22 July 2005

oh man, i'm getting old

tonight, i was walking in front of the new ifc cinema that took over the old waverly (welcome!) where there are protesters giving out leaflets about how the new theatre is paying projectors less than industry standard and to not go there, etc. well, the gent in front called to me, 'hey bro- check this out.' and while i could only imagine that was his standard tag-line for all passers-by, i couldn't help my knee-jerk reaction of, 'it's SIR, not bro or dude' but thankfully kept this to myself. instead, i took the flier (he was really cute and besides, my parents were union, i feel for these guys and gals) and realized that corp america is aging my generation x ass much too fast...

21 July 2005

well, we can't BOTH be tops...

believe it or not, there are only a few laundromats around me: the one i've been going to for the four years i've lived here, and the full-service one that looks like a do-it-yourself place from the outside. for four years, i've endured them telling me that last call was 5 minutes before i got there, me asking them why they won't turn my fist of nickels into quarters, them telling me i'm putting too much soap/bleach/clothes in the washer, me telling them that i accidently bleached some woman's load and they need to stop the cycle NOW, them telling me the quarter machine is for customers only, me telling them i'm a customer, them telling me they want to close early so be on time and do a short dry, me telling them one dryer for three wash loads isn't enough, and so on it goes, neither of us ever relenting.

but today is different: the nice woman who has dictated many of the above edicts actually said, 'hey! good to see you again.' surely the world is ending tonight.

'well, joan, the good news is that we'd love to host you, but

...the bad news is that it's for a concert of one hit wonders. actually, it's not even a concert. it's a race -- the run hit wonder, get it, joan? -- and there is no admission fee. just a sweaty, tired, captive audience.' that's how i imagine the concert between the nike people and joan jett to have gone. i mean, talk about bittersweet: a paid invite, but you're admitting to the world that you, too, see yourself as a has-been. funny and sad. but at least she got top billing and the stage: fountains of wayne got a spot somewhere between mile one and two, with a big sign that said, 'FOUNTAINS OF WAYNE.' i don't believe jerry garcia ever needed a sign.

i ran into some lovely people, some known and some newly met: dr. k. ('what is that mark on your leg? how long has it been there?' bless him.), some guy whose name i'll never remember: 'i know you, those eyes, when have we met?' (and then it clicked-- hail mary is all i gotta say...), m. who i never found after the race, but i am sure finished before me (as he's wont to do), then i met these groovy ladies, about my age, when waiting for joan's classics: what can i say, mockery brings the world together... i could tell the spunky one from the uws was after my thingy, the chill one from ues didn't seem tuned into that, though. the three of us spoke about how old joan is, how jacked she is (hail mary indeed--), and then i posed the question about joan's tattoo artist: ordinary guy in practice, or a *special* artist to the stars? the chill one thought it would depend on WHEN they were done. very astute, my chill friend... when i said i thought joan was on my team, spunky girl got a lot less, um, spunky.

then 'i hate myself for loving you' came on after an hours worth of her 'from my new album' crap. i sang like it was my day job and started yelling, 'joan, i love you! come back! all is forgiven!'

glad i got a concert after the run, even if it were death metal: other runs are so anti-climactic: you run, you get a bagel and banana, you leave. this was grand, but nyrrc needs to haul ass on posting the results... get to it kids... i didn't run in 94 degree weather for the fun of it. wait...

19 July 2005

imitation is the sincerest form of flatter...

ok, well d.c. and i were talking about when two gay men can consider having lost their virginity... does merely having an orgasm in the presence of another guy count? having an orgasm in or on another guy? or full on, well, you know...? my response to him was, 'unless you are on your stomach and he has you screaming 'yes sir' as he's making you gasp for air, or you are making someone do the gasping, it's not sex.' now i don't know... i can see two sides to this coin... (a top and a bottom, if you will...)

how much do i love my little counter at the bottom of this page? australia! i wish that person would send me an email...

18 July 2005

mitchum man and supermarket etiquette

as you may have noticed, there is this lame new ad campaign for mitchum on the subways that has these inane alpha-male-esque slogans like, 'if you've ever given your seat up for a woman, you're a mitchum man.' and, 'if you've ever been confident you can punch out the emergency window if there were an emergency, you're a mitchum man.' they just piss me off. i gladly give my seat up for ANYONE who looks like they need it more than i. (and frankly, sitting all day long, i think that means just about everyone.) it doesn't make me a 'mitchum man.' rather, it reinforces that this ad campaign was done in LA or chicago: most every new yorker i know will do just that without so much as an after thought that would, oh, spark a bullshit ad campaign. as for the punch out a window comment, well, i'm happy giving that job to someone who is more adept at displaying such strength on demand. that person, however, may not necessarily be a 'mitchum man:' it may even be a 'mitchum woman.' i bet they never thought of that in the boardroom.

i love to piss people off in the supermarket; it's fun: there is nowhere else in the world where people are SO set in their ways and purchase habits. 'i must wrap each piece of meat in a plastic produce bag. i must smell each. and. every. tomato before i choose the one lucky one.' but my favorite is the check out line. without a doubt, the man ahead of you will have his one item on the conveyor belt and throw you a dagger as you put things behind it. he'll go scrambling for the divider, and move his items up manually if he feels the need to, and may even say something like, 'this is only mine' to the cashier if there isn't a divider. the woman behind you will usually be happy with carrying her arm-cart weighing 50 pounds of goods rather than take advantage of the cavernous space behind my spaghetti-os and frozen vegetables. especially if there is only one divider being used by the ocd guy in front of you. i mean, come on.

just as robert frost said in 'mending wall:'
he is all pine and i am apple orchard.
my apple trees will never get across
and eat the cones under his pines...

i say:
you are all cat food and i am peanut butter and jelly
my rancho fiesta blend will never get across
and melt on your witch hazel and circus peanuts...