Tuesday, April 29, 2003

True Tomato Panic 04.29.03.

Hells yeah. This weekend, Pico went a searchin’ for that proper budonkadonk to join the brigade. I wish I could tell you that’s true, because it’s better than some of the truth:

Pico’s been doing research and not for his master’s in bedroom philosophies or budonkadonk. But in between reading more about Bill + Hillary’s Health Security Act than Pico cares to, Pico also—

Watched the NFL Draft. Y’all know I’m a sports fan so wipe that look of your faces. Caught up with the marrieds Matt + Angie and Mr. Raycroft over beers that double as weight training accoutrements. Sam Cowart and some of the other Jets showed up and I ain’t shitting you, Joe Namath was in the house;

took hot pictures with New Top and Pixel. The scene was the Pixel pad and some bar near Baraza which is barely worth mentioning, except that it was humid with fraternity men and desperation;

Took a walk with Gully and Nicole through the festival/ DJ set-up in Tompkins Square Park. Nicole commented that the park was filled with dirty people. Either because they’re young/ sweaty/ raver-types/ tattooed/ smoking. Or some other reason. Pico said, “yeeeah,” in a voice deep to send trills up your spine;

Drank one nasty tasting margarita that nevertheless put me down.

Thursday, April 24, 2003

Toronto Panic 04.24.03

Major league baseball asks its players to be careful in Toronto; fears of a SARS outbreak has them skittish. Some of the suggestions to players visiting the Blue Jays in the Skydome include:

* Do not lick the bathroom stalls in the local hospital, even if it is part of your good luck routine.

* When confronted with large crowds of people trying to take your picture or touch you or otherwise be a fan, punch one firmly in the nose. Stand over them and let everyone know you are willing to punch more people.

* Do not go into the stands for a beer between innings. Even if Molson is more golden delicious than that Miller Genuine Draft or Bud Light swill in the American ballparks.

* There are rumors of Weapons of Mass Destruction in the CN Tower. Pull it down and cheer, for Canada now is free!

* Do not see the hookers. We mean it this time.

* If a ground ball comes at you in the Skydome, jump out of the way and wave your hands like a terrified toddler.

* Beat Ken Huckaby. He hurt Derek Je-tah's sacred shoulder.

* In the case of a player contracting SARS, they will be traded to said Blue Jays; the rumor that the Blue Jays are sending the virus airborne through the vents when the Yankees are in town is unsubstantiated.

Wednesday, April 23, 2003

P.P.S 04.23.03

Friendster has me reverting to the 12 year old girl I once was.

While I'm at it, the phrase that pays for the month is "sucka-free." Thanks to Arroz. I hope to maintain this blog-web as a sucka-free stage. Fresh! For The naughty ought-trey, you non-suckas!
P.S. 04.23.03

On a completely less serious note:

* Anyone up for drinkland tonight?

* Should the booty brigade be open to all?
Pee-Yay 04.23.03

I had a whole post about Monica Lewinsky and Fox' new show Mr. Personality;

I was going to open a debate about the booty brigade and whether we should just open it to everyone;

But Jenna sent me this article and I thought it was interesting, a little detail about the fundamental political argument going on these days. So I put it up instead. This is an article about the Senator from Pennsylvania, Rick Santorum. And his very conservative values. I wonder, where is the Democratic/ leftist/ liberal counter to this guy?

Here's an excerpt; here is a link to the whole article, from the Washington Post.

"If the Supreme Court says that you have the right to consensual (gay) sex within your home, then you have the right to bigamy, you have the right to polygamy, you have the right to incest, you have the right to adultery. You have the right to anything," the Pennsylvania lawmaker said in a recent interview, fuming over a landmark gay rights case before the high court that pits a Texas sodomy law against equality and privacy rights.

"All of those things are antithetical to a healthy, stable, traditional family," Santorum said. "And that's sort of where we are in today's world, unfortunately. It all comes from, I would argue, this right to privacy that doesn't exist, in my opinion, in the United States Constitution."

It's this kind of strong ideology plus ambition that has propelled Santorum, 44, through the ranks of the Senate Republican leadership at what his GOP colleagues describe as a meteoric pace. After fewer than 10 years in the Senate, Santorum is No. 3 in the GOP leadership, serving as the party's conference chairman.

Monday, April 21, 2003

Soap 04.21.03

* Will Brown-Boy contact the booty brigade?

*Can Pico escape his papers and get an alcoholic drink?

*Will Pico be able to one day shave without leaving bumpy remnants?

