Why last week sucked

Monday:

7:30AM—8:45AM:     Shower, Breakfast

8:45AM—10AM:        Commute

10AM—5PM              Internship

5PM—6:15PM            Commute

6:15PM—7:30PM       Run, Shower, Dinner

7:30PM—8PM            Commute

8PM—12AM              Floorset at The Secret

Tuesday:

12AM—12:30AM       Floorset at The Secret

12:30AM—1:30AM    Bodega Breakfast

1:30AM—6:30AM      Floorset at The Secret

6:30AM—7AM           Commute

7AM—2PM                Sleep

2PM—4PM                 Shower, Dinner (?), Lounge

4PM—4:30PM            Commute

4:30PM—12AM         Victoria’s Secret

Wednesday:

12AM—1AM              Victoria’s Secret

1AM—1:30AM           Commute

2AM—7:30AM           Sleep

7:30AM—8:45AM      Shower, Breakfast

8:45AM—10AM         Commute

10AM—10:30AM       Interview With Editorial Assistant

10:30AM—11AM       Interview With Executive Editor*

11AM—11:15AM       Phone Call with Mom

11:15AM—12PM       Commute

12PM—4:15PM          Internship

4:15PM—5PM            Commute

5PM—12AM              Victoria’s Secret

Thursday:

12AM—12:30AM       Victoria’s Secret

12:30AM—1AM         Commute

2AM—7:30AM           Sleep

7:30AM—8:45AM      Shower, Breakfast

8:45AM—10AM         Commute

10AM—7PM              Internship

7PM—8:15PM            Commute

8:15PM—12AM         Relax

Friday:

12AM-7:30AM           Sleep

7:30AM—8:45AM      Shower, Breakfast

8:45AM—10AM         Commute

10AM—3PM              Internship

3PM—4PM                 Commute

4PM—12AM              Victoria’s Secret

Saturday:

12AM—2AM              Victoria’s Secret

*I probably talked with my mom about this for longer. I was completely broadsided in this interview. I mean, I shot for the stars and all but when I got there I think I caught fire. The lady ended the interview with a line about talking to her husband (a fellow alum) about law enforcement. I sat there and thought… “You think I should do what? I thought we both understood I came in because I’m pretty good at reading.”

STATS:

Between 8PM Monday and 8PM Tuesday I spent 12.5 hours working at Victoria’s Secret. Lame sauce

During the 5 days that normally constitutes a work week, I used three trains (3, 4 and 7) and 14 swipes on my MetroCard. I love the 30 Day Unlimited so much.

Pages read in James Joyce’s Ulysses while commuting for those same five days: 112.

Pages I had to start over because I didn’t know what was going on: 7.

Total times I listened to The Afghan Whigs’ 1965 all the way through: 6.

Eggs eaten: 9.

Times people reminded me (without me asking) where the coffee machine was at the internship: 4.

Times my mind got blowed clear into quarters: 2 (during the interview, talking with mom about how badly I did in my interview).

On Repeat

I’ve been listening the shit out of The Afghan Whigs‘ 1965. As I told my Dad, it’s just a plain old beautiful, filthy, epic album that reeks of the city they recorded it in (New Orleans) and the year they named it after. It may just be the year that Dulli (vocalist, rhythm guitarist, lyricist, producer, etc) was born but I see it more of their way of tipping their hats off to the heyday of people like The Beatles (sampled on “Omerta”), Marvin Gaye (name checked and sampled on “John the Baptist”), The Supremes, Otis Redding or Freda Payne.

They broke up like three years after making it due to “geographic distance between members” but I’m pretty sure they listened back over this album and collectively murmured, “Oh shit. This is the best we’ll ever do.” I mean, they made an alternative rock album inspired by soul music. There are horns featured prominently throughout. It sounds crazy, but there’s even a saxophone solo on “John the Baptist.” Just a classic album and a lost art.

And thus, only their legend remains alive to this day; those kids sure could wow critics and get shat on in the sales dept.

Esoteric Example 1

I listened in on a Skype call between my mother and sister the other day and was profoundly bored by and astonished at how they could talk each other in circles about things to do in France. I think they went into it pretending that my sister neither has the same tour book my mother has nor the Internet. All told I had an hour and 20 minutes with them—they lost me around the 20 minute mark. While I was playing a game of Connect the Dots with Wikipedia I discovered something called the “Supreme Alphabet” and then got my mind blowed clear in half.

