Archive for the Bloggys Category

Friendly Fire– Picking the Scab

Posted in Bloggys, pedro on March 16, 2007 by cromag

*Warning*: Inasmuch as this album/movie has a plot, this review may ruin it for you. But it doesn’t really, so don’t be such a nit.

Perhaps the most perfectly ghastly scene in Sean Lennon’s new movie, which is based on his new CD, which is based on his recent life, is in the “video” for On Again Off Again, which you can see on youtube here.

Sean, playing himself, goes to the movies (to see a movie called Friendly Fire) with his girlfriend, played by his ex-girlfriend, Bijou Phillips. They have a chat about an Avant Garde film, then Avant Garde art in general. Something is strained about the conversation—Sean seems hurt by her vague dismissal of Duchamps’ “Fountain” and counters with some weak and nerdy platitudes which visibly annoy her. A guy in line behind them says “Hey Julian, I’m a big fan!” and Sean looks crushed (so it’s clear this is no pseudonymous character).

They go in and watch a movie starring Lindsey Lohan and Jason Schwartzman. They go through an arty pantomime of a scene that just occurred in the actual movie Friendly Fire. In that scene, Sean, playing his own best friend (without spectacles so you can tell them apart…) and Bijou neck and play head games with eachother while clueless Sean waits outside ringing the buzzer. “Do you want him to come up?” she asks. “Yes,” says Sean-as-traitorous-buddy. She just stares at him, caught in a bluff, then leaves, to continue the farce of her love. Meanwhile, in the theater, as Sean watches this reenactment of his cuckolding with only mild concern, Bijou is getting phone calls from her lover, and eventually slips out to go meet him.

The real drama behind this project, as you may have heard in some reviews, is that Bijou actually did cheat on Sean in exactly this way with his best friend, who subsequently died in a motorcycle accident. But that doesn’t really tell us why Sean would make this movie so self-referential. Instead of just making an semi-autobiographical adaptation of the painful events, he examines the events, then analyses his examination, then examines the process of making art out of the analyses of the examination of the reenacted painful events. This can’t be healthy.

In fact the whole theme of this album is sickness, not redemption. It might be useful to imagine that he is ridding himself of his demons and making peace with the ghost of his unforgiven friend…the songs might have been full of answers and inspirational platitudes. Instead it’s stocked with lyrics like: “You can’t regret what you forget,” and “I don’t want to hear another word from you now… / I’d rather be wrong…” and in the most beautifully harmonious line of Headlights, “Life is only slowly dying.”  In lines like “If life is just a dream …/ Which of us is dreaming  / And who will wake up screaming?” Sean parodies the hippie existentialism of his father’s band—a theme that emerges again in an animated sequence where Sean and some companions fly on a Yellow Submarine-like spaceship to a mysterious other world where they are trapped in a intergalactic zoo by giant five-eyed aliens with other freaks and what appears to be Yoko Ono. Even the gorgeous guitar solo light-show at the end of the video for Headlights seems more like the paranoid hallucination of a dying man than a transcendental drug experience. The guitarist smirks—I’ll save you kid, but for what?

The songs mutter and swoop along, pretty but never uplifting. There are a lot of Elliot Smith comparisons to be made, along with Muse or Rufus Wainwright, but what makes Sean’s songs stand out from these other mopey songwriters is his plain-spoken heartbreak—not just in the lyrics but in the way his voice swoops downward unexpectedly and the chords change almost randomly in the bridges, as if he can’t stand to move forward in a normal progression…(especially in Falling Out Of Love, the last track) like a man so lost in his own head he has to keep changing the channels on his car radio to bring him back to the new moment, a new snatch of melody to keep him, momentarily, away from the emptiness and regret.

I read another review that derided this record for its sense of defeat…That to me is its greatest strength. Instead of crafting some happy ending to the horrible facts of his love disasters, it minutely details the endless and vicious cycle of loss and grief–where the final revelation of the affair is replayed again and again, in real-time and in period dress and in animal masks and acid-watercolor–and arriving at a kind of grim humor about the whole thing. It’s ridiculous, in the end: the levels upon levels of self-reference and melodrama, as meaningless as sticking your pisspot in a museum.

