So I know what everyone’s thinking: What happened? I had been faithful and devoted to the blog, then went off on a tangent about comics, then went off another random tangent before quitting entirely for a month. I’ve been having a “Wonder Boys” moment as of late, where I had to take a step back and realize I haven’t really been writing. I’d like to say I was “doing life research” instead but that’s a bit of a copout. I do have notes though. I’m not going to bore the internet by writing about trying to write. But I just updated my Twitter for the first time in 16 days, and I want to say that…I getting there. Where there is, I don’t know, there isn’t a road map to my life right now. But I’m getting out of the rotary, so there’s a start.
Anyway, this is a piece (slightly abridged) that wrote a while ago. It’s probably not relevant to everyone, but again it’s a start and it’s something that’ll help me formulate my own ideas again, instead of obsessively reading other people’s. Sidenote: I wrote this in college where everything's gender-neutral. So there.
WWE: The Sex-Vets
In life, and especially in college, you will find that there are people who have mastered the fine art of promiscuity. They possess an acute sexual radar, own several outfits designed to maximize their availability, and can disrobe at a moment’s notice. You would think that these people exude sexual confidence, that they know exactly what they’re doing. The harsh truth is that these people aren’t necessarily comfortable with their sexualities. They’re probably just sex-veterans.
“What is a sex vet?” you ask. And moreover, what makes them different from sluts? Sex veterans aren’t out to have the best time possible; they’re really out to fill a void (no pun intended). See at the core of it all, all sex-vets seek to pay it forward, to right some sort of vindication.
Here it is: the birth of a sex-vet. Please feel free to stop me if you’ve heard this story before. With the help of some social lubrication (i.e. alcohol), you meet someone. You proceed to have a sexual encounter. You question your behavior and motivations the day after. Some time passes and you inadvertently meet this person again. There is another sexual episode. Feelings begin to blossom: they take root, sprout leaves, develop a healthy green stem. A deliberate third encounter happens and things seem on track. You want this “thing” to be out in the open; you invite the person to do something during the day. No response. Cut to a week or two later—you’re told that this isn’t working out. Common phrases include: “It’s not you, it’s me” or “This isn’t a good time in my life to settle down” or “I’m sorry but I have to be a [pejorative word here] about this.”
This leaves two options, which aren’t necessarily exclusive. Option 1: spend some time in the realm of depression, abusing substances (be it food or drugs) and listening to whiny music until a better prospect comes along. Option 2: Re-invent yourself, refine your radar and proceed to hook up without discretion. If you’ve chosen Option 2, congratulations, you’re on your way to becoming a sex veteran.
So you’ve picked Option 2 and you’re nerves are still raw. You are in extreme rebound mode and your friends have advised you against doing some rash. Against your better judgment, you down a couple of shots and notice the girl/guy/trans across the room you vaguely recognize from that Introduction to Religion class. You two end up talking about nothing in particular, but up the sexual tension to epic proportions. A surge of confidence runs through you; you make a move. And the next thing you know, you’re leaving the party, arm-in-arm with your reset button. Something happens (possibly sex, but your mileage may vary), you wake up relieved. After all, someone found you attractive enough to put her tongue in your mouth. Then the doubt sets in. “Am I really that hot? Could I get away with this again?”
Thus the sex-vet is born. Like a vampire, he lives to prey on intimacy. He raises his guard, makes sure to develop only the skills necessary to capture and ensnare a potential hook-up. He spends weeks obsessing about why he is unloved and yet is incapable of truly loving another. He cannot look at himself in the mirror. God forbid he actually takes a hard look at himself and realizes that (gasp!) he is actually as hurt about his former rejection as he feared.
Why are all these emotions being brought up now? This actually has nothing to do with me. To be completely honest, this is a topic that would fit better if I were still in college. And yet this sort of thing does still happen in the real world. I just spent an hour listening to a friend complain about how he was completely stood up by a girl he went on two wonderful dates with. Before that I was talking to a sex-vet about her dating policies. About multiple-night stands she said: “It’s okay if we hook up twice, but beyond that I feel like you’re just stifling me.”
