Operation '06 -- Phase 2: ACTIVATE!

We have reached the end of March. With it, one quarter of 2006 is down the drain...kaput...finished...in the history books. Thus, time to reflect. For me AND for you, dear reader who wants to improve their life. I'm admittedly startled that 3 months has sailed by already, and yes, I wish I'd scored a $100,000 job by now and fled my apt and by-the-hour-more-irritating roomie. But I haven't. And I really didn't expect to. However, it IS time to go "what the FUCK?!" and crank up the productivity even more. Having said that, I actually AM pretty damn happy with the progress i've made so far this year. It HAS been steady...and ungodly tedious...all my "streamlining" that I won't go into because I don't have the patience. And starting this blog. And continuing to work out pretty regularly. And even socializing. It's been a decently full 3 months. But the NEXT 3 months is where I wanna just go bloody full throttle. July 1: the middle of the year...and a day for me to keep in mind. I mean, if I can pat myself on the back for a minute, how many people actually have New Year's resolutions on their mind as April dawns? I'd wager not many. But I do. And I have that SAME exact sense of fresh ideas and big change that consume so many the first week of the year before their burning desire rapidly fades. It's often tough...I don't "enjoy" tedious paperwork. But i'm glad a lot of it is DONE. Blah, blah, blah...i'm boring myself with this self-help blog entry. I'm fucking tired. I haven't slept well ALL week while on my "sabbatical." But now i'm back at home and itching to resume wild productivity. Sadly, I have to perform an unselfish act tomorrow...helping my brother move. And that's right...he wants to start at 9:30am. NOT happy. And I told him so. Naturally, he had no solid reasoning as to why he couldn't do it at 3pm. But I resisted screaming like a petulant infant in protest, instead merely rolling my eyes several times while making cutting, dryly sardonic remarks. And so March ends...on a sunny, 74 degree day. A hearty toast to the NEXT quarter!

Reagan was shot 25 years ago today!!

It's truly disturbing when more and more events that occurred a quarter century ago are fresh in your mind. I was beyond startled to hear it's been 25 years since Jodie Foster's Main Man pulled the trigger on the Gipper, also striking James Brady and a cop. It snowed that day in the NYC area. Mom told me the big news when she picked me up at school. It was essential young Gary keep up to date on world events. In a related story, I spent most of this day FEELING as if I'D been shot, somehow getting through most of the day on 3 hours of sleep, until I -- GASP -- actually kinda napped from 9 till 11pm. And I always say NAPPERS should be shot. Though I never really slept...but the closed eyes did wonders on this supremely rare day that I napped. And here we are at 1:40am like I had 10 hours sleep. Yeah, yeah, being so tired you kinda feel like vomiting isn't the same as being SHOT...but work with me for the comedic effect, would ya?

That coked-up CUNT Naomi Campbell...

Who the fuck does this fucking vapid bitch think she is? And why hasn't she been jailed by now? And why do other celebs like fucking Oprah continue to associate with her, further stoking her ego, when she's a crazed, unhinged, miserable cunt of a human being?! And why will the media speak of her latest shameful act with half-smiles on their faces? There's nothing amusing about her antics. She's a fucking disgrace and should be behind bars, forced to engage in unspeakable acts of perversion with hairy, obese women named Bertha. I'd like to take her meal ticket face and smash it through a plate glass window, then ram one of her stiletto heels up her fucking cunt ass till she's dripping blood out of her rectum and shrieking in agony. THEN maybe she'd learn how to treat people. So is it clear i'm not a fan?

I'm gonna avoid The Cliche

I've been fully immersing myself in AOL radio tonight for the first time...have The Madonna Channel on now. Hmm, yes, a CLICHE, lol. But her line from DIE ANOTHER DAY, which has just ended, is one I hold dear...a mantra I TRY to live by overall. Not always easy. Now TIME STOOD BY is on...a very little-heard song from THE NEXT BEST THING soundtrack...and i'm reminded anew that Madonna, for all her Dance Queen rep, is actually immensely talented at producing wistful, melancholic tracks. MANY of them. PROMISE TO TRY remains one of the saddest songs i've ever heard. I'd argue that even a lot of her dance songs make you THINK along with moving your ass. Regret, moving on, surviving...all common themes put to a blistering beat. Obviously i'm desperate for something to write about tonight, lol. Just before, I realized my friend from work may know a girl I went to college with. Thank you, 2-year-old college newsletter i'm just going through now. THEN, work girl logs on inexplicably at 2am! Spooky. And she DOES know her! And that's Gary's Deliciously Small World Anecdote of the Day. And the end of this entry. HA...and now I'LL REMEMBER comes on...SEE!!

Grocery shopping with "Gram"

Today I took Gram grocery shopping. Not MY Gram. My friends' Gram. It was the first time in my life i've EVER taken an elderly person shopping...mainly because my grandparents all died while I was young. I was shocked to realize I was ENJOYING myself. ME...at ShopRite...walking slowly. VERY slowly. NOT rolling my eyes or uttering profanities under my breath once. I'm as shocked as you are. I just gave myself away to the experience. It certainly helped that the place was uncharacteristically devoid of humans. But I enjoyed being forced for once to drastically reduce my pace...walking slowly, taking my time. More than that, I enjoyed helping Gram. I enjoyed picking out cards with her and finding products on the shelves, fetching the heavy and out-of-reach ones for her. I enjoyed bagging and carrying the 3 full bags out to the car, then bringing them up the stairs at home for her. She requested I open the bottle of cranberry juice for her...with pleasure! No doubt the experience was a novelty. I'm sure I'd get less and less eager if I had to do this regularly. But as someone without a grandmother, I relished today's Special Time with Gram. The oddest moment perhaps? When she picked up 2 boxes of Animal Crackers for her great-grandchildren -- and I flashed back more than a quarter of a century to when MY Gram (who KNEW today's Gram) would buy those for ME at the SAME ShopRite, and I'd eat the whole box as I sat in the front of the shopping cart, and MY Gram would then just toss the empty box onto the checkout counter. Kind of a surreal moment. So that's today's zesty blog entry. Me have headache...again. Me must get sleep. Thanks for the experience, Gram!

Dead tired...yet still up at 2am

Do you see what I mean? I haven't had a good night's sleep in days...yet I haven't napped, and haven't gone to bed at 10:30pm. Sure, I was practically comatose several times throughout today...but every time, I thrust myself into some non-staring-at-the-internet project and revived myself. That said, I AM going to bed within the hour. I stayed awake later last night because I stumbled across the perversity known as KINSEY and wanted to partake in as much frank sexual dialogue and blatant nudity as possible. I don't see many movies, but I'd been curious about this one. It was a GLORIOUS day today...deep blue skies and pushing 60 degrees. Enjoyed mom's stuffed cabbage for dinner...mmm. Learned a good friend wants a tattoo...and damn well plans on getting one...wanted me to get one at the same time. Not YET...but, yes, I sorta kinda long for one, too. I WILL accompany said friend on the trip to the seedy Seaside shore to get that tattoo, though. I'm struck by how basically pointless this entry is, lol. My entries are either focused rants or rambling This Is What I Did Today bullshit. And yet, THIS entry isn't even saying what I did today. I'm amused by that, too...how much I DON'T say. The simple choice to tell...or not tell. How MUCH should one tell? It was a good, yet tiring and long day. But I'm not saying on this blog what the fuck I did. So THERE! It WASN'T anything remotely interesting...or even productive, actually. Let's say it was quietly rewarding. Perhaps the thing that most stuck out about today was David Letterman's nervous-yet-perfect words about Paul Dana, the 30-year-old race car driver from Letterman's team who died yesterday in a horrific crash. I'm like a broken record in terms of citing things that make me appreciate every day of life. I realize this, but don't know that it's a lesson that can be hammered home enough. Letterman is just SO good at speaking from the heart...tonight was no different. Fidgeting throughout his words, clearly uncomfortable and upset, he ended by saying (paraphrasing) that just because we make it through another day, that doesn't mean tomorrow is promised. The way he said it was better. Brutal point taken. I often never have any idea what the hell i'm gonna write about here until the last minute. Yet I often seem to come up with something resembling a point. Like every genius paper I wrote up until 5 minutes before class. Yes, i'm sinking into HAHA self-congratulatory mode now. God, i'm getting tired. Anyway, let's wrap this eloquent mess of an entry up. Life's short. Get that tattoo.

Two months till Memorial Day Weekend!!!!!

The countdown is on! Two months from today is the Friday of Memorial Day weekend and summer fun! Every year, I wonder more and more...WHEN will I stop viewing summer with the same enthusiasm as an 18-year-old? I hope never....in the same way I can't imagine ever viewing a looming blizzard with adult-like "Jesus, I hope it misses us!" anger. Who ARE these adults -- a demographic i'm clearly now a part of -- who lose all that youthful love of things? Give me weekends at the shore, doing shots at the bar. Give me crippling blizzards. Give me pop radio. Give me bike rides and roller blading. Give me catching lightning bugs and then letting them go. Give me THE SIMPSONS and not THE (FUCKING) WEST WING. Far too many of you reading this...MY age, or worse, younger...have turned into your parents. Shame on you!! **This entry is meant to vividly counter any charges that i'm an Angry Old Man.

Continuing my peppy posting, I'd like to note that one of the organizers of my high school reunion emailed me back today with the following...

Damn you man. I can't believe you didn't make it. You totally have to come to dinner next girls night out! So many ladies asking for you! You blew it. It was so surreal. I mean, like 20% of the place was pregnant. It was weird - but lots of fun. You better keep in touch.

Now I don't know that her claim of "MANY ladies asking" for me wasn't just sardonic good cheer. But it COULD be true. Who knows. I aim to find out, though, lol. Anyway, regardless...SHE clearly was happy to hear from me, and her single email made me feel much better about high school after all my railing against it. Nothing's changed...I always said there WERE people i'd like to see. It was a wonderful little email to get. On top of that, I reconnected again today with a girl from GRAMMAR school, who i've seen twice in the past 5 years after some 13 years of no communication. We IMd for a good 90 minutes. An absolute delight. As I said, the past CAN be good to revisit...

