Input, please

No this is not a shameless ploy for attention, I really want everyone's help. A very kind web designer has offered to spruce up the look of my blog, free of charge. The problem is, I'm graphically challenged. The last time I attempted anything visual was when I sent in a bunch of bloody pictures I drew of dinosaurs mauling things to Highlights magazine. They didn't publish any of my pictures so I gave up on pretty things. But I would like to spruce up this here blog.

That's where you come in. The web designer is ready to roll up his sleeves and give me an extreme makeover. He wants to know what direction I'd like to take confetti in my hair. And because of my graphic impairment, I would like any and all suggestions. Please e-mail them to me if you don't feel like putting your ideas out there to be mocked on the World Wide Web. The reward may be seeing your vision realized by Bradley, the Diego Rivera of the web circuit.

(This is his most recent triumph, a commissioned job for a health and nutrition company.)

As promised

St. Pauli Girl stunt double

It's probably for the best that this photo can't be bigger.

Clowns to the left of me

Saturday was Halloween party night and I must say, my friends do it with panache. Bethany was a bloody mary, Jenny was a deviled egg, Justin was a bathroom wall, Nicole was a painting with eyes looking from behind it, Griff and Jess were Jack and Meg White, Jon was the (perennial) Schlitz-Man, Charlie was Gaybraham Lincoln, the list goes on. Oh yeah, I was the St. Pauli Girl stunt double. I hope to have some photos to post in the near future.

The evening started quiet and ended wild. Unfortunately I don't have the energy or short-term memory to give a play-by-play. Let's just say that by 4 a.m., there were 7 of us packed into a tiny Ford Escort piloted by Mohammed, an M.I.T. chemist in a bright red clown wig, hurtling toward the North End at Autobahn speeds. Wha happen?

Nicolio

I was feeling gushy today when I stumbled across this pic. I took it almost 2 years ago at the newspaper office in Wisco. What initially attracted me were the eyes like the flames of hell.

click to enlarge

How you like me now?

Yes sometimes my jawline swells up like the Goodyear blimp, but it's not like I've really got a goiter (or something similarly destructive to public friendships.) Let me share a brief timeline:
First flare-up- five years ago, terror, alarm. My initial prognosis: spiders laid eggs in my face. Eventually recedes.
Second flare-up- less terror, curious visit to UrgentCare. Doctor: "Omigod, I've never seen anything like that!" Not what I wanted to hear. Doc guesses it's a blocked salivary gland, recommends I suck on lemon candies. Eventually recedes.
Third flare-up- getting used to my infirmity, another doctor visit. Doctor: "Oh yeah, that's just your standard faulty lymph node." Recommends a removal by surgical means. I ask him if I could keep the node to show off at parties. He asks me to leave his office. Eventually recedes.
Fourth, fifth and other recurrent flare-ups- it has become like an old friend, can't seem to find free time for surgery. Eventually recedes, each and every time.

Related story- Nicole's old roommate Chris had the exact same problem as me (it was like finding my soul brother). Then this summer he got the operation and his pretty face now boasts a long, gnarly scar. Initially I was afraid of my problem. Now I'm afraid of its cure.

Conclusion- I'm not interested in becoming the Phantom of the Opera so everybody needs to just learn to love my lymph node. We're all in this together.

End of the River (part 2 of 2)

So we hadn't had anything to eat except for a shared snack of movie nachos (fifteen sawdust biscuits and a lukewarm bucket of orange.) Now we had a quarter bottle of Fleischmann's whiskey. It hit hard.

We had bought seven toys earlier in the evening which we couldn't resist immediately playing with on the bar. The crown jewel was obviously the Mexican skeleton that shimmied around when you squeezed a bulb that looked like the end of a turkey baster. Soon we had drawn attention.

"What you got there, some kinda fuckin' fetus?!" said the mid-life crisis guy (hoop earrings, waist-length leather jacket, goatee) a couple seats down from Nicole. "I'd hate to see that little number on my pillow in the morning." We were proud of our little gizmos, so we slid down closer to Mr. Slick. Before you knew it, all 3 of us were grinning like idiots, squeezing toy bulbs and watching monkeys and ducks bang drums and march around.

I don't know how we made the transition from toys to talk, but soon our new friend started telling personal stories about Marlon Brando, Spike Lee, and Will Smith. For you see, this was Mr. Frank McKenna, Caterer to the Stars. His job was kind of unclear for awhileHe called himself an 'associate producer' and tried to use every euphemism in the book to mask the fact that he was actually just a well-paid food jockey. It was his stories, most of which involved food, that kind of gave him away. "That was when George C. Scott threw a sandwich at my head..."