*Now that the US has found an Iraqi scientist to supposedly corroborate the existence of "WMD" a/k/a Weapons of Mass Destruction, and a possible move of said WMD to Syria, will G-Dub the National Shrub lay waste to the Syrian countryside?

Friday, April 18, 2003

Never Too Much 04.18.03

Soul crooner Luther Vandross suffered a stroke:

LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - R&B singer-songwriter Luther Vandross, who has battled weight and health problems for years, has suffered a stroke just days before his 52nd birthday, his record label said on Thursday.

Vandross, a five-time Grammy winner who launched a successful comeback two years ago, was undergoing medical treatment after being stricken on Wednesday, J Records said in a statement.

"Vandross is under medical care, and his family and friends are hopeful for a speedy recovery," Carmen Romano, the entertainer's business manager, said in the statement.

His whereabouts were not disclosed, and officials at New York-based J Records were not immediately available for comment.

Famed for his silky, soulful crooning as well as for his songwriting and production prowess, Vandross turns 52 on Sunday. Since launching his solo career in 1981 after a successful stint as a back-up vocalist for the likes of David Bowie and Bette Midler, he has sold more than 20 million records worldwide.

"There are vocalists, and then there's Luther," Motown singer-songwriter Smokey Robinson told Rolling Stone magazine in 1990. "Luther's in a class by himself."

for more of the Reuters article, click here.
More Than Meets This Guy 04.18.03

If you haven't heard yet, Optimus Prime is providing fire protection in Iraq. This was just brought to my attention. I never freaking knew! Who didn't tell me about this one? Here is a link to his blog.

An article:

CUYAHOGA FALLS -- A member of Ohio's 5694th National Guard Unit in Mansfield legally changed his name to a Transformers toy. Optimus Prime is heading out to the Middle East with his guard unit on Wednesday to provide fire protection for airfields under combat. "On Sunday, we were awarded as the best firefighting unit in the Army National Guard in the entire country," said Prime. "That was a big moment for us."

Prime took his name from the leader of the Autobots Transformers, which were popular toys and a children's cartoon in the 1980s. He legally changed his name on his 30th birthday and now it's on everything from his driver's licence, to his military ID, to his uniform.

"They razzed me for three months to no end," said Prime. "They really dug into me about it."

"I got a letter from a general at the Pentagon when the name change went through and he says it was great to have the employ of the commander of the Autobots in the National Guard."

Prime says the toy actually filled a void in his life when it came out. "My dad passed away the year before and I didn't have anybody really around, so I really latched onto him when i was a kid," he said.

At least he wasn't into the wack-ass GoBots.

Thursday, April 17, 2003

Passing 04.17.03

The holy season is upon us. Passover, Holy Thursday, all rolled into one religious ball. I've never been a big fan of Passover. Since seventh grade, it's when I realize that without my Jewish friends, I have… uh… video games? Selvadurai? And so Eben is off with his parents and Silver is probably the same, et cetera, et cetera.

That's okay, I've got Holy Thursday, also known as Maundy Thursday. I should find out why that is, since I don't know what "Maundy" means, but I remember the word.

FYI: this is what I get from the Webster's New World dictionary:

Maundy Thursday
[[ME maunde, ceremony of washing the feet of the poor < OFr mand= < LL(Ec) mandatum, commandment of God < L (see MANDATE): from use of mandatum at the beginning of the prayer for washing the feet, commemorating Jesus' washing of the disciples' feet: see John 13:5, 34]] the Thursday before Easter

Maundy = ceremony/ commemoration. AKA the last supper. Good. I will commemorate the last supper by dining with my dear friend ATB (not the DJ, the lady from Cleveland) and breaking bread over Persian food. See, Iran is near Iraq, where the Tigris and Euphrates meet for tea, and near enough to Jerusalem's Christian holy sites.

A little rationalization goes a long way. Almost across a subcontinent.
Drankland 04.17.03

Last night Marla and I walked our asses to Drinkland. My friend Leah P was going to be there; called some of her teeming horde of homies. Our reason for being there: her boyfriend, Keenan, dutifully on the 1's and 2's, accompanied by his sister Alanna.

The bar was emptier and less smoky than I remember. That would be because of Passover and the smoking ban. But the ceilings still had the painted white and black set of same-width concentric rings, the back room and the front side room still had that all-white Clockwork Orange feel.

Leah's sister Lanie P showed in all of her glory, draped in black, hair trailing, yelling across two people to express her affection. Alanna and I had a long discussion about the Luniz and Tupac. I left early, but not before I think I heard Alanna state that she had recently graduated high school. This being a little quirky, since I had just been feeling the pattern stitched into the thigh of her pants. Uh, if you know what I mean.

