my blog is Poop

Miley Cyrus Photo Shoot- Brand New from I AM ZUMWALT

2008-04-30T17:04:00.002-04:00

My friend and colleague Jason Zumwalt has a brand new show called I Am Zumwalt. I view this probably the same way Keith Richards views Mick Jagger's solo work- it's amazing in its' own right, but it's no Stones. But that being said, "God Gave Me Everything I Want" was a pretty awesome song. And after watching this Miley Cyrus video, I have to admit that it's pretty awesome too. And Jason sure is handsome. Shit. Maybe I'm not Keith. Maybe Jason is George Michael and I'm the other guy from Wham.

Shit.

Hot Chicks With Douchebags

2008-03-04T17:30:00.000-05:00

Douchebag Beach "Season" 2 Begins RIGHT NOW with DJ Twink!

2008-02-26T20:29:00.002-05:00

Yes, I know that the return of My Blog Is Poop falls somewhere in between the return of the Smashing Pumpkins and the return of Michael Jordan to the Washington Wizards, but that's not going to stop me from posting infrequently to direct you to Douchebag Beach, Post Show stuff or whatever else I'm working on. And yes, when the mood strikes, maybe I'll even write something semi-clever. Maybe. Hopefully. I think. We'll see.

Anyway, watch the first new episode of Douchebag Beach above. The last 5 episodes we shot are about a thousand times funnier than the first four. Gay bars, bikini contests, limo rides... and so much more. Enjoy.

This Is The Last Douchebag Beach Post Because There Aren't Any More Douchebag Beaches to Post

2008-02-06T03:39:00.001-05:00

For now, at least.

Over the past two nights we've been writing and working on the next five episodes. If all goes according to plan, we should be able to shoot them and get them up by the end of February. I don't want to build them up too much... but if they come out the way we want them to, they're gonna be a hundred times better than the first four. At least.

So here's my question to you's: what should we include in the next installment of Douchebag Beach? What douchebag characteristics/traits did we miss out on? What would you want to see these three db's do? The ball's in your court. Let's douche it up.

12 Beers, 12 Wings, And A Countless Amount of Chips Later...

2008-02-04T01:36:00.000-05:00

Okay,so I'm drunk right now.

Drunk, happy and absolutely blown away by the greatest Superbowl in Superbowl history. Bar none. Greatest upset ever. Greatest final drive ever. Greatest Tom Petty ever. Greatest... everything.

This honestly ranks on the top 10 moments of my life. However, unlike losing my virginity and winning my first ever fist fight in the 9th grade, I had nothing to do with this one. That doesn't make it any less special.

Eli Manning beat the best team in the history of football*. Wow. Wow. Wow.

Here's the best thing about watching your underdog team win the Superbowl = everything. I'm laughing out loud watching Sportscenter. I'm laughing out loud reading the Boston.com message boards. I'm laughing out loud at every story I read on ESPN and Sports Illustrated. And I'm not even doing it for show... I'm completely alone. The two dozen people who were here for our Superbowl party went home already because I live in LA now and people in LA don't genuinely know how to party. So nobody's laughing or enjoying this but me. And that's fine.

I'm gonna go pass out. I hope the Giants are still the 2008 Champions when I wake up.

*not any more, losers

Rockscissors Beats Everything

2008-01-23T04:38:00.000-05:00

Subscribe to Douchebag Beach! Leave comments! Pass it on to your friends! Exclamation points!

My three favorite things about episode 2: 1) Greg accidentally smacking the camera and unleashing an unscripted "fuck" in the bathroom. 2) Jason's face when he says "I'm in love with this retard." So happy and hopefully. 3) Taping my GF's face up and making her dance with glowsticks and arm casts. I think that's the moment she realized that dating me wasn't going to be easy.

Douchebag Beach: A Love Story

2008-01-15T23:18:00.000-05:00

3 douchebags. 1 summer. 1 mission. Find true love... at the Jersey Shore.

So I'm incredibly excited to share Douchebag Beach with y'all today. We shot this over the summer in Belmar, NJ and I couldn't be happier with how it turned out.

The company we shot it for, 60Frames, launched their website today. They're going to be distributing their videos through YouTube, MySpace, etc. so hopefully Douchebag Beach manages to find its way to douchebags all over the country. Hopefully. But hey, even if it doesn't, that's not going to stop me from buying some Douchebag Beach merch. The lifeguard hoodie is just too awesome.

Oh, Hello

2007-01-23T11:34:00.000-05:00

While this blog has been out of commission for quite some time now, I recently noticed that it's still been getting a few hundred hits a day. Sure, most of them are from people googling the words "handjob", "poop", or "John Sencio", but the point is people still ending up at this page whether they like it or not. So I'm going to have to take advantage of that.

Perverts, children and John Sencio fans: head on over to The Post Show at SuperDeluxe right now. I promise, there's something for all of you there (especially you, perverts.)

Oh, and thanks to everybody who's still checking this site out. If you want the good stuff, check out the Best Of Poop to the left, if you want the bad stuff, read everything, and if you want the really bad stuff, just click here.

I'll see you all on the flipside.

It's That Time Of Year Again; The 2006 Pearl River Memorial Pub Crawl

2006-11-10T12:16:00.000-05:00

Listen-- we all know this blog is deader than Bill Bellamy's movie career (hey-o!), but I still feel like it's my civic duty to share with you the details of the 2006 Pearl River Memorial Pub Crawl. What can I say; old habits die hard. Here's this year's Pub Crawl email courtesy of Dan Hanzus. Enjoy.

I begin this year with a story of hope and inspiration.

Thanksgiving Eve was an event in Pearl River long before members of the Class of 1998 ever sipped their first Bartles & Jaymes wine cooler. An unofficial town reunion of sorts, the night provided young locals the opportunity to guzzle brew with old friends, labor through awkward conversations, make out with past crushes and smile for pictures never to be seen -- all while comparing the state of your life to that of your hometown contemporaries. There were also a bunch of "human oval" jokes. When the night of hard-drinking transitioned into a day of hangovers, STD tests and turkey, nobody complained.

But something strange happened on the way to the pub. The kids from PR wanted more. And so it was that the inaugural Pearl River Memorial Pub Crawl was born in 2002. An instant success, the Crawl has grown in size and influence with each passing year, an epic group outing that has weaved its way into the very fabric of the town itself.

In keeping with the tradition of naming the event in honor of a recently fallen celebrity, the 2006 Pearl River Pub Crawl will remember Pat Morita, perhaps best known for his role as Mr. Miyagi, the loveable old Asian with an acute affection for young boys in the 1984 Hollywood blockbuster, "The Karate Kid." Some may also recall Morita (and by "some" I mean Bob and I) as the loveable old Asian vagabond in the 1992 Cinemax teen masturbation epic, "Miracle Beach." Morita passed away on Thanksgiving Day 2005 due to complications associated with alcoholism. He was 73. His date of death is especially noteworthy because it gave him eligibility for the 2006 Pub Crawl by the slimmest of margins – one day. You can't help but wonder if Morita had that in mind before swigging his last shot of Sake.

I'm going to hell.

For those new to the game, here's a quick review. The Pearl River Memorial Pub Crawl is a game of skill and endurance set against the backdrop of the world of competitive binge drinking. The contest is made up of co-ed groups of two, in a multiple-stop tour of bars spanning across beautiful Pearl River, better known as "Still the Town of Friendly People." This slogan remains endlessly confusing to outsiders. Each team will be distributed a scorecard and pencil, where they will track their drinking progress throughout the night. A rundown of the point system is as follows:

Beer = 1 point

Mixed drink = 2 points

Shot = 3 points

Irish Car Bomb = 5 points

The team that accumulates the most points by the end of the evening is crowned champion and will receive an unspecified grand prize. Large-breasted women and massively-endowed men will also be offered up to the victors.

Let's take a closer look at how we got here:

2002

The first Pub Crawl was held mere months after college graduation for many of the participants and was presented in honor of TLC songstress Lisa "Left Eye" Lopez, who was killed that April in a Honduras car accident. The event proved to be a historic moment in Pearl River history, widely regarded as the first pub crawl to institute an intricate scoring system. This may have been an unprecedented world event as well. Crawl co-founder Bob Castrone and partner Cristen Megdanis were the inaugural winners, the grand prize a hastily-produced unauthorized "Left Eye" biography on paperback.

2003

Following the startling success of the first Crawl, participants and stakes grew in Pearl River. The sophomore proceedings were named in honor of Fred "Rerun" Berry, the African American funnyman and "What's Happening" star who died following a stroke in October of that year. Notable moments included the introduction of the bonus drink super-score, the look on the bartender's face at Pearl River Lanes when 20 buzzed retards poured in, and a second straight victory for the Castrone/Megdanis team, who remain the only two-time winners. The grand prize was a pair of Rerun-emblazoned T-shirts designed for the event.

2004

Year 3 of the Pub Crawl continued in the successful vein of the first two events, with growing numbers and increased visibility throughout the community. The event was christened in honor of rapper Russell Jones – more popularly known as Ol' Dirty Bastard -- who died of a drug overdose just two weeks earlier. The '04 Crawl was the first event to be threatened by poor weather conditions, as rain extended the group's visits to the Grasshopper and Pearl River Lanes bars (maybe … this is mostly a guess, but might be correct). Event co-founder Dan Hanzus and Christine Ann Ruis were crowned winners. They were presented with engraved plaques commemorating the victory.

2005

The most recent incarnation set a new standard in participation, as more than 20 drinkers took part in the festivities. The '05 Crawl was in remembrance of Rosa Parks, the African American civil rights icon who passed away from natural causes a month earlier. The competition featured one of the odder moments in Crawl history, as two first-time female participants inexplicably made out with this one chick I happened to be dating at the time. Hanzus later noted that the incident at Fennell's was, "totally not as cool as you might think." Greg Badigian and Renee Menard were the controversial winners in the closest final tally in Pub Crawl history. The pair will be rewarded for their victory at this year's event.

So you're probably wondering, 'Who's my teammate?' Or maybe, 'Hey Dan, are you one of the massively-endowed love slaves?' Well, I can't disclose the latter, but I will let you in on the legal business. Teams will be chosen at random on the day of the Crawl. Defending champions may remain as teammates if they so wish. There will be NO trading of teammates. Teams that do not complete the Crawl in its entirety are ELIMINATED regardless of point total. Per tradition, the Crawl will begin at J.F. Keane's at 9 p.m. ET and will end at The Saloon some time later. Please dress warmly; Brian Brown lost his beefy right leg to frostbite in 2003. Big ol' teddy bear never had a chance.

Friends, this is our legacy. Make Pearl River proud.

(wipes away tear) As always, you're all invited to participate. Give me a call, send me an email, and come to the Town of Friendly People this Thanksgiving Eve. Do it for Mr. Miyagi. Banzai!

Epilogue

2006-06-12T20:57:00.000-04:00

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.

--------------------------

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!)

never forget

2006-04-14T03:17:00.000-04:00

note: this post was written in two parts-- it started one sunday night a couple of weeks ago after a night of drinking. the second part came last night, relatively sober, after deciding that even though this verges on kind of personal, and not necessarily very funny, I wasn't going to throw it out. I was going to make myself finish it. and that's where we begin...

I'm writing this post at 3:15 on a sunday morning. This marks two firsts in my blogging history. Number one, it's the first time I've ever posted on a Sunday, and number two, it's the first time I've ever written something after a night out. Hey, there's a first time for everything.

So why this departure from the norm? Well, because tonight when I was out, my friends and I talked about a very personal matter. A very personal matter that I want to share with you right now. Tonight, we talked about our personal 9/11's.

Right now you may be wondering what a personal 9/11 is. Maybe. However, if you've experienced one, you know. Everybody who's ever been in love... or more specifically, everybody who's ever loved and lost... has been through a personal 9/11. It's the moment when everything changes forever. The moment that there's no coming back from. The moment where you lose faith, you're hit hard and you're reeling. Wondering how you got to that point and what could possibly come next. It's the worst feeling in the world. Well, it's one of them.

Now, I don't want to mislead you. I think I need to be a little more specific as to what I'm talking about. I'm not talking about the moment in a relationship when you realize things aren't going to work. That moment's not nearly as devastating. And I'm not talking about the actual breakup either. Even that's easier to deal with. I'm talking about what happens after the breakup. Days, weeks, or months after when you start thinking about your ex and questioning if you both made the right decision. I'm talking about the moment that comes after you're left alone with your thoughts and your worries and your fears, and when you decide it's time to tell them exactly how you feel. Regardless of what the outcome may be. It's selfish, with the hopes that it will be considered selfless in retrospect. But at the same time it's a suicide mission. It's the formula for a personal 9/11.

Not every relationship leads to this type of moment. Thank god. Only that one special one. Even if you've been lucky enough to have more than one great relationship in your lifetime, there's still that one that you always come back to. That one ex that pops up in your head time and time again. No matter how much time passes or no matter how much you think you've grown. There they are. That's the one who's responsible for your personal 9/11. That's the one who committed a jihad against your heart, which is not only cruel, but also one hell of a Country song title.

This moment-- this one-of-a-kind moment-- is not limited to one style. It can come in many shapes and sizes. Sometimes it happens in a letter. Sometimes it happens during a planned meeting. It can happen at a party or in a park or in between classes as dozens of people stop in their tracks to soak in the sight of a guy crying his eyes out in front of the Psychology building as his ex-girlfriend stands there hoping that her teacher doesn't come out. Like I said, it's far from limited. Though there is one common tie that binds-- you're usually drunk.

The nice thing about these moments is that there's not a gender bias. It can happen to men, it can happen to women. The only difference is when a guy throws himself out there and lays it out on the table for an unresponsive ex he becomes "pathetic" whereas a girl simply becomes "crazy." Tomatoes, tomatoes. It's all the same.

Me, my personal 9/11 came years ago. In email form. And yes, I was drunk. In fact, I pulled off a rare personal 9/11 trifecta-- it started at a party, climaxed with a drunken email, and the denoument involved an awkward cup of coffee in a very public place. Scholars have since used this series of events in their studies. Studies which went on to conclude that it's never a good idea to invite your ex-girlfriend to a party a month before graduation when she's dating somebody and you're confused. If only I would have had those schematics back in '02, maybe this whole thing could have been avoided. But probably not.

Because you can't avoid it. It's bigger than you. Even if everything points to it being a bad idea-- your gut, your friends, that crazy little thing called "logic"-- it doesn't matter. You're going to do it. It's the grown up equivalent to "do you think it's going to hurt if I jump from here?" Yes, it will. But you're going to have to give it a try anyway.

I try not to think about the email I sent to Meredith that night. It was, no doubt, ugly. Getting rejected by somebody who in the past has only accepted you; there's no easy way to take that. It's definitely going to hurt and it's definitely going to suck and you're definitely going to include a line in that email that reads "I hope you regret this for the rest of your life" and wish you didn't when you realize what you did in the morning. Remember I said I try not to think about it.

Far removed from that night-- both in time and emotionally, I know it was a good thing. It is a good thing. It gives you that closure that a breakup doesn't. I remember listening to Loveline on the radio one night driving around Baltimore, where Adam Corrolla said "even after they break up with a chick, guys feel like they have a lifetime pass." Which is totally true. We do. That is, until you have that personal 9/11 moment. Thats when your pass gets denied. Done. Thanks for playing. But unlike other relationships, when you're talking about that Important one, this is how it has to end. Or it won't end. There's a reason they're important.

Do I regret my personal 9/11? Yes and no. Looking back, I wish I wasn't drunk and I wish I would have been able to pull myself toether before saying things I'd regret. While the event was completely necessary, I wish I would have handled myself a little better. I think that sometimes, but then I realize No. That's impossible. That's not what it's about. When you decide to make that jump you can't expect to control anything as you're falling to the ground. You just have to hope that it doesn't hurt too much when you land.

And even if it does, guess what. That's not going to stop you from getting back on that edge again if you have the opportunity. Some people never learn.

how a resurrection really feels

2006-03-14T15:50:00.000-05:00

In late January I experienced a tremendous loss. Some of you might remember. On a day like any other, I plugged my iPod into a friend's computer, and then, just like that, everything was gone. It was, on more than one level, an absolutely devastating tragedy. Some might say national tragedy. Let's say national tragedy.

Immediately after it happened I sat down in front of my computer and I wrote about it. It was by far the most emotional post I've ever written on this site. I was a shell of a man. After a year of accumulating 6,000 songs, many from various computers and friends, I was left with nothing. I felt it in my gut. Without a doubt, the feeling was worse than that of learning you have crabs. It was worse than crabs.

When I got home that night and decided that rather than waste time mourning I should start rebuilding my library, I noticed something strange. My 30GB iPod, though completely empty, said I only had 3GB of space available. Odd, I thought. I quickly loaded 600 songs onto the device and vowed to get to the Apple store in SoHo as soon as I could to see if maybe-- somehow-- my songs survived the attack. There was a glimmer of hope. It was like when Bush declared an end to major combat in Iraq. It was just like that.

Well, I never had the time to tackle the infamously frustrating and horrible Apple store and their bar full of Geniuses. A month and a half went by, and rather than get my iPod checked out I simply listened to the same 600 songs over and over again. It wasn't too bad. I'm pretty sure I listened to "Beautiful Girl" by INXS roughly 1,344 times. Give or take. Like I said, it wasn't too bad.

This Saturday I went home to Rockland county for the night. After hitting a couple of golf balls at my second-favorite driving range in the unseasonably warm weather, I figured I'd drop by the Apple store at the mall to see if I could talk to somebody about my iPod problems. I walked into the practically empty store and walked right up to the vacant Genius Bar. An employee came over and asked if he could help me, and I responded "hopefully." Without waiting or making an appointment, the Genius sat down and tried to figure out what was wrong. He tried to figure it out. He couldn't. Genius my ass.

He did say one thing, though. One thing that got me thinking.

When I got home that night I plugged into the family computer to dig around. Long story short, after fishing around and cleaning things up and pulling things out... I found them. All of them. I found my entire iPod library.

And now I don't know what to do. I'm intimidated. I'm scared. I feel like Jude Law at the end of Cold Mountain-- I completed this long journey, I went through so much, and now I finally have what I was searching for right in front of me... and I'm scared I'll lose it again. Or I'll get shot in the back. (Spoiler alert) I've been reunited with my iPod songs. All of them. And I couldn't be happier. It's like waking up on January 1, 2000 and discovering that the Y2K bug didn't wipe us all out. Yeah. It's just like that.

Aaron Karo: The Man With Absolutely Nothing Funny To Say

2006-03-13T15:33:00.000-05:00

You ever get the feeling that when you set your iPod to "shuffle" the songs that play aren't random at all?

Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great sadness that I report I can not leave My Blog is Poop with a final Guess The Karo! Not because I don't want to, and not because I haven't tried. No. It's because there is officially nothing funny about Aaron Karo's Ruminations anymore. Nothing whatsoever.

In the past we've shared a laugh over the mundane observations-- or Ruminations, if you will-- of the comedically challenged Long Island frat boy. We've balked at his obvious punchlines and we've cringed upon hearing the news of his subsequent success. Each game of Guess The Karo!-- where I challenged you to pick out Aaron's "joke" amongst my similar non-jokes-- left commentators dumbfounded and wondering, "Wait... is this guy really making a living with material like that?" And the answer was yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

And that's why I've never felt bad skewering AK on this site. Because I'm just a blogger. He's a "comedian" with a development deal making good money off an idea he had when he was a college student. If he ever wanted to respond to anything I had written, all he had to say was "The guy is jealous. I have more readers, and I'm funnier." And he'd be right about the readers.

Do I hate Aaron Karo? Nah. Of course not. Somebody recently sent me his MySpace page, where I learned that we both like the same teams: The Yankees, Giants, Rangers, Knicks, and Women (get it? that's a Karo joke). He can't be that bad of a guy. All of my comments and jabs and verbal attacks have nothing to do with Aaron Karo the person. They have to do with Aaron Karo the comedian. And Aaron Karo the comedian isn't funny. At all. It's a fact.

You ever get the feeling that when you set your iPod to "shuffle" the songs that play aren't random at all?

Back to Guess The Karo! Like I was saying, we stopped playing GTK! because Aaron Karo has stopped writing jokes. Some could argue he never did. I think he used to try. But not anymore. He's mailing them in now- and while some comedians can get away with mailing it in, clearly Karo cannot. Just look at that iPod joke. Or read his last column. How can I pick on him? It's completely unfair.

And that's why today, in my last ever Karo-related post, I'm not going to poke fun at his punchlines and belittle his comedy. No. Instead, I'm going to ask him a simple favor.

Aaron- stop it. Please. Just stop. For all of us. You had a nice run, you made a lot of money, god knows you've gotten laid from it-- what more do you need? Now, you're just being selfish. Because it's clear you're not doing it for your fans or your readers anymore- you're doing it for yourself. So please stop. You graduated from Penn, you used to work on Wall Street-- go back. You'll lead a happy life, I'm sure... and if that's the case, so will we. Everybody wins.

So please Aaron. From one comedian to another. It's time to throw in the towel. Because you know man, from one Knicks fan to another... You're the Isiah Thomas of comedy.

Do the right thing. Walk away.

i'm not ready to go yet...

2006-03-01T18:17:00.000-05:00

Soon. But not yet. I still have some things left to say.

UPDATE: Okay, so I'm not trying to be mysterious here. The plan was to write a few more solid posts and then pack it in. Unfortunately, I haven't even been able to devote enough time to this site to do that. That's still the plan... it's just taking longer than I thought it would.

Anyway, you can expect posts about 'Or Something' Girls, an exploding toilet, a revolutionary rating system, a final Guess The Karo, and a few other things here and there. Soon.

In the meantime, I'll be spending all day tomorrow drinking in Hoboken and pretending that it's St. Patrick's Day. I'll also be at the Strokes show tomorrow night where I'm destined not to remember a single thing. So if you see me there stumbling over high school kids and singing all the wrong words, forgive me. I know not what I do.

Have a radical weekend.

Books I'm Qualified To Write

2006-02-21T18:32:00.000-05:00

Despite blogging consistently for almost two years, somehow, some way, I have never been offered a book deal. Surely this must be some kind of oversight. I mean, don't ALL bloggers get book deals? I'm hurt.

Not that I want to write a book, but if I was given the opportunity I think there are several things I could write about. Especially since I've learned a lot in these two years. I wouldn't call it "This Book is Poop" or anything that would hurt my chances of cracking the Amazon Hot 100. Instead, I'd have to think of something unique and original. Which is tough. But here are some ideas. These are the books that I think I'm qualified to write.

You're Selling Me A Sandwich, Not Disarming A Nuclear Bomb-- Slow The Fuck Down Please, I'm Looking For Exact Change: A Guide to Buying Lunch in Times Square

Cancel Your Blockbuster Card ...and other things you should remember to do after breaking up with your girlfriend

Not Having Any Toilet Paper Will NOT Help Your Chances of Getting Laid: A True Story

"Crazy" Is Not A Benefit In A Friends-With-Benefits Relationship Trying to Keep Things Casual in New York City

Free Drinks! If Those Words Don't Make Me Want To Attend Your Party, Assume You're Genuinely Unlikeable

"I Don't Do Brooklyn" - The Story of a Man Who Promised He'd Never Say Those Words... and Then Did

I'd Rather Be An F-List Celebrity Than An A-List Blogebrity: A Manifesto

Thanks For The Add! Trying To Validate My Existance, One MySpace Friend At A Time

"See That Girl? I Gave Her An Abortion." And Other Things That Some Hipsters Said To Me at Orchard Bar on a Friday Night

How Old Are You? or Why Are You Giving Me A Handjob?

Dirty Dishes? Throw Them Out! Living Like An Idiot On The Lower East Side

Feldman & Flava: My Brushes With Greatness At VH1

Deal With It: The Unauthorized Autobiography of Bob Castrone

Funtember 11th: A Guide To Assessing The Crowd and Looking Over Your Shoulders Before Making A Joke Regarding September 11th

Why I Shouldn't Be Allowed To Speak While Drunk: A 22 (and counting) Part Anthology

Randomhouse-- I'll be waiting by the phone.

the end of the road

2006-02-17T11:56:00.000-05:00

"What a long, strange trip it's been." - Hippies

Well people, the time has come. It's time to put My Blog is Poop out of its misery.

Yesterday I began looking through the posts from the last couple of months and I realized that not only has the quantity of Poop posts gone down, the quality has too. To quote the gorgeous Rhett Miller, I think it's obvious that "My heart wasn't in it, not for one single minute." And that's not good.

When I started this site it was the only place I could go to get my ideas out. I had a boring job, so this was where I came to be creative. Now with The Post Show and the Best Week Ever site I spend my days (and nights) doing what I like to do best: writing jokes, producing videos and (hopefully) making people laugh. I'm incredibly lucky.

So many great things have come out of this ridiculous blog that I kind of feel like a traitor abandoning it. It's gotten me a promotion. It's gotten me recognized on the street. It's the reason I now have great friends like Jenny, Alex, and Rob. Without Poop I would've never met my soul-sistah for life Alexis, or my future wife, Anna. Of course, come to think of it I also wouldn't have a horrible ex-girlfriend who recently rented a bunch of videos from Blockbuster on my card and didn't return them, but hey! nothing's perfect.

Thanks to this site I've had the opportunity to perform at Lindsay's Ritalin Readings. I've gotten a few dates. I've had an IM conversation with the Immortal John Sencio. And most importantly, I've turned people off from Aaron Karo. I hope.

This isn't my last post. I've been devastated in the past when I'd visit one of my favorite blogs only to be greeted with a final "this is it" message. Instead, I'm turning in my two week notice. The last post will be on March 2, two years to the day of this site's inception. How dramatic!

Before that, I'm going to try to post a few decent things. That way, years from now if a bored 16-year-old kid stumbles onto this page, he won't be met with a lame post about Black Cherry Vanilla Diet Coke.

Yeah. It's time to go.

It's been fun.

my blog is stolen

2006-02-10T12:03:00.000-05:00

Hey, I don't have any time to write something for My Blog is Poop right now... but apparently this guy does.

Big thanks to Jack Kukoda for blowing the whistle on this one. And The Apiary for blowing the case wide open. And to Christopher Peek himself, for just straight-up blowing.

Do I honestly care that some comedian/magician in Alabama stole stuff I wrote and passed it on as his own? Nah. Well. Unless it got him laid. If that's the case, Fuck You Christopher Peek (and, how'd you do it? I'm still trying to figure it out.)

Read about Jack's discovery here.
Read The Apiary's take here.
Read Christopher Peek's hilarious livejournal here.

So, what do you guys think? I guess it could be worse: he could have been ripping off Aaron Karo. Right?

I LoVermont

2006-02-07T19:06:00.000-05:00

It was a Deep Creek weekend.

I was 19 this weekend, and it felt fan-fucking tastic. Partying in a rented-out house in the hills of Vermont with 13 amazing people and more booze and mind-altering substances than a Cyprus Hill concert. It's good to be young.

When I was 19 a bunch of my freshman year friends and I spent a weekend in Deep Creek, Maryland. Population 52, I think. Today that weekend is a giant blur in my mind, much like this weekend will be 7 years from now. I remember bits and pieces. I remember buying a 30-pack of Natural Bohemian at the local gas station and it costing $8.99. I remember standing on the deck with my girlfriend Meredith and being completely aware that it was going to be one of those moments that I'd never forgot. And I remember bbq-ing, running around the big back yard with no pants on, playing an intense game of Asshole, and singing "Piano Man" at the top of my lungs at 4:30 in the morning. That's what Deep Creek weekends are all about, and unfortunately they're a whole lot easier to come by when you're 19 than when you're in your mid-20's.