I missed my high school reunion...but did anyone care?

I didn't go to my fifteen-year high school reunion. I 80% knew I wouldn't, given the circumstances...namely, that out of, oh, 210 (I counted yearbook photos just now) fellow students, I count one of them as a friend. ONE. A friend in the "having someone to go with" sense. And I DID ask him...via email. No reply. Sadly, I don't even regularly keep in touch with HIM, either. So THAT was my big issue. I wasn't gonna walk into a reunion having NO idea who'd be there...after generally detesting high school to begin with. Detest is a strong word. There's certainly people I'd enjoy seeing...LOVE talking to. But I have no idea if they'd be there. And as much as I'd like seeing them, I haven't seen or spoken to them in more than a decade. I'm not close to ANYONE from high school. That's the way the cookie crumbles. I'm perfectly fine with that. I just kind of resented that this reunion threw that little fact in my face and reminded me of my old self. But that's what it IS...my OLD self. Another life. Over and done. Just pisses me off that these people never got me. Most of them, anyway. Again, some I liked. I guess my worst nightmare would be to walk in and see the SAME groups of tight little friends all talking amongst themselves, as SUPERCLOSE as ever...and then in walks me...alone, with NO clique to run to. No ONE to run to. Just standing there staring at all of them. "SO, how are all your babies?," I'd blurt, dripping with sarcasm and not giving a flying shit. I wasn't a jock. I wasn't a preppy girl with the jock boyfriend. I wasn't a cheerleader. I wasn't from Downneck. I wasn't a longhaired stoner. I wasn't even a nerd. I was NOTHING. I fit in with NO ONE. My high school was like one giant John Hughes cliche, and woe is you if you didn't fit one of those cliches. Anyone who thinks i'm bitter and that I was the problem...that person was likely one of the untouchables of the groups above and, thus, will never get where i'm coming from. For 4 years, I scratched and clawed my way up the social ladder as far as I could get -- and actually DID achieve a measure of popularity by graduation day. I even attended THE party of parties that night, complete with cops, nudity and a pool. What more do you need? Yes, senior year WAS pretty damn good...relatively. But i'd never go back. Ever. I'd like to have walked in tonight...with all my hair, as fit as ever, in my most dapper duds, and more confident than I ever dreamed I could be...just to show them all. But show who? If it was me against All of Them again, I'd be that same guy with nothing to say, walking in alone like a loser. Ugh. It just wasn't a risk I wanted to take. I hate that I've even wasted so much time and energy on this. And, frankly, i'm very tired and my head is spinning, and I don't think this is nearly as eloquent as it could be. I can't forget to mention that I did TWO drive-bys tonight, lol. I THINK I saw some people I knew. Truly beyond surreal...lurking in a car, watching people walk into your own high school reunion. Yeah, i'm a little different. I also perused my yearbook...going through every picture like it was the season finale of SURVIVOR, where they linger on each person's pic and say a few words. My experience was more like "no interest, no interest, no interest...now HE was a nice guy...and SHE was a nice girl...no interest, no interest, no interest...." SO...I resolve to look at it positively. My HOPE is that I WAS missed...by at least a couple of people. I'll look at my absence as lending an air of mystery to my legend, lol. And if I wasn't missed, who cares. These people mean nothing to my present-day life anyway. I'd prefer the former...yet the latter is the cold-hard truth. I'm just tired of thinking about this. And yet, despite everything I just said, life experience tells me that I may yet be surprised by how much some of these people come to mean to me. I'm thinking some random, one on one run-in at a bar or something that results in a newfound respect and understanding. One never knows. THAT is something I know by now.

LESS sleep is GOOD for you...MORE evidence that Gary's a fucking genius

At the end of this smug rant, i'll supply a link where you can read ALL about how a new study shows 1) less sleep is linked to longer living, 2) people who sleep less are generally more successful, 3) sleeping pills are the latest drug of choice, and are 4) very likely bad for you. I'd like to add a #5 of my own...my OWN lifelong study shows that most people are, inexplicably, morning people who believe (MOST falsely and MOST righteously) that if you haven't accomplished 39 things by noon, you might as well just go back to bed and consider that day a fucking failure of epic proportions. More to the point, you're a lazy, unambitious fuck-up with no hope for life advancement just because you like waking AT noon. Well, I am a night owl and damn proud of it. I don't get everyone else. Does anyone honestly find waking in December while it's still dark out -- to go to a job that you likely detest -- NORMAL? Society has been brainwashed by the fucking farmers. Any urban, youthful person who finds it easy to wake anytime before 9am isn't living an urban, youthful life.

I DETEST mornings. I DETEST morning people and their excruciatingly rah-rah, sunny attitudes and condescending "look how productive I'VE been today!" manner. I think the 9 to 5 workday is a fucking joke. I think people who race to the gym at 5am are fucking morons. NUMEROUS studies show that exercise is best done in the late afternoon or evening. Oh, but they HAVE to do it then because "i'm so BUSY...my life is SO full and brimming with activity that 5am is the ONLY time I can lift a barbell." No, you're a fucking pretentious moron. I hate morning meetings. I hate morning talk show tapings. I hate jackass fucks who, when you're at the beach, insist on getting TO the beach at...yup, 9am. Um, dipshit, the ocean will still be there in the afternoon. And if you go THEN, you won't be bored to tears and tired out by the sun by noon. I hate people who HAVE to "get on the road" for that same beach trip as early as possible. I hate people who think they can only move out of their apartment at 8am on a Saturday morning. Know when I moved? As the sun was setting. And, wow, gee, it STILL got done!! I had a hell of a lot more energy at THAT hour of the day to move furniture up 3 flights. I hate ANYTHING at 9am. NO reason it can't be done at 3pm. NONE. Funerals...Christ, the worst offense. I mean, are they in a RUSH to be buried? WHY are funerals in the morning?!?!????!? PLEASE have mine after GENERAL HOSPITAL at 4pm. PLEASE!!! Slip the priest some extra cash to make this happen. I MUST draw up funeral provisions ASAP.

Sadly, I'll never be in the majority here. I'll continue cursing, raging, and living on less sleep than even I'D like because some dumb morning fuck is making me do some dumb morning thing after I went to bed at 4:30am, all the while calling me lazy and risking me snapping one day and beating them senseless, at which point i'll go, "NOW who's full of energy at the crack of dawn?!" So summing up, morning people make me sick. I just DON'T get you if you're a grown man or woman and going to bed before Letterman's over with. What are you, eleven? And what the fuck's with this eight hours of sleep bullshit during a workweek? Weekends, MAYBE. I'm touching on 2 things here...1) hating morning fuckers and all they represent and 2) not getting why many people have to sleep so much. I'll leave all you pompous, crack of dawn motherfuckers whining, weary, and utterly defeated when it comes to productivity and endurance. Sleep on THAT. Cheerio!! Oh, yes, here's that link...http://news.yahoo.com/s/space/20060323/sc_space/sleepdeprivationthegreatamericanmyth

Belinda Carlisle's MAD ABOUT YOU video...the very essence of southern California

I stopped dead in my tracks about 7:55pm when this video came on VH1 Classics tonight, a video I haven't seen in YEARS, but has always been ingrained in my head as symbolizing sunny SoCal. Her debut single from her debut solo album. Summer, 1986. And do you know where I was that July? You got it. Southern California. Coming up on 20 years...a fact not lost on me in my ongoing love of symmetry. This video, though...as evocative as I remember. You FEEL like you're in Marina Del Ray...late evening, the sun blinding and fierce, casting shadows, ever closer to disappearing over the Pacific...waves crashing...endless towering palm trees...Belinda, impossibly youthful, blonde & playful, hair blowing in her face in the passenger seat of a convertible, which zips along next to sand and ocean. It is an absolutely transfixing vision. Dreamy and optimistic. The promise of youth. Iconic. That song and video means more to me than to most, i'd guess, because of what I want now, and because of where I was when that song was rising on the charts. Because of the absolutely crystal clear memories it evokes -- of that summer, of that trip, of HEARING that song while in a liquor store with my father in Norwalk, CA. And because I am FLOORED that 20 years has gone by...so fast, it seems. So damn fast.

My friend's RIOTIOUS assessment of my old work duties

So in my ongoing reviewing/streamlining, last night at 4am, I came across a mock-up my friend (clearly hard at work, also) wrote of what I'd send in for my college's "what's new with you?" section of their quarterly magazine. This was my first job...one I hated. Well, the job ITSELF I hated. I liked a lot of the people (many intriguing creative types), and I liked the bloody murder I sometimes (ok, OFTEN) got away with in my daily struggle to make it to quitting time. It truly was OFFICE SPACE. My friend "Tom the DJ" wrote of me...
Since graduating, Gary has taken to employment at Nameless Mindnumbingly Dull Corporation in New York's Financial District. Gary's duties entail reading the paper, commenting on the latest trends, complaining, eating candy, and waiting for 5:30pm. He is your future."

I fucking cackled out loud when I read it. I'm sure it's much funnier to me than anyone else. But he forgot pretending to be on the phone with stockholders as I compiled grocery lists and "accidentally" (WHOOPS) hanging up on incoming calls. And SO much more. WHERE is my Emmy?!?! Ahhhh...fond & horrifying memories at once. Another screenplay waiting to happen...

"Save The Date"...IDIOTIC...and other MARRIAGE BASHING fun with Marcia Cross & David Letterman!!