Apparently, GZA invented the Five Percent Nation’s ABC’s on his last album (you know, compared to the children’s rhyme we all learned: ABCDEFG/ HIJKLMNOP/ QRSTUV/ WXY and Z/ Now I know my ABCs). I’ve found only one link so far that comes close how I’d transcribe the chorus on GZA’s “Alphabets.” Luckily, I found it right after I transcribed it myself.

Allah, Be or Born, See, Divine, Equality,
Father then after that, it’s the G-O-D
He or Her, I/Islam, then Justice
King or Kingdom, Love Hell or Right, We still exist.
Master, Now-End, Cipher, Power, the Queen
Rule or Ruler, Self or Savior, Truth or Square the same
Universe, Victory, Wisdom, Unknown
Why, Zig-Zag-Zig, and now I’m back home

I mean, I knew he was good, but I had no idea he was that good.

Inept

I feel like there’s someone out at the end of the universe who thought, “Hmm. That ‘Celibacy’ post worked out pretty well. Maybe the kid deserves another shot.” Then that night, “Wait, he did what? I give him another chance and this shithead did what?”

Let me set the mood for you a little: Fresh off a victorious post, it’s Saturday night and I’m at a friend’s apartment for a celebration. I’ve come prepared with my game face: there are three women I’m attracted to—two redheads and a blonde—and I promptly make moves on none of them. I move like a flower to a bee; rumor is, according to my Mom, I’m pretty awesome, so I’ll let them come to me.

Long story short, one of the redheads and I are flirting with a green pen much later that night. That is, we’re drawing on each other. All of a sudden she goes all out dotting my arms and my face. I finally reclaim the pen and attempt to get her back. I realize if I use my he-man-woman-hater-strength to write on her face, I’ll probably end up poking her in the eye.

I tell her that she wins and that I’ve got to wash my face. She says she’ll wash up, too. I go into the bathroom and pretend block her entrance. She uses her she-woman-man-hater-strength to enter. I wash and she blocks the exit. This is the kind of fantasy I’ve had since I discovered fantasies and what do I do? I stand there for somewhere between three and five seconds and quite literally think “I know what I’m supposed to do” and then don’t do it. I just walked out.

And now every night I can’t sleep; my brain delights in torturing me with all of the things I could and should have done. All I can say is, never again. Never again.

Celibacy

Dear [Your Name Here],

First and foremost, you need to know this isn’t your fault.

Some of my favorite people in the world are my mother, grandmother and sister. Well, maybe not in that order (flip the last two?), but it’s pretty close. Some of my friends say I need to stop treating women so nicely in order to get women but the three favorite people in my life have done nothing but show me otherwise.

This has nothing to do with who you are—all girls are raised this way—and I know it. I’ve dated or made an attempt at dating something between 20 and 25 girls—which isn’t to say you’re another notch on my bedpost (hardly), just that you’re a part of a learning process that won’t quite sink in.

I know you’ve been trained to be wary of guys who are too eager and guess what I’ve gone and done again? It’s true, it’s kind of how I roll; I’m the guy who wants to cook for you before we’ve even been out on a first date. There’s no logical explanation (and oddly enough, logical explanations are something I thrive on) but I’m the guy who wants to do all the stupid shit your other boyfriends have never wanted to do for you even before you say, “A movie? That’d be cool.”

And of course that’s what throws you off. What guy likes chick flicks, listening to (your) stories, laughing constantly, cooking, massages or going to museums? [Right index finger arcs away from letter “j” and taps chest in heart area] That’s right, men who’re trying too hard or who’re just gay. Obviously though, you’re a cute young thing and I’ve asked you out so I can’t be all that gay.

I guess then, on behalf of the next nice guy you meet, I’m sorry. I’m sorry we have no idea what we’re doing or how we can’t control ourselves. I’m sorry things we want to do spurt out of our mouths or how we talk to our mothers and closest friends about these things. I’m sorry we confide in them and how we forget to do the most important things for a relationship like…asking for your phone number. Just know we’re working on it.

In the mean time, all I can ask of you is that 20 or 30 years down the road when you think to yourself, “Damn, my boyfriend’s jambalaya is only mediocre,” you don’t think back and remember my name. Sure, maybe my face, my friends or how I was far better at writing you a letter than actually saying things to you—but not my name.

Miss you,

_____  ______

Esoteric

You know those people who try to start their own nicknames or how they usually end up with a different nickname because no one wants to call them by the nickname they created for themselves? Call me the DZA.

