Friday, October 31, 2003

That Kind Of Day. 10.31.03

As I prepare to face the gauntlet also known as Queens' Finest High School Knuckleheads on my way home, I leave you with the kind of day it's been:

*A pigeon flew into my face. How does that happen? They're city pigeons! They know how to fly low. Is this a visiting country pigeon, here to doo-doo on the parade?

*I stepped on the snout of a seeing-eye dog. Oh, it was an accident but it still has to be karmically bad. I should have known the dog was there, I'd seen it in the same position before.

Side note: Suave Mayor Mike "Pimp O' Da Year" Bloomberg is finally getting to meet J-Lo. If she gets engaged to HIM I won't buy any more of her records. I mean that.

Wednesday, October 29, 2003

And After the Marathon, Diddy Will Have A Marathon 10.28.03

**P. Diddy does not want your sex. The rap
mogul has opted to abstain from sex in preparation
for the New York City marathon on November 2,
USA Today reports. "Two weeks is a long time
for me, because I'm a very healthy Scorpio.
My hormones are raging. I'm a young man,
very passionate, very romantic. But it's
for the kids."

Friday, October 24, 2003

Letter to Erica. 10.24.03

So I have been thinking about story ideas for you. Because I promised! And I would like to think that if you asked any of my friends about me, I respect most highly the pact made in a promise. I like to keep my word, especially when I’ve promised to do something that is beyond me, or more creative than I’ve been in a long time.

Or I’ve got verbal flatulence. I’m saying, I had some hella good and silly ideas. But let me tell you the lines that I’ve been thinking along, maybe you’ll find them inspirational and motivating and warm and fuzzy and all that. My spirits are a little worn from the all day scratch fest and no it’s not over. But reduced.

So, I am always fans of stories about what happens “post.” After the breakup, after the victory, after the hero, bloody and bruised, emerges from the crashed airplane and “gets the girl.” Those stories are the best but nothing will measure up to the explosions. The quiet times will seem so much quieter. A diaspora, of a sort.

Here is an idea that has nothing to do with that. I thought of it this morning—I had a set of naps filled with the best dreams I’ve had in months. Granted, I haven’t dreamed in months. Still. I was thinking of

1. a man (or a woman, of course—this was my dream to be modified freely) who is living a fine life, maybe an Upper West Side yuppie type, but not offensive, gives to social causes, likes the country—

And there’s the problem because the country, leaving NYC, isn’t always the country. You find your neighbors on line with you for a boat, so and so wants to meet for lunch/ picnics. Maybe there are children. It makes our protagonist a little sick and he/ she wants to get away. Every attempt to get further away is met by more people, or well-wishers trying to find our protagonist, make sure they are safe, make sure they have cellular service, what have you. This should of course be a claustrophobic world, and the descent spiral-like with repetition of themes and rhythm—like the same person could be the one he/she sees in the end of each failed attempt to get away.

And maybe it turns out that the best way to leave everyone, to get that full day alone, is to buy an apartment in an anonymous building. And then, once achieved, what will our protagonist aspire to? Hmm. That reminds me of Preston Falls.

What else do I have? I’m working on ideas right now that have more to do with race and class and identity, I think, so it’s hard to jump off of those tracks. I’d squeeze out some of those ideas but they don’t all make sense yet.

2. I was thinking of rabbits. I really was. Of a litter of 8 rabbits, all of them sold off by the owner to a disparate group that answers a posted paper ad in Brooklyn. I mean, there are all kinds of stories here; we have to think, who’d rip down a strip of paper posted at the Carroll Street stop and call immediately? Who are those first people? A man with a gift for his 5-year old? The woman who works at the Laundromat? One thing, I think they have to be a little or a lot lonely to suddenly decide—I wanna wabbit!

But I do know that while rabbits are cute, they are also an effective vehicle because everyone loves rabbits. Unlike pit bulls. We’ll see the best out of people through the rabbits, their loves and hates and all that. And it’s like 8 short stories. With rabbits being rabbit-y… and lonely in the background. Wondering what their brother-sister rabbits are doing. And we can look at the ways these people are connected, and the ways in which they think that they are separate, individual, not a community.

3. How about a story about the assistant to your favorite inventor? Make the inventor a complete windbag. Add intensity about research and a slack, unexciting social life. A little television, a lot of reading. Some movies alone. Some deep admiration of a rival inventor, or our inventor him/ herself. Hoping the inventor will notice our assistant-- sort of a love story. Or a hate story, those are fun too.

