myblogisPoop

It's up. Check it out.

Welcome to The Post Show-- a brand new sketch comedy show for your computer. We're going to be updating it with original skits every Monday and Thursday, so be sure to check it out every week.

If you click over there now you'll see our first skit, "Now You're Really Living." I hope you like it. I should probably warn you, though, that it's the least offensive thing we've shot so far, and it only gets worse-- or better, depending on your taste-- from there.

And a reminder, the launch party is tonight at 10 at Croxley Ales on avenue B. I'll be the guy who gets drunk off of two beers because he hasn't slept in a week.

So. If you're from the tri-state area, I hope to see you out tonight. If not, be sure to check out the new site and please bookmark it (Am I the only person who's usually lazy to bookmark stuff? I mean, even though it requires zero energy to actually do it, whenever I consider bookmarking something I tend to hesitate and decide "...nahhhh." I hope I'm not the only one who does that. Well, I am going to bookmark The Post Show, though. Ok. I'm going to try.)

Okay, I'm rambling. See you all tonight, and thanks to everybody who's helped make this possible.

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b at 1:12 PM

Now I Can Die in Peace

You know how I'm half Jewish and half Italian? This picture managed to capture my entire Jewish side. I've never thought I looked like a type of bird before, but thanks to the angle and the shadows here I'm going to have to start considering it.

Anyway, I was considering writing about this book signing I dropped by last night, but now that I've been caught in a compromising position by Deadspin I guess I have to.

Dan and I have been fans of The Sports Guy for years. Even through all his annoying Red Sox columns after they won the World Series, and even through his stint as a writer on one of the most unfortunately unfunny late night talk shows ever (The Jimmy Kimmel Show). So when it was announced that Bill Simmons was going to be signing books at the Riviera Cafe, we knew we had to go. Apparently a lot of other guys decided that as well.

The line to get in was insane. It wrapped around the block, which would have been even more unbearable if Riviera was positioned on a normal corner and not a triangle. But still. The line was 97% male, 2% female, and 1% other. I asked Dan if he's ever been somewhere with that kind of girl/guy ratio. It took him a second before he realized, "Yeah. Cancun." The sad thing is, he was right. To make the two hour wait bearable, Dan and I decided that if anybody came up to us and asked us why 250 guys were waiting outside a bar, we were going to say "We're all here for a bukkake gangbang" and wait for the inevitable disapproving stare (assuming the person knew what 'bukkake' was.) It was a great idea in theory, but when an old lady tapped me on the shoulder and asked I just didn't have the heart. Sorry.

By the time we finally got inside Chuck Klosterman was sitting right next to Bill. I'm not going to lie, I may have gotten a little too excited about this. I immediately considered focusing all my attention on Chuck, the man who wrote my favorite line ever about The Real World. (talking about the level of fame Real Worlders achieve: "You will be the kind of person who suddenly gets recognized at places like Burger King, but you will still be the kind of person who eats at places like Burger King." I love that.)

So I pondered what I should do. Should I say a quick hi to Bill, then turn my attention to Chuck and say, "Hey! You were the first 'celebrity' interview I ever sat in on when I was a PA on 'Ultrasound: Shakeups & Breakups'" or should I go ahead as planned? I decided it was a bad idea to bring up Ultrasound, because I'm sure I would have accidentally made air quotes when I said "celebrity" and he would have been justifiably annoyed by that. So I didn't. Here's what happened.

Bill: Hey, what's up?
Me: Hey, how you doing, nice to meet you!

We shake hands

Bill: What's your name?
Me: Bob. So I've never actually read your column or anything. I'm actually here because I loved you in "I Love the 90's."

Bill: [stops signing book. looks up, confused, kind of scared]
Me: I'm just kidding, I'm a big fan.

Bill looks relieved, and chuckles. At this point a guy next to me yells over to Chuck, "Hey Chuck, have you ever seen a book signing like this before?" which I kind of interpreted as dickish. I mean, this guy has released 3 great books, but c'mon, what are the odds that he's done a book signing at a bar with a line hundreds of guys long? It's not fair. Chuck laughed and said, "No! This is unlike anything I've ever seen." I took this as my opportunity to shift over, so I turned and said, "Hey, I was at your reading a couple of months ago at Astor Place. There was a great turnout." Success!