Well I guess I chose this topic because for all you other vamps out there, hiding from the light, you’re not alone. Everyone goes through the cycle of vengeance and uncertainty associated with the sex-vet status. Even I was converted for about a year (and no I will not share any of my escapades). I will tell you this: instead of finding a warm body, buy yourself a teddy bear and some ice cream. Take stock of your life and figure what you really want. Look before you leap into the arms of a possibly crazy person. And never, ever resort to watching Lifetime; it's too cliche.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Review: Family Guy 7.14 - We Love You Conrad
I just finished watching Family Guy's "We Love You Conrad." And it's actually pretty good. I have to admit I'm of those die-hard Family Guy fans-turned-haters. I used to really like Family Guy, and I'm still impressed that the show managed to come back on the air after two years of cancellation. But the last couple of seasons have been pretty weak. The jokes are too obvious or too outrageous to be funny anymore. And there's too much soap-boxing; we get it, Seth, apparently conservatives are evil. But this episode is refreshingly different.
Now I can't say I'm a fan of Lauren Conrad at all, and depending on how well you know her, your enjoyment of this episode may vary. The only thing I know about Lauren Conrad is that she's a reality star on some silly saga on MTV and she's very freakishly blond. I came into it thinking, "Oh great another false idol socialite." But, it was refreshing to see her act, and against the stereotypical vapid LA girl type.
What really hooked me in to the episode is that "We Love You Conrad" actually has a salient plot and maintains it for twenty-two minutes. It's not as ADD as the other eps have been and the show greatly benefits for it. Plus it's nice to see some advancement on the Brian-Jillian break-up angle. She get's some really classic exchanges - "Oh God are my nuptials showing? It's a very thin bra" is funny as is:
Jillian: He also speaks Orange.
Derrick: Mandarin, sweetie.
Jillian: Mandolin.
The gags in the show are strong. The praying mantis joke legitimately made me laugh and the Desiree bit was enjoyable. And I can't help but like the dig at Sting. Overall, it's a step in the right direction, it's not overly spectacular, but it does capture the unique humor that made Family Guy such a hit show when it re-started its episodes on Fox. 6 Cs out of 7.
Now I can't say I'm a fan of Lauren Conrad at all, and depending on how well you know her, your enjoyment of this episode may vary. The only thing I know about Lauren Conrad is that she's a reality star on some silly saga on MTV and she's very freakishly blond. I came into it thinking, "Oh great another false idol socialite." But, it was refreshing to see her act, and against the stereotypical vapid LA girl type.
What really hooked me in to the episode is that "We Love You Conrad" actually has a salient plot and maintains it for twenty-two minutes. It's not as ADD as the other eps have been and the show greatly benefits for it. Plus it's nice to see some advancement on the Brian-Jillian break-up angle. She get's some really classic exchanges - "Oh God are my nuptials showing? It's a very thin bra" is funny as is:
Jillian: He also speaks Orange.
Derrick: Mandarin, sweetie.
Jillian: Mandolin.
The gags in the show are strong. The praying mantis joke legitimately made me laugh and the Desiree bit was enjoyable. And I can't help but like the dig at Sting. Overall, it's a step in the right direction, it's not overly spectacular, but it does capture the unique humor that made Family Guy such a hit show when it re-started its episodes on Fox. 6 Cs out of 7.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Cat-harsis
I kissed a cat, and I liked it.
Ever since I’ve moved out on my own (and I include my college years), I’ve have to deal with a wide range of living situations, from bad drug habits to bi-polarity to bad techno. And now I’m living with two roommates and a cat, which is surprisingly not too bad. I have co-habited with a couple of animals before but they were dogs and I’m just not a dog person. As a writer once said, “You can’t trust dog because they have a pack mentality. They gang up and go straight for the genitals.”
I don’t know what it is, but I saw the cat and that Fascinoma song from American Dad started playing and my heart melted. I think I care about this thing.
See, I have never been an animal person. My mom didn’t allow me to have pets at all. She said that it was because she was “allergic to animals” which when translated from obsessively clean to English means she was “allergic to cleaning up dander, poop, spilled food and paw prints.” It was a huge fight for me to even adopt a plant and still she claimed that the plant made a mess. “Why is there soil on the windowsill? Are you sure that plant isn’t walking around? Does it have rabies?”