Marcia Cross -- who is just more beautiful and captivating every time I see her -- was on Dave tonight, discussing the delightfully zany way she met/stalked her fiance. She's 43, her fiance's 47, and it will be the first marriage for both. That ALONE deserves a half hour's applause. A bit into the completely amusing interview, she casually mentioned sending out "Save The Date" cards, and Dave laughed uproariously before saying, "Save the date, now isn't that IDIOTIC?" It was a scathing moment, dripping with eyerolling disgust...brilliant! I wanted to LEAP through my TV and bitch with the two of them. Marcia agreed, then added that so MUCH of the whole wedding process was idiotic.

I think the best was saved for last, though. Dave noted Marcia's age and said how he felt it was wise she and her fiance each waited so long to get hitched. Marcia then mentioned not caring about wedding details. This all resulted in Dave imitating a 20-year-old bride shrieking "I wanna be a PRINCESS!," before he expressed his belief that the 20-year-old newlywed PRINCESS he mocked would wind up divorced, while those who spend their 20s, 30s, even 40s enjoying life & figuring out who they are before tying the knot (around their necks) will more likely go the distance. Reviewing it in print doesn't remotely do it justice. I'll have to seek out the repeat and tape it for smug daily viewings.

The entire interview just mercilessly mocked the institution of marriage and the stupidity of so many...particularly the very young. SO rare I hear opinions that jibe with those that reside in my own head -- on many issues -- but particularly marriage. So WHAT a fucking joy to hear MY thoughts uttered on national TV by someone who's CLEARLY very bright and respected. Letterman, I love thee even more after tonight. And Marcia...you're rocketing to the top of my very sparse Celebs I Love list. BRAVO to you both! And to think this blog entry only BEGINS to touch on my thoughts on marriage...

"Would you like a donut?"..."No, thanks."..."They're free."..."Oh, REALLY?!"

This little exchange occurred about 11:30pm after walking to Dunkin Donuts simply to break a $20...by gettin a small French vanilla coffee. MMMM. Turns out -- no big shock, really -- that they dump any un-bought donuts at the end of the day. But offering them to last minute customers for free??! THIS is what struck me. I may have hatched onto my latest scheme here, lol. So my next question to the young lad was "how many can I get?" Two, three, he suggested. I used restraint and only took two...a chocolate frosted and strawberry frosted. WHAT a delightful surprise!! I was quite chatty with Donut Boy, then asking him if they can't give the leftovers to the homeless, after we both noted what a waste it was of tray upon tray of donuts and muffins. He muttered something that added up to NO. Not wanting to come off like some militant do-gooder, or fall out of his good graces for when I return next Tuesday night at 11:30pm, I didn't press the issue. I'm more and more fond of these late night strolls to Dunkin Donuts. It's a super relaxing 20 minutes or so. Perhaps because i'm often the sole customer? I found myself feeling very protective of the generous and friendly 18-year-old behind the counter. I left worrying about him. I don't live in a remotely bad area, but freak things can happen anywhere. This kid was the only one in the store, late at night. I hope he at least has a bat behind the counter...or a handgun. I sauntered home with my free bag of donuts and invigorating cup of coffee, relishing my end-of-day good tidings on this first full day of spring.

Stripper Task Force

It's been one of those driven, single-minded days -- coming after a night where I tossed and turned, anxiety-ridden about 57 different things. Did I run out and procure regular employment doing ANYthing that paid as a result of my 3:30am stress? No, I simply attacked the next line of SHIT in my nonstop assault on chaos...which WILL lead to my getting a job. But that's too complex for right now. Today was all about college...again. About 3 years ago, I began assembling the mounds of memorabilia (i.e., more SHIT) from college into a scrapbook. All of freshman year got done. Then that project, like so many, came to a halt for whatever reason. My A.D.D. kicked in. Tossed into a bag or manila envelopes, said shit has sat (say THAT 3 times) under my bed since. And, of course, it's sat SOMEwhere for about 10 years...in an unorganized mess. But no more. For endless HOURS today, I went through every single thing in every single envelope and every single pile that had been in a plastic bag and organized it to obsessive compulsive perfection. Reviewed, pondered, sometimes trashed, organized by date and year. COMPLETE sorting through. And now it's done!! In one day...shit that lingered, festered, annoyed me every bloody day I looked at it taking up space in a heap...in one day, it's been gone through & set aside, out of view, just waiting now to be implanted into the remaining scrapbooks I have. GOOD FUCKING LORD, the relief can't be measured. Damn, hard work IS so rewarding once you see the fruits of your labor. I've always known this, but a reminder is always welcome. Guarantee MY day was more rewarding than most of those EMPLOYED, just staring at a clock, playing with their Blackberry, emailing friends, going out for a smoke break, or to the restroom, or to the breakroom...all to waste time. All to avoid their rewarding job sorting a pile they don't care about, calling a client they despise, typing a report that means zippo to them, giving a presentation while struggling to fake the slightest bit of interest in what they're boasting about. Not everyone's job is richly UNrewarding, of course. But many are. MANY. And this is my little way of yet again pointing out...well, so many things...but namely that 1) it's very easy to hide behind The Paycheck and act like you have it all figured out and aren't YOU a responsible adult and also 2) that I don't NEED a job to fill my time...as many inexplicably seem to. They bitch and moan daily, then have a week off where they don't go on vacation, and by the 4th day they don't know what to do with themselves. Um, WHAT?! Completely sad and uncreative. But i'm weary already of getting on my soapbox. I WOULD like to have a job...but a well-paying one where I feel like I'm contributing something to society. Is that so much to ask? So it's been a GREAT day...albeit wearying. And that stripper thing of the title? Well, in my reviewing, I was reminded that in college, student senate took up the controversial cause of female strippers coming to campus for...well, does one NEED an official reason to hire a stripper? I could say someone's birthday kegfest or to celebrate Yom Kippur, but really, who cares? The point is that we actually DEBATED for WEEKS during Senate meetings what the college's official Stance should be on strippers. Not even outlawing them, mind you...merely dreaming up a moral stance that would be typed into the Senate Bible or whatever. Can you FUCKING imagine? There indeed WAS a Stripper Task Force. It's right there in the Minutes I saved. You can be sure I was shaking my leg and having seizure-like eyerolls throughout this particular colossal waste of my time. And, yes, it was women who brought up this hard-hitting issue. Student Senate...a room full of people YEARNING to hear themselves talk. Makes an amusing anecdote, though. So now it's 2:30am, the end of a productive day. Ahhhhhh. And...THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING!! Wouldn't know it by the 40 degree high and wind, but winter is offically GONE! Raise a glass with me to Spring '06!! MUCH to do!!

Good luck & be well, Bill Beutel

Bill Beutel, distinguished WABC anchor & another staple of my youth, has died at 75. And I actually have a Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon-esque relation to him. Dipshit, who broke the news to me this afternoon of Beutel's death, went to school with Jeff Rossen, agitating Ch. 7 reporter...who's actually been in my living room once. THAT was an awkward encounter. And who did the big Interview With All The Notables remembering Beutel tonight? That's right, Mr. Rossen, STILL looking -- to me -- like he's in high school playing Grown Up, with his Ted Baxter hair and Reporter 101 delivery. SO annoying. I liked Bill Beutel, though. Actually, he's the ONLY anchor I can think of from Ch. 7 that i've EVER liked. Because he was REAL...unlike so many to me at that station, as i've said before. Didn't seem remotely fake. Very polished, very urbane...but not fake. A great newsman. A gentleman, they keep saying over and over. I hate to say it's "fun," but I always get a charge out of seeing competing stations' anchors and reporters commenting on a deceased "rival." Chuckie Scarborough at home in a sweater, full of wistful memories. Things like that. Naturally, his death made me think about ME -- what legacy I'LL leave; will MY death be nationally reported? No, i'm not kidding. Gotta get crackin on that. MY big Sunday? Pancakes, light cleaning, ShopRite, SOPRANOS, streamlining. Fun! Will streamlining be my legacy? Or maybe this blog? Wink, wink. Hmm, only 2am and yet i'm ready for bed, I think...soon. And so, another New York institution has passed. Good night, Bill.

Wanna hear a HILARIOUS joke?!

So I saw on the news they were protesting the war in Iraq in DC today...beginning outside Dick Cheney's house. Heh, luckily, no one was reported to have been SHOT at. HEH! Yeah, no one was SHOT at during during the march. HAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!! Mother of GOD, can I hear THAT one again?! Know what that was? THAT was what DIPSHIT just came into the living room to tell me...for ABSOLUTELY no reason. I mean, it's clearly not remotely funny. NO reason for him to have opened his mouth. He merely came out of his room to look out the living room window...and for some reason, couldn't resist wasting precious life moments of mine with the most ABSOLUTELY purposeless, insipid banter, instead of walking straight back to his room. I was THERE...therefore, I must be subjected to pointless nonsense. Normally, as I said earlier, I say "YEAH" to his comments, or eke out an excruciatingly forced "chuckle" to humor him. I literally barely even acknowledged what he just told me. I barely smiled. I think I said, in the lowest, most bored tone possible..."hope not." THIS is what I must contend with daily, HOURLY...when he's at home with me. A FUCKING NIGHTMARE. I repeat...A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!!!!!! CAN SOMEBODY, PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, TRADE PLACES WITH ME?!

WHY can't I live in a lawless society and be able to take a bat to Dipshit's head?!?!