So was the unexpected two hour wait worth it? Eh, not really. My legs still hurt. But it was pretty cool saying hi to my favorite music writer and my favorite sports writer (kinda) at the same time. Hopefully someday I'll be able to sit down with the two of them for an extended period and talk about the more important stuff in life; like the Karate Kid, Saved by the Bell, and Pearl Jam.

And maybe, that day, I'll even get my own red arrow on Deadspin that says Poop.

A guy can dream.

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b at 5:01 PM

Time Warner Cable can suck my big, beautiful penis

These past few days have been full of a lot of stress and little sleep trying to get everything squared away for Thursday. Today, one of the easier things was supposed to be accomplished: getting cable and internet installed. It wasn't.

Brian, basking in unemployment, did not leave the apartment today. He stayed put, awaiting our wonderful Time Warner technician to buzz up. Time Warner said they'd be there between 10-2. At 3:30, I called to find out what happened. It was then that they informed us that a technician buzzed in at 1:50 and nobody answered, so he left. In other words, "Fuck you Bob and Brian. Suck it."

Now, since Brian was there at 1:50 I know it's bullshit. They never came. They didn't call. They didn't write. They were like that chick you made plans with on Craigslist casual encounters and got yourself all excited about, but then never heard a word from. I'd imagine.

We've lived in our new apartment for the past 4 months without cable or (legal) internet. When we finally called Time Warner two weeks ago to get everything installed they said the earliest available appointment was today. 10 days later. Now that we "missed" them, the next available appointment is next Tuesday. Another 7 days. FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. 17 days total. Thanks guys. It's not like we're trying to launch a website or anything.

I wish you all could have heard me on the phone. I don't get angry often-- I mean, it really takes a lot-- but this, combined with the stress and lack of sleep has made me insane. So I called, and I tried my best to stay calm as I spoke with the snotty customer service represntative with the annoying midwestern accent. I really did try. But as she continued to interrupt me and tell me that there's nothing they can do, I MAY have become a little erratic. I asked to speak to a supervisor and she said okay. It was then that she put me on hold, where I sat for 15 minutes listening to bad 80's music and punching myself in the leg. Finally, somebody picked up. But they couldn't help me. Want to know why? Because they transferred me TO UPSTATE NEW YORK!!!!!! FUCK YOU TIME WARNER!!!

So right now I'm sitting here, slowly going insane. I'm on hold. Again. I'm calmer now. The last person I spoke to I took a different approach; I played it very quiet. And upset. Like this is hurting my poor soul. So far that has worked better. Oh wait... she picked back up.

Nope. There's nothing they can do. We "missed" the appointment and the dispatcher can't send anybody else out.

Now if you excuse me, I'm going to jump out of my 6th story window here at the Paramount building (where, coincidentally, I have an amazing view of the Time Warner Center). I kind of wish I was still at MTV on the 32nd floor because I bet that drop would leave a bigger dent in the pavement, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

If anybody who reads this little blog works at Time Warner, or if they know somebody who does, please be sure to tell them that it was their employer that did this to me. Or ask them to do me a favor and come over tomorrow to hook shit up. Either way.

Goodbye cruel world. I'll see you Thursday night.

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b at 4:12 PM

instead of putting out...

...today I'm just giving out handjobs.

The Post Show.com is coming this Thursday. We were going to jump the gun and drop it today, but we realized nothing good ever premieres on a Monday. The Simpsons, Seinfeld, The Cosby Show, 90210-- they all made a name for themselves on Thursday. So that's what we're going to do too.

To celebrate the premiere, we're having a party. So make sure you drop by Croxley Ales this Thursday at 10 for drink specials, DVD handouts, and a special screening. It'll be a good time.

If you're in New York, hopefully I'll see you there. If not, be sure to check out The Post Show.com first thing Thursday morning.

I would go into details about what The Post Show is, but I don't want to build it up too much. Though, I think that's exactly what I'm doing by being vague. Dammit. I can't win. Just know that The Post Show is to My Blog is Poop what "Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey" the movie is to "Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey" the novel (I swear, there is one. I read it for summer reading in middle school).

So to sum up this rambling post: The Post Show, launch, party, Thursday.