This romance wasn’t easy to build up. You could call it a rough wooing. We constantly stared at each other from across the room until one of us would leave. Our interactions were tinged with wariness. I eventually bribed her with milk and playing with her favorite toy. It’s not a perfect romantic and she’s still skittish and weird but it’s working for right now.
I just get cats. They’re curious yet removed at the same time. It’s how I feel about the comedy/entertainment world. I see most comedians as dogs, constantly pawing at each other, licking their balls, and barking to assert their dominance and I just get bored of the BS after a while. Not that cats aren’t assertive (or I’m not), but I think there’s a quiet dignified magnetic quality to them. They do their own thing and they’re cool with it. They like attention but don’t go out of their way to tell you they’re needy.
Is this love affair sad? Am I destined to be one of those people who’s 40 and alone with a house that smells like urine and catnip? I highly doubt it. I mean I only play with the cat on weekends at best and maybe an hour every other weekday. I have a psychotic schedule; I could never put an animal through that much loneliness. But it’s nice to come to a living thing that doesn’t complain.
I think if I move I will probably miss the cat most of all. I will not, however, miss the litter box. (Seriously, shit is nasty)
Ever since I’ve moved out on my own (and I include my college years), I’ve have to deal with a wide range of living situations, from bad drug habits to bi-polarity to bad techno. And now I’m living with two roommates and a cat, which is surprisingly not too bad. I have co-habited with a couple of animals before but they were dogs and I’m just not a dog person. As a writer once said, “You can’t trust dog because they have a pack mentality. They gang up and go straight for the genitals.”
I don’t know what it is, but I saw the cat and that Fascinoma song from American Dad started playing and my heart melted. I think I care about this thing.
See, I have never been an animal person. My mom didn’t allow me to have pets at all. She said that it was because she was “allergic to animals” which when translated from obsessively clean to English means she was “allergic to cleaning up dander, poop, spilled food and paw prints.” It was a huge fight for me to even adopt a plant and still she claimed that the plant made a mess. “Why is there soil on the windowsill? Are you sure that plant isn’t walking around? Does it have rabies?”
This romance wasn’t easy to build up. You could call it a rough wooing. We constantly stared at each other from across the room until one of us would leave. Our interactions were tinged with wariness. I eventually bribed her with milk and playing with her favorite toy. It’s not a perfect romantic and she’s still skittish and weird but it’s working for right now.
I just get cats. They’re curious yet removed at the same time. It’s how I feel about the comedy/entertainment world. I see most comedians as dogs, constantly pawing at each other, licking their balls, and barking to assert their dominance and I just get bored of the BS after a while. Not that cats aren’t assertive (or I’m not), but I think there’s a quiet dignified magnetic quality to them. They do their own thing and they’re cool with it. They like attention but don’t go out of their way to tell you they’re needy.
Is this love affair sad? Am I destined to be one of those people who’s 40 and alone with a house that smells like urine and catnip? I highly doubt it. I mean I only play with the cat on weekends at best and maybe an hour every other weekday. I have a psychotic schedule; I could never put an animal through that much loneliness. But it’s nice to come to a living thing that doesn’t complain.
I think if I move I will probably miss the cat most of all. I will not, however, miss the litter box. (Seriously, shit is nasty)
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Poets I Like: Thomas Hardy
I've never been a big fan of poetry. I think that the short story is a perfect writing structure and I can stomach novels, but poetry tends to annoy me. But sometimes there are poems that stick with me.
I was looking through some old brainstorming books I wrote in. I keep so many of these little notebooks around, in case I think of a good line or a clever idea. This particular notebook was written in years ago when I was still in college. I was on a train late at night (or early in the morning), and I was in a bit of a despair, partially friend-related and partially love-related. And on the subway was a Poetry in Motion piece I really liked. I just found it again and I recalled all the emotions I felt on the train that night. Needless to say, it was bit powerful; I was taken aback by the clarity of such a small memory.
Anyway, the piece is the first half of a poem by Thomas Hardy. It's called "A Broken Appointment."