The first sequence in the movie (part of which was adapted into the commercially released video for Dead Meat  but is fully replayed here)
perfectly balances the earth-shaking opera-sized tension with Sean’s bitter self-deprecation at his own pretension. He plays some kind of Spanish musketeer in a crumbling Mexican castle who comes to play cards with the evil cowboys that run the place (or something). He cheats (poorly) and is caught. Instead of running, he challenges the badass boss to a duel, they fence in a pretty decent action sequence as some John Brion flutes toodle and he falsettos thinly above them. He is stabbed and dies. The camera swings around and there is a TV screen showing a grey sky and a field. At the end of the movie, the last video is set in that field, as Sean’s fencer dies in the arms of his lady. Again the camera swings around and we see the TV screen. On it is Sean (in the same set as at the beginning of this video) sitting, writing what will presumably become this album, starting the whole mess over again. Like that video for Spectacle makes clear, his fantasies about triumph, revenge, and reconciliation are just scab-picking…in fact, the production of a record and movie like this is akin to tearing open a wound and stuffing it full of dirt to see what pretty colors the infection might bring.

In my opinion, with this CD/DVD combo, Lennon has brought the role of a recording artist to a higher level…and of course made a morose and beautiful record.

Preview with scenes from the whole movie
Listen to a live concert by him
All the videos from the new record:
Rolling Stone likes it:
Interview with the Vampire

Origins of the State Capitols

Posted in Bloggys on March 16, 2007 by cromag

By Van Moltke

Montgomery, AL – Originally named for the popular country western duo Montgomery Gentry, changed in 2004 because the word “gentry” sounded British and, consequently, too gay for Charles Barkley to tolerate.

Juneau, AK – A French guide defeated a polar bear in hand-to-hand combat, using judo. The native peoples mistakenly tried to Francify the word judo and came up with Juneau. They still practice judo today, only they use harpoons, whereas the traditional judo masters do not.

Phoenix, AZ – Although it had never risen from its own ashes, the original city on this site was named Phoenix. When that city burned down and the decision was made to rebuild, the mayor said, quote, “Now the name makes sense. Boo-Yah!”

Little Rock, AR – A splinter town of Big Rock, this town became the capitol when Big Rock was razed by the militant wing of Little Rock two months after the secession. Big Rock was named Whose Big Now, AR and, later that week renamed, by presidential decree, Pine Bluff.

Sacramento, CA – This settlement originally bore the name Apocrypho. But not everyone liked the Book of Maccabeus as much as Sam, the guy who founded Apocrypho. So they renamed it Sacramento.

Denver, CO – The simplest of capitol stories. After the Broncos won back-to-back Super Bowl titles, well, wouldn’t you move the state house as close to that Elway magic as you could?

Hartford, CT – Deerford, CT, in an effort to sound classier, was renamed Hartford. The move paid off as CT enjoyed a reputation as “classiest in the lower 48” for some years. But then Mohegan Sun opened.

Dover, DE – After much religious infighting, the two groups of settlers that founded the Delaware colony decided to coexist peacefully and as a token of that peace the decision was made to release a dove and wherever the dove made its nest, there the settlers would build their capitol. To commemorate the gesture the town was to be named Dove, DE. But, sadly, E and R are right next to each other on the keyboard and the town scribe had fat fingers. C’est la vie!

Tallahassee, FL – Originally named to poke fun at the Seminole Indians and Mississippi all at once, both the Seminoles and Mississippians banded together to slaughter each and every living being in the town. Not to be shown up, the Floridians re-settled the town under the same name. Just before the town was slaughtered a second time for their hubris, one of the Seminole warriors exclaimed “Oh! Now I get it! That is a good one.” So they all had a good laugh and a feast of brotherhood. Then, in a drunken stupor, they slaughtered the inhabitants of Pensacola. Frontier life was hard.