I'll see you then.

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b at 12:29 PM

turn the page

As some of you may or may not have noticed, I haven't been updating My Blog is Poop as much as usual lately. I bet three or four of you were even upset by that realization. Well, don't worry. I haven't been posting infrequently because I'm bored, or because I'm tired, or because I'm sick of this whole blog thing. Nope. I've been posting infrequently because of you.

I love you.

And because I love you, I've been working on a new way to try to entertain you. My roommate Brian and I have been putting a lot of time and effort into this new project which we'll be unleashing on your asses this Monday. What is it? Check back here on the 26th to find out.

I hope you like it.

And on that note, I'm going to leave you with a picture of Kevin Arnold's girl from French class in The Wonder Years. Regular posting, as well as something brand new, back here on Monday. See ya then.

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b at 11:33 AM

Let's Talk Porn

I'm not a porn guy. Well, at least I don't consider myself one.

Now, that's not to say that I don't like porn. I do. A fair amount. I think it's entertaining, I think it's harmless, and I think it's... well, I think it usually sets out to do what it's supposed to do. And no, I won't elaborate on that.

However, if I'm going to talk about porn here I feel like I have to waste a paragraph or two and go into various disclaimers. Because porn is an all encompassing word for oh-so-many things-- you can't just say "I like porn." That's like saying "I like shoes" or "I like sports." It's much too vague. Saying something like "I like sports" would lead to questions like, "Okay, what sports do you like? Do you have a favorite team? Do you have a favorite player? Do you like playing or watching sports? Do you like peeing on people?" Stuff like that. Same thing happens when somebody says "I like porn." Well, pretty much the same thing.

When I talk about porn I'm talking about porn-porn. I'm talking about Jenna Jameson porn. I'm talking about the porn that advertises on billboards, like Wicked Pictures or Vivid Video. And yes, I'm even talking about some of the stuff you can find on the internet. That's what I'm talking about. Not any of the illegal stuff, not any of the sick stuff, and not the video of the girl and a horse that your one friend sent to you freshman year of college. I know that that stuff is in fact porn, but I want nothing to do with it. That stuff is to porn what "The Next Karate Kid" is to the rest of the Karate Kids. Yes, it's part of the same entity, but it's a part that I find both disgusting and disgraceful and I wish didn't exist. Sorry Hillary Swank, but there you have it. Okay, enough with the disclaimers.

It's dangerous for guys to talk about porn because most girls don't get it. Hear me out: I said "most girls." I know a lot of girls "like" porn, and even more girls pretend to "like" porn, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say the majority of them really don't. I think young girls saying they like porn in today's day of age is the same thing as the rock chicks who said they enjoyed the misogynistic music of Motley Crue and the hair bands in the 80's-- it's their way of letting guys know that they "get it" and that they're cool. I'm sure some of it is legit, but twenty years ago I'm willing to bet most of the girls with the Aqua Net hair and ripped up tour t-shirts were doing it because they saw everybody else doing it, not because they genuinely liked it.

I don't know many guys who don't like porn, which is funny because I bet all their girlfriends would say otherwise. When the subject comes up in mixed company, all guys get a kick out of hearing "Well, my boyfriend doesn't like porn at all. He thinks it's terrible." Uh huh. Riiiiight. Granted, some guys like it a lot more than others, but there aren't many that don't like it at all. Except for crazy people. And freaky religious people. And our President.

Actually, scratch that. I bet Bush loves it. Loves it. He must, he's declared war on it. And everybody knows you only declare war on the things you love, right? Right.

In some ways, I think porn has made my life better. And by 'some ways' I mean 'besides the obvious way.' In high school, everybody in my home town had an illegal cable box. We began receiving the Spice channel in the 9th grade, and all of a sudden things changed. It kind of brought everybody closer. Suddenly I had something to talk about with the guys on my hockey team that I had nothing in common with. Suddenly all the good parties involved turning on Spice and howling at the TV together. Suddenly names like Anna Malle and Barbi Doll were punchlines that could make everybody laugh. It was kind of bizarre, but at the same time not necessarily bad or creepy.