Wednesday, April 16, 2003

Sirocco 04.16.03

So I just had an interview and the only thing that comes to mind is that the woman who interviewed me is kind of hot. In a Marg Helgenberger from CSI sort of way.

Now you can wonder what the hell is wrong with me, as you wonder how to take advantage of the summery heat.

Tuesday, April 15, 2003

Lawn 04.15.03

I can see Mr Softee swerving to avoid the Range Rover that just came around the corner. I don't know how the ice cream man wasn't warned. I could feel the beats from the Range Rover for the last half-minute.

Kids drift home from classes, flies buzz lazily over the grasses and thinned out front shrubs. Which means that I'm gonna be yelling at some punk ass kids in a week's time like a crotchety old man, and I'll have to mow that high pile green fucker we call a front lawn.
Illadelphonic (Tax Holiday) 04.15.03

Impressive how other American cities don't look very much like New York City at all-- or at least, the image of New York City. Missing: the Manhattan skyscrapers, the Manhattan people, the Manhattan commerce, and these aren't explained away simply by issues of scale. Philadelphia is less than 100 miles away and it's straight-up different.

The buildings lining Roosevelt Blvd/ Rte. 1 were of St. Louis or Cleveland style-- two story buildings in red brick, falling into dilapidation. Space, grass, distance between a set of homes and the empty lots. Flamed-out windows, brownfields. But old, and you could see how they were gorgeous once, lining the street with brick and promise. The road was four lane, with a four-lane wide grassy island between the Penn Turnpike direction and the city direction.

Sidewalks cracked. Amercian flags in shaggy front lawns. "We support our troops" scrawled in white on the front of used cars and slapped up on billboards. Lawn chairs already set out to take advantage of the warm weather. Groups of four boys at a time, wasting time and smoking cigarettes. Women with two-toned hair walking in nursing outfits.

Brotherly love was mad friendly, though-- as evidenced by the obvious street interactions, in conversations, in stores. Three guys yelled at us to back out of a driveway once traffic was out of our blind spot. People freely offering aid to Riz as she looked for napkins after a cheesesteak bite. A pair of women discussed the merits of Velveeta on macaroni. Older men held in their laughter as we proved ourselves to be cheesesteak tourists.

Arroz drove us about. The three of us may have felt a touch heftier. Especially after the soft serve at the ice cream stand. But then we saw lots of tight pants stretched by fat asses. Philadelphia is supposedly the fattest city in the U.S.of A., after all; our eyeballing didn't disappoint.

For the mullet lovers, there were mullets to be seen, plus an old picture of Darren (the Last Mullet Standing) Daulton in D'Alessandro's. The same guy with the hanging belly seemed to be on every corner, wiping his brow, waiting for the bus.

We did see a lone runner on the street. And the whole city is not a roly-poly waddle fest. There was a jacked guy, in fact, at a gas station. Unfortunately, he was blasting the Big Tymers' Hood Rich in his car as he sauntered in for… whatever. Bad because he left his little boy in the car, windows down, and the kid looked very scared as the car shook with sub-woofing vengeance.

We returned through the wilds of New Jersey, and over the Goethals Bridge, into Shaolin traffic, soundtracked by the soft sounds of Riz' snoring.

Gurnifer, I couldn't bring you back a cheesesteak-- it wouldn't be right. And my bag would be greased through and too delicious for the neighborhood pets.

Monday, April 14, 2003

--Illadelph-- 04.14.03

Poppin' and lockin, freeze-framing, cheesesteakin'-- I'm all 'bout it bout it today. More in the evening hours.

Hope that my trip includes chance meetings and conversation, as stipulated in the booty brigade constitution.

Sunday, April 13, 2003

--Metro-- 04.13.03

The glorious NY-Mets laid yet another egg today, this time regaling Puerto Rico with a new way to lose a ball game-- have your closer give up the tying home run and let another reliever give up the next home run. Nothing like some power to end a hot day in San Juan.
--Shopping-- 04.13.03

Last night I watched TLC's "What Not to Wear" (which should be a click-n-vote website à la Hot or Not), a show where a person is told that they dress inappropriately and are instructed on how to get their dress code right. That alone must be hard to take, but when one of the fashion analysts looks like a member of Styx rocking a Triple Five Soul shirt, I know I would be a little offended. Especially after he tells me about my soft and fatty spots. Shit, I'd be insulted.

Like women probably are by these Budwesier ads where we get to see the difference in how men and women think. Or how American Muslims are insulted by war coverage.