I knew that when Dan's cousin Big Al invited me along to a weekend getaway in Vermont it would be one of those weekends. I also knew it was going to be in February, right around the time I started a new job and when the Post Show would be back in full swing. I should have said no, especially when I found out the gang was leaving on Friday morning and coming back Monday night. But I didn't. Maybe I was experiencing a mid-midlife crisis or something, but then and there I decided that there was no way I would miss this Deep Creek weekend. I compromised-- I took off Friday, but forced myself to leave at 5:30 in the morning Monday-- and luckily everything worked out. And I definitely made the right decision.

-----------------------------------------

"All I do is listen to Pavement and think about the early 90's."

That was the first thing I said to Dan as I turned off my iPod and approached his car in Hoboken on Friday morning. I then told him I wasn't going to get in the car unless (a) we listened to nothing but music made from 1990-1996 on the ride up, and (b) he promised he would have a detailed discussion with me about grunge music and the effect it had on a generation of awkward 13-year-olds who just started appreciating music at its peak. We did both.

-----------------------------------------

We would have made it to our destination in record time were it not for the fact that the directions ended a mile short of where we were supposed to end up. Being a mile away from a place you've never been before in the middle of Vermont as the sun is setting and the roads are freezing and you have absolutely no cell phone service has all the makings of a bad horror film. At one point when Dan got out of the car to ask somebody for directions I thought it'd be funny to steal his ID and put it in my wallet. That way, later in the weekend, when we went to a bar and he reached to pull it out it wouldn't be there and he'd freak out. Seemed like a funny idea. However, as time passed and we weren't any closer to finding the house and it started feeling more and more like we were going to eventually be forced to run through the snowy woods to get away from a vicious axe murderer, I decided it'd be best to fess up and give him his ID back. Just in case.

We never found the house. Instead, we found another car doing the same thing we were doing, and eventually we found Big Al. Or Big Al found us. He lead us to the place-- which was incredible-- and the weekend began.

There was drinking. There was smoking. There was flip cup, beer pong, Asshole, and Golf (the card game. The one that involves drinking, not putting.) I woke up Saturday morning wondering where I was exactly and how I got into bed. I'll never know the answer to the latter. I have no problem with that.

Leading up to the weekend I talked a lot about skiing. I've only been skiing twice in my life... with varying results. The first time I ever hit the slopes I bet my friends I wouldn't fall. I just had a feeling that I'd be a natural. I was right. I didn't fall once (except for a ski-lift incident that I'd rather not get into), and by the end of the day I was tackling the Intermediate slopes with no problem. I was a pro. The second time I went skiing, about a year later, I cracked two ribs. I guess I wasn't as natural as I thought. But cracking my ribs taught me two things: 1. don't get cocky when you've only had limited success with something, and 2. don't go down a black diamond when you're really not all too good at stopping or controlling your speed. I haven't done either since.

Anyway, all of my ski talk was for naught. I didn't go skiing-- hell, I barely touched snow all weekend-- even though I still plan on telling everybody at work that I did. I don't think I can justify going to Vermont for a weekend and drinking in a SKI LODGE all day Saturday without actually going skiing. So I'm going to lie. You heard it here first.

The bar at the ski lodge-- Cuzzins-- was one of the highlights of the trip. We spent a few hours there drinking buckets and buckets of beer and singing along with a comedian/performer/entertainer/god, Bruce Jacques . This guy was unbelievable. He was like a cruise ship performer without a boat who stopped updating his act in 1994. With the exception of a 45 second "My Humps" bit, the second most up-to-date parody he did was Eddie Vedder singing "Jeremy." Wig and all. Amazing. He also dressed up like Madonna (wig, cone bra), Devo (glasses, flower pot), Bon Jovi (wig, tights), and Axl Rose (wig, drug problem.) When you're in Vermont you have no choice but to embrace this sort of thing, and I totally did.

Saturday night I was the first one to pass out. I don't remember everybody coming into the room and singing 3 Ace of Base songs at the top of their lungs to wake me up, either. Apparently it happened and apparently it's on video. Apparently.

Sunday I learned a lot. I learned that when you plan on leaving Vermont at 10pm after the Superbowl it's inevitably going to start snowing. I learned that convincing a drunk girl to run around with a bucket on her head while everybody chants "Buckethead! Buckethead!" is never going to get old. I learned that I only enjoy Bob Marley when I'm officially "fucked up" and that watching an attractive girl sing along to Tom Petty only makes her that much more attractive. And I learned that if you're a girl who drunkenly makes me something to eat at 3 o'clock in the morning there's a 96% chance I'm going to propose to you and only kind of be kidding.

Going to work Monday on an hour-and-a-half of sleep was rough. I was miserable. In part because I was exhausted, and in part because the weekend was over. I don't have any more Deep Creek weekends on the horizon... but I guess I'm not supposed to. A wise man once said "you can't be 19 forever."
I think.
Right?
Isn't that a quote or something?
I really have no clue,
I could be making it up.
Yeah.
I'm still drunk.

today i actually said...

2006-02-02T15:45:00.000-05:00

"I'm really excited about this new Black Cherry Vanilla Diet Coke. It's great!"

Does that make me:

a) boring
b) gay
c) old
d) all of the above
e) bob, nothing you say should count today. you were up until 5 in the morning, and besides, switching over to diet cola is nothing to be ashamed of in today's health conscious world. though, being quote/unquote excited about it is a bit odd.

Answers after the jump.

i write, i rock, i roll

2006-01-30T17:11:00.000-05:00

It's Monday, so I'm sure you're expecting me to remind you to go check out The Post Show like I usually do. Well, I'm not.

Instead, I'm going to try to get you to go check out the OTHER site I work on, the Best Week Ever blog. Why? Because it's pretty damn cool now and you should totally add it to your bookmarks and go there 20 times a day. Big things are going to happen to it in the next month or so, but in the meantime we already have 3 new writers (and me) working on keeping you updated and entertained constantly day in and day out.

Do you know Alex Blagg? Of course. Well, he's one of the new guys, and this week we're moving in together (office-wise... not romantically. yet.)

I'm telling you, you'd be insane not to go to the BWE site every day. Especially if you get annoyed at me when I don't update. I'll be there, updating about something pop culture-y and trying to be amusing. As will Alex. And as will the two other writers (Jason & Piper) who are also great.

So start going there today, and you'll have the Best Week Ever!

(get it? Best week ever? Get it? Get it? Kill me.)

and then it happened

2006-01-27T17:50:00.000-05:00

It was a day like any other. I was busy at work, I had a grilled chicken sandwich for lunch, and I spent the majority of the day slightly hungover and craving another cup of coffee. It was a Friday.

I was thinking about last night. I was thinking about how much fun I had drinking with two of my best friends from high school. I was thinking about The Four Faced Liar and how it's pretty much the best-named bar I've ever been in. And I was thinking about how it's never a good idea to play Connect 4 at a bar with a stranger when alcohol has rendered you completely incapable of thinking 2 moves ahead.

I walked over to Kevin's desk to plug my iPod into his computer and take some music. I've done it a thousand times before. This time I was after the new Jenny Lewis album. That was the plan.

And then it happened.

And now everything's gone. Everything.

I'm falling apart. I'm sprawling. I don't even know where to begin. I'm thinking of songs and albums and artists and wondering where they came from. Did that one come from my computer at home? Or was it from a computer here at work? Was it from Barrett's computer? Or Mark's? Or Dan's? Or, shit, was it from my ex-girlfriend's? Fuck, it probably was.

Do I own the CDs? Did I borrow the CDs? Do I know somebody who owns the CDs?

Where the hell did "Darling Be Home Soon" by the Lovin' Spoonful come from? I mean seriously. Where the hell?

I've had my iPod for almost a year now and we've been through a lot together. We've grown together. And now it's all over.

I'm sorry. I don't know what to do. I need to lay down.

tap that ass

2006-01-27T02:47:00.000-05:00

A lot of people have been asking me how I feel about this whole President Bush wire-tapping thing. Naturally, they've been asking me over the phone. "What do you think about it? How would you feel if you found out somebody was listening to your phone conversations? Can you believe the government would do something like that? How does 3-way calling work?" You know, stuff like that.

Well, honestly, here's how I feel: I love it.

I love it. I HOPE I've been tapped. I hope I'm on watchlists and I hope that every phone conversation I've had since September 12, 2001 has been recorded. I'm completely serious.

Before my roommate/life partner Brian moved to New York we had the typical 'phone call every 1 1/2 - 2 months' post-college friendship that most guys have. Every couple of months we'd talk for an hour or so about completely random things (mostly girls) and generally we'd crack each other up. Well, one day during one of these phone calls we acknowledged that we come up with some really funny stuff when we talk, but unfortunately neither of us remember any of it the second we hang up. And it was at that moment that we decided to begin and end all future phone conversations with the phrase "Kill the president" so all of our conversations with one another could be filed away somewhere. So we did.

BOB: Kill the president.
BRIAN: Hey, how've you been? What's new?
BOB & BRIAN: (talk about girls, bitch about girls, talk about life, more bitching about girls, a couple of funny jokes)

BOB: Alright, well, I gotta go.
BRIAN: Okay. Kill the president.
BOB: Kill the president.

It was like our Aloha. Or Shalom. Okay, it was our Shalom.

I always wondered if it worked. I was curious if every time we spoke there was a guy in Washington wearing a suit and transcribing everything we said. I wondered if he looked forward to our phone calls. I mean, if this guy did exist I'd imagine he'd be responsible for listening to a ton of people, not just me and Brian. So I kind of hoped that when we connected his face lit up a little bit. And I wanted to make him laugh. I hope we made him laugh.

Well, in light of the recent scandal, I think it's pretty safe to say that he did exist. So maybe... just maybe... all of our conversations are filed away somewhere. Along with every other phone call I've made over the past five years. If so, here's what the government would have learned:

- I'm really not a phone person
- I don't actually plan on killing the president
- I make poor decisions after 2 am on Fridays and Saturdays
- I hit the "I don't feel like talking anymore" point around the 4-minute mark
- Every time a celebrity dies Dan and I call one another to discuss it in length

- I'm always "right around the corner" or "a block away."

And that's probably it. So do I care if people are listening to my phone conversations? Nope. I'm glad. At least I know somebody is listening.

the self promotion is almost over

2006-01-23T15:44:00.000-05:00

I swear. I'm going to return to somewhat humorous, semi-regular posting soon. But I just need to get a couple of things out of the way first.

1. The new season of The Post Show began today. Watch the first skit, Our Space, here.

2. Speaking of spaces and stuff, be our MySpace friend here. Because we all know that online friends are just as important as real friends, right?

3. We're going to be at the WSIWYG Festival tomorrow night screening one of our sketches and trying to be funny on stage. Come on by and say hello.

4. The Post Show is featured on Collegehumor now. You don't have to check it out or anything, I just wanted to let you know that we're now featured on the same website as the one and only Aaron Karo. I hope I bump into him at a company picnic or something.

Alright, real posts this week. We have a lot to talk about.

and here we are

2006-01-20T11:06:00.000-05:00

Rachel Kramer Brussel interviewed us for one of my favorite websites, gothamist. Check it out here.

And there you go.

I know gothamist isn't RollingStone or Barely Legal, but I still think it's kinda cool that they asked to interview us. We couldn't have done it without you guys. So thanks and stuff.

-bob
a ladies man amongst the blogosphere (i have no clue...)

still recovering

2006-01-16T14:15:00.000-05:00

I'm on my way back... I'm getting there.

In the meantime, here are some party photos from last weekend courtesy of the beautiful Aeki Tuesday and the lovely Lucky Luciano.

Aeki's Photos
Anna's Photos

If anybody else took pictures that night, please send them my way. Even if they're not from the party and even if they're dirty. Especially if they're dirty. Thank you.

Oh, one more thing. The Post Show Season 1 DVD is on sale NOW! (caps = excitement) Click here and pick one up today. It's less expensive than National Treasure and almost as funny. I guarantee it.

Okay, that's it for now. Happy MLK Day everybody! Woo Hoo!

Party Wrap-Up

2006-01-09T12:29:00.000-05:00

Before we get to the actual wrap up, I wanted to share the cover of our DVD with you. Hopefully it'll be available on the site by the end of the week. I'll let you know.

Okay, the party. It was amazing. Thank you to everybody who showed up (all 100+ of you). Yes, for a couple of hours it was nearly impossible to move or get a drink, but a big thanks to the people at Croxley's who made it worth our while by offering $4 pints. side note: I love how everybody outside of NY is shaking their head in disapproval right now over the fact that we get excited about $4 beers. Yep. NY.

It's hard to pick the highlight of the night. One of them was talking to Jane-- the first girl I ever kissed-- and recapping our doomed 3-week relationship to Holmes. It was great reminiscing about our first date (Jean Claude Van Damme's "Timecop." Yep. Timecop) and our awkward breakup (apparently I told her friend over the phone to tell her it was over because I liked somebody else. I refuse to believe this is true.) Jane became the second ex (a term I use jokingly there since it was for 3 weeks in the 9th grade. I'm not crazy) to attend a Post Show party. I think I scared away my ex-gf Jamie at our launch party by introducing her to people as "the girl I had sex with on September 11th." Shockingly she was "busy" this weekend. Hmm.

Other highlights: my mom showing up with cookie cake (my favorite.) Anna and our web-dude Mark coming down all the way from Boston. Watching people crowd around Judah when he dropped by. The guy who introduced himself as Aaron Karo (I was drunk. I bought it). Noticing the hush in the room when "Soul Mates" started playing on the DVD we had running in the background. Hearing that a 6'5" coworker of mine drunkenly fell through a wall (that was actually a tarp) while hitting on a girl. Meeting a bunch of new people, talking to several old friends, flirting with a couple of cute girls, and taking a few terrifying shots-- the whole thing was a highlight.

So now I'm 26. I've given up on growing up, so I'm just going to take it in stride. New season of The Post Show begins January 23.

another saturday night and i ain't got nobody

2006-01-06T11:50:00.000-05:00

Notice the double negative. This Saturday I WILL have somebody-- All of you guys, drinking alongside me as I turn a year older. That was a long way to go just to use a song lyric as a title, wasn't it?

In case you forgot-- or in case you're too lazy to scroll down this page-- the Post Show DVD release party / my birthday party is tomorrow night. Here are the "deets," as Sean Paul would say:

When: Tomorrow, January 7th. from 10:30 till question mark question mark question mark!
Where: Croxley Ales, Avenue B (b/w 2nd & 3rd st)

So why should you come? Well, you can be the first person on your block to own a Post Show DVD (and in the end, most likely the only person on your block to own a Post Show DVD.) You should come because Crazy Mike and I both have birthdays this week, as does my mom, my old roommate Eric, my older roommate Alan, and the great Marc Pattini. And you should come because if you do there's at least a 20% chance that one of us will go home with you (excluding my mom. Shut up.) Those are fantastic odds!

I'll see you tomorrow night. You'll be blurry, but I'll see you.

a man and his onus

2006-01-03T00:35:00.000-05:00

Dictionary.com defines the word onus as "a difficult or disagreeable responsibility or necessity; a burden or obligation." Well, that's not exactly what it means to me.

A while back my friends and I started using the SAT word onus in every day conversation, particularly when discussing relationships. We decided that the onus was more than just disagreeable responsibly; it's the proverbial ball in one's court. A common question we'll ask one another at the beginning of a new relationship, or even a potential relationship, is "Who has the onus?" Meaning, who has control. When the onus is on you, you make the next move. It's a very powerful thing.

Follow? I've never tried to write this down before, so I hope it makes sense. Anyway, as time has gone on my friends and I began viewing the onus as a tangible thing. A noun. Like, in my relationship with X I have the onus and I'm holding on tight to it. Or, she has the onus and there's no way I can get it back. We love the onus like a fat kid loves cake, or like 50 Cent loves cliche metaphors. You always want to be the one with the onus.

Now, who controls the onus is only really important in dysfunctional relationships. And in the beginning of most relationships. There are two schools of thoughts about what happens to the onus in a healthy relationship. I happen to think that the onus disappears entirely and you and your and partner live life onus-less. Others believe that you share the onus- sometimes you have it, other times your partner has it. Either way. I guess it's like the difference between Catholics and Protestants-- different beliefs, but generally the same idea. Not Jews, though. Jews would say that the onus never existed. But that's besides the point.

Today I'm going to share with you a long story about me and my relationship with a particular woman. And our onus. I'm going to give you a whole lot of back story which I'm only sharing because I want you to understand why this onus was so important. So here we go.

The back story.

There was this girl-- let's call her Marie (because her name begins with M, and I'm not that clever so this will have to do.) Okay, now before Marie was Marie she was simply known as Psychology Girl. Not because she had a psychiatric disorder (sadly), but because she was the hottest girl in my freshman year psychology class, and as I have already proven in this paragraph I'm not all too good with nicknames.

Anyway, Psychology Girl was gorgeous. She kind of looked like Tea Leoni in "Spanglish" but much, much hotter. She had long blonde hair and really blue eyes and one of these perfect faces-- just an absolute knockout from head to toe. As luck would have it I ended up sitting on the opposite side of the classroom from her, which was fine since I had a girlfriend and she was way out of my league. Everything was okay. I was perfectly content with our relationship, which consisted solely of me glancing over at her once every 4-5 minutes and her having no idea who I was. Some might say it was the best relationship I've ever had.

After freshman year I would see Psychology Girl sporadically around campus. It wasn't that big of a deal-- I had since moved on: Film Girl, Brit Lit Girl and The World Since 1945 Girl helped me forget her.

Flash forward to second semester junior year when I was forced to take a boring required mass comm class. The first day of class I walked into the room and there she was: Psychology Girl. I took a seat nearby, which I could only describe as sheer genius. As it turned out, this required class was one of those "partner up and work on your assignment" classes. Jackpot.

So Marie and I got to know one another. She was great. Smart. Quick. Fun. We had the same sick sense of humor. And, as luck would have it, she lived two doors down from me in the same apartment complex (umm... I may have noticed this once or twice before we started talking). Eventually, after partnering up a few times and talking a lot in class, we evolved from "let's work together" friends to "hey, wanna watch a movie after class" friends. And she did. She started hanging out at my place, where my roommates would proceed to check her out and wait for her to leave so they could remind me that she was out of my league and there was no way she was actually interested in me. I blame them completely for nothing happening that semester with Marie.

Yes, that's right. Nothing happened. As the semester went on we became better friends, and as we became better friends we let each other in on what was going on in our lives. She was getting over a serious 3 year relationship where an actual proposal was involved. I was several months removed from my 2-year relationship, but had recently begun having to deal with my ex dating somebody new. We would talk about these things with one another and it brought us closer. What she didn't know, though, was that the whole time she was talking I would just be staring into her eyes and wondering "Hmm... so does what she's saying mean that I shouldn't try to kiss her right now or that I should?" It was a very confusing time. Over the course of those 3 or 4 months there were a couple of instances where I thought she was giving me the go ahead, but since she considered me a friend (and since my roommates convinced me there was no way in hell she was interested) I never made the move.

By the time we got back from summer break we were both in relationships. And then September 11th happened. That has nothing to do with the story, I just thought you should be reminded.

After graduation Marie and I kept in touch. We'd talk on the phone once every three or four months to catch up. For the most part, I was usually single and wondering if the window of opportunity had completely closed, while she was in a very serious relationship with a guy who absolutely hated me. HATED me. Here's why: I can be kind of funny sometimes. Okay. Well, Marie was a HUGE fan. Thought I was hilarious. Loved everything I said. The boyfriend on the other hand, well, he didn't get it. Just completely lost on him. To break it down into simpler terms, I was Robbie Williams, Marie was England, and her boyfriend was the United States. Post-"Millennium." Take that.

During our intermittent phone calls, Marie and I always talked about music. We were always writing down each other's recommendations and always talking about the mix CDs we were working for one another (which we were both completely lying about.) Well, one night I get a call from Marie to tell me that she and her boyfriend had broken up. That day! I took it as a good sign that she called me that same day, and decided it was finally time to go full speed ahead with the Mix.

By the way, this mix CD stuff isn't relevant to the onus. I just feel like sharing.

Okay, so here we go. I finish the mix. Coincidentally, I had scheduled a trip to Baltimore to visit a few friends, so I decide to just bring it down and hand it to her when I see her. In my daydreams, when I hand her the CD she'd become so overcome with emotion that she'd make love to me right then and there. And then her roommate would get in on it. And then some freaky stuff would go down... sorry. Where was I? Oh yeah, the mix. Well, the plan was to hand it to her when I got there. Of course, while I was planning everything out Marie and her boyfriend decide to get back together Wonderful.

Before I head down to B'more I mail her the mix anyway.

Well, to make a really really long story just really long: something happened that weekend. Maybe it was the CD, maybe it was seeing each other for the first time since graduation, or maybe it was my new long curly locks... who knows? That weekend Marie and I kissed for the first time. A few days later she broke up with her boyfriend again. Shortly after that Marie and I were talking on the phone 3 times a day and planning trips back and forth from New York to Baltimore. It was unbelievable. And let me just say this- you couldn't imagine a better feeling than seeing the look on my roommate's face-- the same roommate from college-- the morning that Marie walked out of my bedroom with one of my T-shirts on. There was nothing better.

About a month into our little relationship, after 2 NY visits for Marie, it was time for me to visit her for the weekend. This was a big one. Instead of Marie coming up with her friends and technically staying somewhere else, I was heading down to stay with her. One on one. No friends, no NY distractions... just us.

Well, the best word I could use to describe that weekend was "uneven." Yes, there were moments where everything was great and we had a good time, but unfortunately there were also moments where we both realized that we just weren't right for each other and it wasn't going to work. However, since she was beautiful and since I had had a crush on her for years, I wasn't about to let a little thing like "not right for each other" get in the way.

So I proposed.

No, of course not. Just wanted to make sure you were still paying attention. When I left that Sunday we decided to take a step back. Things had been crazy and intense for the month leading up to that weekend, so we both realized that maybe we should calm down a bit. WE BOTH did. I swear. Come on, we've come this far, why would I start lying to you now?

Okay, here's where things get bad. A couple of days later I give her a call and leave a message. No big deal. She doesn't call me back. I don't think anything of it, so the next day I send her a text. She doesn't text me back. Hmm, strange. So I give her another call. No answer.

Now this is where I make the big mistake. Instead of realizing, okay, this is her taking a break and I should just let things be, I decide that something's wrong and she's in trouble. She's lost her phone. She's been in a horrible car accident. She's been diagnosed with lung cancer and is receiving chemotherapy and as a result is too weak to call. She's contracted the bird flu (I was ahead of my time). I decide that something HAS to be wrong because there's no other reason she wouldn't call me back. So I pull my first ever Mikey from Swingers and I call her again. She finally picks up. I blame my big brother instinct, tell her I thought something was wrong, and ask if everything's okay. She says yes. She then tells me that she's in the middle of something and asks if she can call me back. I say yes. And that was it. The last time I spoke to Marie.

It was all over. And in the separation, Marie got full custody of the onus.

After my embarrassing unreturned phone calls, Marie had the onus so far over my head I couldn't even see it with binoculars. As the weeks went by I cared less and less about my relationship with Marie ending-- hey, we weren't right for each other, remember?-- but I cared more and more about having absolutely no onus whatsoever. Months passed, and I started coming to grips with the fact that I may never see the onus again.

You know, there's one good thing about not having the onus: When you don't have the onus you have nothing to lose. Since I was onus-less, what was to stop me from calling her drunk the next time I went to Baltimore? My dignity?? Please! The answer was nothing, so call her I did. Of course she didn't answer, but the onus sent me a postcard. That was nice of it.

Now we're in 2005. I'm in another relationship, and to be honest I was at the point where I wouldn't have even been able to pick Marie's onus out of a police lineup. Well. One night, almost a year after the whole Marie thing started, I'm laying in bed with my girlfriend when I receive a phone call. I grab my phone to see who's calling, and there it. Marie. She leaves a message.

"Hi Bob, it's Marie. God, it's been so long. Anyway, I'm in New York... we're at some bar, we'll be out all night. Soo... if you're not doing anything I was hoping we could meet up. Call me back. Bye."

You know how you can hit 7 to delete a message and 9 to save it? What do you think I did?

I HAD THE ONUS! After all that time the onus was finally mine. God, it was such a good feeling. I called all my friends to tell them about it. I felt like Jack Bauer at the end of Season 1 when he was reunited with his daughter. The onus was home again. I decided that no matter what, I was going to protect that onus and take good care of it. It was my onus forever.

Well... almost. The other night, New Years Eve... I *surprise* got extremely intoxicated. Probably my drunkest night of '05. When I awoke the next morning I was happy to discover that I made it home alive, that I still had my wallet and cell phone on me, and that there were no dead homeless dudes in my bathtub- Hey, it was already a better start than '04! Then I flipped open my phone to check my outgoing texts. And there it was.

To: Marie
Happy new years!
Time: 12:55

And, to make matters worse, for some unknown reason I deleted all the texts in my Inbox before I went to sleep too. So. Not only did I lose the onus within the first hour of '06, now I have absolutely no idea where it is. I could have it. Marie could have it. God knows. I have no choice but to put the onus to rest and hope it turns up some day unscathed. I just hope that the next time I'm in a situation where I have an onus I don't lose it over something as lame as "Happy new years!" UGH! It's not even grammatically correct!!!

Anyway, that's my story. I thought about writing about the onus some time ago, but couldn't. I have no idea whether Marie reads this site or not. If she did, I would have lost the onus just by talking about it. Nothing to worry about now, I guess.

I'm not sure if there's a lesson to be learned here. If you have an onus, be careful with it. If you don't have an onus, don't sweat it. Chances are your time will come. Me? In 2006 I'm going to try to worry a little less about onuses. Unless of course Marie calls me back. Because I'm sorry, I'm going to have to hit 9 again. You understand.

Since You've Been Gone

2005-12-27T20:51:00.000-05:00

I haven't posted in over week -- undoubtedly my longest non-vacation dry spell of the modern era -- so I thought I'd fill you in on what I've been up to that has kept me from poop. You'll see, it's really important stuff.

- I watched the He-Man and She-Ra Christmas Special DVD. It's the first time I've seen it since '85, and it was amazing. It made me realize that I missed a lot the first time I saw it. Like, the manicure joke probably went over my head. Oh, and I probably overlooked the fact that the bad guys rode around in a dildo-shaped ship and that He-Man and She-Ra wanted to bang each other. It's much more obvious now. As far as the incest goes, hey, sure it's weird here on Earth, but maybe it's normal on Eternia. Don't judge people. Don't judge.

- I started DVR-ing episodes of "Saved by the Bell." I've noticed that as the years have gone by and I've engaged in fewer and fewer Saved by the Bell themed conversations, my memory of the show is slipping. So, I decided to start watching them again as not to get too rusty. Thus far the only episode to earn the coveted "Save Until I Delete" status has been the one where Zack and Slater throw down. What an episode! Zack v. Slater was even more lopsided than Pearl Jam v. Candlebox, yet somehow the match ends in a draw. Next time it's on TBS watch it.

- I wandered around Soho looking for Jessica Alba. I wish I was kidding. Last week I went to the Apple store in Soho to finish up my holiday shopping. While I was on line I overheard the cashier talking to her friend. "Oh, you just missed it," she said. "Jessica Alba was here five minutes ago." Jackpot. After rushing out of the store I wandered aimlessly around the neighborhood for about half an hour trying to find her. Sadly, no luck. This is what happens when I'm off from work for a couple of weeks. I need a life.