Atlanta, GA – For some reason, they decided to name the city after the most colossal of all municipal failures, Atlantis. I know it was dumb, but it gets dumber when you realize the town is landlocked. Or maybe they landlocked it to avoid the Atlantis catastrophe. Geniuses or morons? The world may never know.

Honolulu, HI – A Hawaiian word, Honolulu translates roughly as: “Feel like a big man now America? Taking over an underdeveloped sovereign nation on the flimsiest of pretenses to help stabilize your military power, real nice. Jerks.”

Boise, ID – Keebler produced a line of potato chips called O’Boises, the name was at once a clever play on the phrase “Oh, boy!” and a subtle play on our association of Idaho and potatoes. Imagine their embarrassment when they found out that Boise was actually in Montana! Thinking quickly, Keebler dispatched their imperialist war machine to annex Boise for Idaho and establish a puppet governor, making it a “potato republic.” The US Army was sent to squelch this aggression but President George Bush, Sr. decided to let Keebler have Idaho, in the hope that it would sate their lust for war. He was right, it did. But people still called him “The Great Appeaser” to make fun of him.

Springfield, IL – Conscious of the importance of public perception, the go-go ‘80’s plutocrats that run Illinois adopted this name over Swamp of Fetid Death, IL, which was the name from founding until 1887.

Indianapolis, IN – Always the consummate “boring state” Indianans decided their capitol should be Latin for “Indiana City.” Yawn, right? I know. Anyhoo, they were going to name the city Larrybirdpolis but plans were put on hold after the Colts started winning. After all, Peytonmanningpolis has a much nicer ring.

Des Moines, IA – Most people think this name is French for “The Middle” as in “The Middle of Nowhere.” Not true. It is actually named for Desmond “Des” Moines. Who dueled and killed Aaron Burr in a Staten Island hotel as revenge for the death of Alexander Hamilton. Many say it was not a fair fight as Burr was 80 and bed ridden and Moines was 26 and spry. Well, I guess that’s why it’s Des Moines, IA and not Des Moines, NY or Des Moines, PA, huh?

Topeka, KS – In an effort to win a game of Scrabble, Diamond Jim Brady paid 20 million dollars to have the capitol of Kansas renamed Topeka from Kanstastic. Topeka having been the random word he made up and played in the Scrabble game. His Scrabble opponent claims that they made the deal “no proper nouns” before play began, but John L. Sullivan “persuaded” him to drop his complaint.

Frankfort, KY – You thought it was named after Frankfurt, Germany? Well sucks to you, Gerry! Because it was named after Frank “Boozy” O’Shea’s fort. O’Shea, you may remember, was known as America’s William the Conqueror, for his brilliant use of forts to maintain military dominance. Like William the Conqueror used castles. God, do I have to spell it out for you?

Baton Rouge, LA – French for “Red Stick” I would explain its origins but it’s in Louisiana and the story gets a little blue.

Augusta, ME – Some say it was named for St. Augustine, some say for Augustus. But then they remember that they’re thinking of Augusta, GA and realize that Augusta, ME was named for a spunky little lobster that could—who went by the name of August. The townspeople loved that little guy and bits of his story went on to inspire the children’s classic “Charlotte’s Web.” He was a town treasure, and, according to Mayor Watkins: “delicious, especially his tail.”

Annapolis, MD – Originally named Annstown, MD, after the Colts fled to Indianapolis, the residents of Maryland quickly renamed the town, ending in “polis” in the hopes that the Colts would get confused, turn around and resettle in Annapolis. The plan was foiled, however, because the Colts had a map and were not idiots. But the locals of Maryland still hold out hope that their plan will work. And it did, sort of, when the Cleveland Browns got confused and headed toward Annapolis. Halfway there they realized their error but settled in Baltimore anyway because “we suck anywhere, who cares where we play.” Two years later they won the Super Bowl.

