Clown tears’ Kleenex has come in the form of a frenzy of friendsies, who have appeared en masse apropos nothing save perhaps the holiday festing natural to this time of year. Returning the generous spirit of a Crazy Omeze Turkey Day or a rockin’ Nicholas P.Q. Hot Dog party in the ‘Slope, I want to

• Give a shout-out and thank you to KDub for her props to my brog. I’m trying to feed esprsso with her blog 411 and hope to become a regular reader once MySpace gits it backend in order.
• Welcome JRC back into the fold of Team USA and HIGH FIVE him for choosing WordPress, the numero uno choice for communists and comment spam fighters alike.
• Thank Heather for her regular stream of workplace-inappropriate email forwards, which keep me chuckling while I’mma paper-shuffling. Can’t wait to see her when I’m home.

The real impetus behind this post is a touching email I received earlier this week.

Backstory

This summer I frolicked around my hood (SOuth of the Navy YArds) for a SONYA open studio, where I peeked into the studio of artist MPLandis. At first I thought it was the same Michael Landis with whom I used to work at a pharma agency, hence my investment in many flights of stairs. Although it wasn’t, I really dug his art, and put my name on his mailing list.

A couple of weeks later, I get an email announcing that MPLandis is clearing out storage and selling much of his work at cut rate prices. ACT NOW! Having achieved a new place in my “personal work” and realizing I was worth my own sammich art collection, I vowed to buy something of his. Anything.

The day of the open studio sale, I puttered over to my grody neighborhood grocery for a sticka butta, gallona milk, and loafa bread. While rounding the corner of the C Train, I noticed a perplexed white dude with a large black instrument holder thing.

(Alright, first I noticed his build, and thought mournfully and self-pityingly “Oh, that looks like Mr. 940P, boo hoo for poor always-getting-doom-ped-moi.” (Never mind that 940P was an unawares alcoholic with a coke problem who made out with the very male editor of People en Espanol in front of my very eyes.))

Anyway, perplexed white dude asked me which direction Lafayette was, and I pointed him on his merry way.

Couple hours later, I change into my hoops gear so I can shoot some hoops on the courts outside o’ MPLandis’ studio. When, a few blocks later, I huff and puff up the steps, who do I see in MPLandis’ studio but the perplexed white dude playing cello!

I can’t decide which pieces to buy, but finally settle on this chaos in blue painting, approximately 3.5′ x 4′.

Turns out it was created while Tom (the cellist) played and MP (the artist) painted. Which makes sense; perhaps with Tom playing as I regarded the works made this piece in particular speak to me. Putting my brain in the right place and all.
So I buy the painting, go shoot some hoops, go on my merry way.

Fast forward to this week.

(Click here to continue reading…)

My writing professeur informed us today that December is a hard month to write. Always precocious, I’ve decided that the tail end of November = December, as I haven’t written word one on my manuscript since my trip up to Yale. (Although I did get my class notes column in, three weeks late. Apologies, and thanks, Ellen!)

In this Decembrist uprising, I give you Things Said By Other People* (not including all the bizarre quotables from The Jonathan Ames Show from last night (it’s happening again tonight at 11 and if you can make it, holy shitballs, you should. Man-gina? Moby can’t sing? Compelling.)):

You want to make sure that you’re playing with people on your level.

John Bykowsky of the Urban Pros at last night’s open scrimmage. Oh. So. True.

… so the words fit the image we want to project.

From a classmate’s piece regarding technology and its impact on the downfall of effective, authentic interpersonal communication. I say this also goes for online daters & bloggers (note blatant disregard for Fifth Amendment). It takes a certain kind of strength to continue to show up in real life that isn’t as necessary in the virtual world.

Sometimes, babe, I go deep inside, and I can’t take you with me.

From a classmate’s piece. Dialogue spoken by her lover, a woman dying of ovarian cancer.

It’s funny how much effort I put into not dealing with my feelings.

My classmate Jordan, on his self’s resistance in the creation of his one-man show.