- I cleaned my apartment. And I'm talking clean. Like, I no longer have to line the toilet seat before I sit down clean. (okay, I'm kidding, the bathroom wasn't that bad. Close, but not that bad.)

- I stayed sober. Granted, when I was home with the family I wished I was drunk, but I never hit the bottle. The lack of alcohol over the past week and a half is bound to hurt me on New Years Eve. I'm already scared.

- I've grown a beard. Because that's what you do in the winter when you're not working (Men only)

- I've come really close to painting my room. No, I haven't done it, but I've been talking about it. I'd like to do it soon, but I just think I'm underprepared. I've never painted anything before and I know I'm going to screw it up. I feel like I should watch a day's worth of Queer Eye or one of those home makeover shows before I even think about it. I need help. Actually, what I need is a cute girl who knows what she's doing to come over and do it with me- that we we can get all dirty together and have 'let's fool around until the paint dries' sex. Umm... Have I mentioned I haven't been out much in the past week?

- The Post Show DVD. It's almost done. It's going to be great. Today I get to decide which skits from our college TV show "Pregame" to put on it. The one where I'm half-naked in the shower pouring maple syrup on myself? Yeah, that's not going to make the cut. You're welcome.

- Finally... okay, this is has nothing to do with what I've been up to, I just have to ask: Am I the only person in America who didn't know that Brokeback Mountain takes place in the 60's? The 1960's?? Maybe I should have done a little more research, but I had no idea. All I kept on hearing about was this gay cowboy movie, so I thought it was going to be... you know... a gay cowboy movie. But come on! It's supposed to take place 40 years ago! That's not a gay cowboy movie, that's just... gay.

Alright, that's all. Time to watch this morning's Saved by The Bells. I wonder who's going to win the school song competiton? I'm rooting for Screech.

party time

2005-12-19T15:06:00.000-05:00

You heard me. Party time.

Okay, so here's the deal. The first season of the Post Show is over. We have 20 skits-- most of which are kind of funny-- so we decided it'd be fun to throw them on a DVD and have a big old Post Show DVD Release Party before we start working on Season 2. Not a bad idea, huh?

We want you to come. It should be a really good time. We're having it at the same place we had the launch party-- Croxley Ales-- because we fear change. That, and because the owners are really cool and accommodating. AND because they have a ton of beers on tap. Mmm. Beer.

Now, January 7 isn't just the date of the DVD Release Party-- it's also my birthday. So even if you hate the Post Show, you should come out January 7 to spend my birthday with me. Unless you hate me too. In which case I have to ask, why the fuck are you still reading?

But anyway, come out and celebrate on the 7th. And pick up the DVD while you're there. It'll be super cheap and have a ton of bonus features. I'd give you more details, but I'm working on it right now and who knows how much I'll screw up before it's all said and done. Just know it's going to be cool.

Okay. So party. January 7. Croxley Ales. Git R Done.

2005-12-14T17:58:00.000-05:00

I'm Not A Lesbian, But I'd Totally Hook Up With Angelina Jolie
by Every Fucking Woman on the Planet

Okay, so let me just start by saying I'm not a lesbian. Ew. Sorry, I don't mean ew like ewww. I just mean that I'm not into girls. I mean, I can appreciate the female body and I can appreciate a beautiful woman, but that's just not my thing. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I have a friend from high school who's a lesbian, and I'm like totally cool with it. But I like men. I have no interest in being with a woman sexually, okay. Now, with that being said, I'd just like to announce that I love Angelina Jolie and I would totally eat the shit out of her if I ever had the chance.

Now, you have to believe me when I say that she's the ONLY girl I'd hook up with. Like, the only girl on the planet. I've never hooked up with a girl before, and I don't think I would unless it was Angelina. I remember this one time after making out with my best friend Rachel to get free shots at Senor Frog's in Cabo I thought, "Her lips were soft, but imagine what Angelina's are like" and it got me so turned on. At least, I think that's what turned me on. It could have been the kamikaze shots or my two girlfriends grinding on my ass on the dancefloor all night, I really can't be sure. It was probably Angelina, though, because I'm definitely not a lez. Eww.

Ohmygod, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to say Eww again. Honestly, I'm like super sensitive to that stuff. One of my best friends is gay, and I'm like totally supportive of his lifestyle. We go shopping together and give each other Cosmo quizzes and talk about hot guys, and I think it's like completely normal. We both think Matthew McConaughey is like the hottest thing on two legs... well, except for Angelina. I'd much rather wrap her legs around my head and give her a grade A tongue bath than have sweaty man sex with Matthew, but that definitely doesn't make me gay.

Guys love it when I say I want to hook up with Angelina Jolie. They probably imagine us together and get all turned on and stuff. That's fine by me. Most guys will ask if there are any other celebrities I'd get nasty with, but the answer is always No! Well, except for a few years ago when I would have bumped donuts with Britney Spears. But that's it. Come on, she was so hot in "I'm A Slave 4U," all sweaty and sexy and stuff. Who wouldn't want to bury their face in that lap?? I would have. Guys also always assume that I'd want to hook up with Jessica Alba too because she looks like a cross between Angelina and Jesse Metcalf, but no. Not interested. It's Angelina or it's nothing.

My boyfriend and I actually have an "arrangement" where if either of us ever met Angelina we could have sex with her and it wouldn't count as cheating. But if that ever happened I'd be so jealous... of him!

I know a lot of other girls think it's cool to say they want to hook up with Angelina, but I don't think they're serious. I think they're just saying it. I, on the other hand, mean it. I mean, have you ever seen Gia??? Man, I swear I've masturbated to that movie like a thousand times.

God, I hope I don't sound like a total bull dyke when I say I want to lick Angelina's soft nipples and rub my fingers up and down her clit. Or that I want to bury my face in her lap and eat her out for hours on end. Or that I want to be inside her both figuratively and literally. Because I'm totally not a lesbian. I'm just one for Angelina.

The WWF Made Me Racist

2005-12-12T16:53:00.000-05:00

I, like many guys my age, grew up loving professional wrestling. Don't laugh. I did.

I've written about it before and I'm sure I'll write about it again, because from the ages of 7 to about 14 pro wrestling was a HUGE part of my life. Saturday mornings- right after soccer games or Little League (and after 'Saved by The Bell' and before American Gladiators) I was watching the WWF. When Monday Night Raw premiered on USA in its bizarre half talk-show/ half wrestling show format, I was watching. And, thanks to the miracle of illegal cable, I was guaranteed something to do four nights a year: The Royal Rumble, Wrestlemania, Summer Slam, and Survivor Series. I looked forward to those nights then like somebody without a sense of humor looks forward to Aaron Karo emails now. I couldn't wait.

The amount of brain matter I currently waste remembering stuff from wrestling is humiliating. I shouldn't know that The Undertaker hailed from Death Valley, California. I shouldn't remember the details of the Jake The Snake / Rick "The Model" Martell blindfold match, but I do. I wish I could remember people's names four seconds after shaking their hands instead of remembering that Kamala the Ugandan giant often forgot to roll his opponents onto their backs before trying to pin them and as a result lost several close matches. But I can't. And I wish I didn't remember crying when Earthquake killed Damien. The snake. But I do. Because I did.

There's something to be said about the fact that I remember these wrestling characters and these wrestling storylines, because I know I'm not the only one. I'm part of a generation of wrestling fans who grew up with the WWF, and as a result view the world in a slightly different way. For example, we're perfectly aware that Everybody Has A Price. We understand that there's no better country in the world than the U.S.A.-- take that Canada-- and we know to be on our best behavior if we Ever Meet A Man Down in Cobb County, Georgia. And, thanks to the WWF we all know that Asian men carry salt around in their hands and use it to blind people by throwing it in their eyes. We just know.

Want to know what else we know? Well, we know that black people are incapable of doing anything except working in a junkyard (The Junkyard Dog), acting as a manservant to a wealthy white guy (Virgil), or walking around in hot pink jumpsuits while carrying a bird (Koko B. Ware). Oh, and if you're a black guy from Africa you're also completely unaware of how to properly pin somebody in the squared circle. And you probably have stars painted on your chest. Probably.

Is there more? Well, we know that Iranians and Iraqis are essentially the same: Evil. Or, in the case of the Iron Sheik, literally the same since he started out hailing from Iran, but inexplicably became Iraqi during the Gulf War. Thanks to the WWF I learned that British people are unbearably snobbish (Hunter Hearst Helmsley before he dropped the accent and became Triple H), I learned that people from the south are either inbred (Hillbilly Jim) or evil (Skinner), and I learned that homosexuals are really, really creepy (Golddust... or any other wrestler that wore nothing but a tight pair of spandex, actually.)

Want even more? Canadians are evil (Brett Hart after his heel turn), Mexicans are either bull fighters ('El Matador' Tito Santana) or gigantic (Giant Gonzalez), you can't trust the Russians (The Bulshevicks), the French are arrogant (Martell), Australians lick people's heads (The Bushwhackers), Native Americans do silly dances (Tatanka), people from Brooklyn are scumbags (The Brooklyn Brawler), and Jews are mediocre and completely self-congratulatory (Barry Horowitz.)

It's amazing I've never committed a hate crime, right?

I'm not sure how Vince McMahon was able to get away with this back then. If you look at the WWF, er, WWE now, it's much better. I think. I mean, I haven't watched in years, but I know The Rock was a champion and he was kind of black, so things must be on the upswing. I hope they are. Because the last thing we need is another generation of men who shield their eyes every time they walk by an old Asian guy on the street. Like I do. Because hey, you never know when they're going to throw salt in your eyes.

the terrible 2's

2005-12-09T14:48:00.000-05:00

Everything seemed to come in pairs last night. Everything.

I realized today that everything I drank, I had two of. Two Jack & Cokes, two Captain & Cokes, two Gin & Tonics, two Red Bull & Vodkas, two Coronas, two Soco & Lime shots, and two Jaeger Bombs. This was not planned.

Two people recognized me from the blog and said hi.

I attempted to get something to eat twice, but both times I was pulled aside by somebody and got distracted.

I saw two MTV personalities last night: Andy Milonakis and the girl who hosts TRL that's not Vanessa. After seeing her in person, I have vowed to never call her The Poor Man's Vanessa again (and I have also vowed to learn her name. Eventually.)

I told two people that I wanted to punch Andy Milonakis in the face. They both advised me not to.

There were two girls I saw who I described to whoever was standing next to me as "absolutely perfect. Completely my type." Both turned out to be interns.

Several songs were played twice, including My Humps, Gold Digger, and the Milkshake song (happy 2k4!).

I was approximately two hours late for work today. I believe this is better than the company average.

I remember promising two friends that I would email them a link to The Post Show because they said they've heard so much about it. Unfortunately I don't remember who.

Thanks to the people walking around taking polaroids, I have two pictures to help me remember the evening. I am attempting to kiss the person I'm photographed with in both of them. My friend Vanessa in one, and my friend Nelson in the other.

With everybody on the dance floor drunk and rubbing my head, my hair blew up to twice its normal size.

I got home exactly at 2. Which I guess seems early, but that's what happens when you start at 8.

Two advils this morning. 'Nuff said.

Holi-Day, Holi-Nights

2005-12-08T17:29:00.000-05:00

I'm in that weird place right now. Have you ever told somebody you'd call them, but then you don't make the call in a reasonable amount of time. So you start feeling weird about it. And you keep putting it off and you keep putting it off. And the more you put it off the weirder you feel about it, so you finally have to decide: am I going to call this person, or are they going to be out of my life forever? Has that ever happened to you? Well, that's how I feel right now with this blog. But I'm back.

It's been one of those weeks. I've been ill. Not sick-sick, but annoying cold sick. The kind of sick where when you breathe in through your nose it burns and you wonder if this is how it would feel if you didn't have any nose hairs. And the kind of sick where you know you're not going to pass out but you still find yourself thinking thoughts like "I wonder what would happen if I passed out right now." That kind of sick.

All week I've been trying to will myself healthy for tonight. You see, tonight is the MTV-Networks Holiday Party, which is the reason everybody likes working here. This is what we work for. It's held at the Hammerstein Ballroom (where I saw Oasis AND Ben Folds Five in 1997- what a year) and it's filled to the brim with thousands of MTV employees. There's a ton of food that everybody wants to eat but nobody does, and a ton of alcohol that everybody wants to drink and everybody does. Since Viacom picks up the tab, you try to drink your way to six figures (Drink your way to six figures = Consume Enough Alcohol Where The Cost Would Equal The Difference Between Your Salary and $100,000). This is why the executives go home early and the PA's are taken out in stretchers. Every year.

There are people I work with who have been so defeated in the past that they have to come up with ways to trick themselves into not drinking themselves into oblivion tonight. I have more than one friend who has arranged a doctor's appointment or organized a meeting for early Friday morning in order to ensure they don't overdo it. I predict a lot of missed doctor's appointments and cancelled appointments tomorrow.

I have a great time every year. My first year at MTV I got hammered and followed Sway around for a while. We have a ton of pictures of Sway dancing with his friends, and me, standing right behind him with a big drunken smile on my face. I'm going to try to leave him alone this year, but no promises.

Tonight is really the one night of the year that I dance my everloving ass off. I mean, there are usually a few other instances over the course of a year where I'm put in a dancing situation, but the MTVN Holiday party is the only night where I look forward to it. Of course, since I'm a still recovering from the cold and my equilibrium's off I'm not promising any big things-- so if you see flopping around the dance floor like a retarded sea bass in a rowboat, don't judge me.

I've already decided that this year I'm going with the Don't Say Bye technique to get out alive. It's the safest bet, and I happen to be a big advocate of it. The Don't Say Bye is flawless in a company party setting-- when you're ready to go just BOLT and don't say goodbye to a single person. If you're going to do it, do it right. Commit. You can't say goodbye to some people because then it gets weird. It's all or nothing. Leaving is always tricky. My first year I wasn't living in the city yet, so I was staying with a friend who lived on the East side. When I left the party I started walking/stumbling East towards (I think) his place. After making it a few blocks I had one of the worst ideas I've ever had in my life-- "I'm just gonna lay down on the sidewalk for a sec. Just a second. I'm tired. I'll get right up. So I'm just gonna lay down right here." I got down on one knee before I realized Holy Shit, this is how I die. So I stood up and kept trucking. I don't even want to think about what would have happened if I didn't.

Last year I lucked out. At the time of the party I was seeing a girl who lived around the corner from the Hammerstein. So when it was time to go I stumbled towards her place, pulled out my cell phone and attempted to call her. I couldn't do it. I couldn't operate my phone. As I stood there dumbfounded by the little buttons I was tapped on the shoulder. It was her. She was outside smoking a cigarette and watching me try to figure out how to hit 'send.' Thank god she was there, otherwise it could have resulted in another night sleeping on the sidewalk.

Well, tonight there will be none of that. No sidewalk sleeping. I hope.

Okay, so I need to go grab some dinner before we head over. I'm not going to fall for the "they have food, we'll eat there" trick that results in me getting drunk after 5 gin & tonics and attempting to make out with a coworker by midnight. I'm going to try to make it until at least 2 this year.

I'll be back tomorrow. Maybe. If I can type, I will post and let you know how everything went. Wish me luck. And Happy Holidays indeed.

i'd rather dance with you

2005-12-01T16:33:00.000-05:00

I've decided that the sole purpose of The Post Show is to trick people into thinking that I'm a really good dancer.

Remember the Bob Ross skit? Somehow, some way, it actually looks like I successfully pulled off the worm while breakdancing in Times Square (side note: I permanently screwed up my elbow when I dropped down and landed on a metal grate at the end. It still hurts when touch it, and that happened more than a month ago. The things I do to get a laugh.)

Well, in today's skit there's some more dancing where - for a second - it looks like I know what I'm doing. I can assure you I don't.

So go watch The Breakup and let me know what you think.

How To Make A Hip End of the Year 'Best Albums' List

2005-11-30T19:01:00.000-05:00

-- Before you begin, make sure you pre-empt your list by saying/blogging/writing in your journal that there weren't many great albums out this year and that music sucks in general right now. If you don't, people will assume that you derive pleasure out of making lists about your favorite things. And that's soooo unhip.

-- Remember to include at least one (but no more than 3) hip hop albums. This shows that you are receptive to all types of music (except everything but rock and hip hop) and that you are "down." Don't get fancy, stick with what works: Kanye, Outkast, and A Tribe Called Quest are always safe, even if they didn't release an album this year.

-- If you don't plan on naming a couple of Import albums that don't come out in this country until the Spring of next year then stop reading right now and get the fuck out of my blog.

-- This should go without saying, but be sure to include one band that nobody's ever heard of. This is a good time to list your friend's band's 3 track EP that he gave you one night when you were out drinking. Including his band's album on your list accomplishes two things: 1) it's a safe bet they're completely unknown, and 2) it makes him happy. Hooray.

-- Don't include your actual favorite album. It may have been good when you started listening to it, but now it's cliche. Deal with it.

-- Make sure to include an album that just came out. This will lead people to believe that you got an advanced copy months ago and had plenty of time to get into it. But WARNING- BE CAREFUL- make sure it's not something that will become popular or produce a radio-friendly single in the next couple of months. Nothing will kill your indie cred than including the next Killers on your next Hip List.

-- If you're gay, don't feel obligated to include the new Madonna album. We'll just assume.

-- Space out your "The" band albums appropriately. It doesn't matter if you like The Subways the second most and The Comas third. You throw those two bands next to one another on a list and it's going to look like it's 2001 all over again. Be careful.

-- To really drive home the point that you're not mainstream, add a list of "Albums that just missed the cut." There-- and ONLY there-- do you include the bands that had a song on the radio in 2005. That way you can look at everybody else's lists and say "Oh... Bloc Party? Yeah, they just missed the cut on my list. What, you had Silent Alarm at number 2? Ouch."

-- Speaking of Bloc Party; If you MUST include them you better rank the Remix album higher than the actual album. You know, to make a point.

-- And finally, the best advice of all: don't make an End of the Year 'Best Albums' list. Because you, like, don't have the time for that kind of stuff. Totally. Totally.

Tyra and Pam: Together at Last

2005-11-29T17:02:00.000-05:00

As the clock struck 5 today I though, "Hmm, what am I going to write about? I have a couple of ideas, but I'm not sure what I'm in the mood to do." Then I turned on "The Tyra Banks Show" just as she yelled, "PAMELA ANDERSON" and I thought Bingo. I'm going to liveblog what's sure to be a monumental television event.

5:01 The one and only Pamela Anderson Lee (sans the Lee) emerges from backstage in some sort of white outfit that looks like she found it at a costume shop in the "Slutty Astronaut" section. This is going to be great.

5:02 Pam and Tyra take a seat across from one another. If this was 1996 I'd be in heaven. I'd be laying down on my stomach with the remote in my hand and adjusting accordingly for any movement down south. The whole time I'd be hoping and praying that Jenny McCarthy would come out and the three of them would take their tops off and wash a car or something. Yeah, that's what I'd be doing. Unfortunately, it's not 1996 and I'm not in my living room. Instead I'm in an office sitting at my desk, and worried that if I start adjusting accordingly somebody's gonna walk by my door and report me to Human Resources. Maybe I'll close the door.

5:03 Pamela says something that makes the women in the audience pretend not to hate her. This is a recent development in the life of Pam that I'm still trying to get used to. Back in the day women openly despised her, but now for some reason they pretend to like her. When did this happen? She's done nothing in the past 10 years to endear herself to women, unless you consider getting bigger breast implants and banging the guy from Sugar Ray feminist causes. Pam defies explanation.

5:04 Tyra asks her about her kids. Tyra, stop it. I don't want to hear about this.

5:05 Pam admits to "always" feeling insecure about her looks. I find this shocking, considering 76% of her mammaries are visible right now. Insecure people don't dress like sluts for attention, do they? Oh, they do? Okay, nevermind.

5:06 Now this is why we're here folks. To prove to all the women in the audience that a supermodel and a Playboy playmate have flaws too, Pam and Tyra compare gigantic foreheads. The contest ends when Kelsey Grammer emerges from backstage, smashes his gigantic head on the glass coffee table, and yells "YAHTZEE!"

5:06 Pam and Tyra mime washing a car. Stop teasing me. Tyra takes this opportunity to cut to commercial. I take this opportunity to look up naked pictures of Pamela Anderson online. Everybody wins.

5:10 We're back. Tyra asks the creative "Why is your show named 'Stacked?'" question. This leads to Pam declaring that her breasts are smaller than her costar's breasts. Uh oh. I've seen the show before... I think I know what's coming.

5:11 Yep, here we go! The pleasantly plump girl from "Stacked" comes out from backstage. Her name is a Marisa. This is a far, far cry from 16-year-old Jenny McCarthy fantasy. I'm going to do my best not to be mean here.

5:11 Tyra asks Marisa 'why do kids look up to you?" Probably because they can't look around her! BAM! Okay, I'm done.

5:13 While Marisa babbles on about something (who knows about what. I-- like the other 4 heterosexual men watching Tyra at this moment-- am not paying attention) Pam just adjusted herself in her seat. She reveals so much tit I'm pretty sure I just saw spine.

5:14 Tyra tells the ladies they're going to play a game. I'll try to dumb it down for everybody so I don't lose you. Here's the premise: Pam and Marisa are going to have to decide if things are sexy... or not sexy. Pam shits herself out of fear she'll get one wrong. They begin.

Tatoos: Pam thinks they're sexy, Marisa does not.
Red One Piece Bathing Suits - Marisa answers "Sexy!" as Pamela grimaces. For some reason this makes the women in the audience applaud the show that gave them eating disorders in high school. I'm more confused than ever. Maybe they're all Hasselhoff fans.
Rock stars: The ladies agree - Sexy. I can sleep now.
And finally "Going Braless" - I'm not sure what Pam said about this, because when Marisa started talking about her large breasts flopping around I turned off the TV. By the time I came back, it was over. As was my time with Pamela and Tyra.

Thank you ladies, for creating daytime TV that's truly special.

a fairly boring recap of my fairly boring weekend

2005-11-28T14:07:00.000-05:00

Well, that title sells the shit out of this post, doesn't it?

Anyway, since I've been m.i.a. I figured I'd let you know what I've been up to. It'll be nice. We haven't had one of these long, rambling posts where I talk about mundane stuff in quite some time. We're due. Don't worry, this won't be too painful. Aside from movie reviews, various gripes, and Johnny Cash, I promise I'll also provide you with stories of drinking in excess and girls making out. Sound good?

Let's begin.

I should start by saying that I'm more relaxed, awake, and in a better mood today than I have been in quite some time. I attribute that completely to the fact that I have done practically NOTHING for the past 7 days. Nothing at all. I mean, I worked through Wednesday, I shot some Post Show stuff yesterday, and I've been writing here and there-- but beyond that, Nothing. Now, normally 'nothing' bores me. I hate nothing. But for the past few months I've had a lot of something, so the switch to nothing has been nice.

It started last Monday. When I got home from work-- for the first time in god knows how long-- there was nobody home. Brian was back in Maryland for Thanksgiving. The Guy on The Couch was in Vermont. I had the entire apartment to myself. But rather than surf the internet for desperate local singles looking for a good time, or doing something productive like, say, cleaning or paying bills, I opted instead to watch Chinatown for the first time ever. It was a good decision. Since it's a classic, it made me feel better about myself afterwards that I finally saw it. Normally I miss out on great films because I'd rather sit through movies like Two Ninas and Airborne than commit to a good movie for some reason. Well, after Chinatown I vowed that I would watch at least 1 or 2 more classic movies that I had negelcted for far too long before the weekend was over. I failed miserably at that.

I did watch plenty of movies, though, and now that I think about it there seems to be an underlying theme to them. I watched The Girl Next Door. Twice. Why twice? Well, the first time was because I caught 5 minutes of "24" on A&E and remembered that I am completely in love with Elisha Cuthbert. So I put it on and told myself I would only watch the first half (when she's 1/2 naked the whole time) but I would stop it there so I could devote the rest of the night to watching a good movie (The Deer Hunter.) Didn't happen. Watched it all the way through. A couple of nights later when Brian was back home I started watching it again-- for the same reason-- and assumed that once he got sick of it we would go out. He didn't, so I ended up watching it in its entirety again. I have no regrets. It's a really great movie for a bad movie. That's the best way to describe it. And Elisha... seriously... wow.

I also watched Garden State for only the second time ever. By the time it was over I decided that I was done watching movies about guys who meet amazing girls who push them and make them realize what love and life is all about.

Last night I saw Walk The Line. Good movie, but it's no Great Balls of Fire. Alright, I'm kidding. I thought it was great. But then again, any movie with that many Johnny Cash songs is going to be good no matter what. It followed the typical rock and roll movie formula to a T -- Yay! Good stuff is a-happenin', I can feel it!-- Uh oh, everythings falling apart, things don't look too good-- Yay! Redemption! But it was still good.

My favorite thing about seeing a movie in the theater is being obnoxious before and after the film. Last night, waiting on line to get in, I told Brian that I was going to be the guy who doesn't know anything about Johnny Cash but still tries to pretend he's an expert. So from that point on I would make loud proclamations like, "You know Brian, Johnny Cash wrote the song 'Hurt.' Nine Inch Nails covered it." And, "Back in the 80's he was arrested for tax evasion. I hope he pays taxes on the royalties he gets for this movie!" And, "I heard that critics are saying 'Walk The Line' is just like 'Ray,' but with white people." Brian threatened to leave if I didn't stop.

On the way out I was all prepared to be the guy who says "That was the second best Reece Witherspoon movie I've seen all year!" but I didn't, because instead I left thinking "that was a damn good movie."

Okay, I'm done with movie talk. You're not going to get that again. Now, before I move on to the pub crawl I need to tell you about why this weekend proved to be one of the most frustrating weekends ever: I had no cell phone. Yep. Friday morning my mom and her husband headed off to Pennsylvania for the weekend. Since they left early in the morning and they were both exhausted, one of them accidentally packed my cell phone. So I was phoneless for the weekend. Terrible. I'm only able to write about this now-- if you asked me to write about this on Friday it would have been laced with profanity and I would have passed out while doing so. If I was supposed to call you this weekend and you didn't hear from me: sorry. That's why.

Okay, moving onto the Crawl.

Wednesday night we made the late Rosa Parks proud. The largest Pearl River Pub Crawl to date, Rosa's had it all: car bombs, girl-on-girl-action, people passing out on the street-- and it goes on and on.

My partner and I didn't win-- we didn't even come close. This year, we decided to employ a different strategy: start off slow and steady, then towards the end, see where everybody else is at and just go for it. Like communism it was a good theory on paper, but that's it. By the time we had to make the push we were both too drunk to do it. Defeated. However, we did finish the crawl (always an accomplishment) and I don't think we have anything to be ashamed of. I had a headache all day Thursday, which is always a great consolation prize.

The Crawl's newest participants - Alexis T and aeki tuesday - learned a lot about Pearl River that night. Not only did they learn that we really are 100% honkeys, but they found out the hard way that the Crawl is a marathon, not a sprint. At the third bar the ladies were doing shots and proclaiming that they were in the lead. By the fourth bar one was throwing up in the bathroom and the other one was just minutes away from passing out on a park bench.

The fourth bar, Fennell's, also featured not one, but two female Pub Crawl participant making out with a local girl after a couple of Irish car bombs. That marked a first in PRPC history, which I'm sure made Rosa extra proud.