Is that too dark a thought? I am SO struggling to recover from the RAGE of my morning and early afternoon, when for some 3 straight hours, Dipshit grated on my last nerve at every turn. Thank GOD I actually had a restful sleep before the rage began. First, he proceeds to have his usual 17-point breakfast. At ONE time, I heard -- from bed -- the microwave whirring, the stovetop sizzling, coffee percolating, and the toaster popping. To put an exclamation point on this Noise Extravaganza, I half expected a motherfucking cow to trot into my kitchen so he could milk it for his coffee. God forbid the stupid piece of shit has a simple fucking bowl of cereal and OJ. So at that time, I already wanted to shove his hair-dyed head onto a fucking piping hot skillet. But it only got more annoying once I got up. For TWO hours, I waited to have my toast in peace. I managed, admittedly, to have my cereal and initial cup of soothing tea without interruption. But I wanted to chew my toast in private, too. In he comes, ready to wash his whopping 3 dishes...which somehow takes him 10 fucking minutes...and they're usually not even clean once he's done. Cue me reading the same paragraph of the business section of Wednesday's TIMES over and over, unable to process a word. Then, apparently finding NOT talking awkward, he opines on tomorrow's SOPRANOS. Not a syllable of what he uttered was a thought necessary to vocalize. But I issued my patented, curt, increasingly non-interested-beyond-human-belief "YEAH." I mean, to anyone with half a brain, it'd have been obvious YEARS ago that I don't care to partake in throwaway "conversations" to fill up silence. Shut the fuck up, and let me enjoy my cereal, OJ, toast, and endless cups of tea, please. And maybe eggs. Or pancakes. Either way, don't talk to me until, oh, 4pm...and even then, keep it short and make it noteworthy. THEN, he asks if the toilet was running last night 'cause he noticed it running when he came home, but then it stopped, and he wanted to tell the landlord. WHAT?!?!? WHAT?!?!?!?!??! I have NO idea what he's talking about. The toilet's fine...for once. When there IS a problem, it takes him 7 months to notice, and now when there's NONE, he wants to drag the landlord up!??! I began to wanna cry at this point. I left to make my bed while he finished washing his 3 dishes. Once back in the kitchen, I try to resume my breakfast. But HE is now in the bathroom...shitting...as is made painfully clear by the silence-grunting-silence-grunting rhythm. We HAVE a goddamn fan in there...PUT IT ON, YOU FUCKING MORON...so I don't have to HEAR you. I was nearly at the end of my rope...so I took a time out and soon took a shit, too...WITH the fan on. I TOLD you that Irish soda bread would come out about midday today. As soon as I opened the door to attempt for the 27th time to resume my breakfast, I hear this GODAWFUL noise. Four-Eyed Fucknut has decided he'd VACUUM now...for like the first time in months. I ALMOST made a running leap through the window, but decided to go into the living room and gaze out at the soothing water. He was soon back in the kitchen...radio on, chopping up cantaloupe...FURTHER delaying me. And THEN...he left. And I instantly made my toast, logged on, checked my email, and began this rant. I CANNOT tolerate living with this idiot much longer. SOMETHING must be done...and, no, not a bat to his head. Excuse me as I sip cup of tea #6...

"I'd like this played at my funeral -- I'm putting you in charge of that."

Gee, thanks, MOM! Is there something you want to TELL me? Happy St. Patrick's Day!! And so the topic of DEATH permeated this glorious (?) Irish holiday. But it dawned on me that death permeates just about all things Irish. Have you LISTENED to DANNY BOY??! The song mom yearns to be played at her funeral was some lovely Irish ditty called "The Queen of Knock" or something. I don't fucking know any Irish songs except for that one about Danny. I guess they can be festive, and they're certainly traditional for me, but I dunno, as I sat eating my corned beef, cabbage, potatoes, and carrots...they just seemed depressing and irritating to me. Or maybe that was just the sound quality of my DECEASED GRANDMOTHER'S RECORDS from the early 60s or so?!?!? Likely a bit of both. Mom sighed upon hearing me answer NO to her question of whether I knew any Irish songs. My heritage going down the drain. She was TRYING to pass these songs onto ME...don't I KNOW that?!?! OK, OK, great! Jesus. After dinner, I inhaled an unholy amount of fresh soda bread that mom baked; I think i'm gonna shit out a whole piece about noon tomorrow. And now, at 3am, i'm finally enjoying a Guinness. I think i'll go outside soon and smoke one of the 3 Parliaments my bro gave me upon returning from the NYC parade...only to zip off in his truck to a bar to continue drinking. Yes, I queried him on his state of being...fine to drive, he swore. Cue Marge Simpson groan. Wore my "Irish Party Animal" shirt for the 14th year in a row...still in perfect condition! Now THAT was worth the money! I'm still stuck on the fact that I actually made mental notes during dinner of what to play at my mother's funeral! And it's not the first time. What the fucking FUCK?! THIS is my life. I think the Jews and the Irish have a lot in common. Oy, vey, Danny!

WOWZA! THANK you, Sister Alice...comparing MOI to Shakespeare?!!

Good Lord, am I having fun and receiving much luck o' the Irish today! So I just came across a letter of recommendation for college from the very esteemed Sister Alice Boyle. I had forgotten her inspiring words about me when I was at such a tender age. Ah, but no more! They will be recorded in my blog...AND in my mind for years to come...carrying me through bad days, pushing me even harder on good ones! BLESS her heart when she wrote that "Gary believes, like Shakespeare did (!!!!, LOL), that brevity is the soul of wit. His writing is terse but concise, factual and clear. His organizational skills combined with a deep sense of responsibility have frequently enabled us to meet a deadline (for the yearbook)." As if I needed MORE reason to be full of myself. Oh, but more will come...later...when I document what my religion teacher said about me...

"Congratulations on your acceptance to SETON HALL UNIVERSITY."

"You will be entering a vibrant academic community here; I am sure that you too will make your contribution to our campus life." And that's how the first paragraph of five went way back when. Interesting to consider the many forks in the road of life, no? I don't regret not going there; I wanted to go away. It WOULD have been nice to have my college basketball team in the NCAA tournament, but you can't have everything. I DID give Seton Hall props, though, in a stirring on-air report on the tournament for my campus TV station...somehow, if memory serves correct, leaving out the heavy betting aspect of the hoops action. Stone Phillips, I was not...and thank GOD. Still scary, though. Well, that concludes my brief musing on college choices and my waaaaaaaay early TV career. I pray i'm the only one with the tapes...

POSSUM!!

Shortly after 1am now...just went for a quick walk through the hood. Delightful out...crisp, clear, mid 30s...kinda late October-ish. And there, creeping out of the alley of a house around the corner, right in my path, about 20 feet away, came what I first thought was a nice black pussycat. Kitty cat lingered, staring. THIS was no puttycat...it was a POSSUM!! YAY! I LOVE seeing possum...they're, to me, like some kind of urban wildlife (which, um, they ARE), making me think for a minute that i'm nestled in the woods, and not concrete Hudson County. And so the possum soon dove under a car. Then I saw a 2ND one! Could there be MORE, I prayed?! I went into the street, so as to avoid being cornered on a narrow sidewalk. The two possum soon emerged into the street and stopped, looking at me. I, too, stopped, from a relatively healthy distance, and proceeded to purr in my best kitty/doggy/now possum voice, "HELLLLLOOOOO there...how are YOUUUUUU....awwwwww, I seeeeeee you!"...and so forth. Perhaps rattled by my insane cooing, they raised their backs and scurried away to find more garbage to raid. I turned on my heel, smile on face, and resumed my leisurely 1am stroll, after quickly scanning the dark front porches for any signs of late night smokers who may have observed my nutty communing with nature. Rabid disease aside, they ARE cute motherfuckers. Reminds me of when I was playing manhunt as a 12-year-old, hiding in my grassy alley on the side of my house when a possum appeared on the fence. Like RIGHT next to me, though. Again, at first I thought it was a Kitty and was about to pet it, but soon made out the telltale white face. At that point, I froze and ever-so-slowly stepped away from what could have been a horrific neighborhood mauling. Then there's all the times Precious Baby Furball encountered a possum while taking a late night shit -- her piercing bark and growl waking all the neighbors as someone in my family invariably scream-whispered, "GINGER, get the hell in here!," while slamming our upper legs for emphasis. Later than sooner, Precious would relent and saunter inside. Ahhhh, NNJ possum memories. To think, an hour ago I had NOTHING to write about. My ponderous late night walks DO serve a greater purpose!

Ashley Parker Angel

Is this his real fucking name? ANY variation of those 3 names, applying to a 25-year-old male, irritates me. But i'm ACTUALLY here to...um, er, stammer, PRAISE him. Yes, compliment him. I just saw the video for this former O-Town idiot, I mean, singer's new single...and I liked it. I liked it VERY much. The song, that is. I'm not talking the visual edginess of the video. The SONG. I liked VERY much the new song from a solo Ashley Parker fucking Angel. I feel somewhat ashamed. But i'm putting it out there. If I didn't know who sang it, I'd be like WOW, AWESOME new tune...I NEED to get this single!! Kinda how I felt back in '89 when radio stations played SOLDIER OF LOVE for days, if not weeks...before announcing it was Donny Osmond. Clever ploy on their part...for once. Then everyone had to admit, yes, we DIG the new Donny Osmond song. And it proceeded to rise to #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart, unifying a nation. And, yes, I still buy singles. Fuck the IPod. I have a penchant for predicting hit songs, but more on that another time. For now...Ashley Parker Angel...dipshit name, but KICKASS new tune, BRO! That shit is SICK!!

VERY buzzed on the Ides of March

Almost 2am...just got in a bit ago from a rollicking night out. VERY exciting time. Went to BED and STEREO with Violet...and her friend from work, and HER friend. The Stereo part of it was a surprise. Saw 2 SNL guys I couldn't name if you paid me...but I KNOW they're on SNL. Didn't pay for a damn fucking thing. Drank all night, had some delish whore-derves, enjoyed meeting new people (including a Washburn lookalike and AMEX trader), and danced myself into the center of attention -- like it should be. And to boot...no lines for the men's room ALL night long, despite a mob scene! WHAT more can one ask for?! Well, more food...but i'm nitpicking. The food I DID swipe was incredible. I don't even know what the fuck I was eating. And the light rail "shortcut" I took indeed cut some time...as I dodged multiple lanes of traffic. OH! I canNOT forget mentioning that Washburn's doppelganger was STUNNED when I said I was 33...said I looked 25!!?! Made my YEAR...though I tend to daily agree. NOTHING about me screams 33 if you ask me. Violet and I had an absolutely incredibly drunken time. Bless her for bringing me. Rest of the day? Who cares...more streamlining. Sums it up. CHEERS to Wednesday debauchery...at 33!!

