Epilogue
Hello, my name is Bob and I'm an ex-blogger.
It's been nearly two months since my last post (though just two hours since my last drink) and the desire to blog on a regular basis has almost completely disappeared. Almost.
It hasn't been easy-- I've come close to relapsing several times. When you do something almost every day for two years it becomes a part of you. A habit. So in the weeks following my last post there were moments where I'd experience something and think "I can't wait to blog about this." Hey, don't judge me. I'm not the only one who's lived this way. It's a sickness... that's why we have meetings (and by "meetings" I mean "parties at Gawker HQ" or "drinks at The Magician.") But though difficult, I've learned how to get by. You take it one day at a time. One day at a time.
But seriously.
It's good to be back-- if just to say goodbye. Opening up blogger and writing in this little window is bringing back memories of the first time I learned how to hyperlink, the first time I IM'd Jon Sencio and the first time I referred to myself as incredibly, incredibly good looking. Ahh, twas so long ago. I'm worried though, that since I haven't written here in so long there's the potential that I might just keep writing and writing and writing and not know when to stop. It's like when you haven't drank in a long time and you go out and drink so much that you throw up. Or like when you haven't masturbated in a long time and... you know what, I'm not going to finish that analogy. I think you know where I was going.
A lot's been going on in my life-- most of which, sadly, I can't write about here (at this juncture.) You may have noticed that
The Post Show has "Gone Fishin'" for a couple of weeks. I wish that was the case. On the site we're calling it a "break", but the truth is I've been working harder than I ever have in my life. There's the potential for big things to happen and if everything works out we'll be able to entertain you with more Post Show than you could ever ask for. So if you're a fan, you should know that we're not sitting on our asses and letting The Post Show die a slow death. We're putting together something bigger. And if you're not a fan-- Fuck off. Go read Aaron Karo or something.
So what else is new? Well, despite being really busy I've had some pretty good times since the last time I posted here. I finally saw my first favorite band ever, Pearl Jam, in concert a couple of weeks ago (which was great.) I had a party on Saturday-- you can find pictures over at
Aeki Tuesday-- (which was a fucking blast). And I talked my way into the Rolling Stone 1,000th issue party last month by drunkenly pretending I was a movie star (which was one of he highlights of my life. In fact, let's talk about this real quick.)
The Wednesday of the Rolling Stone party I had plans to hang out with my longtime friends Dan and Sarah. We were going to meet at Bryant Park, grab dinner somewhere, drink some wine, get loaded, and then proceed to wax nostalgic about high school for a while. It was a can't-miss plan. Well. That day at work
Alex reminded me that there was a Rolling Stone party that night that we both RSVP'd to- dont' ask how. He asked if I still planned on going and I said no. For weeks I heard about how hard it was going to be to get into the thing, and since I never heard back on the RSVP I assumed I had been denied. Alex, though, still planned on giving it a try. I told him that if he made it in to give me a call and maybe we'd meet up.
A few hours later while drinking a bottle of red wine and eating some good Italian food, I got a voicemail. "Bob, it's Alex. So, somehow I'm not on the list... but you are. You should get over here, it looks like a lot of fun inside. I'm gonna try to talk my way in. Oh, and just so you know, they spelled your name wrong-- they spelled it aaarrrrghhhhhhh." Now, Alex didn't mumble the spelling, but like I said, we were drinking a bottle of wine. I was already pretty banged up. I hung up the phone and asked Dan and Sarah if they wanted to try to get in. They did.