Other highlights of the Crawl included a 350-pound bartender wearing a shirt that read "I Beat Anorexia" and a near fight with a townie-for-life we went to High School with who stated, "There's only 3 of them-- I'll take care of business." He didn't.

The night ended with a 20-minute walk in the snow to the car of the one sober person in all of Pearl River who promised us a ride home. I was thankful that I made it another year without calling my mom at 5:30 in the morning and drunkenly asking her for a ride (like I did in 2003). It's all about the little victories. It is.

So that's that. That's what I've been up to. Now, back to normal. I decided I'm going to post every day this week because I miss it. So be ready. Hope you all had a good Thanksgiving, and thanks for reading.

Now be sure to stick around, so next year I can tell you all about the 2006 Pat Morita Memorial Pub Crawl. BONZAI!!!!

It's almost time for the Pearl River Pub Crawl!

2005-11-21T11:40:00.000-05:00

Many people think the holiday season officially begins on Thanksgiving. They're wrong. For a select few in Pearl River, the holiday season begins when Dan sends out his annual Pub Crawl email to bring everybody up to speed and officially inform the participants about who we will be memorializing. He never disappoints.

Here's Dan's email, along with footnotes to explain a thing or two. If you're in the area and this sounds appealing, shoot me an email. We'd love to have you come out. Hey. Don't do it for us. Do it for Rosa.

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4th Annual Pearl River Memorial Pub Crawl:

Before I begin, we at Pub Crawl Headquarters feel the need to address an issue that has been on our minds for some time now.

We have taken considerable criticism in recent months for the ongoing pattern of naming the Pearl River Memorial Pub Crawl (now in its fourth edition) after a fallen African-American celebrity. First came Lisa "Left Eye" Lopez in 2002 (Wear your seatbelt kids!), followed by Fred "Re-Run" Berry in 2003 (Don't eat so much kids!) and finally Old Dirty Bastard in 2004 (If you see a pile of crack, don't smoke it kids!). A trilogy of ebony tragedy, I say.

While admittedly eyebrow-raising, we at Crawl Headquarters maintain this is nothing more than a wicked coincidence. Unfortunately, the doubters remain. Some have viewed this pattern as suspicious practice, while others have derided the Crawl as an act of outright racism.

I bring this up not to cast a pall over what truly is one of the most prodigious drinking nights of the year, but rather because we are extremely hurt by this sentiment. We are Pearl River after all -- "The Town of Friendly People" for goodness sake! I mean, really. How could anyone perceive our predominantly-Caucasian, Irish-Catholic, politically conservative hamlet as perpetuating any brand racial prejudice? I know, I don't get it either.

Anyway, with that off our chests, please join us this Thanksgiving Eve for the 4th Annual Rosa Parks Memorial Pub Crawl!!!!

"Ah ha, hush that fuss/
Everybody move to the back of the bus/
Do you wanna bump and slump with us/
We the type of people make the club get crunk"

For those new to the game this year, a brief history:
Established in 2002, the Pearl River Memorial Pub Crawl is a game that tests both skill and endurance in the dangerous yet ultimately satisfying world of binge drinking. The contest is made up of co-ed groups of two, in a 10-stop tour of bars spanning across beautiful Pearl River. The teams will each be distributed a scorecard and pencil, where they will track their drinking progress throughout the night. A rundown of the point system is as follows:

Beer = 1 point
Mixed drink = 1.5 points
Standard shot = 3 points
Tequilla shot = 4 points

Back by popular demand is the 5-Point Super Mega-Score (TM) in the form of the infamous Irish Car Bomb (pint of Guinness, shot of whiskey dropped in beer). Swig a pair of those with your teammate and you've earned your keep.

The team with the highest point total by night's end will be crowned champion. An award presentation will follow. As always, the winners (and losers) are encouraged to sleep with each other if it feels right. But ONLY if it feels right. (I'm looking at you James.(1))

Now for the legal business: Teams will be chosen at random on the day of the Crawl. There will be NO trading of teammates. Teams that do not complete the Crawl in its entirety are eliminated regardless of point total. Please stay with the group: Last year we were forced to drag Stephen Hodgkins(2) into the woods and shoot him in the back of the head because he couldn't keep up.

The defending champions are Christine and myself and we don't plan on giving up the title without a fight. I've received a promise from Christine that she will defend her crown properly unless she is taken by the insatiable need to drag a sketchy dude into an alley (this is not unprecedented)(3). Obviously, I permitted such a caveat.

If you have any other questions let us know. Remember to dress warmly. Good luck to all!

-CRAWL HEADQUARTERS

1. James is engaged to his girlfriend of ten years, Sam.
2. This is the requisite 'random guy who went to middle school with us for a year, but for some reason we all still remember his name' name drop. We're not the only people who do this, are we?
3. It's not.

questions I want answered

2005-11-18T11:58:00.000-05:00

Is it less gay to buy the Rent movie soundtrack than the Rent broadway musical soundtrack?

What goes through a guy's head when he's pointing a camera at his bathroom mirror with one hand and lifting up his shirt to reveal his abs with his other hand for a new Myspace profile picture?

Would you want to be friends with a guy who gets into Johnny Cash because of "Walk The Line" a year after he got into Ray Charles because of "Ray"?

Did they choose the name Yuengling just to make it really difficult for you to order one when you're wasted at 3:50 in the morning?

Is there any correlation between girls who saw New Kids On The Block in concert and girls who saw Titanic more than 3 times in the theater?

Would you think less of me if I told you I was watching Titanic on showtime while writing this?

Why do movie commercials say, "Now playing, only in theaters!"? Where else would it be playing? Who gets confused?

Should the first girl who flashes her boobs at Mardi Gras this year be deemed a Saint for returning normalcy to the region?

Am I the only guy in new York who doesn't play the guitar?

Ladies: what's the average number of times you have to stop a guy from going for the shocker before he actually gives up on it?

Why do we have signs on the subway for 1-800-IMMIGRATION? Why are there 4 extra letters on there? Why can't we just make it 1-800-IMMIGRA? They're immigrants! They won't know the difference!

Married people: So is it true or not- do you really stop having sex after marriage? Stop joking around about this, we need an answer.

Would you think less of me if I told you that in 1997 I bought the cassette single of "MmmBop"? Only semi-ironically.

Cool or creepy: Dan and I wanted to call Laguna High last year and ask the principal "When do your high school girls go to Cabo on Spring Break?"

Why do most drug stores force you to walk through the toy aisle to get to the condom section?

Does E! really need a news ticker?

How come you don't have to pass a test to be able to vote but you have to pass a test to work at the Gap?

Have you ever started doodling sometheing, and somehow out of nowhere you end up drawing a swastika? So immediately you try to turn it into something else, like a kite, but it's still obviously a swastika?

What are you more uncomfortable ordering: tsunami rolls or gumbo?

call me, call me anytime

2005-11-14T17:20:00.000-05:00

Let's stop pretending we're cool for just one second and talk about something kind of embarrassing. Something humbling. Something that's happened to all of us, whether we're willing to admit it or not. Let's talk about the weekend that goes by when nobody calls you.

Yes, that weekend. The weekend where you check your cell phone every few hours to make sure it's still working. The weekend where you call your voicemail to see if someone left you a message when you were underground or in an area where you don't get service. And the weekend where every leg spasm and stomach rumble is mistaken for the long awaited vibration emitted from your cell phone. That weekend.

You experience many emotions during the Call-Free Weekend. At first you're relieved. Finally, you think, I can take a break from being social. That friday night, you welcome the break.

Saturday morning you wake up happy, however there's a twinge of disappointment when you discover that nobody drunkenly texted you over night or gave you a booty call. No matter. You're too tired to call anybody back that early in the morning anyway. It's all good. But by mid day Saturday you become a little confused. You start thinking about your friends and wondering what's going on in their lives. Is anybody out of town? Are people working this weekend? Is it a Jewish holiday? Something is probably going on... right?

Saturday night you're desperate. It's one thing for nobody to call you on Friday night: that happens. But Saturday night? People are going out-- you know that! It's Saturday night for God's sake! But still, nobody calls you. Even as you're out with the friends you already had plans with, you still look at your phone and wonder why your OTHER friends aren't calling you to see what you're doing. You decide they're all assholes.

When you wake up Sunday morning it's time to start evaluating your life. You know what, you're not that great of a friend. Right? You never call anybody- it's completely selfish of you to assume that they're constantly going to call you. You have to start putting a little more into this. Yep. Right. So you call a few people to get the ball rolling, but of course nobody answers their phone. You leave messages, which means that they'll either call you back soon to end the drought, or they won't. Which means you're a loser. You wonder if anybody else you know has ever had a weekend like this. You decide that they haven't.

By Sunday afternoon you just want your phone to ring. It doesn't matter who's calling. Anybody. You start thinking thoughts like, "Well, I haven't paid my ConEd bill in a while... they probably think something's up. I'm sure I'll hear from them soon." This is rock bottom.

Sunday night. You stare at your phone. You start thinking about your parents. How come THEY aren't calling? Maybe something's wrong. Should you call? No. You're being crazy. Just wait it out, I'm sure mom will call soon. So you wait. And you wait. And you start really wanting your mom to call. At that point, you wonder if this is better or worse than praying for the ConEd call. Things aren't looking too good.

When you go bed Sunday night you have no choice but to accept what just happened. You just went an entire weekend without a phone call. Not one. Not a "how's it going" call, not a "let's catch up" call, not a "what are you doing tonight?" call, and not even a "we're turning off your electricity" call. You're a horrible friend. A pretty bad person. An awful child. And you're unreliable when it comes to paying bills. But you're okay with that.

So you turn off your phone. Defiantly. There's a chance somebody will call you before you turn the lights off, but you know what? You don't care. You just had a Call-Free weekend. It happens to everybody. You're just going to have to deal with that.

And you're just going to have to pay that fucking bill too.

Ask Bob Anything, to be continued

2005-11-11T17:18:00.000-05:00

In the words of the soon to be deceased greatest character on television, G.O.B., "I've made a huge mistake."

I knew taking on questions this week was going to be difficult, but I went for it anyway. I was defeated. A busy week at work plus a busy Post Show week made it damn near impossible. And I have the bird flu. I swear.

So I decided that I'm still going to answer the rest of the questions as promised, but rather than devote a week to them I'll answer them sporadically throughout the month. It's for the best.

But anyway, now I'm on my way to Boston for the weekend to drink excessively and try to pretend that the 2004 ALCS never happened. So if you see a drunk guy with curly hair chanting "1918! 1918!" that's probably me. I'd say buy me a drink, but chances are by that point I won't need one.

So I'll be back next week, refreshed, revived, rejuvinated, and re-something-else-to-end-this-sentence. Have a great weekend, and F Fox for cancelling the best comedy ever on television.

And remember: The jury is still out on science.

Ask Bob Anything: Part IV - The Answers part 2

2005-11-09T17:46:00.000-05:00

If a tree falls in the forest, who would you most want it to fall onto?
Katie

Scott Stapp. Which segues to...
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If a Scott Stapp solo project falls in the woods, and no one is there to see it...did it ever exist?
Dan

I hope so. Because 8 years from now some college kids are going to come across it a 99 cent bin at their local record store, buy it, and later that night laugh their stoned asses off. I think that's why Stapp put it out-- because Jesus wants us to laugh.
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what the hell happened to drawesomefuck? he was great...
Anonymous

He was great, and I miss him. DR, if you're reading this, come back. We need you now more than ever.
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What determines the stickiness of my poop? Sometimes it glides though and 'poof' a no-wiper, other times, I have to use half a roll of the Double Charmin thus defeating the purpose of the double-roll purchase.
Brandon

There it is. The requisite "your blog is poop so I'm going to ask about poop" question. God I wish I thought this name out more when I started.
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if you had to with absolutely no way of avoiding it, who would you have gay sex with and why?
a man who thinks you're hot

Okay buddy, your name is bullshit. Gay guys aren't into me. I've had maybe one or two ever, and that's it. I think the reason is because I'm hairy, but I'm not big enough to necessarily qualify as a "bear." So don't go trying to flatter me by saying that you're a man who thinks I'm hot. Don't play with my heart like that.

Alright, so if I had absolutely no way of avoiding it, who would I have gay sex with and why? That's easy: Sean Connery. Because who wouldn't want to be able to say that they fucked James Bond?
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If you were recasting the original characters from Beverly Hills 90210 using the kids from Laguna Beach, who play who? Don't leave anyone out!
Me

I'm going with the original casts of both shows on this one to make things easy. My answers, by the way, are so perfect I don't even think I have to explain them.

Brandon - Talan
Dylan - Stephen
Steve - Trey
Kelly - LC
Brenda - Kristin
Donna - Lo
David Silver - The guy that Kristin hooks up with in Cabo
Nat - There are no adults in Laguna Beach. None.
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Why must God constantly mock me?
Dave

Because God's big into prop comedy and you rely on clever observations. This is why you'll never be big in the Midwest or in heaven.
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Why are dry cleaners usually owned by Chinese people?
Tracy

Who knows? They're really smart though, so I'm sure there's some sort of underlying motive there. We'll find out soon enough... and when we do, we're all in trouble.

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Are you now or have you ever been a card-carrying member of the Communist Party?
J

I haven't, though in all honesty I don't think communism is all that bad. I like parts of it. Like, I like how there's no inheritance and how all your money goes to the government when you die. It'd be great to see what would happen to Paris Hilton if that happened here.
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when is my move-in date? how many days a week do I have to cook/do dishes? what are the sleeping arrangements?
mindy

Mindy, it'd be great if you moved in asap so you can help with The Post Show full time and/or walk around topless. Since I usually work late, you'll only have to cook a couple of times a week, and as far as the dishes go… well, Brian and I threw our dishes out recently instead of washing them (I'm not even kidding.) So that shouldn't be a problem. As far as the sleeping arrangements go, since we already have a guy on our couch you will have to share a bed with me, brian, or the couch guy. This won't be weird. Remember, friends share.
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If Zack and Slater got in a fist fight, who would win?
Deloris

What do you mean if? They did! It looked like an even match, but we all know what would have happened if Slater really threw down. The guy was a 78 sport athlete AND a drummer. There's no way preppy Zack (who did ballet) could hold his own against Albert Clifford.

Don't worry, I'm sure we're only a few years away from seeing this play out on Celebrity Boxing.
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what is your etiquette when it comes to peeing in the shower? how about jerking off/masturbating in the shower? different rules for men vs. women? different rules if you're living with another guy vs. with a woman?
holmes

I've never been a fan of masturbating in the shower. I can only come up with so many fantasies that involve rain, and they all get too distracting.

I don't get it. Can't you think of anywhere better to masturbate? Like your bedroom? Or the subway? Come on.
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The rest are on their way... I promise... It's been a busy f'n week

Ask Bob Anything: Part IV - The Answers part 1

2005-11-07T17:51:00.000-05:00

Alright, here goes nothing. The first batch of answers for the Fourth Installment of Ask Bob Anything. This doesn't mean I'm done taking questions, so feel free to continue to add them to the comments. I won't waste any more team, here are the answers. Thanks to everybody who participated.
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Based on your official female rating scale, who is the hottest female star?
Trey

Very good question Trey. As a rule, we don't use the rating scale for celebrities very often. Reason being: Celebrities are hot. Think about it. Can you think of an unattractive female celebrity under the age of 40 who isn't Kelly Osbourne? There aren't many. You're going to be hard pressed to find celebrities who fall below a 7, so make sure you take that into consideration when you're breaking them down and subsequently judging them.

Now, on record I'm going to say that I think Elisha Cuthbert is physically perfect. However, I acknowledge that she may not get the full 4 face points if we're going to go legit here. So, I'll tell you who the only 10 on the planet is: The girl who played Marta 1 on the first season of Arrested Development. No question.

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Is it socially acceptable to claim that you watch a TV show that everyone's watching, when you only read the recaps on Television Without Pity to catch up? I'm never home to watch TV, and I don't care enough to DVR anything except Law & Order. But people keep bugging me to watch The O.C., Alias, Lost, The West Wing, Desperate Housewives, Arrested Development, etc. Why not just read the virtual Cliffs' Notes and keep up with everyone else's favorite shows, so that when people bring it up I can add to the conversation without having wasted my time in front of the boob tube?
brianvan

I don't think it's socially acceptable to lie about the TV shows you're watching. When I was a kid I would lie about movies I've seen, and to this day I'm not sure why. I guess to fit in. But I remember being in elementary school talking about Robocop as if I had seen it. I only quoted the lines from the commercials, and when I was asked questions about other scenes I would just wait for somebody else to say something and agree with them. I felt weird lying about that stuff back then, and I feel even weirder confessing to it now.

So don't lie. Admit that you don't have time to watch that crap and that you get your fix from TVGasm (which is amazing, by the way.) Or, better yet watch Best Week Ever. That way you can get brought up to speed on what's going on in pop culture, and you can even steal a joke or two from one of our trained comedians to sprinkle into casual conversation. It's a win-win situation.
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how do i explain what death is to my children?
moe berg

Kill one, then grab the other and go, "See?"
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With Thanksgiving right around the corner who will this year's bar crawl be dedicated to?
Some Dude

When is the next Pearl River Pub Crawl?
Toot Toot

The next Pearl River Pub Crawl will take place on November 23, the night before Thanksgiving. The cut off date for eligibility is tomorrow (election day) at midnight, so unless anything crazy happens it looks like we're going to be embarking on the 2005 Rosa Parks "Back of the Bus" Memorial Pub Crawl. I can't wait.

Of course, there's still a chance that Mohammed Ali could come from behind and take the title much like he did with George Foreman at the Rumble in the Jungle. We'll know tomorrow.
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why does it hurt so much to me alive?
Anonymous

Because you don't spell check.
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Who's the chick giving the thumbs up in the photo there?
Dashiell

That chick is Beth, a good friend of mine from my days working at MTV. She's living out in LA now, and that picture was taken this summer when my friends and I went out there. Oh, and here's a fun fact. The other guy in the picture is Beth's boyfriend Patrick, who was the original guy standing beside me when I started this blog. That's probably an exciting fun fact for exactly 4 of you.

P.S. Beth is hot. In case you couldn't tell.
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George Bush, great president? or the greatest president?
Steven

Okay, I LOVE the Colbert Report. Love it. And when I explain to people how funny it is I always bring up this question.

I think he's a terrible president, but since that's not an option put me down for great. I mean, great is lesser than greatest, and since terrible isn't an option I guess that means I'm going with great. So put me down for great.
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What would happen if Carmen Electra came out with a line of denture care?
kk

There would be some really hot print advertisements with Carmen in a white bikini pushing an old man in a wheelchair and leaning over just enough to reveal two thirds of her breasts. And the tagline would be something cringe worthy like "Check out those pearly whites!"

And oh yeah, she'll pose in Maxim, FHM, Stuff, Men's Health, Details, Esquire, Radar, Gear, Maxim UK, Maxim South America, FHM UK, and at least 4 other magazines you've never heard of to promote it.
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what is the best get-rich-quick scheme you've tried that has worked?
holmes

I've never had one that worked. In college I came up with the brilliant idea to start a website that was essentially an online alarm clock for college students. Since everybody who lives in a dorm sleeps right next to their computers, what you do is go to the site and set what time you want to be woken up. You can either choose one of the alarms we provide, or you can select one of your mp3s. I thought this was the best. So, I went and I bought Ioverslept.com and waited for the money to start pouring in. Unfortunately, I ran into a little problem when I realized I knew nothing about web design and that I was 18 and not very driven. So that ended there.

That was the most action I've taken with one of my great ideas. The next business I start is going to be a Break Up Bodega (BUB). What's a BUB? Let's say you have a bad breakup. You want your stuff back, but you don't want to see the person. So, you just go the BUB with their stuff, drop it off, and give them your ex's phone number. The BUB will call your ex and say, "Hi, so and so dropped off your GW sweatshirt and favorite Yankees hat. If you want it back please come by the BUB and bring his Billy Joel CDs with you." Coincidentally, I thought of this in college when I broke up with a girl from GW who stole my Billy Joel CDs. The BUB will make money through a small flat fee and commission if stuff doesn't get picked up in a timely fashion. Who else wants to see this happen?
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Which Sly Stallone character would you fight? Rambo or Rocky?
Mr. X

Cobra. Actually, no. Cobra would kick my ass too. Lincoln Hawk, but if he asks me to start arm wrestling I'm out of there.

Who knew a 5'7" actor could be so intimidating?
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If you were forced to listen to one cd for the rest of your life what would it be, and why?
Willie

I'm gonna have to do this twice, once choosing a Greatest Hits CD and once choosing a real one since Greatest Hits shouldn't count.

Okay. The first CD that pops into my head is Tom Petty's Greatest Hits. I think as a society we unjustly slight Tom Petty. The guy is a god. You could play Petty's Greatest Hits in a diverse room of people and nobody would ever complain. How come he doesn't get his due? Is it because we take him for granted? Is it because of that weird Mad Hatter video? Is it because he looks like a pedophile skeleton? Somebody needs to be held accountable for this.

But like I said, Greatest Hits CDs don't count. So let's see. It's going to have to be something timeless. It's going to have to be something that remains strong from start to finish and doesn't grate in the least. Since I'm obviously going to experience more than one mood in life, it's going to be something that I can listen to when I'm happy and when I'm sad. It's going to have to contain at least 12 tracks, because the repetition of a 10 track CD would be too much to handle. It's going to have to be something I can sing along to, and something that my friends won't mind being subjected to every time they come over to my apartment and I have music on in the background.

So, judging by these criteria it's clear. I'm going with "Middle of Nowhere" by Hanson. Just you try to stop me.
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Why am I so awesome?
Alex Blagg

That's a tough one. It's either because of your hatred for horses or because rumor has it you yell "You got Blagged!" at the point of climax. One of those.
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Ask Bob Anything IV!

2005-11-04T11:06:00.000-05:00

It's that time of year folks. Time for the fourth installment of the award winning* My Blog is Poop feature Ask Bob Anything!

What's Ask Bob Anything (ABA), you newbies ask? Well, try to follow here... you ask me anything... and I answer it. Bam!

Is anything off limits? No. Well, I won't answer any questions that I already answered in ABA 1-3, but that's it. Beyond that you can ask me whatever you want because (a) I know it all, and (b) it's fun to answer questions when you're not getting graded.

So ask away. You can post your questions in the Comments, or you can email me at Myblogispoop@gmail.com. Or if you have my cell phone # you can text them to me. Or you can send a stripper over to my apartment and have her ask me for you. Whatever's easiest.

Continue to ask away throughout the week and I'll continue to answer. The first batch will be up Monday. So here it goes: ABA IV. I'll be the Rocky to your Ivan Drago. Hit me.

*this is a lie, it's won nothing

only in dreams

2005-10-31T17:41:00.000-05:00

What did you do Friday night? You know what I did? I watched Weezer play their self titled debut album (dubbed The Blue Album by fans) from start to finish. From "My Name is Jonas" to "Only In Dreams," with some "Say It Aint So," "Buddy Holly," and everything else in between. It was incredible, and it was well worth the $5 price of admission.

Okay, what I just wrote isn't completely true. I left out the part where I should have told you that I actually watched the band Morning Theft play a show as Weezer. But that doesn't matter. What matters is I was in a tiny club with a really cool band on stage playing 10 of my favorite songs ever, and I, like everybody else there, loved every second of it.

During "Undone," while everybody was singing along, completely immersed in the experience, something dawned on me: this was brilliant. Morning Theft did it right. They didn't just promote this Halloween show by saying they were playing as Weezer, they announced that they were going to play Weezer's most popular album-- the one with 10 years worth of memories attached to it-- and that's it. If they were just going to do the Weezer thing I'm sure many people would have skipped it out of fear they'd be subjected to "We Are All On Drugs" or a Maladroit-heavy set list. No. They were going Blue, and only Blue. It was a great call.

So here's my question: Why doesn't Weezer do this? And in that vain, why don't other bands do this too? How much would you pay to see a Weezer concert where they only play The Blue Album? Or a Pearl Jam concert where you're guaranteed you won't have to listen to anything post-Vitalogy? Let's talk about this.

Weezer. Let's start with them. The way I see it, Weezer should do one of two things. One, they should put together a tour where they hit small, intimate clubs and just play the Blue Album. I would spend $75 easy to see them in an "Unplugged in NY"-type setting (but plugged in) going Blue. Wouldn't that be an incredible experience? Well, that's one idea. The other: they tour the country playing bigger venues, but only playing stuff off The Blue Album and Pinkerton. They can call it the "When We Were Good Tour," and easily ask double for tickets than what they're asking now.

Pearl Jam. I regret never seeing Pearl Jam in concert. So much. And with every year-- and every album-- that passes, I regret it more and more. Because every new album means that there are going to be more new songs knocking the stuff I really want to hear off their set list. Now, with a band like Pearl Jam there's a good chance we're eventually going to get their Greatest Hits tour where they play everything that's ever hit the radio, but to be honest I'm not really looking forward to that. I want to hear "Leash." I want the last few tracks off Vs. and the few songs off Ten that somehow avoided modern rock radio. Maybe even "Hey Foxymophandlemama, That's me." That's why Pearl Jam should skip the Best Of tour and simply give us "The First 3." The best Ten, Vs., Vitalogy, and maybe a few B-sides like "Yellowledbetter" and nothing else. You name the price.

Blur & Oasis. Please, put the past behind you and tour together. Blur, you guys play Parklife. Oasis, you play Definitely Maybe (sorry, I like it more than Morning Glory.) I'm sure the girls from Elastica are available to open. Let's make this happen.

Counting Crows. "August And Nothing After-- The Tour."

Elvis Costello. Listen, it's not Elvis' fault that he's put out 1,249 albums since 1977. And it's cool that he's run the gamut from punk/new wave to schmaltzy ballads and back again. But if Elvis really wanted to wow crowds, he should go on a "Limited Pussy Shit" tour, where he mainly plays the stuff with balls. Notice I said Limited. He can still play "Alison," and "Good Year For The Roses" and a handful of his other wonderful slow songs, but by making it a "Limited Pussy Shit" tour he won't be able to waste time with piano jazz or anything off of For The Stars.

R. Kelly. "Trapped In The Closet Part I-Infinity: The Tour." I've already called my bank and warned them that if this ever happens I may clear out my account. They understand.

So that's all I got so far. I'm sure I'll think of more. What about you? What tour would you like to see?

it's monday and i'm shameless

2005-10-31T11:54:00.000-05:00

Don't worry, there will be a real post later on (I'm in a write-y mood). In the meantime, check out today's Post Show. And love it.

Click here you sexy mofo. Oh, and if you haven't signed up to be on our mailing list yet, what are you waiting for? Do it. Sign up. For me. Please?

Be back in a bit.

i love the 80's too

2005-10-27T17:19:00.000-04:00

I hate you VH1. I hate you for ruining nostalgia.

I'm a child of the 80's, born on the last day of the first week of the new decade. I grew up a typical 80's child: He-Man, GI Joe, and Smurfs on the television; Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, Ghostbusters, and The Karate Kid in the theaters. I read "The Sideways Stories of Wayside School" before bed and I had no problem letting my WWF action figures fight crime alongside Lion-O and the rest of the Thundercats. I wore embarrassingly bright colored shirts, I had shoes with pockets in them, and I wore hats with a flat brim 20 years before it was cool to do so. And none of this makes me special-- it makes me typical-- which is why it's so great.

If you're in your 20's, you grew experiencing many of the same things I did. The movies, the shows, the toys, the cultural events. The Challenger. The Berlin Wall. Back To The Future II. All of it. We all have that in common, and up until about 3 years ago that was a great thing to share.