And it's not that insulting-- they give you $5000 shopping money.
--Thanks-- 04.13.03

I meant to stick with the lighthearted coverage and the booty brigade. Because the booty brigade is a cultural revolution. More than simply being about booty, it is about a new way of thinking. The brigade gives you a focus, a something to believe in.

Also, I'd like to thank--

Talia for mentioning the show; Pixel for dancing all silly-like (must be the new Rhinegold beer shirt); the guy who laid down on his back in the gutter (which doubles as a bus stop lane) for being a ridiculous dirty caricature of NYC; and you for understanding.

Saturday, April 12, 2003

The Scope and The Taste 04.12.03

The taste:

Friday. I was at a desk, fighting sleep. By fighting sleep, I mean thinking long and hard about booty. There's something about being in one spot, in one office, with certain people you've been thinking about giving all the angles to. And you have no idea if they know or they notice. Or if they want it too. Or if that matters.

Or are you supposed to sell yourself to them? When is it hopeless? When is the connection made? When do you know to get a little randy with the language and touchy with the affection? When should you take your hand from your sweaty and furrowed brow?

But I thought about the booty brigade, and I looked at the booty itself, glorious and round; and I was like, hells yeah, licked my lips, thought about Eddie Murphy's hit compared to Bruce Willis' late 80's foray into music, and went back to work.

And no matter what happens, no matter where we wake up, or how we go to bed, no matter if Pixel tells her boyfriend Larry that she's going out, I know the booty brigade is foremost a movement about movement. We still need rules (less important) and a catchphrase (you know you want something to shout in NYC bars).

We need rhetoric and method for remaining far from maudlin about our pipe laying prospects. See, that's why I am in the booty brigade. Too much g-m thinking.

The scope:

I know the rules of the booty brigade. We make the rules and we break the rules. Forget the rules. Like Danny Glover, we're too old for this shit. The booty brigade is about a flow of people. The booty brigade is a movement. The booty brigade is about saying our piece. The booty brigade is about the fact that Jerry Rice/ Paul Pierce/ Eric Wynalda join Kobe Bryant in asking us not to have a flat game.

To answer the questions-- Marla, you live with Haylz. You can get secondhand booty. I know what goes on in that apartment. I can hear the sounds from Queens. With my special Powerpuff brand satellite audio equipment. I mean, come on. Just warm it in the microwave.

We can start new chapters of the booty brigade in other cities, of course. I don't want to hold people back from getting the sweet touch of love-- I'm not your chastity belt. But we'll need stories, pictures, along with creative ideas for activities. A loose organization, relating informal stories, spreading the word, introducing folks to folks, while reporting to central governing body. This can happen. Yes, we will welcome visitors to the booty brigade.

We will keep our heads up and realize that booty is not the be all and end all, even of the booty brigade. But damn, it is time to openly talk about how we would rather be naked. Say it. Say it. Say it.

Friday, April 11, 2003

Party All The Time! 04.11.03

Aren't you excited? Yes, the rain is falling, dousing, spitting on us here in New York City. It is cold, and damp, and your clothes stick to your skin. Your umbrella turns inside out, your socks squish with your steps. That's fine. Because for those of us who are tired, for those of us who are itching, this is a good sign. Of course not if you are itching from the gonorrhea or the crabbies. Rain won't do anything for you.

I'm talking to the bootycrew. But this is high time that those of us in the booty brigade stop thinking about "why no booty?" and start letting the monkey out. Simply stop thinking and start grabbing biscuits like we were the lost members of Digital Underground, armed with sex packets. Simply stop making sense and start making sex. Ain't no half-steppin'. You heard?

Haylz, the ruling council has decided. You get too much booty to join the brigade. I mean, way too much booty. This isn't a booty enhancement club. This is like a booty training wheels clubhouse.

By the way-- we need a logo and a catchphrase, kids.

Thursday, April 10, 2003

Emerging Markets 04.10.03

My eyes dart back in forth in search of targets. I lick my lips in anticipation, prepare my hottest breath. I'm on a mission to set these blasted thermometers right even if I have to give them one-on-one love.

Meanwhile, as I look for thermometers I "didn't mean to turn on" like Robert Palmer:

Gully has his mind on the smoke ban and the smoke ban on his mind;

Haylz is recounting classic tales of yore;

Pixel is having waking dreams and drooling on her shoe tops;

New Top is straying from her rap career and trying to lay back.

That's one I can help with. Laying back, being easy. If there is a master of lay back, it is the character who resides in my head. This same character, some of you ladies know him. He is responsible for… the voice.