Beyond that, porn as an educational tool has been invaluable. If you read a book like "Superstud: Or How I Became A 24-Year Old Virgin" or you see a movie like "40-Year Old Virgin" you're inevitably going to arrive at a situation where the protagonist doesn't know what to do in bed. They're either going to be confused as to how to open a condom or befuddled by the mystery that is the vagina, and an awkward situation will ensue. Well, when you watch a decent amount of porn things like that don't seem nearly as scary as they once did. Everybody wins.

Despite writing paragraph after paragraph about it, I'm going to stick with what I said in the beginning of this post and declare that I'm not a porn guy. Porn guys usually have a collection of pornography, I do not. Porn guys sign up for memberships on porn sites, I never have. Porn guys go to the AVN Awards and porn shops to get things signed by their favorite porn stars, I can't afford it. Kidding. What I meant to say was, I've never done that either. Do I look down at porn guys? Absolutely not.

Hey, I'm a fantasy football guy. Who's to say which one is worse?

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b at 2:34 PM

CMJ Awards

Since I haven't attended a single CMJ show yet, I figured that I was the perfect person to present awards to this year's participants. Of course, having only heard of approximately 5% of these bands, I'm going to have to base it solely on their names. I don't think that will be much of a problem.

Best band that sounds like a combination of Joy Division and Squirrel Nut Zippers -- Joy Zipper

Best band that I want to see purely because of their Saved by the Bell connection -- Bayside

Best band that you'd never find on the internet if you simply tried to google their name -- Men, Women, & Children

Best band that sounds like a combination of Joy Division and Widespread Panic -- Panic Division

Best emo band name of the week -- Sad Little Stars

Best band name that combines two pretty scary things -- AIDS Wolf

Best band since !!! -- +/-

Best band that should get used to New Yorkers pronouncing their name "how-stin" -- Houston Calls

Best band that reminds me of a girl I hooked up with in college -- Crazy Mary

Best band that reminds of a girl I wanted to hook up with in college -- Dirty Mary

Best solo musician with a porn star sounding name -- Devin Davis

Best band that makes you think of Oscar winner Tom Hanks -- The Hanks

Best group of females that were really upset with the outcome of the 2000 presidential election -- Gore Gore Girls

Best band just because -- Why?

Best band that makes you think of the 80's horror/comedy Monster Squad -- Monsters Are Waiting

Best band that obviously came up with their name in high school -- Goblin Cock

Best band that's trying to trick your parents into coming out to see them -- Buffalo Springsteen

Best band that's trying to trick your grandparents into coming out to see them -- Elvis Sinatra

Best band that's capitalizing on the whole "Montreal is the new Brooklyn" thing -- Hockey Night

Best band that uses the letter 'z' like it's 1991 -- The Willowz

Best band that you should know sucks before you see them -- Telepathy

Best band that makes you think of the movie Airborne -- Myracle Brah

Best band that should go on tour with Dogs Die in Hot Cars -- Karaoke Killed the Cat

Best band names that can double for sexual positions -- Singapore Sling & Eiffel Tower

Best band that makes me want to curl up and die -- Curl Up and Die

Best band that makes me want to get him, eat him -- Get Him, Eat Him

Best band that makes you wonder, "too soon?" -- Cajun Gems

Best band that should start a feud with the guys from Louis XIV -- The King of France

Best band that's grammatically incorrect -- Your Enemies Friends

Best band whose name says it all -- zZz

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b at 11:41 AM

i never thought I'd say this...

But you have to tune into BET tonight at 6.

My good friend Matty Goldberg is going to be on the show 106 & Park doing standup. Keep your eyes open, he's the little, white, funny Jewish guy. I'd imagine there's only 9 or 10 of them there.

I'll be back later with a real update. But seriously. Watch BET. Matty's just like Aaron Karo. But funny. And awesome. Check it out.

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b at 2:58 PM

Guess The Karo! Vol. 11

God, it's been a while since we played Guess The Karo! hasn't it? A lot's happened since we left off: I struck a multi-million dollar deal with Mattel to put together a home board game version of GTK!, I'm in negotiations with Midway to bring GTK! to your PS2, and I'm expecting to find out any day now whether USA will go ahead and replace old reruns of "Press Your Luck" with a new live action version of GTK! It really has been the summer of Karo, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

Now before we start, I have some good news and bad news for you: Aaron Karo has moved to LA. Actually, that's both the good news and the bad news. I guess it depends on whether you live in New York or LA.