Boston, MA – Ah, Beantown. Named for Boston, Lincolnshire, England, this was named, as a contraction of St. Botolph’s Stone. This is a lame name history. I think we should rename it Bradyville and challenge any team of football players to enter the Bradyrena (formerly Fenway Park) and compete against Tom Brady and a team of housecats and small children. Tom Brady would win, of course. And then we could hang the naked bodies of the other team from the parapets of Bradyville. Oh yeah, we need to build parapets.

Lansing, MI – Lansing, MI has a rich and colorful past. When Michigan was just an infant, nobody paid her much mind. So, in order to get people thinking about Michigan, they changed the capitol from Detroit to Lansing. Now, whenever kids have to list the state capitols and they get to Michigan they say Detroit. But they’re wrong! It’s Lansing! And now they have a kernel of interest for Michigan which will blossom into a full grown tree of infatuation. And trees belong in Ann Arbor, another Michigan city. In conclusion, tourism in Michigan is up 49%, the same as unemployment.

St. Paul, MN – See, you thought it was Minneapolis, huh? I can’t blame you, what with the “apolis” and all. And you may say what’s the difference, they’re the twin cities? And while this is true St. Paul is named for St. Paul, who slew a dragon and invented the technology to levitate Santa’s sleigh, as well as the Harrier jet. He also conquered Istanbul, destroyed Count Dracula and read to baby Jesus at an early age, increasing his vocabulary and aptitude for language in general. Minnea, the Lakota chief who Minneapolis is named after, slew the Wendigo, developed the technology that makes his people’s corn multicolored and also led to laparoscopic surgery. He defended Big Round Top at Gettysburg and taught Tecumseh all about life. Impressive, yes. But not as impressive as St. Paul. So the capitol goes to St. Paul.

Jackson, MS – In a brilliant display of prognostication by Louis LeFleur in 1792, he named his city Jackson. He claimed that the name Jackson would be shared by thousands of famous people throughout history and that the city would be named for all of them. From Michael and Bo to Andrew and Action, the city boasts the greatest collection of namesakes in Mississippi. Only Smith, OR and Johnson, Qatar outdo Jackson.

Jefferson City, MO – In an attempt to win a Presidential pardon Ed Montgomery named this city after Thomas Jefferson and wrote a letter to the President stating that in light of this service he should be pardoned for re-using a stamp. Now mail fraud was no laughing matter in 1812 and, using the return address on the letter, President Jefferson, as part of his “toughe on ye olde cryme” program, was able to apprehend Montgomery. At his hanging Montgomery, through his choking sobs, exclaimed “The South will rise again!” This confused all in attendance as MO was the West at the time and the South had not risen the first time yet. Breaking the silence with his trademark affable wit, President Jefferson was heard to say “Are you crying, dude? What a pansy!”

Helena, MT – Named for Greek beauty Helen, the face that launched 1,000 ships, Helena also launched 1,000 ships. Promising 40 acres and two mules to anyone who settled there, 1,000 ships set sail with some 20,000 settlers for Helena. Sadly, they were lost off Cape Froward. Waiting patiently for settlers for 10 years, the “Four Georgians” and their 90,000 mules decided, in 1864, “Eh, might as well make it the capitol.”

Lincoln, NE – Jealous of the upstart community, Mexican immigrant and Omaha resident Juan Wilkez Butjez fired drunkenly at the rear side of the city, screaming “Sic simper tyrannapolis!” A few years later John Wilkes Booth heard about it, thought it was funny and played the most ill-fated prank in history. When the residents of Better-Than-Omaha, NE heard this hilarious coincidence they renamed the town Lincoln.

Carson City, NV – Not to be outdone by Truth or Consequences, NM, the people of Springfield, NV changed the town’s name to Carson City, after Johnny Carson. Johnny Carson labeled the move “neither sought out, nor appreciated” and when they went to change the name back, it had already been taken by Crapsburg, NV.

Concord, NH – Named for the bitter and suspiciously round grapes, this city’s claim to fame is that nothing important ever happened here. Some people say that something happened during, possibly even to start, the Revolutionary War. But those people are crazy.