When we walked up to the Hammerstein Ballroom there were people everywhere. Photographers. Celebrities. People with clipboards. Homeless people. It was a beautiful sight. I walked over to one of the guys with a clipboard and asked him where I should go-- I'm on the list, I say. He says he can help. He asks me my name and I tell him. It's not there. Oh, I say, I was told it's misspelled. Try Ca-trone. Or Castro. He looks- nothing. I start getting worried. Maybe Alex was wrong, maybe I wasn't on the list. He continues to try to find my name and I'm looking down at the clipboard trying to figure out how they have things organized. "I work at VH1, " I say. "Does that help you figure out where it is?" (Note: I didn't say this in an obnoxious 'don't you know who I am?' way. I was serious.) At that point he looks up at me and suddenly looks as if he knows me. Heyyyyy... wait a second, he says. Aren't you on that show? Yes, I say. I'm on Best Week Ever. Yeah! That's it! I knew you looked familiar! He grabs another clipboard guy. Look, it's the guy from Best Week Ever. The other guy pauses for just a second... Oh yeah! Nice to meet you man! Big fan! Thanks, I say. You're in other stuff too, aren't you, he asks. Yes, I say. I'm in The Post Show... and movies. That's right! I knew it. Well, here you go, he says as he puts a VIP wristband around my wrist. I'm here with two friends, I say pushing it, are they cool? Of course! We get ushered right in.
Now look, I didn't lie. I've been on Best Week Ever... in skits... for a grand total of about 9 seconds... and I'm on The Post Show. And while I've never been "in" a movie, I did intern on one. Sorta. So I didn't lie. Did that guy really recognize me, though? Absolutely not. I completely lucked out. For the first time in my life being a generic looking white guy with big hair paid off. Thank you
Jesus Moses.
The party itself was great. While Alex (who did end up talking his way in) and a few other friends were upstairs, I was wandering around the floor drinking for free and bumping into Marilyn Manson and Moby. When The Strokes came on stage, we sadled up next to Drew Barrymore in one of the balconies. When Eddie Vedder came out to perform "Juicebox" with the band I covered my mouth in disbelief for the entire performance. When Lou Reed came out I couldn't help but think how lucky I was to be there. And when the concert ended, Drew and I got to second base. Sloppy second. Or not. I can't remember.
As people started filing out, Dan, Sarah and I left the Barrymore balcony and went back to the floor. At this point, everything is blurry. I remember Sarah introducing me to Horatio Sanz, and I remember Horatio giving me a "this guy is fucked up" looked. He was right, but it still angered me that Horatio Fucking Sanz thought
I was a mess. I remember talking to Jim from The Office, the whole time being paranoid that I was going to say something stupid and he was going to look up at the (non-existent) camera and roll his eyes like he does on the show. And I remember grabbing GOB from Arrested Development by the arm and telling him I'm a huge fan. I'm so, so smooth.
When we finally left the party I turned to Dan and said "I'm such a disaster right now." A random guy overheard me and laughed, "Haha man, me too." Nice, I replied. He then looked at me and said, "Hey, can I ask you a question-- is your blog Poop?" Holy shit. It is, I said. It is. We talked for a couple of seconds, shook hands, then went our separate ways. What a night. What a night.
During the cab ride home I remember thinking "I wish I was still blogging so I could write about this. I wonder what my angle would be. I wonder where the jokes are? Would I include the part about going to a bar after the party and having the hot bartender call me out for staring at her breasts? Probably not. And last but not least, If I did write about this, I wonder what the Comments would say? I wonder how people would respond." Of course, all these thoughts came to a sudden end when the "It's late and I'm drunk, is there anybody I can booty call?" thought came up and trumped them all, but that's to be expected.
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Over the weekend a couple of friends asked me when I was going to officially "retire" this site. I kind of thought I had. My Blog is Poop is done-- this is the epilogue-- and I hope you enjoyed the whole thing. If you didn't enjoy the whole thing, I hope you enjoyed the funny stuff. And if you didn't enjoy that, I hope you just enjoyed the picture of the back of my head. (Seriously, I'll take what I can get.) Overall, as long as you liked reading this stuff as much as I liked writing it, then I consider it a success. All I ever wanted was to get my stuff out there. And I did. And I plan on continuing in some way, shape or form.
So this is the end of Poop. But I promise. It's just the beginning...
(how dramatic is that???? What a great way to go out! Damn, I'm good!)
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b at 8:57 PM