Great news indeed! Y’all be comin’ homeward for a sitdown spell! NO CRAPPY LIFE STORIES PLEASE YOU WOULDN”T WANT TO HEAR MINE EITHER! and like that, see —- can’t wait to see you toots

My old man, upon hearing that I’m taking the last two weeks of December off and driving home for some competitive monopolizing. (Also referencing last year’s holiday, where I poured my one-woman show on the head of my family, hahahahaha.)

I am so friggin’ confused.

Me, two years ago. And today.

Have you thought about being gay?

My older sister, in light of my success rate with penis-wielders

To which I say, simply, “I flip the board.”

*Self @ T-2 = other people

I am reminded of the group of people with Downs’ Syndrome that I saw crying on September 11th as I walked from 64 Fulton St. to 77 Bleecker.  I hope the memory of this tragedy does not linger too long in the psyche of the survivors.

Fire in Missouri Kills 10 at Home for Mentally Ill & Disabled

Oh, this breaks my heart.

Us honkeys (look, fact-checker, bug off!) back in Indianny used to laugh uproariously when reading Huck Finn dialogue. Tracey Legge in particular used to belt out “SHET DE DO!!!” with the same vigor she normally reserved for making jokes about having to guard ‘Camel Toe’ during scrimmages. So whenever I think to self of the phrase “Shit to do” I invariably also hear “SHET DE DO!!!” in my head.

(Shut the door.)

Open that thing and get off your ass this week with some fine non-holiday flavorites hand-picked by ANP.

Tuesday, 11/28

• 7pm: Try out for the Urban Pros winter hoops league. Yes, yes, okay. I am nervous. Street ball with dudes is one thing. Hoops with an ump and ladies only is another. Women ballplayers do not fuck around. I just hope I don’t embarrass myself too badly. Please tell me that one of my readers is also a female ballplayer who is free tonight?
• 11pm: Dirty Amesy. I’ve written about Jonathan Ames before, but I don’t think I’ve told you the story about how I discovered him. And I’m not telling you now, either, as it’s dorkalicious and I have a god-damned reputation to maintain!

Wednesday, 11/29 brings us a repeat profo of Ameswaldo.

I will have shows upstairs at Mo Pitkin’s at 11 pm (doors open at 10:30). Mo Pitkin’s is located at 34 Avenue A, between Second and Third Streets. Tickets cost $15. Each night, the same thing will more or less happen: I will be screening the odd half-hour TV pilot I made two years ago — What’s Not to Love? This pilot has never really been seen by anyone, so as a freakish curiosity it may hold some appeal. In the pilot, which I wrote, I play myself, as it were, and there are characters based on some of my friends. After the screening, there will be some q&a, arm-wrestling, partial-nude wrestling by Patrick Bucklew, interviews with audience members, and a dance piece, I hope, by Valmonte Sprout. Also, Moby, the musician, may play a song or dance or both. Tickets can be purchased at the door or through Ticketweb.

Thursday, 11/30

• The last day of November! Thinking of getting your MFA in creative writing from the New School? Sure you are! Come to an info sesh at 66 W 12th.

Friday, 12/01

• Wereld Aids Dag
  
• 9/8c: New episode of Battlestar Galactica (Unfinished Business) on the SciFi Channel. Written & produced by my friend Michael Taylor (who snapped this photo during his trip home for Turkey Day last week).

A rank-free boxing tournament aboard the Galactica is intended to help the officers and crew blow off steam, but it quickly drags old grudges into the light — including Apollo and Starbuck’s lingering issues and resentments, which were spawned on New Caprica.

Watch the preview!!!

That’s all I got, folks. Sweepybear. Gotta go find my basketball shoes.
xo

Newsflash: men and women are different (let’s leave hermaphrodite Toby, last seen on Oprah, out of this). And if peeking at their special parts doesn’t convince you, perhaps cold, dispassionate market share analysis will! Just in time for Festivus, I present you:

Top Ten Product Categories among Females

(Worldwide, ranked by market share, 2005)

1. 93% of skin care products are purchased by females
2. Color cosmetics - 86%
3. Baby food - 85%
4. Depilatories
5. Hair care
6. Premium cosmetics (not to be confused with color cosmetics … uh …) - 84%
7. Fragrances - 78%
8. Medicated skin care (not to be confused with skin care …) - 75%
9. Baby care (note to eating disordos: food not equal to care)
10. Laundry care

Top Ten Product Categories among Males

(Worldwide, ranked by market share, 2005)

1. 94% of cigars are purchased by males
2. Camcorders - 84%
3. Beer - 80% (Aleeece, care to weigh in on this?)
4. Men’s grooming products - 77%
5. Video games - 72%
6. Spirits - 68%
7. Wine - 66%
8. DVD (including DVDR) - 64%
9. Small electrical appliances
10. Digital cameras

Editorial comments simply unnecessary, methinks.