Trenton, NJ – I could be wrong, and, admittedly, I’m guessing here, but I think it’s named after Lord Trent. A good way to remember that Trenton is the capitol and not Hoboken is to remember that there was never a chicken emergency in the capitol.

Santa Fe, NM – Homestead of the “Gay Santa” (he loves the hot pants and Hawaiian shirts) G.S. decided to also extend his services to Mexican children as well, for two reasons: first, not many small children are out of the closet, second, Straight Santa won’t bring presents to Mexican children, claiming “If their parents want the jobs Americans won’t take, they can have the presents Americans won’t take. Oh, wait; there are no presents Americans won’t take! Ho, ho ho!” Anyway, as a show of solidarity, G.S. changed the name from Gay Santa to Santa Fe.

Albany, NY – Even though Matt Albanese, little known title actuary, claims to have no mafia connections, the mayor of Altherston, NY held a press conference with a black eye and bandaged fingers to announce that he was changing the name of the city to Albany, to honor Matt.

Raleigh, NC – You might think it’s named for Sir Walter Raleigh, and the fact is, I don’t care enough to look. So run with it. Walter Raleigh it is.

Bismarck, ND – With the slogan “We’re the top Dakota. If you know what we mean” ND has always had a preoccupation with being the Dakota in charge. And also with monocles, so they named the capitol after Otto Von Bismarck.

Columbus, OH – Hacked out of the very wilderness by a swarthy and tenacious Christopher Columbus he hid golden tablets and decoder rings all over the Americas that led to Columbus and a vellum book naming him and his descendants as rightful kings of the world. Then, that done, he sailed back to Europe, pretended that he wanted to voyage around the world and, in 1692, “discovered” the New World. However, the Indians that were so helpful to him the first time didn’t like the idea of so many white guys crashing the party and the rest is history. Later Joseph Smith misread all the tablets and stuff and now they all live in Utah and have a middle-of-the-road football program at BYU. Eh, the best laid plans of mice and men. But the next guy who found Columbus saw the sign that said “Welcome to Columbus!” and said “Whatevs, I’m ok with that name.”

Oklahoma City, OK – They would have put more thought into it, honest they would have, but they just sort of assumed the Natives would raze the city anyway and thought a fancy name would be like making beds on the Titanic. Even though the Titanic hadn’t sunk yet.

Salem, OR – Tantalized by the amount of tourism that Salem, MA received for its bewitching past, and also for hanging those witches, Salem’s mayor tried to accuse housewives in Salem, OR of witchcraft in order to boost municipal revenue. He even built gallows and a wig for the judge. But his plans went for naught when someone pointed out “Come on, man, it’s 1991.” But the name stuck.

Harrisburg, PA – Originally named Titletown, PA, residents got annoyed when everyone thought they lived in Pittsburgh. After Titletown resident Joe Collins got beat to death in Los Angeles because Raiders fans thought he was “rubbing their noses in the immaculate reception” town officials had had enough and changed the name to “something random. Like, uh, Harris….berg, yeah, Harrisburg.”

Providence, RI – Having first settled on Petty Spite, RI to reflect that God had, apparently out of spite, killed half their party on the trans-Atlantic voyage and caused them to land 100 nautical miles from their intended destination, in the middle of winter with no food, they decided not to anger him any further and named it Providence to appease the bloodthirsty God.

Columbia, SC – Not much to tell, just another case of some people stumbling upon Columbus’ mislaid plans to establish himself as king of the Earth and misreading them.

Pierre, SD – This town was originally named St. Peter, after the founder and rock of the Catholic Church. But it was taken over by the French in the early 1700’s and they said Peter was no saint, now the guy who invented escargot, he was a saint. So they mockingly renamed it Pierre. Later, when they found out St. Peter had invented escargot, they were embarrassed.

Nashville, TN – Inbred hicks wanted to name this capitol after Davy Crockett but they didn’t know their letters and randomly chose some out of one of Crockett’s “buhks” and assembled them to form a sign that said “Ghfedcromli.” Not wanting to hurt their feelings a bureaucrat from the Tennessee Valley Authority asked them what it said and they told him, Nayishvyuhl. So that night he switched the signs and it was Nashville ever since.