I don't mean to harp on Frank's weaker traits because he had some excellent ones as well. At the top of the list was definitely his propensity to buy us drinks for the rest of the evening. He said something about "War of the Worlds expense account" but as far as I know that movie is no longer in production. Hey, if he was pretending to have an expense account to hide the fact that he wanted to throw his money around on strangers, that's fine by me.

At 2, the obviously drunk bartender, who seemed to be having some equilibrium problems, shut down the bar and shooed everyone into the street. After some confusion, we ended up in another bar surrounded by meatheads and hoochies. This is where things start to get hazy for a little while. All I know is that it was 4:30 by the time we made our way to the train station.

Inexplicably, I now had a stand-up fan in hand and Nicole was carrying a wine crate. I have no idea where we found them. Come to think of it, I'm afraid we're becoming scavenger drunks. On our last New York bender, I ended up with a three-foot electric Christmas tree and two new dress shirts. But I'll tackle that problem another day.

At the train station we fell asleep immediately, resting our heads on each other's shoulders. All of a sudden I snapped awake- "The train's here, Nicole! Get up! What are you waitng for?!!" She hopped up and started running.

After my initial panic, I felt pretty mellow about catching the train. I mosied across the platform like a lanky cowboy (with a stand-up fan.) And I watched the train doors close and the train leave. Nicole was inside, pressed up against the glass with a look like a scared child. Or maybe an angry child. Tough to say. all I know is that we wouldn't see each other for over an hour.

Apparently Nicole thought I didn't have the wherewithal to find where she lives because she got off at the next stop to wait for me. She then sat down on her wine crate and fell asleep.

When the next train came, I sailed right past my sleeping girlfriend, going 4 more stops to Clinton-Washington, where she lives. After I had waited for a half hour, left 8 or 9 insane messages on Nicole's phone and smoked a bunch of cigarettes with a homeless guy, I finally got a call from Nicole.

"I was dreaming that a cop was waking me up and I opened my eyes and there was a cop waking me up," she said.
"That's okay babe. Just hurry up and get here; it's time for dinner."

That's how we found ourselves eating turkey grinders with my new homeless buddy at almost 7 in the morning. We were exhausted, bleary and kind of surly. Luckily, they were the best sandwiches in all of New York City.

~fin~

Whiskey River (part one of two)

On Saturday night, Nicole and I were scheduled to go to an ironically formal party, a hipster dress-up affair. I made no secret of the fact I didn't really want to go, because:
-My formal wear was bunched into a little ball at the bottom of my YMCA duffel bag.
-I wouldn't know a single person at this party besides Nicole, and I felt shy. I never want to be Mr. Clingy McLetsGoHome.
-Sometimes I'm selfish about my time with Nicole. No sharing. Get your own.

As much as I hated the party idea, I also told her that I was totally willing to go, with a spring in my step and a grin on my maw. "No problem sweetie, that's just the sort of heroic, selfless act I'm known for. Make sure to tell your mom."

Nicole changed her mind about the party at around 7 that night. She said she'd rather go see The Constant Gardener, then get some dinner. I'm sure this decision had nothing to do with my poorly concealed sour attitude, by the way. Ahem.

Dating montage- playing with toys at flea market, costume shopping, running to find shelter after unexpected downpour, laugh laugh laugh, sharing tea, holding hands at movie, la la love.

The next step after the movie, as I mentioned, was to grab some Chinese food and mosey on home. Yawn, stretch. The movie was a think piece and we waxed philosophical. It was the sort of dense conversation I can see lulling us right to sleep. "Blah blah, what if you save just one starfish, blah blah..." But wait, what's that enticing awning across from the theater? Does that say 'Whiskey River?' Now that is a river I would like to sail!

It was actually Nicole who first succumbed to the tavern's siren song. I was pretty cautious, knowing the effects of hard alcohol on a person's ability to make rational decisions...
"What if we just had an eensy-weensy little shot of whiskey to warm us up for the train ride home?" said the lady.
"Yes," replied the man.

It turned out that the bar with the alluring name was actually a hokey dance club for the late-20's ugly set. We walked out as soon as we walked in. We were soon walking down Second Ave. in the drizzle, looking for a decent place to quench our whiskey thirst.

That place was Benjamin's, a cozy little restaurant and bar with ceiling fans, mirrors, wood and brass everywhere and a talkative, gregarious crowd. I could picture fat Baltimore journalists drinking bourbon and smoking cigars in a place like this. Come to think of it, I could picture this place being called Whiskey River, if there was any truth or justice in the world.