Let's not waste any more time. Since it's been a couple of months since we did this, let's go over the rules. The following jokes are lifted from Aaron Karo's (sigh) popular Ruminations column that's published on Collegehumor and his own website. For each joke, you're going to have to guess which punchline our boy genius deemed funny enough to include in his piece, and which ones were made up by yours truly (doing my finest Karo impression.)

So here we go, buckle up. And remember: New York and LA! They're so different! Wakka wakka!

(1) So what's my first impression of the people of Los Angeles? Whorish? Vacuous? Fake? No. Nice. That's right, nice. I can't believe how many people have introduced themselves to me in my building. If someone even asked me my name in my building in New York, I'd be tempted to punch them in the neck and run the other way lest they dare even think about looking in my direction again.

a) Cordiality-- what a concept!
b) Hey, that's what my super would've done!
c) What's everybody taking out here? Happy pills?

(2) I ordered a bacon, egg, and cheese in LA.

a) The guy looked at me like I just asked him for crack, gin, and a hooker.
b) I think it was the first time in the history of LA that an order didn't contain the words 'tofu' or 'guac.'
c) It took half an hour and came on a baguette.

(3) For some reason, people never understand me when I say my first name. I used to say "it's Aaron, like Hank Aaron." In LA, I still get a puzzled look. Then I say,

a) "You know, the guy you'd watch play baseball between the 3rd and 7th inning" and everyone understands.
b) "Aaron, it's two 'A's' and a 'Ron'" and everyone assumes I'm a Scientologist.
c) "Aaron, like Aaron Spelling" and everyone understands.

(4) And to the women of New York, you know you will always be my first love. But after careful empirical analysis, I have to say the chicks in LA are, on average, much hotter. Whether gourmet LA girls are approachable or not, well, that's another story. In fact, my buddy Ryan even makes the laughable but logical case that the girls out here are actually too hot. Which prompts me to pose an important philosophical question -

a) if women in LA are too hot to talk to... what do I have to do to take one home?
b) if a perfect ten walks in the door but no one can talk to her... does she exist?
c) if Los Angeles is full of women who look like Angels, what does that say about New York?

So there you go. Before you check out the answers, I want to leave with you with a little excerpt from an Aaron Karo interview that somebody sent me the other day.

You've stated on your website that one of your readers suffered a broken rib laughing really hard after reading one your pieces. How'd that make you feel?
Thankful not to get sued.

As always, the answers are in the Comments. Fuck me!

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b at 5:58 PM

Move Over Grandpa, WE'RE The Greatest Generation

by "Big" Mike Murphy, TKE

So I've been in a pretty funky mood lately. There's a lot of crap going on the world and it's really starting to bum me out. You know? It seems like just yesterday everything was fine. Our country was running smoothly, we weren't at war or anything, and the only thing I worried about on a day to day basis was that one of the girls I was hooking up with would find out about another one of the girls I was hooking up with. Those were the days. But now it seems like the world is falling apart. We have to deal with more crap than anybody in history ever has, and that's why I think I'm a part of the REAL Greatest Generation. Sorry grandma, but you just got served!

Now, I'm not sure if everybody knows about this whole 'Greatest Generation' thing, so allow me to explain. A couple of years ago that old news dude Tom Brokaw wrote a book titled "The Greatest Generation" (or something like that) that basically declared that our grandparents were the best because they had to put up with the most shit. I think. I never actually read it. But I imagine the book was all, "Oooh, old people had it rough because they had to deal with the Depression and World War 2 and stuff, and because of that they're better than you." I guess it made sense when he wrote it, but I think it's already outdated. Unfortunately, Mr. Brokaw died of lung cancer like a month ago so he'll never be able to see what I'm talking about, but I know if he's watching us from heaven he'd agree that I'm right about this. Rest in peace Tom. I'm gonna pour some out for you tonight at our Alpha Phi mixer. True.