Austin, TX – Everyone knows Stephen F. Austin was a dyed in the wool hippie. Sandals, long hair, you name it, he had it. So when they made Austin the capitol the conservative majority of Texans moved to Houston, to show their support for rootin’, tootin’ Sam Houston. Because “Don’t Mess with Texas” and while you and I might not understand this reasoning, attempting to understand it is, technically, messing with Texas. So move to liberal Austin if’n you wanna thank suh dern much.

Salt Lake City, UT – Here the misadventures of Chris Columbus crop up again. These people are so crazy that they thought they were being told by God to go move to the Salt flats near a Lake so full of salt that a car will float on it. It’s hard to imagine how they got that from a golden tablet that read “Give Columbus a solid gold throne and all the virgins he can deflower! This I command as your lord God! Oh, and also wine.”

Montpelier, VT – One of the tiniest capitols in the nation, it’s just so darned cute. But don’t get carried away, remember that these rabid, gay, French secessionists once tried to establish themselves as their own Kingdom. So if you are ever in Montpelier, remember to mock them and point out that their “mont” “pelier” wouldn’t even be a “foothill” “pelier” in Colorado, a real state.

Richmond, VA – This town was actually named for King Richard, who was king of England during the Revolution. Not a popular guy ‘round those parts. And then people act all surprised when the South secedes and, what a surprise, Richmond is their capitol. I’m telling you, these dudes just don’t want to be part of America. That’s why we need a grass-roots change of ideals there, starting with renaming the place Elvis’ Apple Pie Ballpark.

Olympia, WA – Impressed by the majesty of the nearby mountain these settlers named the place Olympia, after the towering home of the Greek pantheon. Then, I’m not even joking, like, 3 days later they discover Mt. Rainier which made them look like such idiots. And they’ve been trying to convince people that Mt. Rainier “isn’t as big as it looks” ever since.

Charleston, WV – Named for Charlie Chaplain, this mountain city is higher than “Mont”pelier and Olympia. Yet the modest West Virginians went with a solid, humble namesake like a funny actor. Sensible and affable, that’s what the name suggests and the people are. Clearly the most aptly named capitol.

Madison, WI – Round about 1996 everyone started naming their kids Madison, boys, girls, it didn’t matter. One man, Jeb Robbins of Wisconsinapolis City, WI could see how dumb this was and sarcastically and bitterly proclaimed his town should henceforth be called Madison, saying “why don’t we name the city Madison!” But people took him seriously and said what a cool name Madison was and so was Sonoma and Dakota. Next thing you know there’s Madison, WI and not one, but two states buying into the Dakota fad. Robbins hung himself in a Denny’s broom closet and to avoid notoriety his children changed their names to Sonoma and Dakota Madison.

Cheyenne, WY – Funny story, this capitol is actually named for Indians making it the first and only town or state whose name has anything to do with Native Americans. You’d think there’d be more, but nope.

Sex in Public #2

Posted in Bloggys on March 16, 2007 by cromag

By Ms. Downtown

Along with godliness and chastity, patience falls under the heading of, “virtues I’ll probably never have.” I can’t study for more than an hour without needing a break, I can’t listen to someone who doesn’t agree with me for more than a few minutes, and I definitely can’t wait until the third date to have sex like someone classy would. Most of the time I avoid first-date fucking by doing it before an actual date even occurs, although I realize I’m squeezing by on a technicality there.

It was in late December that I began to realize my insatiability had become a problem; after leaving Motorcycle Guy’s apartment, where we’d had actually pretty fantastic first-, second- and third-time sex, he chivalrously put me in a cab home when I insisted I couldn’t stay the night; the moment the door to the taxi shut between us, I replied to a booty text from the Journalist, another guy I’d never hooked up with before, and turned the cab around to get laid at his house. After these encounters, I woke up early, walked home still wrecked in my (successful!) fuck-me boots, and passed out in my own bed.