Up until 3 years ago you could have a casual conversations with friends and out of nowhere bring up something like, "Oh my god, do you guys remember Garbage Pail Kids?" and it was great. People would either respond "Ohh yeahhhhh" or "Ohmygod, I completely forgot about those" and it would lead to a hilarious and sometimes enlightening conversation about something from our youth. These conversations-- whether they were about Garbage Pail Kids or Mr. T cereal or Castlevania were fun to have. It was great to see the look on somebody's face when they were reminded about something from their youth that they had forgotten about, and it was great to wax nostalgic about it until it lead to another conversation about something else from your childhood.

Assuming you didn't consistently talk about the same thing with the same people, this never got old. You could laugh about Mr. Wizard one day, debate Fraggle Rock the next, and have in depth discussions about the Fat Boys/Beach Boys version of "Wipeout" the day after that. It. Was. Fun. I can't stress this enough. However, I feel like I have to repeat that statement over and over again because nowadays, being nostalgic for the 80's isn't fun at all. And that's VH1's fault.

Listen. I kind of love "I Love the 80's." I, like you, have wasted more than one Sunday afternoon laying hungover on my couch and watching 10 straight hours of "I Love The" programming. It happens. You want to stop but you can't, because right when you're ready to turn off the TV they go and start talking about Alf or Rambo or Bo Jackson and then you're stuck. And I, like you, will sit there smiling and think back to a simpler time and thank the geniuses of VH1 for remembering the same things about the 80's I did. It's truly brilliant programming. But, as much as I love watching it, I hate it for the same reason.

Because now I don't remember it the same way. Now I don't just remember Teddy Ruxpin. I remember Hal Sparks remembering Teddy Ruxpin and saying something humorous about it. And that sucks.

My memories have been tainted. Cartoons and movies and toys I had as a child that should of fallen off the face of the Earth in 1990 are now popping up on my TV every weekend in 5 hour blocks that I couldn't avoid if I tried. You can't bring up obscure things from your childhood in conversation anymore because, well, it's not obscure anymore. It was just on TV. The guy from "Ed" talked about it, and-- guess what-- whatever he said was funnier than whatever you're going to say.

Well, there's no point in complaining about this. What's done is done. The 80's are no longer a cultural minefield of casual conversation that we can rely on to break the ice and forge common ground with others. Because you're going to watch "I Love The 80's." I'm going to watch "I Love The 80's." And we're going to love "I Love The 80's."

Maybe, someday, 20 years from now, we'll be able to sit down, get a drink, and reminisce about the time that VH1 reminisced about the 80's. And everything will make sense.

Guess The Karo! XI

2005-10-26T13:05:00.000-04:00

For the past few months I've noticed a disturbing trend. Whenever I read Aaron Karo'snewest column I tend to turn to whoever is closest to me and say, "Wow. This is the worst one yet." And I'm dead serious. I'm not saying it to be a dick (well, okay, maybe a little) and I'm not saying it to further justify my monthly GTK's on this site. I've been saying it because it's been the honest to god truth.

Well people. This week's was the worst one yet.

In fact, it's so bad that I can only pull out three examples of "jokes" to play with this time. Usually I go for 4 or 5, but I don't think he included that many actual punchlines in the column. It's like he's actually making his stuff less funny to discourage us from playing this game. And that's just rude. See for yourself.

But enough. The game must go on! For you first timers, here's how we play. Below are three jokes from Aaron Karo's *sigh* popular Ruminations column. You're going to have to guess which punchline was penned by the guy who recently made a joke about how much it must suck being stuck behind an NBA player at a movie theater, and which punchlines were written by yours truly pretending to be that guy. Here we go!

(1) The principal of a high school near my hometown on Long Island canceled this year's prom in part because last year's seniors attempted to rent a ridiculous, $20,000 house in the Hamptons for a post-prom blowout. There's talk, of course, of putting on the prom anyway, without involving that pesky principal at all.

a) Is it just me, or does this sound like an episode of Saved by the Bell?
b) There's also talk of renaming the school "Best High School Ever!"
c) If that happens, we'll see more v-cards handed away than Hallmark on Valentines Day.
d) Why didn't my senior class think of this???

(2) I'm excited for my first Halloween in LA. My costume is my old high school soccer jersey. If I hook up, I'm gonna keep the jersey on.

a) I'd like to score at least once while wearing that thing.
b) Things might get weird when I yell "Gooooaaaaaaaaallllllllll!"
c) Even though I might get a penalty for using my hands.
d) But there are so many Mexicans here in Southern California they'll probably love it!

(3) I had this photo shoot recently and the stylist straightened my hair with some sort of device he called a straightening iron. I couldn't get over how it looked. I mean, I've had curtly Brillo pad hair my whole life. When the shoot was over, the stylist was like, you know, you could do this yourself, it only takes like five minutes. I was like, let's not get carried away, chief.

a) I don't even like ironing my shirts, I'm not about to start ironing my head!
b) If my friends ever found out I was straightening my hair, "straight" would be the last word they'd use to describe me.
c) If I have five extra minutes to spare in the bathroom I'm not using it to play with my hair, if you know what I mean.
d) Once you're plugging something into a socket you've already more than bypassed my threshold for hair care. I draw the line at gel.

So give it your best shot. I'm not going to lie, I feel like I was kind of 'on' today. Or 'off,' depending on how you look at it. Good luck.

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

quote

2005-10-24T18:04:00.000-04:00

"I really hurt my elbow breakdancing yesterday."

And there you have it: the number one sentence I never thought I'd say in my life.

The Post Show is trying to kill me.

why i'm glad it's getting cold out

2005-10-21T14:57:00.000-04:00

- I'm pretty sure terrorism is only a summer job for those guys, so that means we're safe for a couple of months. Whew.

- After all of my summer clothing was "accidentally" donated to the Red Cross this spring, I'm ready to go back my long familiar long sleeved shirts and cosby sweaters. It's like going home again.

- Jackets. Finally. Back to jackets. You get extra pockets, you get to look a little more stylish, and you get to pay an extra $1-5 at clubs and concerts checking it. Awesome!

- Girls with scarves. They're cute.

- Snow days. I know it takes a lot more snow to miss work than it did to miss school, but in the winter there's always that chance. Especially with the way Mother Nature has decided to fuck us over this year. I'm thinking we're good for at least one tremendous blizzard... she owes it to us.

- It's a lot easier to justify an unnecessary cab ride using the logic "But it's freezing out! Let's just hail a cab."

- No more trying to figure out the perfect setting on your air conditioner somewhere in between waking up sweating and waking up freezing and clutching onto your covers for dear life.

- It gets dark at 5, meaning you can start drinking even earlier without feeling like you have a problem.

- The freezing smoker dance. My favorite dance move. This winter, when you're in a nice warm bar enjoying a nice cool drink, take a look out the front window and watch all the freezing smokers with crossed arms and anxious looks on their faces sway back and forth and bounce up and down. You'll never be happier that you're 5% less cool than those people ever again.

- No more trying to decide if you're in a hot coffee or iced coffee mood. It's hot coffee until May, bitches.

- Soup! Mmmmm, soup. Don't even get me started.

- Easter, Fourth of July, Memorial Day, Arbor Day, and Labor Day can't compete with Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and MLK Day. In fact, those holidays are so strong not even Valentines Day can bring them down. And that's saying something.

- The subway goes from 'disgustingly hot and humid' to 'disturbingly comfortable.' It still smells like urine though.

- More boots! I'm not sure if I've mentioned this on the site before, but I'm not a foot person. At all. I never notice when a girl is wearing nice, fancy shoes. However, I love a girl in boots. There's something sexy about it... except for Uggs. Can someone let me know ahead of time if we're going to be forced to endure another winter of Uggs? Are they out of style yet? Please?

- Finally, because it's only a matter of time before the excitement of the cool weather ends and we all start bitching, "Jesus, it's fucking cold outside. I can't wait for summer."

in the beginning...

2005-10-19T12:05:00.000-04:00

So I needed to grab a handful of baby photos for the next episode of The Post Show (...don't ask), and I thought I'd post one of them here to remind you to head over there and watch the skit tomorrow.

Here I am. Twenty something years before blogging about hipsters and fantasy raping girls on the internet.

Where did it all go wrong?

"I Had Sex with Julia Stiles," and Other Lies I Like To Tell People

2005-10-18T16:42:00.000-04:00

I'm not a liar. Well, not in the traditional sense. I don't purposely set out to deceive people and to present them with falsities and inaccuracies about my life.

Usually.

But I'm not going to lie, I do have fun fucking with people. It's fun to make stuff up and see what people are willing to believe. I've been doing it for years. In high school I remember convincing my good friend Sam(antha) that a guy's penis is supposed to make a high pitched squealing noise right before he ejaculates. Like, "Weeeeeeeeeee." She believed me. In college, I had my girlfriend believing that the reason guys wear white underwear is because our penises have a chamelon-like quality that results in them changing color depending what they're next to. I couldn't believe she bought it. So what's the lesson here? Girls will believe whatever you tell them about penises. Except, "No, mine is actually really big... it's all camera angles and lighting with those porn guys." They can see through that one.

But see, those are my kinds of lies. I'm not pathological. I had a friend in college though, named Liar Steve, who was. Liar Steve would tell us the best stories. The first time I met him he told me that he designed the poster that was hanging on his wall (which was clearly bought at Spencers), that he had sold a screenplay in Hollywood, and that the had hung out backstage with Everclear once, a feat which at the time I deemed "the coolest thing ever." As the year progressed we were blessed with many more Liar Steve stories. Stories about saving a guy's life during a motocross race once, stories about falling into a canyon while rock climbing, stories about the government confiscating his computer because he hacked into the Pentagon. I mean, this guy was AMAZING. Did we believe him? Never. However, he was one of my best friends for a while, and ironically, the only person I trusted telling stuff to. It was great. I could tell Liar Steve all my girlfriend problems, all my worries, everything, and I never had to worry about other people finding out. If he did tell anybody anything they wouldn't believe him anyway... it was the ideal situation!

The annoying thing about Liar Steve, though, was that he lied to his friends. I, on the other hand, tend to only lie to strangers. Mostly because lying is really, really fun. These are the lies I tell. For fun. Do I want the people I'm telling them to to believe them? Yes, absolutely... but only for a little bit. It's too much work trying to keep lies up, and these don't have much of a shelf life. But here they are.

I had sex with Julia Stiles -- This one started on Spring Break. Three of my friends and I went to Panama City Beach, Florida our senior year. We had a great time all week for many reasons: the girls were hot, the drinks were cheap, and since I had interned at MTV the previous summer we had an illustrious MTV ID in our presence. Now, despite only interning and not even having a job lined up after graduation, that didn't stop me from getting drunk every night and pulling the "Hi, I work for MTV, is there anything you can do for us?" card to skip lines, get into VIP sections, and get free drinks. Pretty great. Anyway. Our last night in town as we were getting ready we decided that each of us should come up with our own lie to tell people that night. You know, to mix things up. My friends decided that since we would probably end up breaking out the MTV ID, my story should be MTV related.

"How about I had sex with a celebrity?" Perfect. So the question became: which celebrity? This was where it got tough. It had to be believable. Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Angelina Jolie? No way. Never. Jennifer Love Hewitt, Rachel Leigh Cook, Katie Holmes? Those wouldn't work either. We threw around names for a while before we took a break so I could shower. In the shower I racked my brain, and that's when it hit me: Julia Stiles. Perfect. She was pretty, but not stunning. She was famous enough where everybody would know her, but not too famous where I wouldn't stand a chance. She was fairly well liked, girls weren't turned off by her, and she just seemed... attainable.

When I walked out of the bathroom I yelled "Julia Stiles!!!" My friend Eric looked at me and said, "Yeah, we decided on Julia Stiles too."

So then we came up with the story: I was interning at MTV on the 20th Anniversary special that had taken place that summer at the Hammerstein Ballroom. The place was loaded with celebrities, and somehow during the course of the night I ended up talking to Julia Stiles. We hit it off, got drunk, and hooked up that night. We proceeded to casually date for the next few weeks... that is, until she ended things because she was going off to shoot a movie. I was okay though. We promised to remain friends, and to this day we called each other sporadically to catch up.

Not too bad, right? Well, that night it kind of worked. A couple of girls believed it. When we got back from break and I recapped the story to my friend Howie he yelled, "You can't tell people you had sex with Julia Stiles! I tell people I had sex with Julia Stiles! It's believable!" And there you have it.

I have no sense of smell -- This is a fun one. In fact, I'm kind of upset that I'm writing about it now because it means I won't be able to use it anymore.

I only break out the no-sense-of-smell when people are bragging about disabilities, a bizarre thing that we as people tend to do a little more than we should. Why do we do this? Who hasn't ever been stuck with people who boast about things like, "Well, I'm colorblind" or "I have a dulled sense of taste" or "I have a learning disability." Snore. That's usually when I drop the "Well, I have no sense of smell. At all." It's great, because it's hard to disprove. People will usually ask me if it affects my sense of taste. I say it doesn't, because I've never had a sense of smell and I can still taste the difference between things. Of course, the only time I've ever been stumped is when somebody asked me what the name of my ailment was. I should have done research.

I physically can't see black people -- Nobody believes this one. People refuse to accept that I have a bizarre disease where I'm unable to spot, identify, or locate African Americans.

I'm from Corpus Christi, Texas -- I seem to meet sooooooo many people from Texas. It's bizarre. Anyway, in the right situation (i.e. when I'm drinking) I sometimes tell people that I'm from Corpus Christi. Why Corpus Christi? I have no clue. I couldn't spot it on a map. I think I only know it because of the movie "The Legend of Billie Jean" which honestly is a good enough reason if you ask me. Bonus: When I tell this lie I'm usually drunk enough to put on the perfect little Texas accent. I'm usually terrible with accents, but this one has worked every time.

I'm from Corpus Christi, Texas. I moved to Baltimore when I was 18 because my black girlfriend and I were discriminated against. We broke up after college, and it was then that I decided to move to New York and pursue my dream to be a stand up comic -- I used this one on a friend's Texan girlfriend the first night I met her. Thankfully their relationship didn't last. I don't know if I would have been able to keep it up.

I have the same birthday as you -- Again, I'm bummed that I'm writing about this. This is one of my favorite moves, in part because it's designed for me to get caught in a lie.

Basically, here's how it goes. I ask you your birthday. You ask me mine. I say, okay, you first. You say (example) September 29th. Now, here's where skill comes in. As you're giving your answer, I too will jump in and say September 29th. Almost simultaneously. It's a gift. You'll look at me and say "No way!" I'll swear it's true. I'll then grab my friend and yell, "Brian, when's my birthday september29th." Somehow, someway, you won't notice me saying September 29th. Brian will answer September 29th. You'll be blown away. You'll ask to see my ID, I'll say I left it at home (even though there's a bouncer at the door and you know I must have had to show him something).

Now, here's where it ends. Still blown away by the coincidence, you ask me what my sign is. Gemini, I'll say, having absolutely no clue. Your eyes will light up and you'll yell "Ha! No! Scorpio!" I'll say, that's what I said, Scorpio. You'll say you got me. I'll begrudgingly admit that you did. And then we'll share a laugh. Scene.

It's always fun.

I'm allergic to mushrooms -- I say this to waiters when I order dishes that require me to say "no mushrooms." Am I allergic? No. But they disgust me, so I want the waiter to think that if he messes up and forgets to write it on his little pad there's a good chance that it will kill me. I don't think I'm overreacting at all.

I'm allergic to ice -- "Can I get water with no ice, I'm allergic. Thanks." People have actually believed this one. I swear.

Well, those are the only ones I can think of right now. I'm sure there have been many, many more, but those are the fun ones. If you know me, and I've told or used a lie that's not on the list, include it in the comments section. I won't be angry.

I promise.

writers bloc

2005-10-17T17:52:00.000-04:00

Let's try something new. Since I don't know what to write about today (and it's already 6:30, it's not like anybody's going to read this anyway), I'm going to let you guys vote on what I write about tomorrow. Tuesday. So I'm just going to list a few random titles and let you choose which one I go with.

My Blog is Poop! So interactive!

Alright, here we go. Your options are:

1. Vertical Horizon - The Most Influential Mediocre Band of Our Generation

2. "I Had Sex With Julia Stiles," And Other Lies I Like To Tell People

3. Midgets: So Five Minutes Ago

4. Last Night's Party Results In This Morning's Trip to Planned Parenthood

5. "There are 4 types of pussy in the world," a.k.a., What We Learned From Our Perverted Cab Driver Saturday Night

6. Three of Cups made us wait 2 hours for our entree this weekend and the manager refused to apologize. Note: This actually isn't a topic, I just wanted everybody to know that the manager of Three of Cups on 1st & 5th is a douchebag.

7. Hey! You! Do You Like Improv??? Come to Our Show!!! by The Skit Heads!

8. "Cunt," And Other Words I Learned The Definition of at a Young Age While Playing Scrabble With My Grandmother

9. Searching for Yourself on Craigslist Missed Connections is the New Googling Yourself

10. Adam Duritz: What happened?

Alright. Your call. I know which ones I'm rooting for and which ones I'm rooting against, but it's up to you. Make me proud.

my other site is a tv show

2005-10-17T11:25:00.000-04:00

Hey, it's Monday, so that means there's a brand new Post Show ready for you. C'mon, you know you want to check it out.

I'll be back in a little bit with a real post. Word.

the 5 songs that we've ruined thanks to irony

2005-10-13T15:29:00.000-04:00

They're songs we grew up with. They're songs we can't avoid. We should just let them die, but no. We can't. We've embraced them and we play them ad nauseum. They are the five songs that we've ruined thanks to irony.

5. "Ice Ice Baby" Vanilla Ice - Just try, you can't get away from Ice Ice Baby. It's played at sporting events, weddings, temple. Everywhere. It's actually gotten to the point where you find yourself singing along and you don't know when you started. It just happens. If you were born between 1975-1985 the lyrics to Ice Ice Baby have been burned into your DNA. Nobody actually likes the song, we just all know it. It's a part of our world, for better or worse. Let's all agree to accept it... let's just not celebrate it. Okay?

4. "Don't Stop Believing" Journey - I am not going to insult this song for two reasons: 1. the video is amazing, and 2. it is arguably one of the greatest karaoke songs EVER. That being said, ladies, there's no reason to scream at the top of your lungs like Jennifer Love Hewitt in "I Still Know What You Did Last Summer" every time this song comes on in a bar. Come on. You're better than that. Why are you screaming? It's not because you think Steve Perry is hot, is it? It's not because you're into positive reinforcement, is it? I mean, are you that into midnight trains going anywhere? I just want an answer.

3. "Poison" Bell Biv Devoe - Who didn't love this song? Seriously. Anybody? Even people who hate rap love "Poison." Not only does it have a great beat, but the lyrics revolve around one of the most popular and universal subjects in the world: Women are evil. Just a great all around job by Michael Bivens, Something Bell, and Somebody Devoe. The only problem is, not only did everybody on the planet love this song fifteen years ago, everybody on the planet still loves it now. So if you're at a party, or in a bar, there's a good chance you're going to hear it. Everybody has it on their iPods. You even hear it on the radio sometimes. Somehow, this song that came out in 1990 is still being overplayed. Unprecedented. In fact, this song doesn't belong on the list because I'm beginning to realize that there's nothing ironic about it. I think.

2. "Baby Got Back" Sir Mix-A-Lot - The next time you're talking to somebody and they brag that they know all the words to "Baby Got Back," I give you full permission to punch that person in the face.

1. "Living on a Prayer" Bon Jovi - "Johnny used to work on the docks, the union went on strike... uhh uhh uhh uhh uhh uhhh... Gina something something uhh uhh... uhhh.... Well WE GOTTA HOLD ON TO WHAT WE GOT! IT DOESN'T MAKE A DIFFERENCE IF WE MAKE IT OR NOT! WE GOT EACH OTHER AND THAT'S A LOT FOR LOVE! LET'S GIVE IT A SHOT! Now, at that moment, the DJ drops the volume out so everybody can enjoy the loud, off key yelp of a hundred drunken 24-year-olds yelling... wait for it... WHOA! WE'RE HALF WAY THERE! WHOA-OH! LIVING ON A PRAYER!" Take my hand, we'll make it I swear. Whoa. Living on a prayer. At that moment, some guys instinctively play air guitar. Others give their friends high fives. And everybody in Jersey, everybody from Jersey, and everybody who likes Jersey-- for one brief moment-- forgets one big thing: that Bon Jovi sucks.

the fast lane

2005-10-12T16:12:00.000-04:00

We're getting dangerously close to Yom Kippur, or "the day of atonement" as my Jewish brothers like to call it.

I've never fasted for YK but I think I'm going to do it this year. Not because I think it will wash away all my sins, but because I want to see if I can. It's not going to be easy though. Apparently I'm going to be prohibited from allowing anything to 'pass my lips' from sundown tonight to sundown tomorrow. Hmmm. Well, since I'm only half Jewish, I think I'm allowed to take some liberties. Here are the rules for my Yom Kippur fast:

1. F the Sundown to Sundown thing. I'm starting in the morning.
2. Coffee doesn't count. God would want me to drink coffee, even on the holiest of holy days. ESPECIALLY on the holiest of holy days.
3. Nobody is allowed to complain about my constant complaining about how hungry I am.
4. If it just so happens to be a co-workers birthday and we just so happen to have cake or ice cream in honor of the occasion, I'm allowed to enjoy it. God knows it would be rude if I didn't.
5. Water is okay, but toothpaste is not. Meaning-- I get a day off from brushing!!! Woo hoo!
6. I'm allowed to take my Tylenol Flu.
7. If for some reason a rave breaks out at work and everybody is dancing and grinding and taking ecstasy I'm allowed to take a pill and wash it down with the beverage of my choice.
8. If said rave breaks out, I can drink Red Bull too.
9. If I look out my window and discover a bird's nest, and it's obvious that the mama bird has flown away and left her babies here to die, I'll allow myself to chew up worms and spit it into their baby bird mouths.
10. If I wake up in the morning and discover that I am in fact a homosexual who has finally realized his true sexuality, I'm going for it. And no, I don't think I have to elaborate on that.
11. Actually, pretend I didn't write that. People commenting over at The Post Show already think we're all gay for some reason, so #10 will do nothing but add fuel to the fire. To the very hot, sexy, all-male-action fire.
12. Back to the fast. Cookies don't count. Why? Because I love cookies.
13. Chewing on pens and biting on fingernails is fine.
14. No eating shit; literally or metaphorically.
15. If a beautiful woman calls me or emails me and says, "Hey Bob, it's me, a beautiful woman. I'd love to meet you before sundown and get some food and then bang you... but I'll only bang you if we eat together first-- I am, after all, a beautiful woman. What do you say?" Yeah. In that situation I will be eating.

Now despite all these exceptions, I promise-- I PROMISE-- that there is one thing I will not do while fasting for Yom Kippur: I promise I will not eat any Christian babies. Not a single one. You have my word.

Mazel Tov.

canyes? Cano!

2005-10-10T16:27:00.000-04:00

All season I've been trying to figure out why Robinson Cano is funny looking. I mean, it doesn't just hit you. It's kind of subtle. It's not like he has a tremendous nose or a lazy eye or a third nostril. It's something else.

Since he was called up I've been saying he looks like a sea creature. Specifically, the Creature From The Black Lagoon.

Or Daggermouth from "Family Guy."

But no. That's not it. Today I figured it out: Robinson Cano has two upper lips!

No wonder the ladies love him.

(All that said, I love this man. I would vote for him for mayor. He's awesome. Go Yankees)

p.s. New Post Show today. Check it out.

the JMAA -- jewish mothers association of america

2005-10-07T16:10:00.000-04:00

"You're losing your touch, mom."

A couple of hours after learning that The Terrorists (TM) planned on doing evil, dirty things to our subways, I called my mom to inform her that she was slipping. It was on CNN, the mayor had a press conference, and everybody in the city knew about it, and yet-- no phone call. To be honest, I was a little disappointed. My mom was supposed to call me hours before it was on television. Why? Because you know. She's Jewish.

If you don't have a Jewish mother you probably have no idea what I'm talking about. If you do-- you know. Jewish moms subscribe to some sort of newsletter that the rest of the world can't. Or they have their own TV channel that only they can access. Or they have their own AP-- The JP-- where they get all their news. I don't know. I'm not a Jewish mom. But somehow, someway, Jewish mothers have some sort of unique way to receive news stories-- which they then pass onto their Jewish children-- before anybody else. It's a fact.

After 9/11, I would receive a phone call once a week informing where not to go. "Bobby, it's your mother. Please don't go to DC this weekend, there's going to be a terrorist attack." Really mom? I've been watching the news all day and they haven't said a thing. "Please Bobby, promise me you won't go into DC." But mom, my girlfriend is in DC and we already have plans. "Make her come up to Towson. Please. For me." Mom, where did you get this information??? "Just trust me. I know."

Now, I'm not sure if my mom was receiving top secret information from the government or if she just didn't like my girlfriend at the time, but that seriously happened constantly throughout the last couple of months of 2001. Remember the rumors that the terrorists were going to attack malls during busy shopping days that year? I'm pretty sure that those were started by Jewish mothers who didn't want their sons to buy thier girlfriends presents.

So how do they do it? Do they have a Jewish mother embedded deep within Al-Queda who gets the word out to other Jewish mothers throughout the world? Are there Jewish mothers sneaking around the Pentagon perusing classified information and filtering it out to their cohorts? I have no clue! Most Jewish mothers can't even figure out how to use their email, how have they developed the most efficient news distribution system in the world? It truly baffles the mind.

I should have never told my mom about the subways last night. I called to rub it in and to crack myself up, but in the end I ended up the loser. After two minutes of laughing about it, my mother stopped me short and made me promise that I wouldn't ride the subway for the next couple of days. I tried getting around it through clever wording like, "I promise that I won't ride the subway at all... tonight," but it didn't work. She made me swear. "But mom, I'm going to the Yankees game tomorrow night! It's in the Bronx!" Take a cab, she said.

Ugh. Those Jewish moms. They know how to get you.

my head is poop

2005-10-06T16:07:00.000-04:00

I swear, I'm not flaking on poop. This was supposed to be my big week back, but I'm sick. Not sleeping, combined with drinking in excess at the launch party and over the weekend has resulted in my body breaking down and me getting sick. Boo hoo, I know.

Check out The Post Show today. I'll be back tomorrow, and then next week at 100%. That's my promise to you.

You complete me.

how i met your mother

2005-10-05T14:46:00.000-04:00

Hey pal, so you want to know how your mother and I met, do you? Awh, isn't that adorable. Well, take a seat and I'll tell you all about it.

The year was 2005. I was living in Astoria, Queens and I was... well, I was in between jobs. There was a misunderstanding at the bank I was working at at the time involving misplaced keys and ransacked safety deposit boxes, and your old pops took the fall. You live and you learn, you live and you learn. In order to pay my rent I got a job telemarketing-- magazines. Gosh, for the life of me I can't remember which one. I want to say People, but I know it wasn't. Hmm. Let's go with People.

Now, telemarketers have it made. Sure it was monotonous, and sure it was the only job I've ever had in my life where I woke up every morning knowing that everybody I spoke to that day was going to hate me, but besides that it wasn't all bad. We only had to work 5 hour shifts because some social psychologist discovered that you were 80% more likely to snap and kill your officemates after the five hour mark. So that was cool.