Anyway, before I go on to explain why WE'RE the REAL Greatest Generation, I thought I'd take a second to announce who's definitely NOT the Greatest Generation: Our parents. They aren't even close! The Lamest Generation is more like it! Ha! They suck! Our parents, or "the baby boomers" as they call themselves never went through anything. What do they have to complain about? Whenever you hear parents complain they're all like, "Wahh, we had to put up with a stupid war in Vietnam that we didn't want. Wahh, we had to worry about communism and Cuba and that MAYBE a country was working on like ONE nuclear bomb that they MIGHT point at the U.S! We had it rough!" Um, how about... NO! Please! If that stuff happened now it would be on like Page 14 in the Post, right after an article about E! canceling "Taradise." Let's be serious people, parents just don't understand. Haha, get it? Rock on Fresh Prince!

So why are we the double G? Jesus, where do I even begin? How about we start with the subject on everybody's mind these days: the price of gas. I mean, are they serious??? When I got my drivers license in March '01 gas was only like $1.19 a gallon in Jersey. It only cost me $20 to fill up my Honda Civic. That's IT. $20. Now, what does $20 get me? Like 7 gallons! It costs me $75 to fill up my LandRover and that's just nuts. Did Brokaw's Greatest Generation ever have to deal with that? Um, no. They were just like "Gee, I hope I gave my horse enough food for the week!" That's bullshit! That's why grandparents have so much money, because they didn't have to fill up their SUV's to go down to the shore every weekend.

You know what else my generation has had to deal with? A little thing called WAR. Our country has been in some sort of war since the day I was born, minus a couple of years when our President was too busy getting his dick sucked in the oval office to care. Haha, awesome. But yeah, when I was born there was the "War on Drugs." That lasted a few years until we had to send our troops to Kuwait to fight in the first Gulf War (GWI). After we were done celebrating our kick ass victory we went BACK to war, only this time in some African countries like Somalia and Bosnia and a couple of others that ended with an -ia. We kicked some ass there, and that's when it seemed like everything was going to be a-okay. But nope. Boom. 9/11. That lead to the "War on Terror" followed by our Second Gulf War (GWII).

If you think about, what we've gone through is very similar to what our grandparents did. They had WWI, we had GWI. They had WWII, we had GWII. They had the Depression, we had 9/11-- which was pretty fucking depressing too. So in a way it's practically the same.

Beyond all the war and gas, though, my generation has had to deal with a bunch of other crap. We had to deal with the tsunami in December, and more recently the hurricane in New Orleans. And although I personally didn't deal with either of them directly, I did watch a few telethons and I paid $30 to see the Black Eyed Peas perform a benefit show, so that has to count for something.

I can go on and on about this, but really, how much more do I have to say to make my point? Our grandparents had to deal with polio, we have to deal with AIDS. We win. Our grandparents didn't know what to do about their crops during the Dust Bowl, we didn't know what to do about Janet Jackson's nipple during the Super Bowl. We win again. Our grandparents had to put up with prohibition, we have to put up with the smoking ban... okay, that one's a draw. But still, I count the final score to be 2-0-1. Advantage: Us!

We're the Greatest Generation because we're taking these hits but we're still going. We're still going to drive our cars, we're going to rebuild our cities when we have to, and we're going to continue kicking ass the best way we know how. We're the Greatest Generation. Us. Not you pops. Us. Deal with it.

Wait a second, something just dawned on me. Wasn't that Brokaw dude who died Canadian? He was, wasn't he? Ah, fuck him, who cares what he thinks? He doesn't know what he's talking aboot! Haha! Get it? Aboot? Haha. Man, we are awesome.

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b at 4:41 PM

r. kelly, jay-z, and me

Okay, this isn't as bad as posting an IM conversation, but it's pretty close. I've had a pretty great email chain going today, and well, it cracked me up. Thought I'd share.

The background is, my friend Greg is going to a Tommy Hilfiger party tomorrow night. Last weekend he invited me, Dan, and our friend Mike. To get the full impact of this, you should know that Mike knows very little about pop culture, and even less about pop music. We used to give Mike music trivia on long rides down to the beach, and some of his answers were just astounding. The most famous example: What instrument does Ringo Starr play? Mike's answer: The saxophone?

So here we go. Here's the email chain. I apologize in advance for the unoriginality. Just enjoy it for what it is.