The mustachioed bartender cleared two spots for us at the bar, actually forcing one drunk patron to go away. He then set an ashy porcelain saucer in front of us.
"We're smoking in here," he said with a sly grin. "Don't tell."

When we asked for shots of cheap whiskey, the barkeep poured two healthy tumblers of Fleischmann's, then gave us the rest of the bottle. "I've been trying to get rid of this for awhile. It's on me." The night was shaping up just fine...

(As unbelievable as it may seem, I'm actually going to wait to finish this story until tomorrow. There goes my last loyal reader. Sorry charlie tuna.)

Mischief

Click on image to enlarge

Retirement Party

As my patience wanes for repetitive catchphrases that are substitutes for new and creative thought or humor, I realize I'm tossing cinderblocks through glass walls. For you see, I too have a stable of well-worn sayings and routines. I've gotta tell you, I'm pretty attached to these gems For fear that some other blog sniper in my office is posting online poison about me somewhere, I will try to eliminate these mamma-jammas from my daily routine.

From humble beginnings

It was raining in New York on Saturday night. The evening started with Nicole and I buying toys at a flea market, sharing a chai at Starbucks*, then browsing at Borders.* After this we were going to see The Constant Gardener, then go back to her apartment in Fort Greene (Brooklyn) with Chinese food. Seems pretty innocuous, right? How we ended up eating huge turkey grinders in a bodega at almost 7 in the morning, drunker than we've been all year, is probably a story which warrants telling. Stay tuned...
*lame neighborhood in Manhattan

Goat's Milk Soap

This wrapper was in the trash when I came home from New York tonight. As you may well imagine, my mind went wild with the possibilities. I had several ideas for the name of this post, but I couldn't make up my mind:
-Time for a house meeting

-Lipstick on the collar

-You've got some 'splainin to do

Sailors

When Nicole and I were first falling in love in Wisconsin, we shared a hobby- collecting vintage photos of strangers from flea markets and tag sales. We spent our work days making up stories for each photo and emailing them to each other. Now that I have a scanner, I'd like to show some of these pictures and see what they make other people think. Click on the picture to enlarge.

Such a Deal

I just remembered a choice story I heard. My buddy Dan had a friend in New York, a dedicated dealhound. Never one to be suckered by department store prices, this whiz kid was partial to haggling for watches and duffel bags with the street merchants of Canal Street.

Well one day this guy can't believe his luck- a brand-new DVD player, still in its box, for only $40! Keep in mind, this was back when these gizmos were still cutting-edge and pricey, before you could get one in the 25-cent machine at Target. So the guy grabs his newfound treasure, runs home to his apartment and calls Dan and all his other friends to gloat. Apparently he was particularly smug about his uncanny ability to sniff out a deal, stirring a deep-seated feeling of resentment in those around him.

As it turned out, the box was full of rocks.

This is only a test

Last night I had a three and a half hour IQ test as part of a research study at Mass. General Hospital. Riding the 66 bus later that evening, I was hit with a lightning bolt- maybe, despite all my fancy talk and calculated condescension, I'm actually as dumb as a box of rocks.

Word definitions. I was given words like 'police,' 'purpose' and 'enthusiastic,' and I was told to define them the best I could. The test was given orally in front of two female researchers my own age. I was doing pretty well, feeling cocky, loving the sound of my own voice: "Oh, 'panacea?' That'd be a cure-all for all things evil or diseased, from the Greek panakeia. Would you like me to use it in a sentence?" I was starting to think I could be the next Marilyn vos Savant.

Then I came to the word 'number' and the whole damn thing fell apart. I mean, how in the world do you define something so huge and abstract?

At first I said something pithy like, "Numbers are the basic units people use for quantifying amounts." But then the (attractive) researchers looked at me for awhile to see if I had anything else to say. I got nervous, thought about 0 through 9, and said, "There are ten numbers." Shit.

Isn't this the First World?

My German friend Edda visited this summer. At the end of a tasty lunch at the Cottonwood, I requested a doggie bag for the uneaten half of my spicy sandwich. I tell ya, Edda looked as if I'd just stomped on her schnitzel. Apparently in Germany, they don't take home their leftovers, a concept as astounding as it is grim.

That night I brought Edda to a dinner soiree at Ved's house. Little did she know she was about to act as mouthpiece for her ignorant, leftover-loathing "nation." We fired the questions fast and furious-
"Would they give me the stinkeye if I brought my own container from home?"
"Don't Germans ever order Chinese food or pizza?"
"Is it because your food is gross?"
"Do you have to eat every morsel, even if you're stuffed?"
"Isn't America better?"

