Final Countdown (sort of)

Have I ever followed through on a promise I made here? I can't even quit blogging properly.

As it turns out, I started changing my mind about closing shop soon after I wrote this post. I've found I really like the comfort and continuity of this blog during life's transitional phases. It's like a cat or a girlfriend (?). So thanks for the nice comments blog-readers, but I'm actually keeping confetti open for selfish reasons.

It may be awhile before you hear from me again. Or it may be really soon. Who knows? Now let me pack!

p.s. Wee gift for someone I miss. Happy 30!

Jeez, would you leave already?

Boston is giving lots of signs that it's time for me to go. The pass that allows me to open doors in my office building stopped working last week. My subway pass stopped working this morning. The mechanic fixed my truck for free this morning, just to make sure I would drive away from the city.

So maybe I'm a little paranoid and weird right now. I'm caught between giddy excitement and crippling stress. I'm like the emotional drunk guy that'll smooch you, then put your eye out with a bottle.

Let's ac-centuate the positive:

-I found this article in New York magazine, underneath the Playboys and Penthouses in Vinny the Barber's waiting room. So much for the death clause, mom!

-I made sure they'd have strawberry-rhubarb pie at my work going-away party this afternoon. I sent an email to the party planner, making my diva demands. I also requested a 300 thread count Egyptian cotton tablecloth and 40 cases of Bling H2O.

-One of my cats is not missing or dead. (If my new roomie made one of these lists, she would likely write One of Jesse's cats is missing or dead.)

-They're letting me off work at 5 today (3 hours early) so I can go drink with my co-workers and boss. Here!

-Ms. B is helping load up the UHaul on Saturday, Jenny is driving the truck into the city, SSS is having a wee party when we get there. New York!

Just writing those things put me in a good mood. I should be able to ride this wave until I stub my toe or get shortchanged at Wendy's, at which point I will burst into tears.

confetti drifting

Did I mention that my blog is going offline september 1st? I've been writing this thing for over two years and it's time to pursue other creative outlets. A Fresh Start, if you will. I'm not ruling out another blog sometime in the future but come Friday, say goodnight to confetti. No tears, let me put things in perspective for you.

To me, this video indicates that we are on a one-way path to a nightmarish techno-future, straight out of a Philip Dick novel. It precludes the possibility of true love, trees, kindness and sunshine.

Sculpture

When the dog bites, when the bee stings

My mother has graciously agreed to be a guarantor on our new apartment. On the advice of a cousin, however, she is trying to insert a strange clause in the landlord's crippling "I prostrate myself to the laws of NY" agreement. Mum wants to make sure that if I die, she will not be responsible to pay out the rest of my lease.

If this sounds callous, I promise you it's not. It's just the only situation my mom can imagine where she'd get totally screwed by vouching for me (although I suspect there are a few other doozies.)

Unfortunately my new landlord, David D. Davidson, doesn't want to play ball. Though he'd give her a grace period after my death ("I'm not crazy!"), he would expect her to cough up eventually. I'm not sure who's going to budge on the 'Jesse's Death' clause, the competitors are both quite stubborn.

On a semi-related note, if I die, please don't commemorate me with a maudlin MySpace bulletin. Cheers.

Welcome Back Kelly

Thank you Independent Film Channel for taking a chance on up-and-coming film auteur R. Kelly. Without your support, this struggling artist may have faded into obscurity.

Trapped in the Closet, Chapters 12.5 to 19

And if you haven't seen the first 12 chapters, go back and watch them on The YouTubes. I promise you will not regret it.

Young Blood

I donated blood last week and received a handsome 'I Gave Blood' t-shirt. Nice stitching, retro lettering, cool ArmyNavy colors, honestly a pretty decent piece of schwag.

I'm thinking the blood-giving (letting?) movement has hired a new advertising consultant who is punching things up, making donors seem fresh and in-your-face. This ain't your Grandpa's Red Cross, baby!

This young hipster I passed on the street yesterday further solidified my suspicions. Check out that 'All My Peeps Are Blood Donors' T, jauntily thrown over his polo shirt with flair!

p.s. He told me in confidence that I should request Adrienne at the blood center; apparently she is something of a looker.

For the record

I am not going steady with Linda Darnell and I never dated Gene Tierney. I've never even played Guitar Hero. I just wanted to seem like a Big Man.

The RMV isn't as fun as it seems

My Wisconsin license expires in October. Earlier this summer I went to the RMV to get a new one from Mass. Yes, I should probably get a New York license but I imagine the Big Apple RMV resembling the seventh circle of Hell ("Shovel faster, knave!")

