I ate nothing but oreos today. That and Arnold Palmers. To people not in porn or addicted to sugar, that's half tea and half lemonade. In the right proportion, its addicting.Somehow I only discovered this in my twenty-fifth year on the earth. Wow. There's this frooty company called Nantucket Nectars that bottles it. I used to love walking the streets of new york, hating (Carrie, Samantha and Miranda (not Charlotte..she's my moon goddess) and trying to find a bodega (that's city talk for Circle K) that had sold NN AP.(its kosher too)..I seriously believe that tubby guys on velour sweatsuits control what drinks are carrried where. Did/do you notice that in your town? Someplaces are strictly pepsi with lots of grey market energy drinks OR they are straight up Coke zones, with a rainbow of gatorades and a thrift water selection. Yeah. Enough about Arnold Palmers.
Flashback to 5 am. Me in my livingroom. I was flipping around the tv (I have every channel, not bragging-I just hate to feel like I am missing something- I cannot tell you how many times I 'd have only HBO to see some other lost Chuck Norris Film on Cinemax 7..so I cured it. I can write it off too.) Um where was I ? I was waiting for "Notting Hill" to come on and saw that video for Matisyahu, the Jewish rapper/jam band guy. Very interesting. His lyrics remind me of a bad brains record if they had killed Christ. I like the song, its refrain, "youth are an engine (i think) is very clever. Its true too. But what about this video caught my hatrack? I dunno. Maybe its that badass beard and those earlocks. How dope is that statement? No real point here. He is not supposed to touch women that he is not related to or married to. That must make for a fun backstage/meet and greet. I bet his band are clocking so much unrequited shiksa tail they can barely make it to the next gig.
As I said, I just saw the video and there is definitely something subversive to it, i like that. I mean, he's not rapping wanting to check out your undercarriage or how he gets strippers to strip for free but you can't win them all. Oh, Did I mention that I called the cable company to see if I could block ALL SPORTS from coming into my home or trade for more cooking/home/Steven Segal channels?) Yeah. I lost interest in sports when they really started to keep score-so I guess sometime around kickball or maybe square dancing (in the carolinas-even though the dinosaurs came to kill the homosexuals (per some of my books)-we had a "movement" class that always made me snicker. We basically listened to the same damn record by some third rate Uncle Jesssie over and over again for a semester, just to enjoy that odd brush against a girl who smelled like poprocks or holding the soft, sticky hand of a girl that you couldn't trade enough Smurfs to get her to talk to you.Oh man. Every recess that I wasn't trying to get drunk, I was holding hands, yes, holding hands, with Jennifer Jeanes. I cannot even spell her name without smiling. She was my first kiss. She had the chubbiest cheeks. Jennifer, if you are true TV geek, looked exactly like the little girl in the SECOND Oh! God movie with George Burns. Her mom was an art teacher at middle school and I was so impressed that her dad had clean hands when he came home from work. Her mom was one of the first "reasonably together adults" that i ever met, not cause she was hot, but because she drove and never had any black eyes. I thought she was royalty. This woman knew how to make papier mache (forgive the spelling) and she apologized for saying the word "hell." It broke my heart to run away from home and leave Jennifer in that small town. But I had to (another story) I never saw her again after that. We did write 3 letters back and forth each. Hers were on Snoopy paper. Mine were on torn up grocery bags (I read that some of my fave artists did that, so I mimicked it)...I think I still have hers somewhere. But where was I ? Oh, If you know my job, then imagine how excited I was to go to the town she lived in and invited her out to "see me work" so to speak. Her husband got on the phone and told me to never call again. I was bummed, but what could I do. (Her mom put me up to it. I just wanted to show Jennifer that no, I wasn't a drunk living in a box car and that I eventually learned how to dress myself)
The Da Vinci code. That's what I am calling my hair. That's what Taylor called it the other day. Its long and resembles a plae of bacon. Nothing is nudging me to cut it or make an attempt to groom it other than washing it and let's face it, most guys only shower cause its an excuse to fondle yourself...
A note about me. I just scanned up the page and the letters "I", MY", and "ME" are all over. Is that what this blogging is supposed to be about. Is it ego over emo? Self versus all else? Yeah, I am sorry that for every slice of blog I get all Holden Caulfield about the act of blogging, I just haven't figured it out. I mean, what is the reason? Its fun to write, I like to write but is it therapy or me me me? I like to tell stories, I guess I always have. Out loud, via voice, I tend to forget stuff or lose ferocity but on a page in cyberspace, I can cultivate a phrase, pruning the words or just let them drip out of my hands. Stop.  ¶ 3:56 PM