A Broken Appointment:
You did not come,
And marching Time drew on
and wore me numb--
Yet less for less of your dear presence there
Than that I thus found lacking in your make
That high compassion which can overbear
Reluctance for pure loving kindness' sake
Grieved I, when,as the hope-hour stroked its sun,
You did not come.
I was looking through some old brainstorming books I wrote in. I keep so many of these little notebooks around, in case I think of a good line or a clever idea. This particular notebook was written in years ago when I was still in college. I was on a train late at night (or early in the morning), and I was in a bit of a despair, partially friend-related and partially love-related. And on the subway was a Poetry in Motion piece I really liked. I just found it again and I recalled all the emotions I felt on the train that night. Needless to say, it was bit powerful; I was taken aback by the clarity of such a small memory.
Anyway, the piece is the first half of a poem by Thomas Hardy. It's called "A Broken Appointment."
A Broken Appointment:
You did not come,
And marching Time drew on
and wore me numb--
Yet less for less of your dear presence there
Than that I thus found lacking in your make
That high compassion which can overbear
Reluctance for pure loving kindness' sake
Grieved I, when,as the hope-hour stroked its sun,
You did not come.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Best. 90s Movie. Ever: Batman Returns
First off, a belated send-off to Batman, who as you may or may not know, had suffered a comic book death this January 2009. In honor of the Dark Knight's legacy, I have to discuss one of my favorite Batman movies. And no, I'm not talking about the Dark Knight Returns or batman Begins.
I mean Batman Returns, baby! (1992)
That movie has to rank up there as one of the best superhero movies of our time, as well as one of the best of movies of the 1990s. Between the macabre elements, the deranged characters, the ridiculously gratuitous leather and the dialogue, the movie appeals to so many of my senses. Apropos of nothing (and because I need another blog entry for May), here are my top five favorite quotes from the movie, courtesy of Wikiquotes.
(5) Penguin: [after a failed attempt to kill Batman] He didn't even lose a limb! An eyeball! Bladder control!
(4) Selina Kyle: It's always the so-called "normal" guys that let you down. Sickos never scare me. At least they're committed.
(3) Penguin's Henchman: I mean killing sleeping children...isn't that a little...(Penguin shoots him)
Penguin: No! IT'S A LOT! (kicks the dead henchman into the sewage river)
(2) Batman: Mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it.
Catwoman: But a kiss can be even deadlier if you mean it.
(1) Catwoman: [after Batman hits her] How could you? I'm a woman! [Batman lets his guard down and she attacks] As I was saying, I'm a woman...and can't be taken for granted. Life's a bitch; now so am I.
RIP: Batman (although DC will probs bring you back in 20 issues...)
I mean Batman Returns, baby! (1992)
That movie has to rank up there as one of the best superhero movies of our time, as well as one of the best of movies of the 1990s. Between the macabre elements, the deranged characters, the ridiculously gratuitous leather and the dialogue, the movie appeals to so many of my senses. Apropos of nothing (and because I need another blog entry for May), here are my top five favorite quotes from the movie, courtesy of Wikiquotes.
(5) Penguin: [after a failed attempt to kill Batman] He didn't even lose a limb! An eyeball! Bladder control!
(4) Selina Kyle: It's always the so-called "normal" guys that let you down. Sickos never scare me. At least they're committed.
(3) Penguin's Henchman: I mean killing sleeping children...isn't that a little...(Penguin shoots him)
Penguin: No! IT'S A LOT! (kicks the dead henchman into the sewage river)
(2) Batman: Mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it.
Catwoman: But a kiss can be even deadlier if you mean it.
(1) Catwoman: [after Batman hits her] How could you? I'm a woman! [Batman lets his guard down and she attacks] As I was saying, I'm a woman...and can't be taken for granted. Life's a bitch; now so am I.
RIP: Batman (although DC will probs bring you back in 20 issues...)
Nearly Forgot To Advertise: Nouveau Poor Show @ Comix This Friday!!
The line-up may change slightly but the talent, it is strong! Oh, and this has no cover and only a 1-item minimum. Er, and it's not in the basement of a strange-smelling bar, sooooooo really there's no excuse at all for you to not come. Besides, I'll be famous some day (in this decade).