Greg writes:
Tommy is still going down. Bob, I cant remember telling u or not at the concert, but there is a Tommy party tom night starting at 10pm. My cousin is getting us in, its a post-Fashion week party for Tommy, so should be awesome. There is also a special guest performance. I can bring about 5 people, so you're invited of course.

I immediately reply all with a 'yes,' but then remember I have plans. So I reply again:
oh wait. i just re-read the email. i thought the tommy party was on saaaaaaaaaaaaaaturday. i'm going to a concert tomorrow night, but i might be able to swing by afterwards. would that work?

Greg replies all:
well the only way to get in is to know someone at the door or have a connection to Tommy. If u are not able to get there at 10, then u can stop by and try to work your magic. I'll ask my cousin when we get there if she can get u in if not.

I reply all:
yeah, that's what i figured. thanks anyway buddy. let's try to meet up afterwards. because after the party is the afterparty. correct?

Dan quickly replies all:
and after the party is the hooootel lobby...

I respond:
so where should we meet? the after party or the hotel lobby? and will sipping bacardi be prominently involved?

And that results in Mike finally replying all to ask:
what hotel lobby? is there really an afterparty? I'm confused.

And just like that, everything felt right in the world.

Sorry, I'm still smiling from that. Maybe you had to be there.

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b at 1:46 PM

Fix Me

There are certain moments in a friendship that brings two guys closer together. Standing next to one another surrounded by nothing but couples during a Coldplay concert just so happens to be one of them.

Let me explain. To start, my friend Dan and I did not attend this concert alone. We actually pregamed in the parking lot with ten other people, all of whom we planned on sitting with when we walked into the PNC Bank Arts Center on Saturday night. However, with the lawn completely full, and with several people immediately getting lost thanks to beer runs and bathroom breaks, we decided our best bet to enjoy the show was to sit in our ticketed seats. We didn't think it would be that big of a deal if the two of us watched the show on our own-- it's a concert, it's loud, it's exciting; we'd be fine.

We were wrong.

And here's why. It was a COLDPLAY concert. Now don't read that the wrong way. I know your first instinct is to jump on the "Coldplay is gay" bandwagon and make jokes about our sexuality that would offend Kanye West, but that's not what I'm talking about. Things were weird because, well, I dated Coldplay in college. And so did Dan. And if you're in your early 20's and listen to rock music, chances are you did too. So you know what I'm talking about.

Coldplay was my college girlfriend, much in the same way that R.E.M was my high school girlfriend and Green Day was the new girl in the 9th grade that confused me and made me think crazy thoughts about women for the first time. I'd keep on going back in time, but it starts getting really awkward when SWV was this girl Lisa I had a crush on in the 7th grade, so let's just stop now. Hey, what can I say, the Sistahs with Voices really spoke to me back then.

On Saturday night it was Coldplay speaking to me. And Dan. And every other guy in the audience who had a girlfriend five years ago. "Parachutes" came out in 2000 when I was a junior in college, and everybody I knew-- particularly every girl I knew-- loved it. Especially girlfriends. If you had a girlfriend and you made her a mix CD in 2000, or if you were stubborn like me and made her a good old fashioned mix tape, chances are it probably contained a song from Parachutes. Probably "Sparks." Or if you weren't that creative, probably "Yellow." Either way, Chris Martin was going to be responsible for either the first, third, or sixth track, depending on how much effort you put into pacing.

I graduated college a couple of months before "A Rush Of Blood To The Head" came out, so it wouldn't make sense if that album evoked the same memories as the first. But it does. More than you would think. Because remember those first few months after college? Sure you were scared and you were nervous about starting out on this new path in life, but you knew you were going to be. You were warned about that. You saw "Reality Bites," you knew what was up. However, one thing that nobody ever told you was that aside from fear there's something else you're going to be experiencing: absolute depression. Especially if you had a good time in college. The combination of a full time job (if you're lucky) and the realization that your time in life to fuck around is officially over is usually too much to handle for most people. You're going to miss college. You're going to miss your friends. You're going to long for a simpler time, and you're going to long for everything that came with it. Coldplay knew that. It's not a coincidence that "A Rush of Blood to the Head" came out on August 27th, right when the kids were going back to school and you weren't.