Anyway, they told me I had 'holds' on my license; I had to pay off two Wisconsin speeding tickets and three Western Mass. parking tickets before I could get my license. So this summer I gradually spent over $450 to pay off those old skeletons. Finally yesterday, I was ready to get my expensive license.

I was actually excited to go to the RMV, like a naive puppy on the way to the vet. I had spent so much money and waited so long, I knew the payoff would feel good. "Oh goodness gracious, I can't wait to drive like a real boy!"

After waiting for an hour and a half, clutching the little deli counter number in my sweaty palm, my number was up. I looked around with big smiles for the living dead around me. It was like when people get called out of the audience on The Price is Right.

Still beaming, I handed in my passport, gas bill, Wisconsin license and a check for $90. The surly clerk punched in my name and said, "There's a problem with this, you have to go to the Fourth Floor."
"What's the problem?"
"You'll have to talk to the people on the Fourth Floor."
"But I don't even know what I've done wrong!"
"They'll know on the Fourth Floor."

In the Fourth Floor waiting area, there were 3 scared-looking weirdos sitting as far apart from each other as possible. In a back room I could hear someone pleading, "I really think I should have a lawyer!" Oh man. I had no idea what I was doing in the Hall of Misfit Drivers.


Finallllly, after another hour of waiting and losing the last scraps of my good mood, some lady barked my name like a German kommandant. When I approached, she handed me a piece of paper that essentially said I would have to pay another $100 to get my license back, a 'reinstatement fee.' $450 in tickets, $90 conversion fee, $100 reinstatement fee, holy moley!

The irony was that the $650 piece of paper you see above wouldn't allow me to get a drink at the bar last night. $650 to not drink. Awesome.

less stress p.s.- After my RMV ordeal, I found this card in my email inbox, from one ever-so-kind Bethinus Mullinus. click to enlarge

Linda Darnell- Stone Fox

I've got a new flame. Gene Tierney's a hell of a dame and I won't deny we had some laughs. It was a tough decision but Linda's a wiz at Guitar Hero/makes a mean tuna mac.

My Month

Marketing Magic

I recently got porn site spam with the subject header "My boyfriend's c*ck is far too big for me!" Is this targeted at under-endowed gentlemen? If so, would anyone be honest enough with themselves to say, "Hey, this ad is for me!"? Or dumb enough to believe there's hot babes hunting for wee-willied dudes? Maybe spammers aren't so smart after all.

Wow, c*ck-talk at 9am.

That reminds me of the weekly humor column I wrote for a small paper in Wisconsin. I knew my audience was largely conservative Christian so I did my best to keep it squeaky clean. That's why I was so surprised when we got a flood of outraged letters one week, talking about my decency and morals.

The cause? I had written a column about Nicole and I taking a flight to New York. Discussing the departure morning, I said "The kitty woke us up at 5:30 by mewling and attacking our heads." From this, the community assessed that we were having sinful sleepovers. My editor couldn't believe he had allowed that filth to be published.

Life Imitates

Last night at Bukowski's I overheard a stuffed-shirt guffawing with his buddies. The thick neck was saying between snorts, "You know, it's like in cartoons when the dude gets flattened and slithers down the stairs..." He accentuated this description with his arm wiggling at a downward angle.

This reminded me, I wanted to give you guys some advice.

- Anybody who wants to eat you will likely put lots of care and attention into the Stew of You. While they are chopping carrots and hunting for obscure spices, stage your escape. You may not have another chance.

- If you have stubble, you're bad.

- At the moment of a fistfight when all you can see is a whirling cloud of dust and stars, crawl gingerly out of the fight; your opponent will end up fighting himself!

- Little girls shouldn't wear short skirts; their bloomers always show.

- Speaking of which, don't wear heart boxers or long underwear on a day when you might get in a scuffle. Humiliation may be in store.

- If someone is shooting at you, keep your French horn handy. If the bullets go inside, they'll end up shooting right back at your opponent.

- Come to think of it, bullet wounds aren't so bad. A lot of times they'll just make the water you're drinking spurt out on the floor. After your friends have a good laugh, the holes will close up within seconds.

I could go on forever. Check this out!

Got a girl in Chelsea

Off to New York to deliver $1600 to a man I don't trust. The singer in this video looks like a paralegal or a Staples manager. I really shouldn't have watched this before my morning coffee. I'm never going to love him like he loves me. Cheers Alli.