But yeah, thanks to the telemarketing I had a lot of spare time. I would spend most of the day playing video games, and at night your Uncle Rod and I would shoot pool and play darts at the hole in the wall Polish bar right around the corner. Life was good, as they say. But something was missing. And you know what that something was? Love. Your father was looking for love, kiddo. Unfortunately the bar we hung out in never had many women in it, and the ones that did come in were usually ugly, married or both. Ugh. Here's a little fatherly advice for you: you can only do so many ugly and married women before you start to feel a little hollow inside. And itchy outside. Things were not looking good in the love department.

And then everything changed. It was a cool day in October-- I'm pretty sure it was the beginning of the month, because I remember that rent was due and I was considering selling all of my Kid Rock CD's to get the money in on time. Anyway, your Uncle Rod was working late that night, so your father had nothing to do but putz around on the internet. What was I looking at? Well, that's not for your young ears to hear. Let's just say that you're a good 10 years away from being old enough to check out any of those sites, okay? Anyway, after doing what I set out to do, I swung on over to this old site that the kids used to go to all the time: craigslist. What's a craigslist? Hahaha. Ahhh. Craigslist was a website that had everything you could possibly want on it. It had apartment listings, job listings, you could find tickets to sold out shows and sporting events, you could buy electronics on it-- I'm telling you, it had EVERYTHING. Including... love!

Since I was having trouble finding love in real life I thought maybe this was just what I needed. So for the first time ever I clicked on the link that read "causal encounters" and boy, was my mind blown! There they were, link after link after link... all of them leading to love.

Now, since your father has always had a thing for the ladies-- not boys, like your Uncle Nelson-- I modified my little search to make sure that only the women searching for men popped up on my screen. And sure enough, after sorting through all the transsexuals and prostitutes I landed upon the five most beautiful words in the English language: need a good fuck NOW*

Overcome with curiosity, I clicked the link. And do you want to know what it said? Of course you do!

Can u get here FAST?!?
I will only pick the best good looking guy with a nice cock... (say, at least 7" with a nice girth)
I'm a smokin hottie with an incredible hormone surge right now... so it's your lucky night...
be a Single WHITE M, disease free and VERY VERY attractive... (don't waste my time and yours if you're not)
PHOTOS required... of your FACE... hurry!

She sounded like just my type! I loved smokin' hotties!

Was I intimidated? You bet I was. Your grandma always told me I was an attractive guy, but "VERY VERY" attractive? I don't know about that. I started worrying. What if I send her a picture of my face and she doesn't like me? What if I'm not attractive enough?? What if this relationship ended before it even started?? How would I be able to live with myself? And besides, even if she did find me "VERY VERY" attractive, what if she didn't think my cock was nice? Sure, it's 7" if you start measuring from the right spot, but girth?? I didn't even know what that word meant!

So I tore up the apartment to find a decent picture to send her. Since I couldn't find one, I grabbed your Uncle Rod's digital camera and took a close up one of my face. It didn't look too bad, so I sent it her way. After hitting 'send' I dropped down on my sofa, covered my head with my hands, and started to weep. I was hoping for a miracle. Son. I need a miracle.

And then it happened. "You got mail." I opened it up, and there it was. A brief, but promising response: Mott & Canal. 20 minutes. Outside Starbucks. Bring rubbers.

Wow! Since I knew it was going to take me forever to get there on the N, I blew some rent money on getting a car to pick me up. I thought it was a great move on two parts- one, it got me there on time; two, it was classy. Here's some more fatherly advice: if you're going to meet a girl for casual sex on craigslist, take a car. Chicks appreciate class.

When I got to the corner I saw a beautiful creature smoking a cigarette outside Starbucks. I approached her and introduced myself. "Hi, I'm Sal. You know, from craigslist." She looked at me with a weird face and yelled, "Get the fuck away from me your creep!" Hahaha. Wrong girl! Oh well. Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me.

"Hey. You. Seven inches?"

I turned around and there she was. Beautiful. So beautiful. I had trouble getting out the words, but after what felt like an eternity I was finally able to respond.

"Hi. Yeah. Seven inches."

Your mother and I went upstairs to her place and engaged in crazy anonymous sex-- she really was experiencing an incredible hormone surge, I'll tell ya! Afterwards, I told her I'd call. She told me not to. I asked her her name. She wouldn't give it to me. I told her that I'd love her forever. She asked me to leave.

I wouldn't. I told her I wouldn't leave until she acknowledged that what we had was special. She threatened to call the police. Together for 2 hours, and already our first fight! I knew she was the one.

After a few more threats, she finally gave up and told me I could stay... assuming I was ready to have sex again.

I was, and we did.

I'll spare you all the dirty details, but by sun up the next morning we knew we were perfect for one another. Your mother let me move in, I said goodbye to your Uncle Rod, and the rest, as they say, is history.

So don't let anybody ever tell you that you can't find love on the internet. You can. I'm living proof. Now get your father a beer, all this reminiscing has made him thirsty. Thanks kid.

*Yep. It's real. As if I could make that up

a quick monday morning message

2005-10-03T10:35:00.000-04:00

I've been asked to inform everybody that the video we posted on The Post Show today is Not Safe For Work, or NSFW if you're into that sort of thing. In all honesty, it's not really safe for home either. You've been warned. (and no, I'm not just writing that here to get you to go over and check it out, I've actually been asked to do this. But for the record, I'm also not above doing that. You've been warned again.)

I'm going to try to give you a real update later, however I'm not sure if I'll be able to because I'm heading home for the holidays. Passover, Rosh Hashanah, Purim-- one of those I think. I don't know. I'm just a halfie.

So rock on. Fuck Friendster. Go Yankees. Goonies never say die. Deal with it.

2005-09-29T13:12:00.000-04:00

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.

Now I Can Die in Peace

2005-09-28T17:01:00.000-04:00

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.

Time Warner Cable can suck my big, beautiful penis

2005-09-27T16:12:00.000-04:00

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.

instead of putting out...

2005-09-26T12:29:00.000-04:00

...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.

turn the page

2005-09-23T11:33:00.000-04:00

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.

Let's Talk Porn

2005-09-20T14:34:00.000-04:00

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?

CMJ Awards

2005-09-15T11:41:00.000-04:00

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

i never thought I'd say this...

2005-09-14T14:58:00.000-04:00

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.

Guess The Karo! Vol. 11

2005-09-12T17:58:00.000-04:00

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!

Move Over Grandpa, WE'RE The Greatest Generation

2005-09-09T16:41:00.000-04:00

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.

r. kelly, jay-z, and me

2005-09-08T13:46:00.000-04:00

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.

Fix Me

2005-09-06T17:04:00.000-04:00

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.

a question for all of y'all

2005-09-01T15:50:00.000-04:00

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.

you know how I know you're gay? You like Coldplay.

2005-08-31T11:36:00.000-04:00

The Top 8 Gayest Moments in my Life

8. I produced a sketch comedy show in college called "Pregame." Right before our final episode ever was to air, we came up with a creative way to promote the show. We would send Crazy Mike out on campus painted up like a caveman, wearing nothing but a leopard G-string, and have him hunt with a big stick that had a blue dolphin vibrator tied to the end. Unfortunately, the cops were there after 5 minutes, we got in A LOT of trouble, and our last episode never aired. That wasn't the gay part. The gay part was before we sent him out I wrote "Pregame- Thurs @9" on Mike's bare white ass with a black sharpie.

7. At our last BWE wrap party I played Gay Chicken with our gay production coordinator. If you've never heard of Gay Chicken, it's where two guys lean in to kiss, and the first one to flinch loses. Well, not surprisingly I lost Gay Chicken to the gay guy. "Ain't gonna be no rematch!" "Don't want one!"

6. Sometimes if I get really drunk and I'm at a really fratty bar I start to act gay. I do it to make people who unironically say things like 'homo' and 'fag' uncomfortable. Visiting Baltimore last summer, I offered to buy a guy a drink while I flashed him a big smile. I could actually see his thought process: "Do I punch this guy in the face or do I just walk away quickly?" Thankfully he chose the latter.

5. I bought two Fiona Apple CD's at the same time.

4. I don't know if this is necessarily gay or just stupid, but I once chewed a mint flavored condom like a piece of bubblegum. I accidentally spit it out when I tried to blow a bubble.

3. During a game of Strip Jenga in college my friend Joe pulled the piece that said "kiss anybody in the room." Despite being straight, and despite being surrounded by a bunch of girls, Joe grabbed my head and kissed me on the lips. I didn't see it coming. Don't read that line the wrong way.

2. When I was a freshman we had this weird little guy in my dorm named Schlong. I have no clue what his real name was. Schlong was one of those guys that tried too hard to fit in. He'd lie about stupid things, he'd awkwardly hit on girls, and he kind of looked like a Doozer from Fraggle Rock. He earned his nickname because he once whipped it out for two of the hot sorority girls in our dorm after they talked him into it. Well, one night while a bunch of us were drinking, talking, and messing with Schlong he agreed to whip it out again. It was really late, and right when he said that my girlfriend decided it was time to go to bed. She asked if I'd like to join. I was forced with a decision: do I go upstairs and have sex with my incredibly attractive girlfriend, or do I stick around and wait to see if this freak Schlong shows everybody his penis? I don't even want to type the answer to that one.

1. In the fifth grade my class did a production of "A Midsummer Night's Dream." I got the part of Oberon, which I was very excited about because it was a lead. I spent the rest of the day telling people, "I'm Oberon, the king of the fairies!" I probably said that a thousand times. When I got home and told my dad he told me to never say that again. And I haven't. To this day, no matter what happens, I'll never say that I'm king of the fairies... even if I do eventually beat a gay guy at Gay Chicken.

those are people who died, who died

2005-08-30T13:11:00.000-04:00

Everybody knows that Tupac Shakur died nearly ten years ago. It's a fact. Nobody can argue that... well, nobody with an ounce of sanity, that is. Tupac is as dead as can be.

Well, something else that nobody can argue about is the fact that since he's died he's continued to put out some great music. Music that sounds like the stuff he was making when he was alive (obviously), but not exactly the same. It's still new, it's still fresh, yet Tupac remains... still dead.

I don't think Tupac's the only person who's died but continues to live on in pop culture. I think a bunch of actors, actresses, and even musicians who we assume are alive, actually died years ago. However, just like Tupac, they're continuing to churn out project after project. All the signs are there.

Denzel Washington died shortly after receiving his first and only Oscar for the movie "Training Day." Movie studios have tried to clue audiences in by releasing the same Denzel Washington movie 4 times with different titles, but oddly nobody has ever picked up on it. Looking at the movie posters, though, where Denzel stands in front of something exploding and looks off in one direction or another, it couldn't be more obvious.

By now everybody knows that every John Cusack movie that's come out post-1997 is nothing more than a montage of every John Cusack movie that came out pre-1997. 'High Fidelity,' 'America's Sweethearts,' 'Serendipity,' and 'Must Love Dogs' are comprised solely of the unused footage from 'Say Anything' and 'Grosse Point Blank.' If only John didn't overdose on those anti-depressants on New Years eve that year I bet he would have gone on to do great things.

The Guy from 'Napoleon Dynamite' actually died midway through the filming of 'Napoleon Dynamite.' It's impossible to tell when, though, because the whole thing is so damn boring. If you've seen previews for the new Reece Witherspoon movie 'Just Like Heaven,' it's evident that they just used John Heder's audition tape and green screened him in. He's playing the exact same role! It's too easy.

Jodie Foster sadly met her untimely end immediately after 'Panic Room' wrapped. That's why her new movie "Flightplan" is the exact same thing: a thriller that takes place in an enclosed space. It's believed Jodie took her own life after she couldn't determine whether or not she was attractive, much like we've been doing for the past 20 years.

Rivers Cuomo died following the conclusion of the "Pinkerton" tour in 1996. Doctors believe his death was one of a kind, as he literally died because nobody understood him. The three albums since their return are comprised solely of tracks that weren't good enough for the first two (which is evident to anybody who's listened to them), and the Rivers Cuomo you now see on tour is actually an animatronic robot, much like the ones at Disneyland's "Hall of Presidents." Only geekier.

Rob Schneider never actually existed. He was actually just a bad character played by Adam Sandler, who, as we all know, died immediately following the 'Happy Gilmore' wrap party.

Paris Hilton died while Rick Soloman was going down on her during "One Night in Paris." Anybody who's ever seen the tape can attest to her lifelessness. If she had a soul, that's the moment when we would have seen it leave her body.

What's Ashley Judd been up to, you've probably asked yourself. Well, not much, considering she's been dead since 'Kiss The Girls.' Unfortunately, Ashley didn't prepare as well as other actresses, which is why she plays a very similar character in 'Double Jeopardy,' 'High Crimes,' and 'Eye of the Beholder.' Once again, the movie studios tried to clue us in by designing every poster to look the same: a close up shot of her face and her male costar's face (usually Morgan Freeman, who may never die) superimposed on top of some kind of shadowy background.

I know everybody thinks Vince Vaughn died years ago, but nope. He's still kicking. It's his limited acting ability-- NOT the fact that he's dead-- that's lead to him playing the same character in every movie since 'Swingers.' John Favreau on the other hand is dead as a doornail. He died from eating so much that his stomach exploded while he was writing 'Made.' His IFC show 'Dinner For Five' was actually filmed years ago following the conclusion of 'PCU,' which explains his weight.

So there's the Tupac Theory. Sorry if I've shattered any illusions here today. There are a few more people that I'm suspicious of-- I'm looking at you, Ben Stiller-- but I'm going to have to just wait and see. In the words of Pac, that's just the way it is.

a lame friday post

2005-08-26T13:13:00.000-04:00

I'm off to Melissa's show, so there's no time to post. However, I just wanted to tell everybody to go see The 40-Year-Old Virgin if you haven't already.

That's all.

Have a great weekend.

what's wrong with me?

2005-08-25T15:01:00.000-04:00

-- I'm simulatneously an optimist and a fatalist
-- My ratio of "I'll burn that CD for you" to actually burning it: roughly 8:1
-- I usually prefer salad with no dressing
-- I can't comprehend addiction
-- I don't take advantage of getting free music at work because I enjoy buying CDs.
-- Usually I find scrolling through the radio or flipping through channels more satisfying than actually listening to or watching something
-- I overuse commas
-- My pillow is the only pillow that truly gives me happiness
-- When I was a kid I loved TGIF so much that I trained myself to shower completely during a single commercial break.
-- I brag a little too often about my unparalleled sense of direction
-- I once asked my mom what a dildo was
-- If "Airborne" was playing on Showtime and "Citizen Kane" was playing on TCM, I'm watching the rollerbladers
-- Comments make me happy, yet I slack when it comes to commenting on other people's sites
-- I'm over the internet
-- I hated my iPod for the first month I had it because I was scared of getting it scratched. I'm better now.
-- I was the only person at Towson who had to retake his ID picture because I looked away at the last second because I thought I looked cuter that way
-- I usually feel like I deserve praise for things that I'm supposed to do. Like, "Wow, you got your cell phone fixed? Nice job!"
-- My anti-mushroom stance has ruined many a pizza for friends
-- For an entire year I acted mentally retarded whenever I went to 7-11 near my school. Every employee there knew me, and thought it was for real. One night during finals I just didn't feel like doing it, so I went in normal. I've never seen two Indian men who were more confused in my entire life.

what's wrong with me?

everything I know I learned from the movies

2005-08-24T15:43:00.000-04:00

Maybe it's because I'm reading "The Kid Stays In The Picture" right now, but recently I've been thinking a lot about movies and about what an important part they play in our lives. I couldn't imagine a life without movies. I've learned so many important lessons from them... so many.

You only get three great women in your lifetime. Sadly for Chazz Palminteri he had all of his when he was 16. A Bronx Tale

Putting your dick through a hole in a bucket of popcorn may not get the results you desire, but it's not a bad idea either. Diner

You can whine and cry about your ex-girlfriend for about six months before your friends call you a bitch. Swingers

Nothing brings a feuding group of friends closer than a sing along. Specifically, a sing along to Elton John. Almost Famous

Hoverboards don't work on water. Back To The Future II

Fingering a girl on a rollercoaster = good. Carving her name + "4 Eva" on your chest = not good. Fear

The worst thing about letting your daughter marry karate legend Bruce Lee would be "yellow babies." Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story

It's okay to long for a 13-year-old girl, but only if you make sure that you only tell one or two people. Beautiful Girls

In a time of war, a good President would put on his uniform and man a fighter jet. Independence Day

In a time when an asteroid is hurtling towards Earth, it's important we trust our miners. Not, you know, NASA. Armegeddon

Despite what Carl Everett thinks, dinosaurs may have actually existed. Granted, I don't think you need a movie to figure that out, but maybe it helped Carl. Jurassic Park

By simply following a train of thought, you will ALWAYS find what you're looking for. National Treasure

Heaven doesn't want Keanu Reeves. Hell wants him. Or is it, heaven wants Keanu Reeves, hell won't take him? Oh, Earth needs him, right? So heaven doesn't want him, hell doesn't want him either, and Earth needs him. That doesn't sound right. Hmm. Constantine

If you want to be extremely cool in the wealthy town of Encino, California, all you need is a pool. That's it. Encino Man

There's one thing we can all agree on: The Electrocutes rock. Drive Me Crazy

Now it's your turn. Best comment/lesson, I'll buy you a cookie.

miss-educated

2005-08-23T13:23:00.000-04:00

Hey, what are you doing Friday afternoon at 2? If you have summer fridays, or if you're a no good dirty slacker, you should check out the final performance of The Miss Education of Jenna Bush, starring the lovely Melissa Rauch. I'd say go to the Thursday night show, but it's already sold out. Bitches.

Click here for tickets.

Melissa's a good friend and a great comedian, and from what I hear this show is hilarious. So do it. Go. You won't do it. You're all talk. Come on. Do it. Do it.

I'll see you there.

Spoiler Alert: Six Feet Under, Over, and Out

2005-08-22T14:15:00.000-04:00

I didn't cry during Six Feet Under last night. I almost did. But I didn't.

Hey, I couldn't. I was in Hoboken watching the show with a bunch of friends, it would have been completely unacceptable. The only time you're allowed to cry in Hoboken is when the keg runs out, or if the girl you're talking to at the bar has built up an immunity to roofies. That's it. There's no way I could have let anybody see I was getting choked up as Ruth lay in her deathbed, or as the entire family was toasting to Nate. I just couldn't let it happen.

It was hard, though. Since I had missed the previous two episodes, we watched all 3 in a row. That's a lot of depression at one time. By the end of the first episode I had missed, the one where they are all coping with Nate's death, I was in need of Prozac or some other sort of anti-depressant. By the end of the second I had passed the point of medication and decided that maybe I should just drink the pain away instead. And when the end credits started rolling after the finale, I was inconsolable. I realized that I don't need to be a cutter like Frankie on RW: San Diego to see if I still feel, I just need a Six Feet Under marathon. That will do the trick.

I had heard that the series would end with a montage of everybody dying. I was looking forward to that throughout the entire episode, so much so that I really don't think I can evaluate it properly. It's like when you have a favorite song on an album, how you don't really care for the song right before it because it's just keeping you from what you really want to hear. The show was like that.

So let's talk about the montage. I wasn't looking forward to it in a macho, "Yeah! I can't wait to see everybody bite the dust!" type way. Not in the least. I was looking forward to it because, well, I thought that it was the perfect way to end the series. I was curious how they were going to do it. Who will we see die? George? Maya? Everybody? I wanted to know how Alan Ball was going to do it. Would it be a montage? Would it be a series of more straight forward deaths, like in the opening? If it was, would I be able to handle that? I don't think so. Imagine seeing a slow, 90 second vignette about Ruth dying, followed by one about David dying, followed by another one about Claire dying... no way. I couldn't deal.

The montage was perfect. Granted, it was unintentionally hilarious at times, but it was perfect nonetheless. Maybe it's because of our higher standards when it comes to make up and special effects, or maybe it's because we're all jaded and cynical nowadays, but watching the characters get older was more funny than it was sad. Like David's receding hairline, or Claire's evolution into Cher. It was just kind of odd. And when Keith got shot, I'm not sure why, it didn't have the impact they were looking for. No, it wasn't as bad as when Brad Pitt got hit by a car in "Meet Joe Black" (the single most unintentionally hilarious moment in cinema history), but it wasn't that moving either.

The song was great, I thought. Stereogum has the mp3, if you're so inclined. Six Feet Under has always dominated when it comes to music. Their promo for season 4 with Nina Simone's "Feeling Good" was one of the best I've ever seen. And the promo where they used "A Rush of Blood to the Head" made me like that song more than I ever thought I could. Of course, that episode earlier this season where all the old bitches were standing in a circle singing together was a complete disaster, but let's pretend that never happened. Okay?

I'm kind of bummed today that it's all over. But like they said in the ads leading up to this season, "Everything ends." And that it did.

With a Little Help From My Friends

2005-08-18T17:23:00.000-04:00

As many of you already know, or as I'm sure you've been able to figure out, my girlfriend and I broke up a few weeks ago. I'm not going to go into details-- as things like that are, and should remain, personal-- but for those of you out there seeking gossip and whatnot, know that we're still good friends and we parted in the most mutual way possible. So there you have it.

That being said, I've noticed that life post-breakup is different than anything else you can experience. Suddenly, it seems like everybody you know falls into one sort of post-breakup category or another. I've had a handful of significant breakups in my life, and I've been there for several good friends during theirs too, and I've noticed that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

These are the groups that I've noticed always seem to form, going all the way back to my break up with my high school sweetheart Miranda in 1998. Ahh, 1998, what a year. Sorry, getting distracted. Okay, here we go.

Your Buddies/ Your Girlfriends

After a breakup, a guy will turn to his buddies for support. Not emotional support, mind you, because men don't have emotions. Rather, it's more physical support. As in company. When everything is over, it's your buddies' job to make sure you go out, get drunk, get your mind off of things, talk sports, and genuinely distract you from everything else going on. That's the guy version. I'm not sure what girls and their girlfriends do, but if stereotypes hold true it involves shopping, cosmos, and spa treatments. However, if porn stereotypes hold true it involves pillow fights, sex toys, and a studly poolboy watching through the window. I think.

Your Inner Circle & Your Outer Circle

A breakup makes you realize who's part of your inner circle of friends and who's more of an outer circle friend. Since going through the details of a doomed relationship can get pretty tiresome and pretty repetitive, you're left picking and choosing who gets the whole story and who gets the, "Yeah, we broke up. It sucks," treatment. The good thing about having a solid Inner Circle is that they can pass the story along to the Outer Circle and save you the trouble. Of course, there's a risk that things might get altered a bit, however it's a small price to pay to not have to relive things over and over and over again. Also, there's usually a reason that Outer Circle friends are Outer Circle friends. They're the ones that say things like, "Yeah, so let's go bang chicks!" or "I never liked her anyway," undoubtedly the two dumbest things to say to somebody post-breakup.

Your Opposite Sex Best Friend

Everybody needs one. Your Opposite Sex BF is one of the most crucial pieces in the post-breakup puzzle. They're the only ones who can really offer you solid insight into your partner's mind, or help you take a step back to see things from a different perspective. If you're a guy talking to your buddies, odds are you're not going to get into intimate details about things. Talking to a girl that you're close to, though, you're more likely to open up and as a result figure things out.

If you're a girl talking to your girlfriends, you're bound to hear cliches like "Guys suck" instead of something meaningful. But if you're a girl talking to a guy friend, the last thing he wants is for you to hate his entire gender. So he'll be more likely to offer you another perspective on things, which you could probably use considering all women are crazy.

Whoops. Sorry about that.

But seriously, it's important to have a good friend of the opposite sex to help you through a breakup. One of the key things to this, though, is it should be a friend who knows you well, and one you've had for quite some time. Otherwise, you risk falling into the hands of The Opportunist.

The Opportunist

Ah, yes, the Opportunist. The Opportunist wants you to believe they're your Opposite Sex BF, but the truth is they're only after one thing: You. The Opportunist usually shows up towards the end of the relationship, and sensing blood in the water, begins positioning him/herself. When the breakup happens, the Opportunist is there, ready to comfort. The Opportunist is the one who will say things like, "Listen, you just have to do what's best for you," ... while putting one arm around you and rubbing your leg with the other.

Most guys have been an Opportunist at some point in their lives. I can remember being in the third grade and writing a note to the prettiest girl in class about why she should be my girlfriend if she ever broke up with her boyfriend. That was early opportunism. Opportunists usually thrive in school settings, and generally seem to peak in college. However, by the time most guys graduate, they realize that being an Opportunist is shallow and that it makes you feel pretty shitty. That's why you don't see many Opportunists anymore; because only true scumbags would keep that act up in the real world.

Believe it or not, Opportunists exist as both men and women. However, guys usually refer to female Opportunists as "rebounds," so they tend to get misclassified.

The Leave Me Alones

The Leave Me Alones are the absolute last people you want to talk to about everything. In fact, usually your Inner Circle doesn't want to talk to them either. So, the Leave Me Alones are forced to get their information from your Outer Circle, and as a result never really know what's going on. "Oh, I heard she dumped you because she caught you with her sister." What??? Go away, you Leave Me Alone.

Sadly, parents usually fall into the Leave Me Alone category too, but that's only because you can get away with it. You've been telling them to leave you alone since you were 12, you'd think they'd get the hint by now. Gosh!

The Fuck Its
Who's below a Leave Me Alone? The Fuck Its. Why? Because fuck it, you're not even going to acknowledge the break up happened, that's how little you care about them. "Hey, how are things with (Blank)?" "Things are good." Done. Fuck it.

Your Bartender

Because he's a lot cheaper than a psychologist and just as effective. Now pour me another.

Los Angeles, I'm Yours

2005-08-17T04:49:00.000-04:00

This post contains

1 Teenage Starlet
1 Gold Wheelchair
1 Struggling Actress
1 West Hollywood Gay Bar
2 for 1 drink specials
3 Nights of drinking excessively
4 Complete Idiots
and 1 big ol' Hollywood Hooker. Have you come to expect anything less?

"I'm going to have sex with a celebrity."

That was my battle cry in the weeks leading up to our trip to LA. I figured if I said it over and over again it would stick, and that would result in it happening. Kind of like when you repeat "I'm not going to drink tonight, I'm not going to drink tonight" over and over again. Wait a second, that never works. Fuck. That explains it.

Now of course, I wasn't actually serious about it. I say stupid things like that all the time to get a reaction out of friends, and more importantly, to set up nice little sub plots. I very easily could have said, "I'm going to punch Brad Pitt in the face" and it would have carried the same amount of weight. And to be honest, I probably had a better chance of accomplishing that one.

During my 'sex with a celebrity' conversations my friends would ask me the same thing: Who do you consider a celebrity? That's a tough one. My definition has changed over time. A couple of years ago I decided that the only real celebrities were the people that my grandparents could identify. Using that scale, Tom Cruise was a celebrity, but Freddie Prinze Jr. was not. Kevin Costner and Julia Roberts were celebrities, but Mark Paul Gosselar and Tiffani Amber Theissan were not. It made sense. When I ran out of grandparents I decided to scale it back to "if my mom identifies someone, they're a celebrity," but that didn't work either because she reads People magazine.

Now, my perception of celebrity is warped. I work on a pop culture TV show. I know more about Lindsay Lohan and Hilary Duff than my 10 year old sister does, and that's scary. Plus, with reality TV and all that other crap, I don't even know what a celebrity is anymore. So I decided that when I was in LA, a celebrity would mean everyone from Paris Hilton to anybody who's ever appeared on Blind Date. I figured that would help my chances. And for the record, Freddie Prinze Jr. doesn't rank on that scale either.