Boy Scout Jamboree, 1985

Yup, I was there. Pitched a tent and all...hehe. Hurricane Bob paid us a visit. Coincidentally, I'd endure hell on earth LIVING with a Bob years later. But fuck him. These are about HAPPY memories. You see, I came across my Jamboree manila envelope, as part of my ongoing Life Organizing. Letter from mom. Many buttons and badges. And the daily Jamboree newspapers we'd get, which I ate up like it was the New York Times. HAD to have my morning paper. Just unreal that it was 21 years ago. All the newspaper pics of eager young scouters...who are now in their 30s!?! It was a random delight coming across this shit. We arrived at sunrise in Virginia. I must not have slept much on the bus...a night owl even at twelve. I recall the joy of eating breakfast at a Hardee's. To this day, I don't know that i've been to a Hardee's except that time. Fond memories.

High school reunion soon...15 years. Not sure I wanna go. I detested high school in general. NO burning need to see anyone. I mean, I don't even have a "crew" to go with. I'm not one of those annoying people with 10 high school buddies who remain super close in their 30s. Too fucking AMERICAN GRAFFITI for me. I relate to basically NONE of the rosy all-American remembrances of high school. My high school was one giant John Hughes cliche. Of course, The People Who Mattered would disagree vehemently with me. But...i've ALWAYS said (well, at least since I first heard the Sinead lyric, hmm, IN high school)...THEY LAUGH 'CAUSE THEY KNOW THEY'RE UNTOUCHABLE, NOT BECAUSE WHAT I SAID WAS WRONG. Of course, I DO look pretty good...all my hair, non-gray, in shape...could be fun to present 2006 Gary. Let's not forget my lacerating wit. I could just sit at the bar with a select 2 or 3, viciously cutting into all around me. Hmm, this could go either way.

Can someone tell Kanye West to go away? Perhaps more annoying than supremely overhyped him, though, are his idiot fans. Speaking of idiot fans, I love THE SOPRANOS, too. But, fellow citizens, it's a TV show. Not real life. People like Dipshit Roomie talking it up MONTHS ahead of time. I. DON'T. CARE. Jesus fucking Lord, people who recite lines from TV or movies (e.g., my roomie)...ASKING to be thrown down a fucking circular staircase. As I type this, Shakira's new video...I see her singular "jackhammer up rectum" dancing style continues. Good for her. And good for me...'twas a lovely Tuesday. Kept that new sweater from mom...wore it tonight. And stole a chunk of her Irish soda bread. Full moon outside at 3:05am...

Bring It On, 33!! God, I love my vantage point from this computer...with BINOCULARS!!

Woke up (um, late, still very late) feeling totally free of melancholy and drama today...THANK CHRIST! It's really like Christmas...so much emphasis put on The Day. I'm fine now. In fact, revitalized. Steely confidence back. But fuck that shit. Let's talk about how I keep binoculars within arm's reach in the living room because of my incredibly expansive view...and because of the endless shit that goes down within said viewpoint. Like right now...how as I jerk my head to the left, I note 3 flashing cop cars a block away...and a man with his hands against his car. Doesn't look like gunfire tonight...not that there ever is...but give it time. I WILL be a key witness, I'm sure. I'm like REAR WINDOW, minus the wheelchair. In January, a tree fell on the house 2 doors down...and I saw a man being interviewed about it on my front porch on LIVE AT FIVE. See, it all happened while I slept, lol. I only woke when they were chainsawing down the tree. It's a great view, though. I'll miss it when i'm gone...whenever that day comes. Hmm, I need to make my first 2006 trip to the roof. Talk about a VIEW!

So today I cleaned/began streamlining yet ANOTHER area of my room/life. Won't bore with specifics, but it's VERY exciting. Didn't even take much time to begin. Most of my time was spent out and about in NYC this evening, seeing Stacie at work briefly, where I was treated to some free Mexican -- food. Mexican FOOD. There wasn't a whore/hustler/laborer in the office. Relished a walk from 37th and 5th down to 14th and 6th. Another mild night for it...50s. Just being out and about was wonderful. I didn't even walk THAT fast...though I WAS enraged at the Hoboken PATH by the sheer magnitude of slow-moving dolts. I mean, honestly, people. I'm not asking you to speedwalk. But getting from the train, up the stairs, through the turnstiles, and up to the street does NOT need to be the pace of OJ finding the real killers. I literally felt like SCREAMING. "What the FUCK is WRONG with all of you?!" A tired topic, my brisk pacing vs. the rest of humanity, I know...but I am ALWAYS just blown away. Every day. Able-bodied, YOUNG people...just moseying along. Ugh. But I DID enjoy my long walk...and lengthy stay in Barnes & Noble again. I was reading a story in Details about 20somethings wanting success NOW, please. No slow build for THEM. Um, I SO relate. Of course, I do. I DID only just turn thirty-three. I'm def more Gen Y in mentality. So once back in Hoboken, I risked my patience with ShopRite...but I did have to shop AND use my gift card. Well, I spent literally like an hour there...and bought 4 things. I DETEST that store. AWFUL parking lot layout. Understaffed. UnderSTOCKED. Infuriatingly blocked separate entrance to liquor store, forcing you to traipse through the entire food store. And ENDLESS agitating chipper young couples, using words like "hon" and "babe," debating calories/brands/what to bring to the party. Do Gary a favor, can everyone shop ALONE? And, of course, leave your cell at home, too. And to think i'm actually trying to be LESS angry. I think it's a losing battle. Let's face reality. The trick remains, I think, to avoid humans at all costs...to do EVERYthing at off-peak hours. Otherwise, I WILL become enraged. Like at the Egyptian-looking cuntrag at the SECOND ShopRite -- which overall was a most satisfying experience at 11pm, until I got to checkout, where the aforementioned stupid cunt had, I kid you not, an ENTIRE carriage full of stuff...in the 10 items or under lane. There were TWO lanes open. Regular and express. Dipshit cashier apparently didn't care. I said nothing. Merely cursed out loud as I raced to the regular line. Can you believe i'm actually in a GOOD mood?

It was 16 years ago today that I got my wisdom teeth ripped out of my mouth. Worst pain EVER. All 4 of them. Fond memories of rocking back and forth on my bed, gauze to bleeding mouth, wracked with pain, sobbing. Yes, sobbing. Pretty sight it was. And I still have the teeth. I'll fondle them before bed. In a small manila packet in my desk drawer. That day was the HOTTEST DAY SO EARLY IN MARCH locally EVER. Check the records. 1990. 85 in Central Park, 86 in Newark. Day after my 17th birthday. Can someone PLEASE pay me for my Rain Man-like memory?!?!

I'm done with this first post-birthday post. Was a good day. Productive. Good spirits again. HELL BENT on 2006 and 33 being positively grand! Move along...

B: MARCH 12, 1973

That's a creepy title. Thus, I enjoy it. It's also simple, to the point. Today IS my birthday. I have somehow made it to 33 years of age. 33. 33. 33. Say it with me. THIRTY-THREE. It wasn't the day I expected. Not a BAD day. Nothing awful happened. But not MUCH happened, period. Well, it became MELANCHOLY is what happened. Try as I might to fight it, I always seem to succumb to my Irishness. I try SOOOOO hard to "have a nice day"...not to get mad, not to let anything bother MY day. Often fails. Didn't help that today was dismal...gray, occasional light rain, and now, pea soup fog. At least it was warm...well, mild. One of my warmer birthdays. I stood in the yard at dusk with a Yeungling, under a full moon(!) and toasted myself. A fine moment. It actually had cleared up by then...a decent sunset. I got up so late, though...2:18pm...ha! Well, I DID go to bed at 7am!!?! I kept waiting for the roomie to hopefully leave before I got up...wanted breakfast in peace. And I got it...turns out he went out the entire time I thought he was in the living room. Tense for nothing. I checked email, read the paper, and had breakfast...before getting ready for the trip to the parents'. Naturally, the second I wanted to leave, the landlords and their daughters' families decided to come and go in the hallway...thus delaying my departure, as I had no interest in forced exchanges. Am I odd that way, too? I finally got to the parents' just before 6:30pm. And then the mood REALLY kicked in.

I don't know what it is about being at my parents' house. I very often get moody there. Listen, I was pleasant throughout. Didn't let my mood show. Mom cooked a great beef strogenoff (I KNOW that's spelled wrong, but don't care right now) with noodles and carrots thing...and salad, bread, my beer. Irish soda bread that I took home...mmmmm. My bro in a pleasant mood. Dad...well, dad was dad. But they were all wonderful...not their fault I was mulling my life over. Sure, dad rushed things as always, and proceeded to fold laundry at the table once he was done eating. His attitude can be wearying, but what can you do? Once The Dinner was over, it was time for the Gift Opening part of the evening. This was brief. Money, a ShopRite card, a set of sheets, a shirt and sweater. The sheets and clothes will likely be returned. Mom INSISTS on "something to open," even though I repeatedly tell her I am impossible to buy for. Gave mom my camera to record my staged shots. Dad sat slumped in the chair, about as unenthused as one could be. Lastly, the REAL fun...birthday cake! CARVEL ice cream cake, more to the point. Sweet Jesus, I have this cake EVERY year. So the assembly line production of the evening continued as candles were lit while I urinated for the 4th time, and soon...the most PATHETIC singing of HAPPY BIRTHDAY known to man. Mom actually trying to sing it right, dad rushing through it, brother more so "singing" in spoken-word form, NONE of them in sync. I was singing, too. Then, the audience is hushed as I lean in to make a wish...but I laugh, pull back...lean in again, instruct mom on when to take another staged picture, then finally BLOW those fuckers (the candles, that is) out, all in one long blow. I then cut my cake. Ate it. Had another piece. Ate it. Cleaned up. Fetched my laundry in the dryer. Folded it while watching SOPRANOS premiere. Packed up my 27 things, kiss/hug goodbye to all, ran in for milk at SR, brought shit in apt, parked car...took 11:30pm super relaxing stroll to Dunkin Donuts for what I THINK was some marshmallow-flavored latte. It was good. The shockingly easy parking space and latte were the PERFECT endings to the day. I began to feel less depressed once I got home. WHY is that?!?!