When I introduce this voice, I do wish I could get Bernie Mac to reprise his joke about giving your woman…"the Dick" in the middle of her conversation with someone she just has to talk to. The idea being that, why would she answer the phone? Oh? Well, when she is midsentence, a dick provider gives a solid thrust, turning "how are you" to "ho---oo---oooooh!"

Instead of "the Dick," Mr. Mac will say "the Voice." But. See, I can't describe the voice. You can only experience it. But imagine Barry White dipped in chocolate mousse with a taste of LL and Taye Diggs, running slowly down and up your leg, and at the same time, running a finger deep down your spine, lingering in all the right spots. He ain't easygoing but if you murmur just right, the going might be as easy as you want it, or don't want it.

Yeah, I'm wet too!

Wednesday, April 09, 2003

"We Are Americans! (Don't Blow Us Up!!!!)" 04.09.03

Hey look, ma, the sand n***az are looting! And they're punching pictures of that Saddam guy! I hope he's all blowed up! Then we'll be safe from… you know, sand, and patriotic country songs!

But I am at least buoyed by the idea that the news showed an Iraqi youth plainly stating in English, "f*ck Bush," and that a town in Jersey is putting up black and purple ribbons up instead of yellow, to point out the loss of life incurred during the war.

Then I hear Clint Black singing about being a high tech G.I. Joe.

Later, maybe I'll get you a link and I'll discuss less war, more hatred of my fellow man. Or of specific people.

Tuesday, April 08, 2003

Also. 04.08.03

And I agree that the official month of springtime and booty has not come off yet. Well, there's snow on the ground, damn it. Let's make the official month May. Deal?

Friday, April 04, 2003

Smoke-Free Thursday 04.04.03

I would like to go off on how cool it is to see a classy purebreed raise its leg and pee on bricks like any other canine, or talk about "what's wrong with Barnard women? Why do they incessantly argue, yet happen to be impossibly wrong on a consistent basis?" Instead, I will insert this-- Ms. Pixel, I apologize for speaking sacrilege out of turn, but I like the smoke-free bar so far.

Wednesday, April 02, 2003

Tired a/k/a Shifting Moods Bears. 04.02.03

Fuck it. There's a horse in the hospital. I'm back. Until I quit again.
Tired a/k/a Bad Moods Bears. 04.02.03

Fuck this. I quit.

Tuesday, April 01, 2003

April Ain't No Kind of Fool 04.01.03

+ I think I love, hate, love, hate St. John's basketball. Ho-oly s**t, I love St. John's!!!!!!!

+ I think being on the subway with five baby-faced men in fatigues with assault rifles the size of my neck to ankle is a bit disturbing. Even with Redman bumping in my headphones.

+ When did Bum Fights, as seen on Monday's Boston Public, ABC's Dragnet, and Law & Order: Criminal Intent this season, become a crucial social issue? I've never even heard of such a thing, and I read all the scandal rags. Oh, crap. Here they are.

+ Is Sweet Lou Piniella a genius? Not only did he get the woeful Devil Rays a come-from-behind victory, but now, they're playing the Red Sox hard? And Rey Ordonez hits a home run? Drives in 4 RBI? What did Lou do? That's like me hitting a home run off of major league pitchers.

+ Right now, I'm baking cookies. And you ain't. How 'bout them raisins??
Dance, Little Sister, Dance! 04.01.03


In case you didn't get to see Serena Williams' comments at the end of her victory in last week's Nasdaq 100 tennis tournament, a recap. Sweaty, tired, and answering a question about how she feels about the United States being at war (because we need opinions from the most spoiled and sheltered athletes-- tennis stars who are removed from junior high for training), she replied in a bad French accent: "Well, we don't want to play in the war, we want to make clothes. We don't want the war."

I guess such off-color comments are hard to divine meaning from, especially when they come from the intellectual hotbed of Key Biscayne, Florida, but the words certainly felt ignorant. Mostly because of the accent. The very bad accent. The mocking sound of the accent. Kind of reminds me of one of the reasons I don't like Robin Williams-- his "ghetto" accent while I think "rapping"--because yo, yo? I guess it rhymes-- on a promotional commercial for the movie Toys back in 1992.

And a reason I don't like Ellen Degeneres-- a seriously unfunny joke wherein she ends up being chased by bees, and these "brothers," who had been doing some anachronistic cooning, then get around her in a circle and she's flailing at the bees. See, they think she's dancing, and they're like, go Ellen, go Ellen. Wokka, wokka!

Ha, fucking ha. Guess I don't cotton to cooning and mockery. I'm just a humorless curmudgeon sometimes.