4. I’d like to read a good story about a high school kid in NYC, the kid who is ostracized as the slut. She’s in the hallways alone, she eats alone, and soon, she finds something else to do besides sit around and talk about pop music and stealing clothes and style and what clubs they can get into. Hmm. Maybe that’s a little hackneyed. I still love such tales.

Would You Like Some Garnish and Bunting, Sir? 10.24.03

An aside—I think it sucks when someone comes up to you in a store, where you are minding your own business, looking around, somewhat knowledgeable, not in need of help, but taking a peek for a specific product. And then they ask you, not yet in your personal space but close, how they can assist you. They take you out of your “get your sales-claws off of me” mode and personally, I know the job can stink, so I am friendly. I ask if they have so-and-so.

And then they know NOTHING of what you’re looking for. It’s like they don’t even work in the store! And then have the audacity to ask you about another product? I could smack fire out of someone’s ass. And I am politely backing up, walking out of the store as they try to engage me, finds out if there is anything else I need, like I am the salesperson’s dream, the willy-nilly know-nothing shopper.

Thursday, October 23, 2003

I Feel Like My Own Private Turntable. 10.23.03

Pixel, you have vertigo. I have hives! It’s like a sympathetic malady! Wonder maladies powers, activate!

The tale—got home on Tuesday (where was the OC crew, hm?) and passed out, only to wake up in the middle of the night, and itching. Didn’t think much of it. Put on some lotion. Woke up again, itching. And the third time I was like, something’s not jake here. And look it! I’m all bumpy. I looked like Wolverine in issue #166 of the X-Men (published in 1981) where his healing factor is fighting the seed of the evil BroodQueen, who is using said seed to transform him into an alien Brood, but with his human healing factor and senses—though I question how that was going to work, since Wolverine’s Adamantium skeleton is human shaped and not fit to Brood-size—but I digress.

I decided to take a trip anyway, loaded up on Benadryl (the good stuff, knocks you right to the ground like Ike Turner). Myself and Arroz the Rice-A-Homie had plans to go down to Princeton. The town. For eatin’ + record shoppin’ (where we saw a J-Hayes clone) + pumpkin pickin’ + cider drinkin’…

By the end I was a squirming itchy mess. I just wanted you to know that. I still am! I’m covered in pink calamine lotion! I am especially itchy in the leg! Yeah!

Electric Honey, I am coming up with ideas for you, I meant to do it yesterday but I was halted by scratching. P.S. the Big N' Tasty rules.

Tuesday, October 21, 2003

Hookers Is My Point 10.21.03

So, why is prostitution illegal? I’ve been thinking about that one for a couple of weeks now. Not saying, in any way that I would enjoy the services of prostitute, and not facetiously—I’d rather get my booty the old fashioned way, with low-toned sweet talk, crass humor, alcohol and roofies.

Pico does NOT advocate roofies. Beta House frat boys, put them down. No, not in the drink! Aw, you nimrods…

Other illegal activities are criminal because it’s logical, with the severity based on how much you have injured the other party. For example, murder and manslaughter. As individuals we have no right to deny another person their life. No matter how much we think they need to be removed. We can agree on that. Assault is injurious to the person. Collusion, racketeering, injurious to the people who have money stolen from them.

Then of course there are the drug laws… where there should be penalties against sellers of drugs. They do harm to drug users. Though those users in part choose the harm to themselves. Yeah, this one’s messy. But suffice to say, good drug policy would include effective treatment instead of simple incarceration—but I digress.

But let’s get back to the good stuff, hookers. What have hookers done to you? Frat boys, stop telling me about that case of clap y’all got. What have hookers done to anybody? I don’t want hookers on my street, peddlin’ away, but really, where’s the damage to any individual? The hooker has chosen his/ her life (though the circumstances that led to that choice might not be most savory. Let’s leave that out of this argument too). The john has chosen to get a little sumthin’ sumthin’. Is prostitution illegal because it’s a sex act out of wedlock? Someone point this out to me.

And if we legalized hooking, then we could get them topical salves and pills for any unfortunate post slap-n-tickle gifts. Legalize it!

Monday, October 20, 2003

Deportation Station 10.20.03

Gully was a young boy, he had a heart of stone, lived 9 to 5 and he got sent to Virgi-ni-a!