It's a one day thing, this mood. Always is. But I AM super motivated by the passage of time. I feel it like never before. Just before I left my parents', I sat for a few minutes staring at my baby pictures. STARING at them. There I was, a newborn in the Nixon era. A smiling baby so full of hope and promise. I have GOT to jumpstart fulfilling that promise. Jesus fucking Christ! It's not easy having this mind of mine. Every single day is a choice...get depressed or keep on keeping on. SOMEHOW I generally maintain a pretty positive outlook. Something to do with my basic belief that i'm a fucking WINNER, irrational life choices aside. I'm forever aware, though, how precarious that tightrope is between the two states of mind. I desperately want this year of my life to be a POSITIVE turning point. I think that smiling baby of 1973 -- and his mom and dad -- deserve better.

32's Last Gasp Gently Morphs Into 33

So it's fucking 5:02am (!?)...HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!! I'm NOT gonna cry if I want to...but I don't want to. I hung out my window at midnight singing to myself. I also did a shot of Jameson's about 3am. In the last hour, I came back from a half-hour walk, moved my car to a better spot, rearranged my arsenal of videotapes so one of my piles of shit could fit by them and get off the fucking floor, dusted parts of my room, and now begin my blog. What I've always loved about March 12 being my birthday is how it's truly one of the very few times of the year where it can either be 80 and sunny or 8 with a blizzard, and anything in between. Last year during my night-before walk, it was snowing -- an inch or two, tops. Now...low 50s. Delightful! I went to view the NYC skyline and just generally pondered. Looked up at fancy loft apts and wondered why I'M not living there?!?! But no feeling sorry for myself. Little time for that. I'm full of ambition and drive. Lord, I shouldn't write quite SO late...I have too much to say, too little time, and too little brain cells left to properly convey my thoughts. It was a great, soothing, solitary walk. Like spring outside. I walked down the middle of the street...backwards briefly....staring back at NYC...and yearning to dip my feet into the Pacific within the year. Yearning for a lot.

It was a good day...despite the relatively brief period when I feared I was having a heart attack behind the wheel -- my prophecy coming true. More on that in a minute. So I got up JUST as the roomie left. It's often like that if he leaves early enough for wherever and I wake late enough...12:30pm was the time today. I DID go to bed at 6am...as I will today, if not later. So I got to enjoy a delightful breakfast in peace. I even had a "special treat" -- apple and cinnamon oatmeal. Did I mention the PEACEful part of that? He stayed gone for a good 2 hours...just as I prepped to go! YAY! I paid a bill, then decided to check out an easier way to get to the nearby light rail on foot. Sure, I have to dodge lanes of traffic, but dammit, if it saves time.... I WAS gonna walk or even jog (!) the Jersey City waterfront, but I randomly decided to go the OTHER way...and drove up the, er, coast to Edgewater, checking out all the development...my main goal being to land my ass at Barnes & Noble to seek out an LA Times. No dice on the paper...but I DID find myself fascinated by SURFER Magazine. Page after page of awesome waves, palm trees, sunrises, sunsets...and surfer fashion. I decided then and there I want to totally revamp my look...officially become Surf Dude. I will first seek out Hurley's Puerto Rican boardshorts. I REALLY more and more like the idea of whiplash-inducing change. Just drastically overhaul every motherfucking thing anyone thinks they know about me. OOOOO, the fun! Ok, so that's a tad dramatic, but even doing that to a lesser degree would be wildly entertaining. Anyway, I tore myself from SURFER to the travel section, where I immersed myself in guides on SoCal. I even took a cue from the rest of the goddamn store and parked my ass on the floor. A few loud fucks, particularly the ones on their cells, annoyed, but overall it was a shockingly relaxing bookstore visit...not to mention informative and inspiring. And THEN...

NIGHTMARE fucking traffic. I will NEVER travel River Road again unless it's 3am. EVER. The scope of the traffic was amazing. TOO much development, people!! It was soon after I was fully in it that...well, i'm just not sure...I got edgy and nervous and kept trying to take deep breaths. No pain. No gasping for breath. But I DID make sure my cell was in my lap JUST in case. I wasn't even that pissed at the traffic, so it's not like I was enraged into a heart attack. I GUESS it was a mild panic attack, a la Tony Soprano, minus smashing things from fainting. I've had these before. All self-diagnosed, of course. Briefly, I worried I'd die JUST before my birthday. It WAS a bit scary, especially being at the wheel of a car. But I think that actually added to it, as the traffic DID start getting on my nerves, as I JUST wanted to get out into fresh air. And once home...I was fine. As soon as I got out of the car, it was like I exhaled. What the FUCK?! I had ANOTHER frozen pizza for My Last Meal, another cup of tea, and settled in for the night. The roomie never came back even! This HAS been a great day! I only pray he doesn't come home till after I've had my Birthday Breakfast. Sonofabitch. What else? Hmm, as it nears 6am...oy...oh, thanks to Erik for my first bday greetings. Bless his heart extra for commenting on my "Hulk-like" physique...well, more so wondering if I still had it. HA. Um, YEAH! You bet I do! I also cut my hair a bit today. And took some self-pics to (hopefully) document my stunning youthful beauty. Now we're really slumming at the bottom of the barrel of personal musings. See, I just feel like I had a couple other Big Things to say. Damn. As dawn is now breaking over Manhattan...I pray I'm not in this same apt, with this same roomie, next year. PLEASE!! And that's the LEAST of my Big Wishes. Oh, yeah, I was born at 3:41am...i'm pretty sure. SO perfect. I was on my walk at that time.

So, 32...I hardly knew ya. It wasn't a bad year. I'd have preferred living alone on a half-million dollar salary. But it was what it was. And I did what I did...or didn't. Over and done. Successes...they ain't always so easily measured. Most think The Job, The Car, The House, The Spouse, The Baby. But I had a few successes. I'll hold those dear. And I DID so like the very number 32, lol. So EVEN and solid. Now I have to deal with an odd numbered year. On the other hand, I vastly enjoyed 11 and 22...so I pray 33 continues that numerical Good Times pattern. It's 6:06am...time to put 32 to rest. Farewell, and thank you.

One Half Hour Remains...

...until the Second Coming of Christ! OK, actually, until i'm THIRTY-FUCKING-THREE. Gee, I certainly haven't hid my age on this blog. I'm waiting on my 4th choice Breyer's butter pecan ice cream to thaw. My top 3 choices -- Edy's, Turkey Hill, Friendly's -- were NOT on sale this week. Friendly's NEVER is, dammit. Why IS that? SNL just started, Amy Poehler front and center. How very odd to see her now, post-UCB "intimate" show. Jesus Christ, SNL needs a new announcer. Sounds like he's taking his last breath with every word. I'd like to look like Matt Dillon 10 years from NOW. Fuck Brad Pitt. Yes, Matt looks good for someone in his early 40s. Youthful, relevant. This is one of the top reasons celebrities exist for me. Screw their "talent." Do they look good at 35, 40, 45? Wearing clothes that are hip and that i'd wear? Debuting at #1 at the box office and on the Billboard charts? Relevant to the teens? Springsteen was in his mid 30s when BORN IN THE USA exploded. I was twelve. And to a healthy degree, in his mid 50s, he's still youthful and relevant. Yes, HE is someone I'd like to pattern myself after. YES, i'm obsessed with age. Yes, I'll end this entry now and inhale my ice cream during the final 15 minutes. And so far, SNL sucks...as usual.

75 Degrees! Fresh Cut Grass! Surprise Visit From Cousins! (Who Were IN Southern CA!) And SOOOO Much More!!

DAMN if this Final Week of 32 hasn't gone out on a delirious high! My head is spinning from the many experiences of today. Sadly, despite being wide awake after some 7 cups of tea in the 10-11pm hour, it IS 4:10am, and I don't wanna be up till dawn writing, so I fear a more flowery description of my day will be lost. **I interrupt this breathless blog entry to issue a brief personal note to E.T. (aka Anonymous) -- I fear staying at my place isn't an option, and I feel like a complete PRICK saying that. Your re-analysis of NYC vs. LA is most surprising, and I DO love surprise. I won't bore the masses further (more than usual), so PLEASE email me at "my first and last name" all in lowercase@hotmail.com, and once you do, i'll ramble in full. Sigh to life's evil catch-22s.

So it hit 75 today!!!!!!! WOW! Once I stumbled out of bed at another obscenely late hour, I didn't see sun and figured the weatherpeople fucked up again. SO glad I was wrong for once. Sure, we had dangerous 50mph gusts ushering in said RECORD-BREAKING warmth, but you can't win em all. Being my birthday weekend and all, I "treated" myself to a bus instead of walking to the PATH, and got to my parents' much easier and earlier than I would have. Ah, but my first gardening gig of the season took place before I saw the 'rents. Glorious to be outdoors amongst nature again! Oh, wait, but along the way, in "the blue alley," I sauntered past a groundskeeper mowing the little league!! YAY!! Fresh-cut grass filled the air with the hope of spring, only further electrifying the spring in my step. I lingered in the yard of my gardening gig at dusk, savoring the air and silence. From there...the parents' insanity, er, house. Some rather irritating moments were replaced with glee once the phone rang...Barb was at Tops, would we like to join them? Huh? I was beyond baffled...but our cousins who JUST moved to Indianapolis from the shore...well, they were here...just landed at Newark from their Hawaii/Los Angeles trip. SO...over they came, along with Kay, about 830pm or so. I'd been sent to ShopRite for baked goods to accompany the inevitable jugs of tea, and they arrived in the 25 minute span of my absence. They regaled us with vacation anecdotes...and I peppered them with SoCal queries. They liked San Clemente...hmmmmm...I later realized San Clemente is the town pictured on a mag cut-out that has graced my wall for years. In short, their trip and stories were YET ANOTHER "Gary, can there BE more signs to get your ass there?!" experience. I also got another "if you're GONNA do it, now's the time," too. YES! I can't believe the randomness of their coming...so unexpected...such a WONDERFUL evening. They left about 11:15. THEY'D brought 2 desserts to add to the 2 I bought...so I proceeded to have about 10 pieces of 4 kinds of cake. HA! Along with the tea, of course. It's getting later...nearing 5am...so i'll end this now. A GREAT way to commence my birthday weekend!