The funny thing is, I was in such a state of shock that I can't remember a single one of her responses. All I'm left with is a lingering sense of pity.

Virgin Scan

I just bought a nice new scanner off Ebay and I thought I'd use my first scan to highlight a recent news item. I prefer to think this headline is about their love of delicious take-home treats (as opposed to slutting it up with Mary-Kate's leftover boyfriends.)

p.s. Isn't it funny to associate the word "virgin" with the Hiltons?

Must've been a beautiful baby

A Russian man has a treasure trove of celebrity baby pictures.
Check it out.
So many questons. Like how many times did Jean-Claude get beat up before he decided to kickbox the entire world? And why isn't Demi Moore a bit more humble?

Insert social commentary or witty rejoinder here

At sexual harassment training today, our instructor informed us that the number one use of the Internet is pornography. Number two? Religion. True story.

Thank you Captain Happy!

So I'm about halfway down the longest escalator in the world when I see people down below start running, which means the train is here. I figure it's a lost cause so I kind of amble down the stairs like a guy without a care in the world (as opposed to a guy who has been late to work every day this week.) Secretly I'm kicking myself inside for needing to hear one more Bloc Party song before leaving the house.
BUT WAIT...

I get to the bottom of the escalator, the conductor sees me, gives a little wave and holds the train for the thirty seconds it takes me to get across the platform. Kudos to you, Captain Happy, for affirming what I've always suspected- I matter.

Putting Humpty together again

This picture isn't funny
I think the gallons of birthday booze on Saturday night, supplemented by some sangria last night, has scrambled the part of my brain responsible for linear thought. Everything is just a bunch of mental flotsie jetsie with no strings tying it together. Perhaps it will be therapeutic if I take a page from another blogger and provide you with an "eight-ball."
Except I only have time for a four-ball.

1)I got mail yesterday. It was Columbus Day. Do you think the USPS actually listened to the rest of us and cast Columbus aside like the colonizing slaughtermonster he was? Probably I just forgot to get Saturday's mail until yesterday. Like I said, I was drinking.

2)Speaking of which, I would like to share with everyone just how much was put away at the birthday party:
-1 keg (a quarter-barrel, but still)
-3 cases of beer
-1 punchbowl of sangria
-4 bottles of ricewine
-3 bottles of regular wine
-1 big bottle of vodka
-1 bottle of rum
-1 bottle of scotch
-846 pounds of food
That impresses me, but not as much as the fact that so many people braved the torrential downpour to come out and rock well into Sunday morning. Honestly, that's all I wanted for my birthday- lots of people at my house laughing, dancing, eating, making out and everything else. Thanks to all who came!

3)Police officers shot a dog in the face in front of Borders yesterday. Nicole and I were mere moments from witnessing it. I was disappointed I missed all the action until I realized that us higher mammals should probably try to quell our bloodlust.
Read the crazy dog-shooting story here.

4)Tapas tapas tapas. When I first came to Boston, I thought this word epitomized bourgeois pretension. Now I can't get enough. Thanks to Alli, Bethany, Jenny and Nicole for last night's birthday dinner at Tasca, made up exclusively of tasty little tapas. How can it be wrong when they taste so right?

Goodbye to my Presidential run

I had an alarming realization the other night about closed circuit cameras. Please please please let me know if some vintage video of me surfaces on the Internet. The setting:
Dane County Airport parking garage, circa winter 2003.

You'll know it when you see it.

DON'T FORGET THE PARTY!!!

Musica

I don't have an Ipod. I'm still reeling from the ability to download every song I've ever liked, then burn the best mixes the world has ever seen. I use my Discman, and this is enough. This morning:

-Waiting on my bike at the crosswalk with Esquivel's Mucha Muchacha blasting. Feelin' a bit boppy, fresh, no stoppin' the body rockin'. There's an uptight square standing on each side of me and they both sidle away with their eyes to the ground. Fools.

-Cruising down the longest, most nightmarish escalator in the world (not a verified statement) at the Porter subway stop, Talking Heads' Road to Nowhere helps restore my faith in synchronicity.

-When I get on the train, I take a quick seat next to a waify little gay hipster who I've seen a few times on this train. In fact, I'm pretty sure he has made eyes at me, which is why Prince's Sexy MF brings a half-smile to my face when I notice him looking my way.

-Some moody trip-hop by Hooverphonic gets me sad about the sullen little Chubb Rock sitting across the way, ignoring the pleas of his older sister or too-young mother. The song ends and the boy leans his head on mom-sister's ample bosom. I am relieved.

