a book. The book they are reading from is, "A Separate Peace."

Jaime Lynn Siegler, Sean Puffy Combs (and mom), Lenny Kravitz, David Blaine and Petra Namkova invite you to

...the opening of a safty pin

"Standing in the shower, thinking"

I'm still living on a tightrope as far as employment goes. The Hamptons gig requires me to take the train out there again this coming Saturday to meet with the owners; one of whom I heard was a Baldwin. Cripes, I hope is not Stephan, Billy or Danial. I'd even take a Baldwin sister besides those characters. Did ja know that the train ride from Penn Station to Amaganset is 3 plus hours? I could have flew to fricking Florida. Factor into that that I am coming from Staten Island, we are talking a 10 hour round trip. Yeah, I know. I could have been in Europe at my Hotel salivating over the mini bar. We'll see. This gig actually will provide me with enough euros to do that once the summer ends and me and Kelly Ripa are just like this.
I was going to discontinue the comments section for good. My Email is always available (go to my profile), but the fucking spammers are inundating my site. Actually it seems to be the same two over and over. Bart's site (go to Summer Reading below, left) is full of them in the comments section but his are more perverted. Damon and Hunter turned them off as well.

Those crazy fucking Asians and their Surgical Masks

What the hell is up with that? Do you live in NYC or San Fran.? Why do I always see these Asian people with surgical masks on? Don't they feel like morons? Would they perhaps like to live in the event that all us NY' ers were annihilated? Is it because they have Bird flu running rampant in their own little communities back east or is it because they skeeve the 'ugly Americans'? See, I've seen this before Bird Flu, and when I googled an Image of "Asian with Surgical Mask" all I got was some chick on ER or Chicago Hope with a mask on their chin. This morning I left my (Mothers) house at 6 am, and the first person I see is some wacko Asian dude with a surgie on his face. I was like, "Well, I just shut off NPR about 12 minutes ago, I know they would have told me if Indian Point blew the Fuck up.
What a bunch of whacko's. And, not for nothing but all the bird and human flu's start in their Continent.

P.S. My PC kind of died. Sorry for slagging in the entries department.

Daily Mind Blower

So, right now I am reading "Cosmopolis" by Don Dilillo. I'm also trying to go through all the shit I have at my mothers house which I have been hoarding there. It's lots of Video's and Books and Magazines basically. I've been going through the Magazines one by one, because either I wanted to save something in one of them or I just never got around to reading it. I picked up the first one the other night and on the first inside page was an ad for "Cosmopolis".

Did 'ja have to, did 'ja have to let it Linger

There is no question about the fact that the guys in Staten Island are probably the best looking guys in the state. Yet, what they have in looks seem to take away in two-fold what they should have as far as being in the 21 st century. Plain and Simple, they are troglodytes. Their manners, their actions, Their Dress Code and their 'city' smarts. If you happen to bed a Staten Island guy, (male or female who are reading this) he is likely to sport a Bikini wax job on his pubes or have shaved legs or armpits or (gasp) both. They just don't have a clue. I'd hate to say that (like the Red States) their hero is Dale Ernhart , but; Opie and Anthony (NYC radio dickheads) or Vin Diesel would give you a clue.
Staten Island guys love being in their cars. Listening to the latest Z100 Wigger Music and driving fast. It's a lot like Los Angeles here. No one walks; unless you are homeless or a prostitute (I've been both here, actually <--- Not a hooker in the real sense but...Well, that will be a different entry).
Staten Island Guys cruise other guys. BIG TIME. I don't know if they are all myopic or if they think you might be their cousin (Everyone on Staten Island has the 6 degrees of seperation thing going on), but they cruise. They probably don't know it is called cruising because that aspect of the gay vernacular has not crept into this borough (hence the shaved areas, the mega hair products, the gossipyness) yet, like so many other gay crossover idiosyncracies.
Yesterday I got cruised big time by this youngish guy in his Acura. I swore I was not going to break the 'faux staredown/jerk off fest' that was happening and I didn't. He finally looked away, and the comic strip bubble over his head seemed to say, "jeez, I think I like guys".

What about the other 2%

I'm 98% sure I'll be managing this restaurant in The Hamptons this summer. It should make for great reading material for you guys, since the restaurants web site boasts in their PR corner a Who's Who of A, B and C list clients that dine here during the summer. I'm going to have to keep really juicy tidbits (if any) on the Blind Item Side though. I'll be getting free housing which helps a lot and will provide me with a big enough nest egg to play with once the summer is over. Determining if I will stay in Manhattan or move to Amsterdam ( always a great place for a recovering addict!). I know I can keep my sobriety in check because I WANT this job. I'm not just pandering by taking any shitty job that I need to get by so I could quit the following week. I aggressively pursued this position and it feels good to be a contender because I am very worthy.