But ANYWAY.

We arrived in LA at 9:30 in the morning on Thursday. Due to a stroke of luck, and a stroke of Mark's father having more connections than James Caan in "Honeymoon in Vegas," we were staying at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills. Us. Four unshaven guys who rented a Chevrolet Classic for the weekend were staying at the Four Seasons. When we pulled up to the front door I was crossing my fingers that Richard Gere would step out and tell the concierge that we were with him and not to give us any problems like he did for Julia in Pretty Woman. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Instead, our valet guy laughed at us when we gave him our keys and said, "Hey, be careful this one, okay? It's a Classic."

Thanks to another stoke of luck, our room wasn't ready when we arrived. So, to make amends they bumped us up to a suite. Naturally. You wouldn't want to upset us. We're big spenders, after all.

Speaking of spending, I felt like Larry David all weekend. I've stayed in nice hotels before, but nothing like this. Every five feet there was somebody else that we may or may not have had to tip. The valet, obviously. The guy holding the door? Not sure. The concierges? Sometimes. The people at the front desk? I don't think so. The guy at the pool who set up your chair? Yep. The guy at the pool who came around with water? I think so. The guy at the pool who came around with lemonade Popsicles? No, out of principle. The hooker in the bar? Not yet. That's coming.

Okay, so our first night in LA we got an early start. We headed to a margarita bar on Sunset for their 2-1 Happy Hour. The place was hopping, and we were all enjoying various types of margaritas. We were sitting in between two mixed groups of friends. When the song "The Boys of Summer" came on, the girl to my left announced to her buddies, "Hey, I fucked Don Henley." Welcome to LA.

To my right, these two girls sat down. One was a cute blonde, and the other one we quickly dubbed PMLC, or Poor Man's LC. Since the tables were close together, we knew it was only a matter of time before we began talking to them. Rather than go right into it, I broke out my favorite move ever: asking a bizarre question loud enough to my friends where if she hears it she'll not only laugh and out herself as listening, but she'll be forced to reply. I don't remember what I said, but whatever it was it worked. We started talking to the two girls, as well as the hunky guy friends that had joined them. The cute blonde, whose name I'll share with you in a moment, had just moved to LA from Connecticut to... here it comes... be an actress. Didn't see that one coming. I was excited, because I had never actually met somebody who moved to LA to become an actress before. Dan was even more excited, because she was flirting with him excessively. She told him that things hadn't been going that great so far but said if we googled her name and did an image search we could find some pictures of her.

I saved you the trouble.

And yes, her name is actually Field Pool. You gotta love her.

We ended the night at the Chateau Marmont, the bar where I met Trichelle the last time we were out there. Unfortunately, there were no Real World/Road Rules celebrities out, so we called it a night. Thanks to the 2-1 margaritas we were all trashed by 1, so the night ended earlier than expected. Hey, we were still on New York time, leave us alone. But all in all, night one was great.

Can you tell I'm compensating for not posting this week by writing a long one? I hope you appreciate that.

Midway through Day 2 we were surprised by our lack of celebrity sightings. Not disappointed, just surprised. We were staying at the Four Seasons for god's sake and the only thing we had to show for it was Dan saw Toni Collette's room service receipt lying on the concierge desk. I don't think that counts. Well, the drought ended later that morning when we pulled the Classic into the hotel driveway and spotted Larry Flynt getting lifted out of his Bentley and placed into his gold wheelchair. At that point, Dan confessed that things were going to be awkward because he's the guy who shot him, while I was excited because I figured Larry would be an easy celebrity to have sex with because a) he wouldn't be able to get away, and b) he couldn't feel it anyway. Things were looking up.

We spent Friday in Santa Monica riding bikes and ogling girls. I noticed that the most common phrase uttered since we stepped off the plane in Burbank was, "Holy shit, check out that blonde over there. She's (insert synonym for 'Unbelievable' here). I mean, wow." I'd live out there if I wasn't worried that my head might explode. Seriously, I'd be worried.

When we got back to the hotel that night to get dressed and head out, the bar was bustling. We headed over to the elevators and started plotting out our night. Then, the doors opened, and Mischa Barton stepped out.

Mark was in heaven. Out of the four of us, he's the only O.C. fan, so it was especially meaningful for him. I equated it to how I would have felt if I had seen Sarah Michelle Gellar back in '98. I was happy for him. When we got back to our room, Mark immediately called all of his friends to tell them that he "met" Mischa Barton. Hey, we're in LA. The city is a mecca of lies and bullshit, right? We were getting the hang of it real quick.

Friday night we headed back to Sunset and started at the Saddlehorse Ranch because our friend Field was working and she told us to drop by. The night was a success because we drank Long Island Iced Teas that were bigger than our heads and we did NOT ride the mechanical bull. Thank god for that.

So following a little bar hopping, Dan and I headed back to the hotel before the others because we wanted to check out the bar to see if it was still going. We got back at 1:50, and naturally, we had forgotten that bars in LA close at 2. When we walked into the bar it was completely empty and we were devastated. We didn't know what to do. We were just about to leave, when a blonde woman with a hat and short shorts approached us.

Woman: Yeah, it sucks that this place closes so early, right?
Dan: Yeah, it blows.
Me: Well, it's not two yet. Is there anywhere else to go?
Woman: Um, your room.
Me: Right. Is there anywhere else?
Woman: Nope. Just your room.

So there you go. Another trip to LA, another hooker. What's with this city??? More importantly, what's with us? Do we just scream "We love hookers!" I'm scared.

Despite her pleas, we did not take her up on her generous offer. However, that didn't stop us from talking to her for a while. What else were we going to do? Dan was loving fucking with her, but she kind of made me nervous. She could tell too. At one point she looked at me and said, "Hey, stop being so nervous. I'm cool. I'm not going to bite." Then, to prove her point, she leaned in and kissed my neck.

BLEEAAAAGGHAHHHHHHHH

When we got back to the room I immediately grabbed a bar of soap and started scrubbing the spot where her lips hit. Excessively. I was waxing on and off like Daniel Son on Mr. Miyagi's prized car collection. I think I got all of the hooker juice off, but still, you never know. I might be pregnant.

We spent most of Saturday relaxing by the pool. Mischa was there (in a bikini), so we decided we could officially upgrade our relationship to "we hung out with Mischa."

Saturday night we met up with an old friend from college, Jennie, who's living out there now. She took us to a cool Mediterranean place for dinner, and then we went to meet up with some of her friends at a bar in West Hollywood. A gay bar. If nothing else, we're diverse. We planned on going to Forty Deuce, but we lost track of time at some other bar on Melrose and never made it over there. Oh well. It was a fun night nonetheless.

Sunday, it was time to go. We grumpily packed our bags, said goodbye to the nicest room we'll ever stay in and made our way to the elevators. We got on and started heading down. At the floor below us it stopped... and Mischa got on. She was with a cute girl and two guys, one who looked like he was auditioning for the Black Crowes, and the other who looked like a suitable replacement if the new 7-Up guy ever got injured. And they had a dog.

When the elevator stopped again some suits in the back had to get off. They were kind of rude as they tried to squeeze past everybody, and the dog was going nuts. Mischa held her head and said, "I really don't need this this morning," but laughed when the doors closed and it was just us. Dan pet the dog. Somebody made fun of the suits and we all laughed. And when we got off the elevator we were all best friends.

So yes. I fucked Mischa Barton.

And by fucked I mean 'rode the elevator with.'

But who cares. It's LA. The whole town is bullshit anyway.

And I love it.

going going, back back, to Cali Cali

2005-08-10T13:40:00.000-04:00

So I'm off to Los Angeles first thing tomorrow morning for a long weekend of relaxing, boozing, and having fun with some friends. Things are bound to be interesting, as I've only made 2 trips to LA and both left me with hooker stories.

One reality TV star hooker story.

And one 'trapped in the backseat of a car in Inglewood at 1 in the morning with 2 hookers' story.

I have no clue what's going to happen this time.

So I guess my question is, for those of you out in LA, where should we go and what should we do to ensure we have a fun, hooker-free weekend? Clearly I'm not capable of figuring this out.

Wish me luck. I'll be back Monday.

Hopefully.

Get out of NY NOW!!!

2005-08-09T13:17:00.000-04:00

They're back. I knew they would return.

Tell your loved ones to leave the city as soon as possible. It's only a matter of time before they take over and enslave the human race.

Run. Run. Run. For the Snakehead Fish is back. Don't say I didn't warn you.

May God help us all.

From the NY Times: They are snakehead fish, the nightmarish creatures from Asia that made news when they were discovered living in a Maryland pond in 2002. They were said to be able to breathe air and walk on their fins, devouring everything in their path.

Secretary of the Interior Gale A. Norton called them "something from a bad horror movie" before ordering a federal ban. And to guarantee that they could not escape, the whole Maryland pond was poisoned.

Last month, biologists with New York State's Department of Environmental Conservation were doing a routine sampling of the fish in the brackish water at Meadow Lake in Flushing Meadows-Corona Park in Queens when, to their horror, they found a northern snakehead fish, then another and another until they had five, including one monster 28 inches long.

"At that point," said James J. Gilmore Jr., a biologist who is regional supervisor of natural resources at the state agency's New York City office, "we knew we had a problem."

To confirm that the fish were snakeheads, Mr. Gilmore sent photographs to the United States Geological Survey office in Gainesville, Fla., which is mission control for the national crusade to eradicate snakeheads.

"As soon as I saw the pictures, I said, 'Oh no, not again,' " said Walter R. Courtenay Jr., a fisheries biologist with the Geological Survey who has tracked down snakeheads in Massachusetts, Pennsylvania and Virginia.

His message to New York: Get rid of them.

Tell me that doesn't sound like a horror movie. Good luck out there. You're going to need it.

Lessons Learned from Rocky I to Rocky III

2005-08-09T10:50:00.000-04:00

Lesson I - Jesus loves poop

I'm sure a solid 3, maybe 4 of you were bummed that I didn't update this site yesterday. Well, I did. Or at least I tried. But thanks to an act of God, my computer froze before I hit "publish" and I lost the entire thing. You should be thankful for that.

Why? Because it was the strangest thing I've ever written for this site-- and that's saying something. The title of the post was "uncensored thoughts while staring at the keyboard player from the Shout Out Louds last night." And what was it about? Well, that, obviously. I spent the majority of the SOL show staring at this gorgeous woman, and while doing so I had some really strange thoughts. Those thoughts then went off on really bizarre tangents. And those tangents turned into even more strange thoughts. At some point during the show I decided that I was going to write them all down when I got home and maybe make a post out of them.

Sounds like a winner, right? You have no idea.

Long story short, I fell in love with Beeban that night (that's her name, Beeban. How great is that). She reminded me of women I never met, she made the idea of doing heroin together sexy, and she inspired me to move to Sweden when it's time to find a wife. And those were the normal thoughts.

Seriously, thank you jesus for not letting me post the uncensored thoughts. You're my favorite savior/god/carpenter ever. I owe you one.

Lesson II - Sencio loves poop

I want to thank everybody for the outpouring of emotion following my John Sencio IM conversation. The only thing better than talking to the legend himself was sharing it with all of you.

Not only did the IM conversation signify the end of an era, but it also served as an appropriate final chapter to an incredible week. Why's that? Well, seven days earlier I had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to interview one of the biggest stars of the 1980's for Best Week Ever.

The one
the only
Corey Feldman.

Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance to ask him about "License to Drive" or "Blown Away" (the good one, not the Tommy Lee Jones one).

However, I did get to bullshit with him for a little while and find out what ringtone he uses.

Next time you're at a dinner party, feel free to use this as a conversation starter: "You know Corey Feldman, star of Goonies and Rock & Roll High School? His ringtone is 'Brass Monkey' by the Beastie Boys. Now, can you pass me a mini-quiche? Thanks."

Lesson III - I love poop

I do, I swear. In the words of Rhett Miller, for the last few weeks "my heart wasn't in it, not for one single minute," but as the month goes on you'll see this site transform back to the moderately amusing distraction from work that you fell in love with back when it was kind of funny. You'll see.

Now, this doesn't mean I'm going away. Like Jason Giambi, I'm going to battle through this and come back better than ever. So don't go away. If you stick it out with me, together we'll end up on top. Kind of like... Rocky.

Holy shit, I never thought I'd be able to tie this all together. Thank you Cornershop!

the outtakes

2005-08-04T18:07:00.000-04:00

You always hear sports announcers say, "Sometimes the best trades are the ones that aren't made." It makes sense. If the Yankees would have traded Bernie Williams for Albert Belle back in the day, who knows what would have happened to the team over the last few years. It could have been a disaster.

Well, playing off that, here at My Blog is Poop, sometimes the best posts are the ones that don't get posted.

Actually, that's not true. The ones that don't get posted suck. I mean, that's why I didn't put them out there for everyone to see. Well, I thought I'd share with you bits and pieces of my drafts that didn't make it on the site. Some are just titles. Others are the beginnings of posts that I quickly gave up on because I wasn't feeling it. And others are just ramblings... or ruminations, if you will. So here they are. The outtakes.

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fire me and give me a book deal!

Since the key to blogging stardom is apparently getting yourself fired for revealing stuff your employers don't want you to reveal, I finally realized what I need to do. I need to tell you what's going on here at the MTV Networks, and give you such juicy, evil gossip that my employers have no choice but to fire me. Then, people will write stories about me in the New York Times, I'll be featured in People magazine, and last but not least, I'll score a sweet, sweet book deal. I can't wait.

Perks

Working at VH1, we get so many perks. Like, right now I'm sitting at my desk. But right around the corner from my desk is a kitchen, right? And you know what's in the kitchen (aside from forks and a sink and all that obvious stuff)? A soda machine! Guess how much it costs to get a drink. NOTHING! Free soda all day long. Today I had like 4 cokes, a sprite, and a rootbeer. Suck on that.

I know you're getting jealous that we can drink all the soda we want for free and you probably can't. Well, I guess that's my reward for working SO HARD at my liberal arts state school for 4 years. I earned it!

Gossip

You know who's gay?

Logo.

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Title: Yes, it's hot out, you unoriginal fuck

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Not a day goes by that I don't wonder, "Hmm, what do I have to do NOT to get AIDS today?" I often lose sleep over it. Sometimes I break out in uncontrollable sweats and am forced to dismiss myself from public settings to cower alone, terrified. I mean, if I only I knew how NOT to get AIDS my life would be so much better. Wouldn't yours?

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As I was waiting for the elevator yesterday and fumbling with the keys in my pocket, I couldn't help but notice an electrical socket near one of the two doors. Nothing unusual. Yet for some reason-- I can't explain why-- I suddenly had the intense desire to shove one of my keys into that outlet. I didn't, of course, but the impulse was there.

Now don't freak out. The desire to shove a key into an electrical socket was by no means a cry for help. It also didn't stem from curiosity. I mean, I know what would've happened, I do watch Six Feet Under after all. If anything, I'd like to think that the only thing that created that impulse in my mind was thinking "hmm, this would fit in there." I know that's not the most intelligent reason to do something, but just about every guy I know has gotten themselves in trouble because of the whole "this would fit in there" thing at one point or another, so at least I wouldn't be alone.

It got me thinking, though. People have stupid impulses constantly, but since they only last a fraction of a second they're all extremely forgettable. If I wasn't writing about sticking a key into an electrical socket I probably wouldn't have even given it a second thought. I guess that's what separates crazy people from normal people. I'm able to ignore my moronic impulses, while crazy people are all about sticking things in sockets.

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Title: You're not at Disneyland. Stop taking pictures of buildings and let me go to work.

------------------------------------

A couple of weeks ago Dan called and awoke me from my slumber (note: I'm actually not sure if that's true, but I like the way it sounds.)

Dan: Bob, guess what, Oasis is going to be in NY this June. Guess where they're playing.
Bob: (possibly rubbing the sleep out of my eyes) Um, I don't know. My apartment?
Dan: No. Bigger.
Bob: (maybe sitting up in bed) I don't know. Your apartment?

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Bob's Favorite Songs By Teenage Girls
1. Ashlee Simpson - "Pieces of Me" (best dumb song since "Complicated")
2. Hilary Duff - "Come Clean"
3. Ashlee Simpson - "Shadow"
4. Lindsay Lohan - "Rumors"
5. Maroon 5 - "This Love"

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Title: A Poem

If I were black, I'd have dreadlocks.
And I'd have a black tattoo on one of my biceps. It'd be a name and a date, and I'd only tell girlfriends and baby mama's what it symbolizes.
If I were black I'd be a little bit cooler.
I'd talk endlessly about New School and Old School, and know what I was talking about.
If I were black I'd be better at basketball.
Not physically, but people would assume I was better, so they'd probably let up on D as not to get embarrassed, giving me easier shots.
If I were black I would say, "It's because I'm black, isn't it?" a lot.
Mostly to be funny, however I'd still break it out to make white people uncomfortable on occasion.
If I were black I would

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Title: Cat Stevens = Terrorist

Everybody's making a big deal about Cat Stevens, a.k.a Yao;iuj;lk Islam, not being allowed back into America because of alleged terrorist ties. I, for one, could not be happier. I've always believed that Cat was a terrorist. I mean, if you really look into his songs it's actually quite obvious. Seriously. Take his song "Wild World." The song was released in the mid 1970's, but only became a big hit in America after Mr. Big covered it following the success of "To Be With You" in the early 1990's. If you study the lyrics, it's quite obvious what Cat is trying to say.

Wild World

Now that I've lost everything to you (America, & the Bush administration)
You say you wanna start something new (this "new" Iraq)
And it's breakin' my heart you're leavin'
Baby, I'm grievin' (the loss of my Muslim brothers)
But if you wanna leave, take good care (don't let the door hit 'ya)
I hope you have a lot of nice things to wear (like a bodybag!)
But then a lot of nice things turn bad out there (you know it!)

Oh, baby, baby, it's a wild world
It's hard to get by just upon a smile (praise Allah)
Oh, baby, baby, it's a wild world
I'll always remember you like a child, girl (infidels!)

You know I've seen a lot of what the world can do (like Baywatch)
And it's breakin' my heart in two (it's an outrage)
Because I never wanna see you a sad girl
Don't be a bad girl (cover your shit up, Pam)
But if you wanna leave, take good care
I hope you make a lot of nice friends out there (you know, during the jihad)
But just remember there's a lot of bad and beware (beware!)

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Title: My very last post

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Title: How To Drive Like A Motherfucking Asshole

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In July 2002, I decided it was time to take RUMINATIONS from the page to the stage and made my stand-up comedy debut in New York City. The show was an incredible success and garnered me a full-page article in the New York Post. A few weeks later, I left Wall Street to pursue comedy full-time.

Why???? Dear God, why did you leave Wall Street? Is it too late to go back? Seriously. I'll make some calls.

God, I hate you Aaron Karo.
------------------------------------

Sencio Speaks!!!!

2005-08-03T13:47:00.000-04:00

It happened people. It finally happened. After months of IM'ing and pestering, the Immortal John Sencio finally spoke to me today. Dreams really do come true.

If you're new to this site, you must understand: I love John Sencio. Check out what happens when you search his name here. I've been IM'ing him for quite some time now and he has never ever responded. So when I saw he was signed on today I readied myself for the typical "i write 3 lines, he signs off" interaction. However, what happened was magical. He mistook me for somebody else, and like a cougar I POUNCED. The end result? A 20 minute IM conversation and a new best friend in life.

I broke the conversation up into chapters for your enjoyment. And for my enjoyment. Here we go, the unedited conversation:

Chapter I - Mistaken Identity

buffoon 668: hey john! long time no talk
buffoon 668: how's your summer going?
buffoon 668: hey, i'm gonna be in LA next weekend. we should get together or something, i'd love to buy you a drink
JSTVTRIBE: Yo dawg is that your new Email?
buffoon 668: yeah, but i don't really check it too often. i mainly use myblogispoop@gmail.com
buffoon 668: what's new?
JSTVTRIBE: Not more poop - I'm sick of kids diapers
buffoon 668: haha. yeah?
buffoon 668: i'm gonna be in LA next weekend. staying at the 4 seasons. want to grab a drink?
JSTVTRIBE: Dude, am I having mistaken identity? I have to take my kid hiking today.

Chapter II - The Sencio Fan Club

buffoon 668: maybe. we've actually never met, but i'm a big fan
JSTVTRIBE: You know I'm shooitng til September
buffoon 668: yeah? what are you working on?
JSTVTRIBE: Oh sh#*%t, honey call security, hide the kids I responded to my mother pretending to be a "big Fan"!
buffoon 668: haha. no, seriously. i'm legit. i never watched Home Delivery, but i'm a big fan of your mtv stuff and your cameo in "Love Stinks."
JSTVTRIBE: Now that is funny! You mean my "should have been nominated for an acadamy award performance" in Love Stinks?
buffoon 668: you were robbed! i blame french stewart
JSTVTRIBE: French Stewart is a Genius!
buffoon 668: you stole the movie from him. he couldn't recover
buffoon 668: he hasn't recovered to this day
JSTVTRIBE: See, the thing is - I felt I could never top that performance so I've returned to TV.
buffoon 668: oh, naturally. every future film performance would just be held up to that one. you set the bar too high
JSTVTRIBE: EXACTLY - Nirvana broke with Nevermind and always had to live up to that.
buffoon 668: well, i'm glad you didn't pull a kurt cobain following your "nevermind"

Chapter III - Sencio, Today

buffoon 668: what are you working on now?
JSTVTRIBE: Belive it or not I'm wrapping up 26 episodes of a new show for (hold your breath) - HGTV.
buffoon 668: nice! when are you going to get back on mtv? Gideon Yago and Sway got nothing on you
JSTVTRIBE: If you saw Logans Run there is a little light in the palm of our hands - when the color changes - you don't go back.
buffoon 668: that explains why i haven't heard from Jesse Camp
buffoon 668: yes
buffoon 668: that explains it
JSTVTRIBE: God bless his soul...

Chapter IV - Music & Puppets

buffoon 668: hey, so i downloaded a couple of songs from your site. does your band have any shows coming up, or is that more of a side-project type thing?
JSTVTRIBE: Well, I love the music, but I have the mouths to feed so the TV is where I have to devote most of my energy. We're talking to people about a doing a variety type TV show and hopefully we could integrate some music into that. Music and puppets.
buffoon 668: i'm there. if you need a writer, give me a call

Chapter V - I Want My MTV

buffoon 668: hey, did it weird you out seeing Idalis topless on "Six Feet Under?" what did you think?
JSTVTRIBE: Idalis is a blast - that's what all the VJ's used to wear at the Beach house back in the 90's.
buffoon 668: hahaha. damn, i bet!
buffoon 668: craziest story? please tell me it involves both Jenny McCarthy AND Idalis... and maybe even Kennedy
buffoon 668: but please god, don't let it involve John Norris
JSTVTRIBE: I do have some great ones, honestly - they involve chocolate frosting, monkey's, and karate BUT my kid is yanking at my leg and I don't get a lot of free time durning production so I have to take the little peanut hiking (on my back- ugh)!

Chapter VI - Farewell, Sweet Sencio

JSTVTRIBE: We'll continue next time I sign on. If you are not insane stay in touch (mom is this you? If it is I'm telling dad). Be Safe, Be happy - js
buffoon 668: later dude
buffoon 668: have fun
JSTVTRIBE: over & out
JSTVTRIBE signed off at 2:14:53 PM.

And just like that, Sencio rode off into the sunset.

Now I have to come to grips with the fact that I'm living in a post-Sencio world. But don't worry. I shall Never Forget. Over and out.

over and out.

today i'm incapable of writing anything funnier than this

2005-08-02T17:25:00.000-04:00

from My Blog is Crap

Monday, August 01, 2005
Israeli Broads Will Fuq

No, this isn't a fashion ad from a trendy magazine. I found this in today's newspaper. It's a picture of the Israeli army at a fort. Yes, they are all chicks. CHICKS WITH M-16'S. Could there be anything worse? I'd never put a semi automatic weapon in the hands of a psychotic, emotionally volatile woman. Look at all of them. Some are wearing 80's fighter pilot glasses. The one in the middle looks like she would fuq... then pump you with lead. Maybe stick the barrel up your ass as you grasp for life. Scary as hell.

On the other hand, the entire world should follow suit and put every 18 year old girl in the army. They can develop a nice 6 pack and stay thin. They would learn obedience and become subservient to men. Of course, the training would have to replace guns with spatulas so they can flip the eggs for my eggs benedict. I can't wait to be President.
-------

I'll be back tomorrow. 100%, i think. goodnight.

what a waster

2005-08-01T13:55:00.000-04:00

(yes, I realize I'm like the 1,087,241st blogger to use that post title. I apologize.)

"I'm on a bender,"

I proudly proclaimed early Friday evening to a group of friends congregating on my deck. As we sat there drinking beer and eating burgers that tasted like the ones you'd eat in your school cafeteria on a tuesday afternoon, I smiled and informed them that I planned on drinking a lot that evening. Like I did the night before. And to some degree, the night before that. And with a full Saturday evening planned, and with the Best Week Ever season 5 wrap party scheduled for Monday night, I knew that my bender was in full swing. And I was pumped.

Of course, the bender had some problems. Namely, the fact that I was happily announcing that I was in the midst of one. Can somebody say they're "on a bender?" I don't think you're supposed to. Friends can say, "so-and-so is on a bender," or at the conclusion of one, you can admit, "Sorry about that, I was on a bender." But saying, "I'm on a bender" kind of takes out the whole "bender" aspect of it, doesn't it? I think so. But since the damage had already been done, from that point on I was doomed to be on an "ironic bender," but a bender nonetheless.

Now, I'm not going to lie to you: as far as benders go, mine has been pretty mild. No drugs, no near death experiences, and no waking up in a dumpster in the middle of Chinatown wearing nothing but my boxers and a hat with a dildo crazy glued to the top of it. Not this time. My bender has been more along the lines of drink a lot of beer, get a little drunk, and have a very good time variety. It's a happy bender. Hooray.

I'm sure some of you are thinking, "Bob, while you may be incredibly good looking, this still doesn't sound like much of a bender-- what gives?" Well, to you all I can say is that I'm doing the best I can. I'm just not as crazy as I used to be. It's like last summer when I was doing stand-up six nights a week and I came down with a week-long cold. In order to "perform through the pain," every night I would drink a whole lot of coffee to wake up before I got on stage, and I would take Nyquil to help me sleep when I got home. Yeah. Sam Kinnison, I am not.

But I'm doing the best I can, I swear. Wednesday night I started the bender off slow-- just a bottle of wine and a few beers with my good friend Sarah. I've never mentioned Sarah on the blog before, so I feel that now would be a good time to mention that I've known her since the first grade, and my earliest memory of her is sitting on the opposite side of the classroom from her and staring at her underwear as she sat directly across from me, spread eagle. That slut. But yes, Sarah's one of my oldest friends, and not that it matters, but I'm pretty sure I have not seen her underwear since.

So now that I got that out of the way. Yes, Wednesday was fairly low key, but still a lot of fun. Thursday night I met some old MTV friends for dinner, had a few drinks with them, and then met up with my friend Howie later that evening to continue drinking until 3. Still, not a crazy night since we didn't do much more than talk (I had a lot to say), but the bender was definitely heading in the right direction.

Now that takes us to Friday, where this post began. Friday night was great. From 8 o'clock on we had a rotating cast of characters visit us on our deck to drink with us and enjoy the amazing weather. It was there that we had some amazing conversations, pondering the important things in life. Everything from how cell phones are responsible for the decline in relationships between people and their friends' parents, to whether or not the one armed former Yankee pitcher Jim Abbott ever used his stump to pleasure a woman.