Nouveau Poor: Entertainment For The Financially Insecure
Friday, May 22nd 2009
Comix (Ochi’s Lounge downstairs)
7:00 PM - 8:30 PM
Hosted and produced by:
Calvin S. Cato (Game Show Network, Stand-Up New York, Naked Comedy Show)
With comedy by:
Michelle Buteau (VH1, MTV, Oxygen’s Girls Behaving Badly, NBC’s Last Comic Standing)
Leighann Lord (HBO, Comedy Central, Fox News’s Strategy Room, contributor to Huffington Post)
Ken Perlstein (Eastville Comedy Club, The Laugh Factory)
Jeff Cerulli (Sirius Satellite Radio, Broadway Comedy Club)
Jenny Rubin (Comix’s The Back Room, Chicks and Giggles)
And music by:
Josefin Fundin (Swedish musician featured at Sidewalk Café)
Jamie Scandal (New York Ukulele Cabaret)
No cover, 1-item minimum. For more info, please visit: http://www.comixny.com/ochislounge.aspx#poor.
Comix | 353 West 14th Street
(between 8th and 9th Avenue)
Nouveau Poor: Entertainment For The Financially Insecure
Friday, May 22nd 2009
Comix (Ochi’s Lounge downstairs)
7:00 PM - 8:30 PM
Hosted and produced by:
Calvin S. Cato (Game Show Network, Stand-Up New York, Naked Comedy Show)
With comedy by:
Michelle Buteau (VH1, MTV, Oxygen’s Girls Behaving Badly, NBC’s Last Comic Standing)
Leighann Lord (HBO, Comedy Central, Fox News’s Strategy Room, contributor to Huffington Post)
Ken Perlstein (Eastville Comedy Club, The Laugh Factory)
Jeff Cerulli (Sirius Satellite Radio, Broadway Comedy Club)
Jenny Rubin (Comix’s The Back Room, Chicks and Giggles)
And music by:
Josefin Fundin (Swedish musician featured at Sidewalk Café)
Jamie Scandal (New York Ukulele Cabaret)
No cover, 1-item minimum. For more info, please visit: http://www.comixny.com/ochislounge.aspx#poor.
Comix | 353 West 14th Street
(between 8th and 9th Avenue)
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Jokes I Really Want To Work
*I was watching this commercial with my friend the other day that said for just $150 a month, you too can afford health insurance. My friend says "That's ridiculous! I don't have $150 to spend." And then he took a hit from his bong, smoked a cigarette and did a line of cocaine off his desk.
*Why is it that every adult woman in New York refers to their homosexual male fans as "her gays?" It's a disturbing insulting phrase, "my gays," it's like these women treat them like they're Pokemon. "Oooh, this is Pixiemon. Check out his Super Catty Sparkle Attack! And here's Charmy, watch his Mega House Music Dancing Flame. Uh-oh, Pixiemon's low on health. Better get him a rainbow treat."
*People love to ask me about my faith and what I believe in. And I tell people that I believe in Heaven but not Hell - because I grade myself on a curve.
*I was incredibly drunk a couple of weekends ago and it was bad. I woke up with a blinding headache and tried to escape by going back to bed. And even in my dream, I was halfway through bouncing on a cloud, and my dream self stopped, threw up, and started chugging water.
*Why is it that every adult woman in New York refers to their homosexual male fans as "her gays?" It's a disturbing insulting phrase, "my gays," it's like these women treat them like they're Pokemon. "Oooh, this is Pixiemon. Check out his Super Catty Sparkle Attack! And here's Charmy, watch his Mega House Music Dancing Flame. Uh-oh, Pixiemon's low on health. Better get him a rainbow treat."
*People love to ask me about my faith and what I believe in. And I tell people that I believe in Heaven but not Hell - because I grade myself on a curve.
*I was incredibly drunk a couple of weekends ago and it was bad. I woke up with a blinding headache and tried to escape by going back to bed. And even in my dream, I was halfway through bouncing on a cloud, and my dream self stopped, threw up, and started chugging water.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
The R Word
One of my roommates is trying to toilet train his cat, which looked cute in Meet The Parents, but is rather unpleasant in real life. Because now, the litter box is in the already too cramped bathroom and litter boxes are not fragrance friendly. Like, I come in and it has that musty smell of old lady and mild neglect. And because the cat is being trained to use the toilet that means there are hairs and pseudo-accidents now. I’m already super-anal about where I poop (no pun intended) but now I have to TP the seat in my place because an animal might have shat on the seat. Aw hell no.