Welcome to My World

So, I have this BIG interview tomorrow in Amaganset (The Hamptons). Interview is at 4 pm. Closest train arriving is at 2 pm. The next departing train for Penn Station (or anywhere for that matter) is 6 1/2 hours later @ 10:27 pm.

"like a liar on a witch trial; you look good for your age"

Okay...timelines in place. I liked Hole months before I heard of Nirvana. In fact, glancing back at my concert tickets I 'may' have seen Nirvana when they opened for The screamingly Trees at the Beacon. But they did not register until I was introduced to Courtney and Hole. I had heard this song 'Teenage Whore' on a college station and I remember wandering all around Hoboken (A Distant Land...oooh) looking for this record store that sold this 45. I started scouring every music magazine for info on her because I thought she was the balls and she sounded like Joan Jett. That's when I read that she was dating Kurt. It seems that Kurt's band 'Nirvana' were coming out with their debut ( I know, "Bleach" was their debut), their major debut, 'Nevermind' on my birthday, Sept. 24th. I was like, cool. Introduced to another great Indie (big word then) band. I ended up liking Nirvana and Hole in both different realms but also avidly.

Fast Forward to 2004/05 when I was MIA when Courtney's Solo "America's Sweetheart" came out. I was in the first of two Rehab's (go figure). I read the reviews but was either unable to purchase or in a place unable. Either way, I picked it up a month or so ago and I fucking dug it. I loved the three power chords, I loved the rasp/scratch in her voice and I loved the 'never forget my life, I can't move on yet' lyrics.
Yesterday I googled an Album Review Site which listed 45 of the Major Publications of Music Journalism and their subsequent reviews of all albums. I punched in Courtney, hoping to read supportive views of an album I missed, and to see what they said about at least 8 of the songs that I totally love. What I got was this. "This album is so over produced..., her voice sucks..., the lyrics are the same from the last two 'Hole' albums..., yadda yadda yadda.
Fuck!
Last time I seek out a second opinion.

Everybody Say FromUnder Cheese

This is one of my best friends; Carol. We have known each other for close to 24 years! (We met when we were three!!) I have not seen her in about ten years until today-Cool. (Click for a better view of her hand...and her body; she just had twins).

Happy Easter. 

SNL's Gay Problem

So, Pearl Jam was on SNL this weekend, which broke me out of my non-tv cycle and I actually sat down to watch something. Maybe I'm an oversensative fag, but in like 7 sketches that I sat through, I would say six of them had some kind of gay slur/gag/non funny type sub plot. Are the 'Brokeback' jokes not finished yet? Did two skits require a reference to this? Are the writers so young and unsure of their own sexuality (the writers are 95% male) that this is the only punchline that can be inserted to a skit that is going nowhere to begin with. Shit, last I looked (listened) at least the obese were getting picked on just as equally. Now, there are no fat jokes, no black, asian or latino gags. No, Red State jokes. Oh, a couple of skank ho jokes but thats because skank could probably still get a chuckle out of the immature crowd. I just can't place the era of when this started but since I have been a faithful viewer of SNL til about last season, I'd have to date it back to it's inception with Eddie Murphy (now that's calling the kettle black) but not really hitting it's peak until about 8 years ago. It's pathetic that these skits get into the show to begin with since they have usually two weeks between shows to actually think of something funny.

The Cruise

Remember this freak from those suicides a couple of years back? They were called the 'Heavens Gate Suicides' and this Bozo was there leader. Well, I caught about five minutes of the Tom Cruise interview with Diane LickAsser Sawyer last night and I really and truely believe that Tom is in need of #1) Anything resembling a real person and #2) He should just quit show business. If this guy would just give up the spotlight he would not have to do interviews. Fuck it, all he has to do is not spend 200 gazillion fucking dollars on bullshit mega movies and then he wouldn't have to worry about the return to his pockets and the Scientologists deeper ones. Remember when Travolta had a mini return to favor a few years ago after Pulp Fiction? Go on IMDB and notice how many movies he grabbed and stuffed his fat face with and also to pay off those hefty Scientologists and the lover he had in Hawaii for years before he married Beardy Preston. As #1 from above, this guy does not have a genuine bone in his body. He is so programmed and insincere and so phony it is see through, yet is it? That hardy har har laugh and cutsie introspective thoughtlike pose (touches forehead) just sicken me. I know Mickey, change the channel. Well, it's hard to do that when your in someone else's home and the wifey is watching it.

UPDATE: CLICK ON AARON'S LINK ON MY PAGE FOR SOME REALLY CREDIBLE GOSSIP RE: THE CRUISER

Hecho en Mexico

I heard a great soundbite regarding this whole deportation of millions of illegal aliens from a rally in Los Angeles yesterday. "Of the 19 hijackers from September 11th, none were named Velasquez, Medina, Lopez or Gonzales. Yet when I look at the names on the BODY BAGS coming back from Iraq, I see the names Valasquez, Medina, Lopez and Gonzales."

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!