Soon after a running-showering-laundry interlude undeserving of elaboration, I had introductory coffee and hooked up with the Polyamorist, who I had just met, and then had dinner and lovely goodbye sex with K, my faithful regular, before he flew home for winter break. On the way home, I thought about calling the Juicebox and arranging a rendezvous, just because fucking five people in one day would totally make me a rock star, but the only thing that stopped me was exhaustion. Apparently rock stars have much more sexual endurance than I do. I have such prissily mundane preferences for going to bed early and eating enough vegetables.

But even if I’m not as insatiable as I thought I’d be—choosing sleep over sex is a dead giveaway that I’m a lightweight—I still sometimes think of myself as the Magellan of cock, ready to explore and map out everyone I know into a mental sex database. After all, if this is the decade in which I’m entitled to make mistakes, I should probably be making them with a vengeance. I recently told the very wise Chiquita Lopez that what I liked about having sex with people was discovering so much about them. She responded, pragmatically, that you don’t really learn anything useful about them at all; in fact, all you learn is what they’re like in bed. So I had to reanalyze and determined that what I actually liked was learning something that not everyone else knows. A guy’s best friend may know almost all his personal information and life plans, but only the small club of ex-girlfriends and casual encounters will, even if they don’t know his last name, know that he’s obsessed with vibrators, has a penchant for pretending you’re his sister, or would rather get a hand job than fuck (who gives hand jobs after high school anyway?).

The impatient quest to explore everyone is enhanced, though, when I’ve been having a dry spell, as I was last week—K and I were on the outs, the Journalist was being evasive, and I was bored by the other options. Even short bouts of celibacy are enough to drive me over the edge. If I were stuck on a desert island with my immediate family, after a month I’d probably be debating whether to fuck my brother or my father. In short, I needed some new blood.

The truth is, I’ve been on a rampage lately, consuming and destroying everything in my path like an emotional Godzilla, and selfishly neglecting my friends and social convention in the process. So it was no surprise that I ignored even my own long-term sexual satisfaction in favor of an unremarkable but immediate adventure. I’m usually all about savoring the sexual tension, but when desperate I’ll ditch the slow burn in a heartbeat in favor of instant gratification.

As the party wound down last Friday, after a full glass of straight cachaça and several hours of bootyshaking, my better judgment plummeted to its death. I had been invited by a boy from my seminar last semester; I’d often see him at our neighborhood bars, and despite my normal penchant for dark and mysterious types, I was smitten by his impish Aryan features. Even though he was gregarious approaching on unacceptable frattiness, I added Blondie to my mental To-Do list. Blondie’s roommate, on the other hand, seemed more withdrawn, but after several debates about Indian literature and the merits of DC music venues, his intimidating vocabulary and earnest, almost pretentious hipsterness started to work their magic on me. After a while, I started to see a future with Roommate involving long talks about books we both loved, foreign films, and listening to indie rock with huge headphones on.

Of course, it was getting late, and Roommate wasn’t making a move, so I didn’t expect much more than the kiss on the cheek that I received when I said my goodbyes. I gave my best bedroom eyes for one gratuitous second, but then got nervous and decided to wait him out another time. I wasn’t quite sure he was interested, or even straight; complimenting my outfit, after all, can mean many things. Blondie, though, decided my leaving was inappropriate: “no, no, no…you need to help me kill the keg,” he explained. I looked him up and down, wondering whether he was actually talking about beer; I didn’t want to hang around drinking a beverage I don’t even like when I could be asleep in my own bed in ten minutes. I went with my instincts and told my friends to leave me behind. Luckily, he didn’t expect me to drink anything else; it only took a minute of evaluative eye contact before we retired upstairs “to smoke.” Even before we got naked, I realized I was almost certainly blowing my chance with Roommate; I was still coherent on the outcome of my imminent actions. But I was too horny and anxious to check off a new conquest that I didn’t consider the potential rewards of waiting a week or so until someone prospectively awesome was actually up for it.