(for the record, we concluded that he most definitely did. It then devolved... or evolved, depending on your beliefs... to a conversation about whether or not he used the same technique with a tissue while masturbating that he did with his glove while pitching. Only today did I realize that he probably just did it in the shower. Moving on.)

Despite staying out until 4, I was up early on Saturday to continue on the path that I had set out to walk. First, I met up with some friends who were doing a pub crawl in Grenwich Village. That's a start. At 9, I met up with another friend who-- get this-- rented out one of those double decker tour buses for his roommate's birthday. It. was. AWESOME. For just $15 a head, 50 people sat atop one of those red CityLine tour buses and rode around the city for two hours. And even though we weren't allowed to bring bottles on the bus, everybody was allowed to carry water bottles, so that worked out well (if you catch my drift.) But I'm not going to lie- even if I was completely sober I would have loved every second of this. Well, maybe not every second, but most of them. I can't recommend it enough... and I don't think I can laugh at the tourists who do it anymore either, which is kind of sad. Damn.

The night concluded at AlexisT's amazing party, which featured a huge supply of food, alcohol, and Puerto Ricans. That's my kind of bash. By the time that 2 of those 3 things ran out, it was time to call it a night.

Then, on the 7th day, much like the Lord, I rested.

But now it's Monday, and I know in my heart of hearts that the bender must go on. When will it stop? Who knows. Will I ever do anything crazy enough that would make this little run an official "bender?" We'll see. Does anybody have a hat with a dildo crazy glued on top of it that I can borrow? I certainly hope so. And do I have any clue how to end this post? Nope. No I do not.

So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go think some more about Jim Abbott now. And I hope you do too.

i got nothing...

2005-07-29T13:45:00.000-04:00

but this is the first thing that shows up when you google the world "hilarious." Just thought you should know.

Have a great weekend.

How to Drink Alone

2005-07-28T11:27:00.000-04:00

- DON'T tell anybody about it. If you do, you risk the possibility that a friend might say, "Oh, you're drinking? Cool! I'll drop by. Want me give Mike a call, I'm sure he'll be down too." Then suddenly you're no longer drinking alone, you're entertaining people. And that sucks.

- DON'T drink beer. It's wasteful. You're going to have to drink a lot of it to get drunk, so chances are you're going to get bored with the concept of drinking alone before you actually start to feel it. Beer is a friend drink, whiskey is an alone drink. Remember that.

- DON'T drink wine. Unless you're sleeping outside. And drinking it out of a paper bag. Then it's cool.

- DO occupy your mind with something else while drinking. The thought, "I'm drinking alone" gets depressing after a while, so make sure you have something else to concentrate on. Sports work. As do movies. But do not, I repeat, DO NOT watch porn. The combination of drinking alone plus doing something else alone has the potential to depress you to the point of no return. And it's not pretty.

- DON'T go through old photo albums. Don't start rummaging through that junk drawer. Don't start thinking about high school and college. Actually, don't even think about what you were doing earlier that day either, it can only depress you. You know what was more fun that sitting by yourself drinking Jack out of a coffee mug, Tony Almeida-style? Everything.

- DO try writing something. Even if you don't consider yourself a writer. Just grab a pen and some paper and go to it. It doesn't even matter what you write: poems, short stories, essays, a great American novel. Whatever. Most of our greatest authors were drunks, and now you're just like them! Go for it!

- DON'T listen to music by the following artists: Radiohead, Travis, Arcade Fire, Counting Crows, Sufjan Stevens, or the Venga Boys. Especially not the Venga Boys.

- DO listen to George Thoroughgood. And relate.

- DO read something. Like a book. It will make you feel productive, like you're not wasting your life away by drinking alone. You're drinking alone AND getting smarter. It's a win-win.

- DO devote some time to staring out your window up at the sky like Fievel from "An American Tail." But don't start singing that fucking song... unless of course you're so drunk that it will make you laugh.

- DON'T blog while you're drinking alone. You'll only embarrass yourself. That's what livejournals are for.

- Finally, DON'T even blog about drinking alone. Because inevitably people will start pitying you, even if the idea for the post came from a friendly conversation about purchasing a flask and NOT from the act of actually drinking alone. I swear.

the New York Post gave me an erection on the subway yesterday

2005-07-26T13:52:00.000-04:00

It's true.

I can't keep it from you any longer.

The New York Post gave me an erection on the subway yesterday. There was nothing I could do about it.

I was on my way to work, listening to The Postal Service on my iPod, and making my way through New York's favorite daily tabloid. I breezed through the sports section. Worked my way through the news. Thumbed through the editorials and the business section. And then I arrived upon the New York Pulse. And that's when it happened.

An erection.

And here's why.

Now, upon first glance that looks innocent enough. Just an attractive woman holding a handful of bras. Maybe at the age of 14 that would've been enough to get a rise, but certainly not at the age of 25. But look closer...

Now correct me if I'm wrong, but those are nipples. Big ones. And a whole lot of them. I did the math, and I realized I was looking at 30% of a nipple on the left, and a solid 47% of a nipple on the right. That's an astounding 77% nipple! In the New York Post! At 9:30 in the morning! I think it's safe to say that I just wasn't ready for that.

Right now I'm sure you think I'm a pervert. How did I notice them? Was I looking for them? Seeking them out? If they were so noticeable, how come nobody else has commented on it? I have no clue. I spent all of Monday confused, bewildered, walking around like I just saw a ghost that nobody else saw. Maybe I dreamt up the whole thing. Maybe there weren't really nipples in the Post. Maybe... maybe...

Nope. It was real. I knew it.

And that's why I had an erection on the F train. But don't judge. I'm just a man, what do you want from me?

Some might say that it was a victimless crime. I'm apt to agree. There were only two real victims on that fateful Monday morning. The poor lady sitting directly in front of me. And this woman.

You have to love the New York Post. You just have to.

everything you need to know about laguna beach

2005-07-25T13:03:00.000-04:00

With season 2 of the My Blog is Poop endorsed show Laguna Beach premiering tonight, I thought I would do you all a favor and bring you up to speed with everything you need to know. As indicated in the title of this post. So here we go.

Laguna Beach is real.
No, it doesn't look real. And no, the kids don't act real. But it's real. Not real real, but like, reality show real. That's good enough for me.

The show is so meta.
At one point last season the girls of Laguna Beach were sitting around watching an episode of the O.C. Now, Laguna Beach has dubbed itself "the real OC." So here were the real O.C. kids watching an episode of the fake O.C... in which actors portray characters who are meant to reflect people in the real O.C. Oh, and then, on the fake O.C, they made fun of a show which called itself the real O.C. Wait, what? I think I just confused myself. Thankfully, they don't get into meta discussions on the show, because that would interfere with "bikini time."

The girls of the real O.C. are hot
I know, I'm gross, they're young. But still. It's hard to view these kids as young and pure when all they do for the duration of the season is get drunk and hook up with people. So you really can't get mad at guys for sexualizing them. (Can you tell I've been working on that defense? I may need it in court someday).

But yes, the girls of Laguna Beach are hot. I'm not sure how many characters will be introduced this season, or who will be focused on beyond Kristin, but last season revolved around Kristin and her rival LC. I say rival, because these two blonde strumpets were both competing for the same guy. Rather than getting into the dynamics of it, I'm just going to say one thing and I'm sure you'll be able to figure everything out from there. Kristin was Ginger, LC was Mary Ann. You do the math.

All women hate Kristin.
Guys over the age of 18 can't admit they think Kristin is hot because women will think you're a pedophile. (That, and they'll know that you're a grown man watching Laguna Beach, which is never good.) Now, guys under the age of 18 can't admit they like Kristin either because she embodies everything that teenage girls hate about other teenage girls. Saying you like Kristin is the kiddie version of admitting you love Pamela Anderson. Guys, go ahead and love her, but when your girlfriend asks you have to say you're an LC guy. It's the only way to live.

The guys of Laguna Beach are tools
Last season I initially had a hard time believing Stephen was the big stud of Laguna. However, over the course of the year he won me over (in a heterosexual way, naturally). This year, it looks like they're trying to pass off Talan as the big stud. I'm not biting. You're telling me in a neighborhood full of surfers and athletes and kids with plastic surgeon parents this is the best you can do? Laguna please.

Laguna Beach makes you like songs you really don't like
At the end of Season 1 when Stephen picks LC up at the airport and they have a "moment"... with Maroon 5's "She Will Be Love" blasting in the background... I kind of enjoyed it. And now, when that song comes on the radio, I almost want to listen to it.

Oh, and the Hilary Duff song in the opening is phenomenal. I considered making it my ringtone. I should have.

Every once in a while, these completely unrelatable kids do something you can relate to
I never had a mansion on a hill that overlooked the ocean. And I never threw a formal "Black & White" party at a hotel because I wanted to. And I didn't organize a fashion show in high school to showcase clothing I designed. But when I was a senior I did sit around with my good friends and say things like, "Guys, can you believe this is the last time we're all going to be hanging out like this?" and openly question what the future was going to be like. So that's kind of cool to see. You know?

High school kids are ridiculous
Expanding on what I just said, these kids help you remember how absolutely clueless and ridiculous you were in high school. Everything is life or death. Everything is such a big deal: relationships, grades, friendships. Even if somebody walked in the door and said, "Listen, high school is a joke. You're going to go to college, you're going to make new friends, you're going to move on from this place, and ultimately you're going to laugh at yourself for taking everything so seriously some day," these kids wouldn't believe it. And neither did you, when you were 17. And that's hilarious.

Finally, I know something you don't know
I've been told by somebody 'in the know' that, "If the first season of Laguna Beach was 90210, this season is Melrose Place. And if that doesn't get you watching tonight, I don't know what will.

We'll discuss later.

two for tuesday

2005-07-19T16:42:00.000-04:00

Two quick things on this busy afternoon.

1. Apparently my siren missed connection has set off a lot of hipster bashing on craigslist. I had no idea this would happen-- I thought all the hatred on craigslist was confined to the rants & raves section. Who knew? Good thing I wasn't looking for a Jew or a Muslim in my missed connection, god knows what would have happened then.

Last night I found out that I was flagged/removed. Why? I have no clue. I thought maybe it was because I ended the post with "Fuck George Bush," and perhaps he saw it and asked for it to be taken down. If so, that would be really cool, like the time Rob Thomas read something I wrote making fun of him on the best week ever site and called VH1 to ask them to take it down. In my opinion, Bush is almost as cool as Rob Thomas, so I'd be flattered if he read my work.

2. Remember Pitty? Of course you do. Well, I don't know what inspired him more, the end of the box office slump or the blog post. Whatever it was, something clicked. Pitty ended his 20-week sex-less slump over the weekend, sometime between 11 pm Saturday and 4 am Sunday. And well, let's just say Pitty ended it in the grandest of fashion... with this girl:

I shit you not.

Her name is Sabra, she's a bartender in the East Village, she's a bikini model, and she appeared in July 1997 issue of Playboy. In the interest of full disclosure, I feel like I should mention that Pitty wasn't even old enough to legally purchase a Playboy magazine in July 1997. So that's pretty cool.

Oh, and don't worry-- Pitty didn't lie to me. I saw it with my own eyes. Well, I didn't see IT with my own eyes, but I saw before IT with my own eyes, and that's good enough for me.

So congratulations Pitty, way to end the slump with a bang.

And that's that.

Fuck Rob Thomas.

-bob

--Update-- My craigslist post where I explain, "Hey, don't know why they removed my post, but you can check it out on this site if you want" has been removed. Is somebody out to get me? Does this somehow tie into the Jess Coen/Page 6 thing? Is this bigger than me? Is SD-6 involved? So many questions. So many unanswered questions. If I suddenly disappear, tell my mother that I love her.

looking for hipster chick from siren fest

2005-07-18T17:15:00.000-04:00

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: anon-85305009@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-07-18, 5:18PM EDT

Hey, I've never posted one of these things before. Don't judge me.

I saw you at siren fest on saturday and I decided I had to contact you. The only time I've ever used craigslist in the past was to get Killers tickets (before the sold out, both literally and metaphorically) and to buy some some Guided by Voices limited edition vinyl LPs, so I'm not sure exactly how this works. I guess I just write about you, you read it, and then you contact me. Whatever. I'm already sooooooooo over it.

So as I was saying, I was at siren on saturday. I originally wasn't going to go because the lineup was soooooo passe but my friends talked me into it. I mean, who hasn't seen Ambulance like a MILLION times? Who hasn't seen Brendan Benson at Pianos? Who hasn't been listening to Morningwood on their iPod for like MONTHS? I mean, get with it. The Village Voice makes me ill.

But anyway, I was at siren on saturday. We got there at 3 to see The Dears (snore), but I opted to walk the boardwalk instead. After taking some artsy voyeuristic photographs of unknowing minority children playing on the beach, I made my way back into the crowd of poseurs-- um, I mean "hipsters"-- to see Q and Not U. I'm so over them too, but since it's like one of their last shows I thought I might as well check them out. Whatever. They were cool I guess.

So anyway. After that my loser friends wanted to ride the Cyclone. Please. Like I was going to wait on that line? I rode that shit back in 2001 before siren got all COMMERCIAL and shit. Pssh. Anyway, while they were waiting on line I headed over to Nathans to grab a hot dog. And that's when I saw you.

I should probably describe what you look like, right? I mean, there were thousands of chicks out that day, so it would probably help if I described you accurately to narrow it down. Okay. You: Brown hair. It was up. You had bangs. You were wearing a vintage band T-shirt (not sure which one), a skirt with torn fishnets underneath, and you had wristbands on. Oh yeah, and you had long dangly earrings. And you were smoking cigarettes. And you had a funny looking purse with iPod headphones coming out of it. And you were wearing big sunglasses. And you had a gigantic beaded necklace. And you were wearing flip flops. And you were wearing a lot of eye makeup. And you were drinking Sparks. And you looked disinterested. And your friend standing next to you had her hair dyed red. And your bra strap was showing. Oh, and you were white.

Does that narrow it down enough?

Anyway, I'm sure like hundreds of other guys noticed you, so I should probably describe myself too. Right? I guess. I mean, how does one describe oneself? It's ridiculous. Whatever. Okay. I'm kind of tall. Like roughly 5'10." I don't know my exact height because I haven't been to a doctor or a gym since high school. I'm skinny. Like very skinny. Like, I don't eat. Like, don't let that Nathans hot dog fool you, I was only holding it to be ironic. So yeah, I'm tallish, skinny, and I have a beautiful dark brown eye. Singular. I mean, I have two eyes, but you can only see one because my jet black bangs always cover up the other one. So I have a brown eye. Oh, and I was wearing a black shirt (b/c I wear black on the outside because that's how I feel on the inside.) You know how it is.

You can check me out on myspace if you want. Whatever.

But anyway, I think you're totally cool and we should hang out sometime. Maybe go somewhere nobody ever goes to and listen to some music that nobody's ever heard of. What do you say? I mean, whatever. Either way. Whatever. Like I care. I'm already over it.

Fuck George Bush.

Later.

this is in or around coney island
no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

[Click here for link]

Ask Bob Anything: Part Tres. THE ANSWERS: The Final Chapter

2005-07-15T13:24:00.000-04:00

Thanks to everybody who took the time to ask a question. And thanks to everybody who took the time to read my ridiculous answers. I love you all. Now, without further adieu, here's the rest of them. Mike Jones!

If you had to make out with a transvestite what would you prefer? Pre-op or Post-op?
Deloris

I don't understand the big deal about hooking up with a girl who USED to have a penis. Maybe I'm an "out of sight, out of mind" guy, but as long as I stick my hand down there and don't feel something floppy, I think I'd be okay with it.

I mean, let's say you're making out with a girl and she stopped and said, "Hey, there's something I should tell you... I used to have braces." You'd be like, "So what, you don't have them now, do you? You look good. Let's do this." Right? Of course.

Now, just replace the word "braces" with "man dong" and it's the exact same thing.
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Did you know that Soylant Green is made out of people?
Mr. X

I did. Though I didn't see the movie, just the Phil Hartman skit on SNL where he continually runs out and yells, "Soylent Green is made of people! It's made of people!!!" I miss ya Phil.
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Dear Bob,
I really like a girl, but I don't know how to tell her so I can find out if she likes me back. How do I go about doing this?
Your friend forever,
Slam

P.S. Assuming your response to my question results in success - How then, do I go about convincing her to let me stick it in her pooper?
the good DJ

First things first. The best thing to do is be forward with her. Don't come on too strong by telling her how much you like her, but instead ask her to get a drink after work. Now, if she says she's busy, don't worry. Either she's legitimately busy, or she doesn't want to seem desperate, but either way you should keep moving forward. A couple of days later, ask her if she wants to grab lunch with you. If again she says no, give it one more try a little after that. If you're 0 for 3, then chances are she isn't interested.

Now, if she is interested, onto part 2. The best way to convince her into letting you stick it in her pooper is-- believe it or not-- the opposite of what you do to get her in the first place. Don't be forward. Be sneaky. If it's dark and you're drunk and she's drunk, try it by accident. Worse case scenario she says "wrong hole" and you think "says you" and then you go back to doing the Christian way. This way, she'll just think you have bad aim and not that you're a dirty dirty anal freak show. Best of luck.
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Hey, remember that time I recognized you in Hoboken? Anyway, I was wondering: I used to be on the Marlboro mailing list, too, but my luck with them seems to have run out. I no longer receive any of the premiums--not even the magazine, which I LOVED. Do you still get the Marlboro crap? What have they sent out lately? I think the last thing I got was the "Cook Like a Man" cookbook.
The guy who recognized you

I too haven't received a decent Marlboro present since the "Cook Like A Man" cookbook. Perhaps my antics in Boston made news in the Marlboro office and they took me off the list.

It's really sad opening up your mailbox and not seeing anything from Marlboro anymore, right? I thought they were going to be in my life forever… I mean, that's what they told me... I guess you just can't trust these cigarette companies at all, can you?
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What's with your fetish for Puerto Rican girls?
AlexisT

Sorry T, but we've been over this before. I've had several fetishes in my life, but never a PR fetish. Yet. Call me.
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if they were to name a new dirty proverb (i.e. dirty sanchez) after you, what would you want the maneuver to be?
Rob Holmes

Tough call. I wouldn't want it to be something too disgusting because we're talking the family name here. And I guess if I'm going to have my own dirty proverb it should be for something I've actually done. So here we go.

In college my roommate Eric had two girls from Vermont visit for a week. I couldn't stand them. They were obnoxious, annoying, loud; just irritating, irritating people. So, while brushing my teeth one night I decided that it was only fair if one of them allowed me to spit my toothpaste into her mouth when I was done. I gave her a guilt trip, saying how I let them stay in MY apartment for a week and never asked for a single thing in return. And the one thing I ask for she has the nerve to say "no" to? Horrible! Shocking! Well, after a few minutes of that, she agreed. It was gross.

So there you have it. Giving somebody a bob castrone = brushing your teeth and spitting it in their mouth. I think this could really catch on in the fetish community, don't you?
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The Yankees signed Jack Clark to a free agent contract in 1988 for $1,500,00 only to trade him a year later to San Diego (w. Pat Clements) for Lance McCuller, Jimmy Jones & Stan Jefferson. Who got the better of the deal??

People who were rooting against the Yankees and the Padres.

And if you could name All Star team of Yankees from '88 - '92 who would be on that team?
Brian Cashman

Well, I don't want to bore all my non-sports fans by going into extensive detail with this one, but here's a list of players who would definitely be on the team: Obviously Don Mattingly, Dave Winfield, Willie Randolph, Cecilio Guante, Ron Guidry, Dave Righetti, Ricky Henderson, Claudell Washington, Hensley "Bam Bam" Meulens, Matt Nokes, Bernie Williams, Melido Perez, and Danny Tartabull. Noticeably absent from the team are Mike Gallego Pat Kelly, and Deion Sanders-- mainly because when I was a kid I thought they were all pricks.
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What ever happened to those pants we used to wear called Skidz back in the late 80's? Why are Skidz no longer worn? Do you think they will come back one day? They were so comfortable.
michele

If we're lucky, Skidz will come back one day. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for Z. Cavaracci's to make a comeback too. In the 7th grade my mom was the best in the biz at finding them on sale at Marshalls.
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What ever happened July 4th 2000 on Dan's front lawn?
Christine

What happened on July 4th, 2000 will never be known. I don't remember it. You don't remember it. And there were no eyewitnesses. For all we know, I gave you a bob castrone right there on the front lawn. Unfortunately, nobody will ever know what actually happened, and for that reason, you're not allowed to brag to your friends that you hooked up with me. Sorry bitch.
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1)Why did the Cobra Kai's single out Daniel Laruso? It couldn't have been just because of "Ali with an i." Do you think that maybe there was a homosexual subtext going on?
I will Crane Kick you in the fucking mouth if you ever imply that there was a homosexual subtext in the Karate Kid ever again. You've been warned.

2) What was so hot about Melissa Joan Hart? I never quite understood that one.
Some dudes dig the lazy eye. When I was a kid pining over Meg Ryan and Marisa Tomei, I actually decided one day that I should set my sights a little lower. So, I decided that I liked Clarissa from "Clarissa Explains it All." I figured she was cute enough, she was closer in age, and there was a good chance that if I ever went to the Nickelodeon studios in Florida we'd run into each other and fall in love. So, I decided I was going to force myself to have a crush on Melissa Joan Hart. Sadly, no matter how hard I tried it never stuck.

However, I will be completely honest here. I kind of like her when she grabs Chase Hammond and makes out with him while the Electrocutes are performing in "Drive Me Crazy." There's something kind of hot about that, even if one of her eyes is looking at him and the other one is looking at the floor. I'd still hit it.

3) Is the late Fred "Rerun" Berry in Heaven?
If he's not in heaven then I don't want to go.

4) If you could commit any Class-A felony in the world and not get caught, which felony would you commit? Not including: Binding and kidnapping Jon Sencio.
Binding and kidnapping Jon Sencio! Oh, shit, I can't use that. Ummm. Hmmm. Maybe I'd commit an act of terrorism just to show those damn terrorists that they're not the only ones who can get away with it.

Can I even type that? Am I on a watchlist now?

5) What is the all time worst lp-cd that you ever purchased. ("Glory of Love," by Peter Cetera is mine, so don't feel so bad)
Ron Mwangaguhunga
The worst one? God. I didn't purchase it, but I got the Yellowcard CD here at work one day. I listened to half of it before I took it out of my CD player and literally threw it in the garbage. The worst CD I was ever given was Megadeath's "Youthanasia" which a friend bought for me because I told him I liked the album cover. But as far as a CD that I spent my own hard earned money on, that honor has to go to Five For Fighting's "America Town." I heard the song "Easy Tonight" on the radio late one night and thought, "these guys have promise, I have disposable income, let's see what happens." I drove to Tower Records and I picked it up... then immediately regretted it. It would have been a CD that I completely forgot about, but then they hit it big with that awful "Superman" song. Now, every time it's on easy listening radio somebody will inevitably turn to me and say, "Hey Bob, don't you own this CD?" Awful.
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Why do sounds wake you when you're asleep? I mean, I can understand getting punched and you wake up -- but a knock at the door? A distant jackhammer? Sound waves can't be that harsh. Or can they?
Lil' Big Fat

Clearly Lil' Big Fat doesn't live in New York.

Much like building up a tolerance to alcohol, I believe you can build up a tolerance for sound waking you up as well. When I was living in Brooklyn they started construction on a new apartment building right outside my bedroom window. I was woken up every morning at 7:30 on the dot for months. Now granted, it sucked, but it did force me to get up early and go to the gym, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise. I'm getting sidetracked. What I was getting at was, eventually over time I was able to sleep through the construction.

When I moved to the lower east side I found myself getting woken up by car horns and fire trucks. Again, after a month of living there I can now sleep through those as well. So what's the point? I'm not sure. I'm still too tired to even think of one.

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Has the norfolk wiggling of the stumpfig actually clogged the gork?
john

And John wins the "what the fuck is this guy talking about" award. Thanks for playing.
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if one of the following had to happen, which would you prefer: crashing your car into a truck full of toxic waste or crashing your car into a truck full of human waste?
P

I would definitely choose the toxic waste because it would probably result in me getting some sort of superpower. But knowing my luck, it wouldn't even be a cool superpower. Instead of getting something like invisibility or the ability to fly, I'd probably just get the power to see 3 seconds into the future, or the ability to grow my nails really quickly.
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Okay, here's something I've been wondering: You know that MTV show where people undergo extensive amounts of plastic surgery in order to resemble their favorite celebrities (celebrities who have undoubtedly undergone extensive amounts of plastic surgery)? And you know how there's this rabid desire for celebrity porn? Wait. Those aren't my questions. Why has no entrepreneurial adult film company gotten its starlets to undergo extensive amounts of plastic surgery, making them resemble celebrities? Instead of silly monikers on unconvincing faces ("Britney Rears"), we'd have real pornography with ersatz Britneys, Angelinas, Camryn Manheims. Well, hopefully not Camryn Manheims. But it's big money, waiting to happen. So my question is: Why hasn't this been done? Is Alyssa Milano's mother to blame?
J

Yes.
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what's the weirdest lubricant you've used to jack-off too?
Cynhaha

That depends on what you constitute as "weird." Some people might think Vaseline is "weird," while other people might consider dead kittens to be "weird." You know what I mean?

I mean I masturbate with dead kittens. Shhhh.
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What the hell am I doing on this planet?
Dave

You're performing at the Comedy Company, every night at 8:30 & 11. You can get tickets online at Ticketweb.com! It's the best comedy show in Times Square, you don't want to miss it!

(Yeah, when I get back on stage I think I deserve some good spots for that. I'm a whore.)
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when will the new season of project runway ever f-ing start?!?
megan

Who cares??? Season 2 of Laguna Beach is just a week away! Surely the television event of the decade, if you ask me.
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Are you and your roommate heterosexual life partners? Do you see yourself with Brian for the long haul or do you think you'll eventually lose interest and find a new best friend?
Christie

Brian and I realized a while ago that we were, in fact, soul mates. Which sucks because we're both straight.

We decided though, that when the time is right we're going to make it official and get married. We might as well. We're still going to have sex with women, but at the end of the day we'll always have each other to come home to. I think that's kind of sweet, don't you?

For the record, I am now preparing myself for the call from my mom where she asks, "you were just kidding about that Brian stuff, weren't you?" She wants grandkids.
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what would you name your blog if you had to change it from "my blog is poop"
wurung1

"Girls. Pizza. Victory." It has a nice ring to it.
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Why did you help Karl Rove hunt down and destroy the Jedi?
Because I trust him.

How did Tom Cruise purge the homosexual alien thetans from his flesh and mind yet keep all of his teeth?
I can't get into details here, but know that the answer can be found if you play "Risky Business" backwards.

If the Olsen "twins" (clones) become infected with Avian Influenza A (H5N1), will they mutate and merge to become a single hyper-entity or will they destabilize in a global anti-matter implosion?
The latter.

When the army of the risen dead attack our cities, does the culture of life dictate that it is wrong to kill those creatures? Or just reanimated celebrities?
The former.

Why does Sencio cry?
blamb

I believe White Lion said it best when they wrote:

When Sencio cries, let him know we tried
When Sencio fights, let him know it ain't right
When Sencio prays, let him know the way
Cause when Sencio sings, then the new world begins.

Also, he cries every time he hears the words "Starring Simon Rex."