Actually, i'll end with 2 quotes from my parents that only begins to illustrate the insanity that is my life...
1) "YOU should join the Air Force...you'd be good at it." -- Dad, to me, as we both sat on the couch, me half reading a paper, Dad mesmerized by a Weather Channel report on our troops in Iraq and the elements they faced, before he switched to SAVING PRIVATE RYAN, again drawn in by the sight of helmuts and gunfire. My reply? "How the hell do YOU know? What are you TALKING about?!"
2) "You and your brother can EACH have one (when I'm dead)." -- Mom, to me, referencing her 2 separately fossilized baby shoes, after painstakingly explaining the story of how she manipulated the Baby Shoe Guy into putting BOTH mine and my bro's shoes each on ONE base, as she "didn't need FOUR bookends." My reply? None. She was cleaning up in the kitchen, while I was in the dining room. I merely sighed, made a "whatthefuck?!" face, and rolled my eyes at her latest breezy mention of how her possessions should be parcelled out once she's dead.

HEY, you...Erik T...I seeeeeee you...get your hand away from there!

YES, ERIK...i'm reading your remarks, and i'm obscenely grateful for them...as no one ELSE seems to be moved enough to leave tear-stained commentary. It's a delight to be read and appreciated. The inspiration is reciprocal. Funny, I was just thinking of you, Erik (as I continue like we're having a personal chat) -- in the bathroom, where I do some of my best thinking. I was wondering if you'd left for LA as planned & yearned to view a spy-cam of your every mile logged. MORE fun would be if I secretly stalked you, following your every move until I popped out from behind my tribal mask and made myself visible to you on the Santa Monica Pier. Sadly, that's not happening. Honest. I'm NOT writing this from a few yards away. Maybe next year, though. Wow, you've given me a whole blog's entry if I stopped right now...but I'll end this Personal Note to Erik now, and commence with whatever the fuck else comes to mind.

I like the nuttiness of that first paragraph. I think i'll start writing/doing really zany things to broaden the entertainment, provoke, push boundaries (ooooooo, how I love to do that), see if people are paying attention. To court COMMENTARY. OR I could simply write things like how the highlight of TODAY was inputting 2 months' worth of receipts into my "ledger," working out a bit & doing some extended yoga moves, dusting all the pictures that hang on my apt. walls, and walking to Pathmark at 10pm with Madonna's SORRY pulsating over and over on my NON-Ipod aural device. Would THAT be enough for this blog to become one of the world's most heavily trafficked, resulting in bidding wars to sign me for a multiple book deal? Judith Regan, where ARE you?!?! Christ, it's almost 3am. I really should prep for bed. A long weekend awaits...of big finishes, fresh starts, balmy weather, and ample plotting. Exxxxcellent, Smithers...decapitate the body and bury the corpse...

THE SOURCE of my swanky evening...

...was the Hungarian Goddess. God bless her. After more transportation annoyances and errors than I can count, we finally made our way to LIBATION on Ludlow Street for the party for this month's issue of THE SOURCE. Never in my life did I imagine I'd utter such a sentence. Fun! Shortly past 8pm, we enter. Shortly past 8:15pm, we're wondering why the fuck we have to pay for drinks when, historically at these affairs, it's "on them." Brooklyn Lager...mmmm. Lord knows, I certainly didn't plan on forking $16 over for 2 drinks. Christ, I barely HAD that much on me. But you know what...I did. And I don't care. What's done is done. It was a different, fun evening. Especially for a Wednesday. I'm very proud of how un-pissed off I was about having to pay. We had our own table, enjoyed each other's witty banter, and got a free drink from "the rep," all the while vastly amused that we were soooooooooo the slim filling of a very jumbo Oreo cookie. I felt fine, though...not remotely uncomfortable. I've long said I'm "street." To boot, I got a car service ride all the way over to 10th Avenue & 40th. Yay! It was a great night out. I looked fucking great. I felt fucking great. GREAT! And now, I enjoy GOLDEN GIRLS. Great! Damn, that issue of THE SOURCE looks great on my living room table...

So what'cha, what'cha, what'cha want?

Caught The Beastie Boys on a Letterman repeat tonight. I just wanna say KUDOS to them! They are all around 40 and still gettin it done. As hip in music and dress and attitude as ever. PROOF one doesn't need to turn more vanilla by the week post-The Big Three-Overrated-Oh. There's increasing proof of this, but the Boys were a particularly glaring example...during a week when I needed to see one. Don't have much to say today compared to the past 2 days of being overly stimulated, but the overall thought on my mind all day long was the shocking death of Dana Reeve. I almost said sudden, too, but when you have lung cancer, I don't think that word fits quite right. But shocking it is. Only 44-years-old. Sounds insane to reference Kathie Lee Gifford, but she had the last interview with Dana -- for THE INSIDER, that most agitating of overcaffeinated celeb chaos -- a mere 7 weeks ago. Dana looked fine, sounded fine. Looked GREAT, actually. I don't want to dwell on this too long; it's too sad, and I just wrote about DEATH 3 days ago. Plus, there's not much TO say that's original. But her death, for a variety of reasons, is one of those that resonates more than most. Just doesn't make any sense to me. Such a vibrant, good person, cut down in the prime of life. I feel so bad for her son. What a horrific roll of the dice this poor kid's had. God Almighty. I'm sitting at a computer at 2am, just done my cocoa, feeling great. And although the daily annoyances of life can wear me out, I'm just so goddamn grateful to be here. And YOU should be, too. THIS is why, people of the world, I get so infuriated with the tortoise-like pacing of most around me...TIME!! It's ticking, ticking, ticking. Hear it? Listen to that clock on the wall. It's your life going by. If I don't HAVE to sit at that light for the 1,394th time in my life, I don't WANT to. Does ANYONE get this?!?! LIFE. IS. SHORT. I'd rather be doing something I like or with people I love than sitting at that light. MOVE IT!!!!!

I Shared A Room With Bob Schieffer!

I'm more exhausted by the minute...after some 27 hours of INHALING life. Visits by Brian and/or Erik always leave me that way. There remains a slim chance I could see them again tomorrow, but I'm not counting on it. Brian stayed in the "guest bedroom" and we woke late, had a leisurely breakfast, got ready, then jetted to my parents'. Not sure where the roomie is...STILL not home since Sat. afternoon...but i'm not complaining. The silence is bliss. So after Brian had a joyous reunion with my parents, and mom drove us to the train station, we made our way to the World Trade Center, which Brian hadn't seen post-9/11. From there, a walk down Wall Street, then a stroll to Chinatown, where we met The Others, and we all wound up in an empty Chinese restaurant. Brian and I wolfed down some items and green tea before racing on foot to the Canal Street 6 train. We met the Hungarian Goddess in her elegant lobby and couldn't make it fast enough to the LIVE BAIT bar on 23rd, where Bri and I downed Yuenglings on tap and The Goddess savored a pina colada. Lively chatter ensued throughout. Sadly, we couldn't stay longer, as Bri and I had to make a 6pm COLBERT REPORT taping. Again, I zipped through NYC rush hour crowds with effortless ease, looking behind constantly to make sure Bri was keeping pace. He did well. Damn east-west blocks. Did NO ONE ever think an extreme West Side subway was necessary?! We were a mere 11 minutes late. I've never seen the COLBERT REPORT before. It seemed to me that the crowd was largely made up of bizarrely sycophantic semi-freaks who knew the pacing of the show inside and out. But, even at Letterman, whom I worship, I never seem to find the shows i'm AT as amusing as the ones I view at home. I'm too obsessed with analyzing the behind the scenes workings of everything and everyone. Also, I think this was the first audience I've been a part of since my "TV career" began, and it just seems UNNATURAL for me to be in that position. I felt like I should be running around the set. Then there's the whole warm-up act/audience prep talk bullshit squarely aimed at the yokels visiting from Iowa who can't believe they're in a TEEEEEEVEEEEEEE studio. Yes, I'm acting hoity-toity. No, I don't care. The comedian was actually someone from one of "my" shows, but I forget which one. He did the whole "where ya from, who's married?" bit, before advancing to unspeakably awkward, "just kidding around" fave sexual position on-the-spot questioning. NOT amusing...in that setting, at least. And I just have ZERO patience for the "you can do better than that!" CLAP YOUR HANDS AND YELL REALLY LOUD speech. Oy, vey! And yet...I seemed to be the ONLY one not into it. Blah, blah, get the show rolling is how I feel. I'll clap and laugh if inspired...as I WAS when I first saw Bob Schieffer stroll out, avuncular as ever. Now i've long held a bias for CBS News, dating back to Walter Cronkite. Dan Rather greatly amused with his bizarre Texas wit and general ticking time bomb personality. And now Bob...GREAT!! I loooovvvvvvve Bob Schieffer. He is indeed comforting to have in one's living room...and a solid newsman. He's real...nothing fake about him. So I DID whoop it up for Bob. He was by far the best part of the show...very funny and at ease, mocking CBS' ancient demos. We even gave him a standing ovation. Bravo, Bob! Erik's girlfriend's sister worked there...then gave us a bit of a tour. Bonus fun. And then we got pizza. And then I gave the 2 brothers and 3 sisters heartfelt hugs on gritty 42nd Street before watching them descend into the subway system that would take them to Brooklyn. Soon, I was home, too. Christ, how is it 3am already? And why does my lower right jaw hurt? Perhaps from cracking it? Or maybe my incessant gum chewing of the past 2 nights. All I know is that I've had a WONDERFUL beginning to the last week of my 32nd year. Five more days to continue the BANG!