Now that I’m totally sober and satiated, I’ve figured out that I can’t develop patience on my own, especially if alcohol is involved. The lesson for readers, of course, is that getting laid ultimately comes down to who asks. But the lesson I learned was to know when my virtues are lacking and think of a substitution to prevent social gaffes. In this situation, if I know I’ll be gagging for it that evening, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands before I even go out. It was a minor success the following night, but an update on whether this method satisfies the craving long term will be forthcoming.

The Dating Game

Posted in Bloggys on February 6, 2007 by vanmoltke



Here is what it would be like if, for one episode of The Dating Game, the bachelors were Rivers Cuomo, Tom Waits and Sthephen Malkmus.

Host: So, Jenny, tell us a little something about yourself.


Jenny: Well, Chuck, I’m 23, I have long, black hair and I’m very adventurous.


Crowd: Wooooo!


Jenny: I’m studying graphic design at Arizona State and I’m looking for a man who will treat me right.




Chuck: OK, that’s great, now let’s get right to it! We have 3 wonderful, eligible bachelors who are dying to take you out and show you a good time. First question!


Jenny: OK, my first question is for all the bachelors. Where would you take me on our first date?


Bachelor #1: Oh, Jenny! I’m far too unsure of myself to ever ask you out. I’ll tell you what I would do, though. I would read your diary while you were away, ask your friends questions about you and obsess over you most of my waking moments.


Jenny: Um, OK. Bachelor #2?


Bachelor #2: I know this great doughnut shop on 9th and Hennepin. All the doughnuts have names that sound like prostitutes.


Jenny: That sounds disappointing. Bachelor #3, same question.


Bachelor #3: Good one. Well, on a blind date with The Chancer (that’s what I call myself ),
we’d have oysters and dry lancers. When the check arrived we’d go dutch, dutch, dutch, dutch.


Chuck: Alright, well, those dates all sound strange… What’s your next question Jenny?


Jenny: My next question is for Bachelor #2. We are having a romantic dinner at your place. What would you cook for me to get me in the mood?


Crowd: Woooooo!


Bachelor #2: Well Jenny, nothing special, just Filippino Box Spring Hog, rattlesnake piccata with grapes and figs, mince meat filigree, turkey neck stew, bruleed okra seeds and for desert a nice ice cream and chocolate Jesus parfait.


Jenny: Gross! Bachelor #3, describe your dream girl.


Bachelor #3: Well, that’s a tough one, Jenny. I suppose she would eat her fingers like they were just another meal, wash herself in a levee and, most importantly, mix her cocktails with a plastic-tipped cigar.


Jenny: Is that a joke?


Bachelor #3: Everything I say is a joke. Or is it?


Jenny: Bachelor #1, same question.


Bachelor #1: Well, I suppose she’d be gay, most likely a drug addict. She’d also have to never laugh at anyone beside myself and be at least ½ Japanese. And, of course, she couldn’t like me or even know that I exist, that would ruin everything.


Chuck: OK, Jenny we have time for one more question.


Jenny: Do I have to? I mean, what’s the point?


Chuck: Just ask it.


Jenny: OK, Bachelor #2, where do you see yourself in 10 years?


Bachelor #2: Good one! Well, dead, that’s a given. But the important part is where. It’d have to be in a shanty town gutter somewhere in the American midwest. At the funeral would have to be exclusively people with hobo nicknames like Kehoe Jack or weird monikers like Zerelda Lee. And the women should wear tragic clothes like stained wedding dresses or oversized zoot-suits. Amputees are also a plus and maybe some full-on freaks like the Eyeball Kid. Oh, and mongrel dogs, obviously.


Chuck: Well, gentlemen, Jenny has run off with the lead singer from Fallout Boy.


Bachelor #1: Thank God, women scare the shit out of me!


Bachelor #2: That’s cool, I got a hot date with Zenora Bariella, anyways.


Bachelor #3: OK, I’m going to go ironically skateboard.