-As I emerge from South Station's newest entrance, I am greeted by a sunny day and the strains of the Pixies' Caribou. This is the perfect emergence song; I remember Mose and I would play it every morning when we left a new city (NYC, Augusta, D.C., etc.) on our New Orleans road trip ten years ago.
New beginnings.

A Man of Letters, Part Two

Dear Lawfirm Community Relations Department-

This is a belated thank you for what I imagine was a highly informative recruitment luncheon for tutoring children in inner-city Boston. It's true I showed up an hour late, missing your entire lecture and power-point presentation. I also didn't take home any literature or sign up later to tutor a child.

That's why it's especially generous that I was still able to visit the conference room after everyone was gone and load up on lasagna, enormous meatballs and chicken and broccoli ziti. And caesar salad. Not only did I eat my fill at lunch that day, you allowed me to go find a take-out box at a nearby cafe and fill it up with some leftovers. Well technically you didn't "allow" me to do anything, seeing that I was the only one in the conference room, but I assume you would be very happy it was me who prevented all that delicious* food from going to waste.

After all, I love children.

Thanks again,
Jesse

*The lasagna was actually a bit overcooked and salty but hey, that's cool.

Cupid

Why is it that I'm almost 28 years old and I just figured out that I have absolutely no knack for matchmaking? At 1 a.m. this morning, I had the startling realization that every attempt I've ever made to bring my friends together has failed miserably.

I have probably sabotaged hundreds of people who would have fallen madly in love if left to their own devices. So if you've been scarred in the past by my bumbling attempts at cupidry, thanks for your continued patience and goodwill. And if you are fortunate enough never to have been graced by my good intentions, only call me if you want a relationship destroyed.

The End

Jenny called at 6:30 tonight after I texted her a clever one (three-piece suit.) She left a message saying, "I give up. You beat me fair and square. I guess I'll just go watch a 3-D movie!"

Then she said, "Sha-zaam!" and hung up. Game over.

The Magic Number

After a fantastic daytrip to the DeCordova Museum and Sculpture Park (enormous sculptures that make you feel like a midget,) Jenny and I started playing a spontaneous little game. The game was simple- back and forth, we each had to come up with everything that is three. After a couple hours, I think we got just about every one, but I'm curious to see if other people can add to it. Here t'is:
-Triplets
-Triple Nipple
-Triple Threat
-Triple Crown
-Triple Sec
-Once, twice, three times a lady
-Best two out of three
-Triple play
-Three strikes and you're out
-Hat trick
-Third trimester
-Three Amigos
-Three of a kind (poker)
-Three Stooges
-Tricycle
-Triad
-Triple espresso
-Trio
-Trifecta
-Third time's the charm
-Three feet high and rising
-Holy Trinity
-Neapolitan ice cream
-Three Blind Mice
-Three Doors Down
-Three in a row (tic tac toe)
-Third shift
-And baby makes three
-Goldilocks and the Three Bears
-World War III
-My Three Sons
-Three-Mile Island
-Three cheers
-Third is the one with the hairy chest (Jenny swears this was part of her childhood)
-Triumverate
-Triangle
-Three Wise Men
-Third Eye Blind
-Knock Three Times
-Three Men and a Baby
-March (think about it)
-Menage a Trois
-Threesome
-Three's Company
-Three's a crowd
-Third Eye
-Three-alarm chile (or fire)
-Third-degree burn
-Third wheel
-Three Days of the Condor
-Third place
-Tri-Star Entertainment
-Third World
-Tri-lingual
-Third rail
-Triple H (thanks jon)
-Third-rate
-Third Reich
-The Third Degree (interrogation)
-Three for the money
-Close Encounters of the Third Kind
-Third leg (dirty)
-Third generation
-Three Kings
-Triple X
-Three to get ready
-Three witches (Shakespeare)
-Trident
-Tri-state area
-Three Little Pigs
-Three-way
-Tri-county area
-Three
-Tres (also trois and a bunch of others)
-Tertiary
-Queer as a three-dollar bill
-Triple feature
-Three o-clock
-Tripod
-Three wishes
-Three-bean salad
-Take three
-Third Bass (rapper)
-Third grade
-A triple (dorm room or baseball)
-Third base
-Third wave feminism
-Three coins in the fountain
-Trilogy
-Three Musketeers
-Third time's a charm
-Threefer
-Triple A
-Three card monte
And just when we thought the game was over, these are the ones we pulled out of thin air:
-Third Rock from the Sun (Jenny)
-Tricerytops (Jesse)

I challenge any of thee to give us more.