It’s times like these when I remember that I hate living with people. My mom and dad are so particular about shit, it’s a wonder we didn’t kill each other with our contrasting life styles (actually we almost did, that’s why I chose to move out). My mom was obsessively clean and organized and my dad was more laissez faire but very anal about the placement of very specific objects (like the remote control or toothbrush). I usually don’t give a crap; I let my room stay messy but I like having clean common areas. We tried hard to stay out of each other’s ways but like a Venn Diagram, we were destined to overlap and when we did and domestic problems surfaced, it got ugly.
I think this is why marriages get miserable after the first year. You don’t really know shit about people until you live with them. After a while, one person just keeps monopolizing the conversation and the other person just wants everyone to shut the fuck up and stop trying to bring new shit into the house.
I spend eight hours working, one and a half hours writing, and then another hour talking at (or listening to comics talk at) people on stage and having people talk at me, and let’s not forget two hours in transit. I want to go home, take off the street clothes and not think. But with roommates, you still have to be half-alert to watch out for stray messes or listen to their crackpot theories on Lost, and it’s like “I can’t care right now.” Like, seriously there are days where I’ll just get in the house and it’s all yip yip yip, and my God, let me put my shit down! Let me take off my mental baggage. Let me decompress.
This isn’t to say that I hate my roommate; I just hate roommates in general and I envy people who live in studios. When you live in a city where so much is going on and when you are always compelled to be “on,” it’s nice to be able to go home and take off the mask (and not smell shit when you do). Maybe that sounds anti-social but it really isn’t. This isn’t school anymore where you need a blanket of friends around you to feel accomplished. Adulthood is the time you should take to figure yourself out and look at the world from a small distance.
I’m applying to live in rent-controlled apartments again, which always is a hassle because the line is 500 years long. I’m usually cavalier about it, but this time I’d like to get in. I’m going to start saving more so that I can have an actual space of my own where I can say “Honey I’m home, oh that’s right no one else is here.”*
It’s times like these when I remember that I hate living with people. My mom and dad are so particular about shit, it’s a wonder we didn’t kill each other with our contrasting life styles (actually we almost did, that’s why I chose to move out). My mom was obsessively clean and organized and my dad was more laissez faire but very anal about the placement of very specific objects (like the remote control or toothbrush). I usually don’t give a crap; I let my room stay messy but I like having clean common areas. We tried hard to stay out of each other’s ways but like a Venn Diagram, we were destined to overlap and when we did and domestic problems surfaced, it got ugly.
I think this is why marriages get miserable after the first year. You don’t really know shit about people until you live with them. After a while, one person just keeps monopolizing the conversation and the other person just wants everyone to shut the fuck up and stop trying to bring new shit into the house.
I spend eight hours working, one and a half hours writing, and then another hour talking at (or listening to comics talk at) people on stage and having people talk at me, and let’s not forget two hours in transit. I want to go home, take off the street clothes and not think. But with roommates, you still have to be half-alert to watch out for stray messes or listen to their crackpot theories on Lost, and it’s like “I can’t care right now.” Like, seriously there are days where I’ll just get in the house and it’s all yip yip yip, and my God, let me put my shit down! Let me take off my mental baggage. Let me decompress.
This isn’t to say that I hate my roommate; I just hate roommates in general and I envy people who live in studios. When you live in a city where so much is going on and when you are always compelled to be “on,” it’s nice to be able to go home and take off the mask (and not smell shit when you do). Maybe that sounds anti-social but it really isn’t. This isn’t school anymore where you need a blanket of friends around you to feel accomplished. Adulthood is the time you should take to figure yourself out and look at the world from a small distance.
I’m applying to live in rent-controlled apartments again, which always is a hassle because the line is 500 years long. I’m usually cavalier about it, but this time I’d like to get in. I’m going to start saving more so that I can have an actual space of my own where I can say “Honey I’m home, oh that’s right no one else is here.”*
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