When "X&Y" came out a few months ago I was excited about it, but not in the same way I have been for Coldplay in the past. My friends made fun of me for trying to "act cool" by not listening to it at first. They would laugh and say I was only ignoring it because I was afraid of losing indie cred, and because I wasn't supposed to like it because it was too "mainstream." But that wasn't it. I think it was because I don't think about the college girlfriend anymore. And I don't miss college. That part of my life is so far behind me that I no longer yearn for it. When I finally got around to listening to "X&Y" instead of picking the album apart and using it to score specific college memories and people, like I did with "A Rush of Blood to the Head," I enjoyed it in the present. Which is probably why I don't like it nearly as much as the first two albums. It didn't come with a history.

Now here's the interesting thing about all of this. My college girlfriend and I were already kind of broken up when Parachutes came out. And we were years removed from our relationship when A Rush of Blood to the Head dropped. Neither album technically reminds me of her, and with the exception of "Green Eyes" there isn't a single Coldplay song that reminds me of her either. But somehow, Coldplay reminds me of her. Not in a longing way. More like the way in which watching kids play baseball reminds you of Little League, or like how eating popcorn reminds you of the movies. It's a much more general thing, much more universal.

I don't think I'm alone here. Maybe that's why they're one of the biggest bands in the world. And maybe that's why some people hate them. I guess it makes sense. That's the price they have to pay for writing songs with lines like "And the truth is/ I miss you," and "look at the stars/ look how they shine for you." Some people like to remember all the baggage that those lines carry with them, while for others it's the last thing they want to think about. I get it now.

And to think, it only took a live Coldplay show standing next to another dude to figure it out. If only everything in life was so easy.

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b at 5:04 PM

a question for all of y'all

So the other day I was in Brooklyn when I realized that I was overdue for a haircut. Since I have no clue where to get my hair cut on the lower east side, I thought it would be a good idea to hit up my old place in Park Slope. So I dragged my ass down 5th Avenue to a place that goes by the very intriguing name of Le Chandelier, which I believe loosely translates to The Chandelier. When I arrived it was completely empty, with the exception of one very cute girl who certainly wasn't working there the last time I showed up.

Anyway, long story short, since nobody else was around the cute girl cut my hair. It was the most stressful haircut of my life, because rather than sitting there and making mindless small talk I was concentrating hard on flirting with her and trying to come off as charming. That never happened when I was getting my hair cut at Mario's Barbershop in the Nanuet Mall; the worst case scenario there was I'd have to pretend that I liked soccer for 15 minutes. This was harder.

When all was said and done, though, we kind of hit it off. She was fun to talk to, I was slightly off my game but still not too shabby, and the haircut was... well, we'll get to that.

So when it was time to say our goodbyes I had that feeling you get at the end of a date when you don't know whether or not to make a move. We were both standing there looking at one another, neither of us going one way or the other.

I didn't do it.

Instead of asking her to hang out sometime, I wished her luck with her commercial auditions, her band, her special effects makeup class, and her job making wigs for Broadway (yeah, she has some hobbies.) And then I left.

Now, I didn't chicken out. I swear. I know that because I've chickened out in the past, and this definitely wasn't chickening out. No, this was a much bigger thing: Can I ask out a girl who just cut my hair?

Is it allowed? I have no idea! We all know that you can't ask out waitresses for several reasons, is this the same thing? I mean, it's her job to be nice. She's working for a tip. She probably 'hits it off' with a few people a day, what makes me think I'm so special? Would it be pompous of me to assume she was interested? Would it be flattering, or is it one of those things that she would roll her eyes at? Can you ask out somebody who just performed a service for you??? THAT is the question.

Of course, now looking back at it I kind of wish I did. When I walked out the door she said, "I really hope I see you soon," but that's not going to happen. Unless I decide to shave my head. Or unless I showed up and complained about the haircut and said, "Do it over, bitch!" But something tells me if I did that I wouldn't be able to ask her out afterwards. You know?

Oh well. The haircut turned out fine, by the way. For the first 24 hours I hated it, and I figured she gave me a bad one on purpose to make me ugly to the rest of the world so she could have me all to herself. But nah. It's all good. But that's not important. What's important is finding out who you can and cannot ask out in the real world.

Please help me. I'm rusty.

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b at 3:50 PM