Upright Citizens Brigade!!

It's 3:40am and my dear old friend Brian is a few feet from me on my couch, both of us enjoying the Don Knotts' death-inspired THREE'S COMPANY marathon on TV Land. Well, as if Brian and his brother's relatively last minute visit wasn't a joyous enough way to commence the final week of my 32nd year, we went to see the "Asssscat" show at the UPRIGHT CITIZENS BRIGADE. I had no idea what or WHO to expect...so imagine my delight when I saw SNL's Amy Poehler and Seth Meyers standing right in front of me!! Now, listen, I'm no huge SNL fan lately...but honestly, and i'm not kissing ass, these 2 are pretty consistently funny, no matter how lame the skit. It was a very interesting, different, fun evening. I've been meaning for years to partake in a show. And it's sooooooo cheap! Even those destitute like me can afford it. I mean, literally, the second show on Sunday is FREE! We saw the $8 first show...then lingered outside long enough to realize there were still seats available for the 2nd show...so went back in! HA! Horatio Sanz appeared for this second act, too. Maybe I should take a class there? Or SOMETHING? It has its appeal somewhat. Somewhat. Who knows. Who cares. Right now, i'm not worried about my career, my piles, or my LIFE. FUCK IT. Right now, I'm enjoying a longtime friend's visit. Period. A delightful evening! And the fun only continues tomorrow!

My PILE of Obituaries

Yet again I reference my mysterious Piles. I have NEVER been closer to being rid of them...but in this final push, at just before 4am, I came upon a whole bunch of obits...for people I didn't even know. Yes, there are some obits that I come across that I am just so struck by, that so move me...of YOUNG people, usually relatively local...that I cut them out and save them...for the same reason as always -- generally to remind myself of the preciousness of life. Surely I'm the only one who does this? Two that I just came across...Eric Kumpf and Michael Curtin. Eric was 30 in 2003 when he died. He lived in Hoboken. He was one of the dozen people killed in a Chicago porch collapse. A PORCH collapse...during a party. Completely senseless. Michael was only 23 when he died in March of 2003...and the first NJ serviceperson to die in the Iraq war. I have a few things from the paper cut out about him. Not a word is easy to read. But I can't get over how someone so young volunteers to go to Iraq. It's beyond brave. Then I can't get over how someone so young is taken away from us. Whatever one thinks of the war, there are ENDLESS faces of young people who have died far from home in the hope of making a better world for the rest of us. The VERY least I can do is look at their face, read their name, and get to know their story. Michael Curtin, 23, from Howell, NJ is one of those faces of the war for me. And Eric Kumpf was someone my age, from the same area, took the same PATH train, went to the same bars...who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. It's all a gift...every second. Gotta remember that. THAT is why I cut out those obits. THAT is partly what constitutes the piles i'm painfully sifting through and organizing. THAT is why I should absolutely get my ass to see a Pacific Ocean sunset ASAP. We are NOT promised tomorrow.

Spring Break!!

It WOULD be Spring Break, that is, if I were still in college. Today would be the start of it. I'd be on I-95 or I-81 or I-40 now, wheeling toward FL. We'd start with 25 degrees and a snow-covered ground and end up, less than a day later, in 75 degree bliss under swaying palm trees. Extremely heavy sigh. I could totally still be into it, and I don't think i'd remotely resemble someone out of OLD SCHOOL. I don't look 20, but I don't look...well, remotely like I totally don't belong in a hedonistic setting, either. Maybe I could finally funnel now? I never quite mastered it. I'm still into drinking Beast on the beach. And clubbing. But what's funny, as I REALLY sit here and transplant myself back to those years, is how i'm pretty much the same person in a social way. Back then, I was into straying from the insanity and taking hour walks through town and down the beach and out onto the pier. And i'm still that way. I guess what I mean is that I was always the thinking, pondering, don't-wanna-brag-but-somewhat-more-mature-than-my-peers type. I turn it on, and I turn it off. I'll drink like a nut, dance like a freak, usually know my limit, then stop...and end the night with a wistful, solo walk by the ocean...as My Crew is passed out on the floor. Others who were drunken idiots are now "respectable" parents in the suburbs, one giant swing of the pendulum. I, meanwhile, remain the same. And don't get me started on those who, at twenty-fucking-one, were "over" getting "too crazy." SOOOOOO fucking mature, weren't they? THEY'RE ready for marriage and settling down and living a quiet life. Oh, my GOD, how fucking pathetic and boring. GET THE STICK OUTTA YOUR ASSES!! Jesus, it's a struggle not to name names. Even writing vague things like this could surely incite friction if the right people read it. But I don't get anyone. I'm always the one over THERE, wondering what the fucking fuss is about. It's the same old thing...just being bored by people who used to be fun. Back in the 1920s, it seems. It's nothing personal. I just don't get it. And it doesn't even have to involve A Baby, or for that matter, even marriage. But I guess that's my lot in life...never doing What Everybody Else Is Doing, at the Chosen Time...and feeling terribly out of the loop...even though I have no desire in the world to have The Spouse, The Baby, and The Suburban House. I simply have a desire to be part of The Conversation. Well, here's to all the kids havin' a ball this week in balmy Florida! Enjoy it while you can.

MENSA...for me?

I honestly need to take an IQ test, because I've been convinced for years that i'm a genius. I'm NOT being funny. Not remotely. It's the ONLY explanation for why i'm constantly enraged by all kinds of stupidity -- from book smarts to current events to social skills to common sense. You name it. Now, listen...my grades in both high school and college were painfully average...but more so because the many highs were evened out by EMBARRASSING lows. But i'll argue to the death that it's because I had some kind of undiagnosed A.D.D. and my head was just constantly all over the place. VERY hard for me to focus. Same thing with my very blah SAT score. Certainly not AWFUL, but sooooooooooo not great. But i'm bright. Very bright. And a vastly underrated manipulator. Many others are much brighter in select areas. But OVERALL, in the game of life, I think I have it fuckin goin on. **Let me note I'm an excellent speller, and i've heard MANY times that good spelling correlates to great smarts. Amusing if something's spelled wrong here. Oh, but listen to me brag! My point is that I really, really need an answer! It would explain my daily rage that has consumed me for years! I'd make photocopies and barely argue...just say SHUT THE FUCK UP once, in a controlled manner, and hand over the proof. And I could shoot archery with Geena Davis! God, I MUST make this happen! Of course, an IQ test is...a test. And I don't test well. Well, i'll take it over and over a la Elaine Benes. And if you never hear me talk about this again? It means I took the test and i'm technically retarded.

In the "what I did today" segment of our show...the same as all week. It's funny how whole weeks take on their own storyline. College, college, college this week...reviewing, discarding, remembering, researching, seeking out, being inspired. NOT inspired is Harry Connick, Jr.'s haircut. Did anyone else catch his fucking Flock of Seagulls 'do on Letterman? Jesus Christ, just when I thought he couldn't annoy me more. Although he DID look particularly goofy, which I'm happy about. I'm no Paul Newman, I know, but I'm not lauded as one...as Harry is. He is one ODD looking motherfucker. And he stars in films with Ashley Judd. Horrible. Just horrible.

Horrible also describes my feelings over a dud snowstorm. MAYBE an inch...not the 4-7" they said. Idiots. However, there IS a fine glaze of picturesque ice on all the trees and bushes...always a plus. Naturally, there was a slew of auto accidents with the usual intrepid reporters interviewing the usual idiots going too fast, sliding off the road, crashing into a tree, and having their roof shorn off. "I don't know how it happened," the lucky survivors plea. Riiiiiiiiiight. Maybe going 70 on a curving stretch of road on a sheet of ice? Maybe that? Dumb fucks. Alrighty, i'm done today's little session. Oh, last night, I DID dip my finger in my cigar remnant and make the sign of the cross on my forehead...just for 3am kicks. I'm hoping it's good luck for a year. Who wants to join me in bed for THE JEFFERSONS?

In Like A...What Exactly?

THE FIRST OF MARCH!?! Aaaaaaaannnnd Ash Wednesday...which I completely forgot about until I saw the 11pm news. Well, to honor the start of perhaps my fave month, i'm gonna soon go out to finish the pricy cigar I began smoking like a month ago, so I can maybe put it out on my forehead, thus getting that trendy ash effect. I'll even mutter the "dust to dust" bit to myself. I actually always liked being reminded of my mortality on Ash Wednesday...I found it sobering, even calming. I'm an odd bird. And what a glorious, crisp way to ring in March weatherwise. SNOW looms, too!! SURPRISE snow...always the best. Today completed my exhausting review of TEN YEARS' worth of college magazines. Annoying, informative, necessary. Glad it's done. One more day and i'd go nuts. But it's continued to provoke correspondence with fellow alumni...a good thing. So two months down in 2006. I'm pretty fucking happy with it so far. A lot of "prepping" for bigger things. Hmm, I really do need to re-think this blog, though. Shows how easily bored I get...as i'm already, well, bored by it. The novelty's already gone after only a month. I...just...don't...know. I feel like my amusing tirades (if I DO say so myself) have morphed into rambling, psychobabble (like now)...and if so, do I really wanna share that with God knows who? Eh, I'll likely keep writing SOMETHING on here for a good time to come, but I need to keep it witty and concise. Or do I? Christ, have you seen the OTHER blogs out there? OK, I think it's time for that front porch cigar smoke. CHEERS to March!!!!!