Source: Euromonitor, September 2006; gripped from the November/December 2006 ish of Revenue magazine

The Megazines at Visionaire Gallery exhibit has been extended through the end of the year.

I checked it out on Wednesday, curiosity piqued as I published an old-school zine (think: rubber cement, masking tape, old magazines, and a copier) back in the day. The exhibit’s not about that world but rather the Blackbook/Madison-esque niche. I even saw some issues of Interview magazine that may be sitting in my closet in my parents’ home.

But I stopped in my tracks when I saw Academite Angel Chang’s Me Magazine, and brainchild-of-Yalies’ n+1 magazine. I’m older than both Angel (who sported a YALE tee shirt in our high school yearbook and ended up going to Barnard) and the Yalies; my ‘zine got a shout out in Sassy in the nineties — commence miniature bout of self-doubt.

What am I doing with my life? Where is it all heading?

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

I still like magazines, haven’t ruled out the possibility of getting back into the fray (albeit in a more sophisticated way, now that I understand the profitability dynamics, distribution, and marketing levers of that industry) in a future career, but I just can’t get that riled up when I see people doing what, at one point in my life, I wanted to do. It’s not their fault that they cared more and had the drive to do it, rather than just think it.

Which reminds me. I’ve got a manuscript to draft.

–

Megazines at Visionaire Gallery / 11 Mercer Street / 10013. A unique collection of independently published megazines, and worth fifteen minutes of your time. Plus, you can pop over to Pearl River & get your shop on right afterwards.

Interested in perusing my photography? Go here.

Prices vary depending on print, and full framing services are also available upon request.

(Repsycho is the term my siblings and I like to use to describe what my mother does with recyclable goods. The entire back of the station wagon is reserved for flattened cardboard, newspapers, empty plastic bottles, and the like. We’re forced to jog alongside rather than actually take up precious cargo room from her recyclables, which also command large chunks of real estate in her kitchen.)

Imagine my supplies when, upon merging all of my cyber real estate, I discovered a post from October 2004 that less coherently communicates the exact same thing I wrote about last week.

Clearly I have approximately four thoughts in my brain that simply get recycled ad infinity-nauseum. Oops.

Welcome to my newest, freshest, electronic crib. I’m still in tweaky tweaky mode (a.k.a. avoidance-of-working-on-my-manuscript-dot-com) but am feeling comfortable with opening the doors.

Go click on some Google links, ‘k? (I just hope you’re not getting the same humiliating “BE A WOMAN MEN LOVE” link that I keep getting … oy vey.)
xoxo

Inspired by a fascinating article from the fifties sent to me by my boss

here’s a business idea. Think “Polish lady” (read: cleaning lady) on crack.

• Wife goes to your apartment around 5:30 (or at a time that will allow her* to complete her tasks before you get home)
• Wife then preps your house for you (varies per client)

House preparation for me would involve:

• Making sure the heat is cranked up to 72
• Slippers by the front door, next to room temperature glass of water
• Comfy non-capitalist clothes on my leather bench, next to body lotion and near a robe
• Mail neatly sorted
• Reading material on the kitchen table, ready to go
• Tea cup with non caffeinated tea on the counter; tea kettle filled with water and rarin’ to go

• Music playing softly. I’m thinking good jazz here. Ornette, Thelony, Jimmy Smiff … whatevs.
• Good lighting.
• Turndown service with chocolate by pillow!

This is appropriate for the cold months more than the warm months, as my nesting instinct is in overgear when it gets chilly willy out.

Mmm. Wife.

Anyone have any recos for comfy slippers and a good robe? One step at a time here …

(Hmm, maybe I can figure out a way to do this for myself before leaving the house each day …)

* Gender neutral ‘her’