That’s your going away song, kid. Saturday, though, I got to say, that was some party. Between the dirty talk, more dirty talk, and the dancing (yo, Wes, Becky, wait till I get the pictures back! I didn’t mean it like that.) we sent Gully off lovely, with a smile on his face. And I repped okay on the dance floor, after being challenged by Victor and giving him the Danny Glover answer, “I’m too old for this sh*t.”

Friday, October 17, 2003

I Hate The Yankees. 10.17.03

I'd slap all that nonsense about the Yankthese right here but instead, it's on the other blog. More later.

Thursday, October 16, 2003

No, I Promise I'm Coming Back. 10.16.03

Midterms, kids, midterms.

Here's something of note, though, from the EUR. And keep those advice questions coming!

Singer trades sexy moves for Jehovah Witness stroll

*Could you imagine Prince tapping on
your door, bible in hand, with Larry Graham
in tote asking if he can come in and share
some scripture?
Sounds like a bad dream after a late
night of Taco Bell, but that's the latest on
the eccentric entertainer according to UK
Prince has joined Jehovah's Witness and
is spreading the good news everywhere he can.
He was last seen in Eden Prairie, Minneapolis,
on the doorstep of one, identified only as Rochelle.
She said that he turned up and was invited in
along with Larry Graham of 70's group Graham
Central Station, but better known for his solo
debut "One In A Million You." But, soon after
they were invited in, they were asked to leave.
She said, 'I told him, "You know what? You've
walked into a Jewish household, and this is not
something I'm interested in."
Their attempt to spread the word was further
ruined by the Minnesota Vikings game that was
airing on TV at the time of their visit.

Monday, October 13, 2003

Stumble Then Fall 10.13.03

Like the brilliant New Top before me, I plan on holding an advice column forum. I could say I’m doing it because it’s fun, but I am also doing it to work out some new characters that I might use for my National Novel Writing Month novel.

Side note. National Novel Writing Month is only half a month away! Join up! 50,000 words in 30 days seems like a lot but you’re supposed to just spit it out. Don’t think. Let it flow. Write something ludicrous. Join me, yon prolific writers, Juniper Anna and Li’l Fuzzy and Pixel and New Top and Gully and Gurnifer and Electric Honey and everyone else! I did it! Maggie did it! MC Shev B did it! You can do it too. Plus, it’ll keep your broke ass off the sauce.

Back to the advice column. Send your questions, problems, and dirty laundry to me at And if you have a truly ludicrous idea which you want to have made into a novel send it to me also. I won’t use it (unless you really want me to), since I have an idea of what I want to write about, but I will skewer it happily!

Thursday, October 02, 2003

Yank-These 10.02.03

My friend got screwed last night on Paradise Hotel. No money? No sharing? S'okay, though, it's Charla's right to keep the dough. Also, it wasn't that much. $250,000 apiece for the winner, to split with one other person if they so choose? Yaaaaawn.

But, a good reunion, featuring Kevin, Steve, Craig (out of the hospital? It's like a sighting of the Yeti), J-Cap, A-a-lice, and guests the Rugged Chris and Funkmaster Matt.

Sorry about the short posts. I have been working on my other blog. It's about sports, Marla. By the way, Dave says he still chats witll Charla. In case you wondered.

Wednesday, October 01, 2003

Tonight, the End. 10.01.03

Tonight is the end of Paradise Hotel, wherein my old high school classmate has made waves built a fan base of reality television watchers. You can read through September and August's archives for some notes on all of that. Come watch the final episode at a bar called Suede, 7pm-11pm, 161 W 23rd St.

and from the EUR:

It's the remix of the adult toy.

*Outkast has an album out that's selling
fast, now they're about to introduce a complimentary
product?! We're not quite clear what's up, but reports that the duo is considering
starting a line of adult toys.
The site went on to say that they didn't know
whether or not the group was serious, but one half
of Outkast, Big Boi, was somewhat descriptive.
Even going so far as to name the first product.
"We should have put it out with this album.
I hope [people] get a lot of enjoyment out of it.
Right at the point where you are about to climax
a beat will play like, ('I'm climaxing')," Big Boi
The product line is strictly for the ladies,
Outkast explained, and they would be available
for 'home testing.' (Okee Dokee.)
We suppose they're following in the footsteps
of Li' Kim. Earlier this year the raptress announced
that she would create a life-size, anatomically correct
blow-up doll. The um, home-enjoyment apparatus
from Outkast would be called the Big Boi 3000.