Blowcrastination 05.07.03

This is excellent. I have one more final. It’s a paper. All I have to do is finish a paper. Instead, I am rediscovering other people’s blogs.

I am noting that I never wrote about my party homie Larry Eustachy like I had planned to. He’s the man who can coach basketball and then party with nubile 18-yr olds. Yeah, Eustachy’s my hero.

I am noting that I have not yet said anything about Bob Ryan’s retarded ass comments about Jason Kidd’s wife.

I am noting that I have not gone back and started inserting insane fictional bits in my other blog.

Angel’s coming to a season (maybe forever?) end and I have not noted anything about that.

Or Rey Sanchez’ haircut follies.

Soon, my sweets, soon.

What I need is the accompaniment of Ja Rule and his innumerable duets to give me pop as I write. Or a freaking snickers bar. Or maybe I should have slept in my own bed last night. But that Gulshan is too convincing! So is beer. And the prospect of multiple possibly nubile art ladies in a bar, ready to let loose after a long semester of art creation... with a little creative act or three in athletically adventurous positions...

Though I and Gulshan were reminded that the first rule of the booty brigade might really be "don't talk about the booty brigade." It's hard to tell someone about the concept and then follow with, "so how 'bout it? I'll even buy you a drink if I have to and shit." Props to the Holiday Bird for coming out for a little lunching in Bryant Park, our feet in the green (but our shoes on, as per the security guard's instructions), our mouths busy with chatter and chew, our eyes strafing the grounds for boy/girl candy.