I bought Raekwon’s Only Built 4 Cuban Linx… about a month ago but didn’t really sit down to listen to it until about a week ago. I went in expecting just another bullshit rap album full of inconsistencies and shitty production. Apparently I forgot Raekwon is a member of the infamous Wu-Tang Clan, a group, apparently, that is not something to be fucked with. In the words of Ghostface Killah, “RZA bake the track and it’s militant/ Then I react like a convict and start killin’ shit.”

More than a year after discovering The Hold Steady, I’ve found, with the help of The Chef’s solo album debut, the kind of lyrical interplay that I’ve been searching for for quite some time. Maybe even for a year.

Try this on for size: The chorus on “Wu-Gambinos” becomes part of the chorus for “Groundbreaking” on the new GZA album. “Guillotine” features the same movie sample as “Shadowboxin” off of the GZA’s seminal Liquid Swords. “Can it be so Simple” sounds like “Can it be so Simple (remix)”—surprising, right? Ghostface’s shoe fantasy at the end of “Kilo” sounds like the beginning of “Glaciers of Ice” (BOOM!). I mean, that’s all I’ve got right now, but I’m sure the list will continue to build.

I might have revealed my prejudices here: the only Wu-Tang albums I own are Ghostface Killa’s Fishscale, WTC’s Enter the Wu-Tang Clan (36 Chambers), the aforementioned Raekwon album, GZA’s Liquid Swords and ProTools. The production is amazing on all and, I know this is quite possibly heretical, but I think the GZA’s newest album is better. GZA remains consistently brilliant—I mean, they call him “The Genius” for a reason, right?—and yet “Labels” and “0% Finance” deal with the same concept (commercial product names used in original meanings for awesome storytelling) and both even contain just about the same concept with Saturn and Mercury. But that’s why I love it—he’s referencing himself. He has a diss track for 50 Cent then he turns around and samples himself while the other greatest rappers alive steal from everyone else (case in point: Jay-Z. Google “swagger jacking” or look at the lyrics of UGK’s “Touched” and Jay-Hova’s “99 Problems”).

But I digress; the main issue here is that the production started at good-to-excellent (namely, “C.R.E.A.M,” “Criminology,” what-have-you) to plain excellent (what up “Kilo,” “Life is a Movie,” fucking…anything with RZA behind the knobs, whichever producers the Wu can afford {DOOM, Master Teacher, anyone they mufuggin want, etc.}). And they all know their shit is amazing; not only do they name-check the production on each album, they also name-check “C.R.E.A.M.” in at least one song. I’m pretty sure, on 2 out of 2 GZA albums I own, cream is mentioned at least once.

Rap is this generation’s literature and its R&B. Groups used to be the product of the collected brilliance of the singers, songwriters, producers, (house) bands, executives, and so on. I’ve been listening to a lot of The Supremes lately, too, and on some of their songs there are three singers, three songwriters and two producers. Back then the stories were usually brief stories of love or love lost and now the stories are those of violence and a love of violence. The music fits the generation—violent movies outsell romantic movies¹ and the kids these days, they don’t date. They love hook-ups, this here newfangled technology and losing virginity in elementary school (Yes, someone has done that. He was seven and the girl was eight. Oh, the ghetto). R&B was then and the Wu and their associates are now (or sometime circa 1995).

Well, I guess the real moral of this story is that albums that have joined my wish list include the following: RZA’s Bobby Digital in Stereo, Cappadonna’s The Pillage, Killah Priest’s Heavy Mental, Ghostface Killah’s Ironman and Supreme Clientele, Method Man’s Tical and ‘Ol Dirty Bastard’s Return to the 36 Chambers.

1. In the same year “Come See About Me” was Number 1, Dr. Strangelove lost the Oscar for Best Picture to My Fair Lady, while in 2004 (yes, 40 years later) the Best Picture award went to a boxing movie called Million Dollar Baby.

Funny

Easily the most difficult thing about being introduced at a party as the “funniest person [the host has] ever met” is attempting to live up to it over the course of the party (or in any event wherein you are introduced as “hilarious”). Sure, I’ve had the vague idea that some of my thought processes and mannerisms can be humorous but that’s exactly the problem—it’s those thought processes and mannerisms that are funny, not a set of jokes I have and tell everywhere I go.

It’s not like I meet someone and pull them aside and tell them, “Hey man, Knock Knock.” It’s more like when I’m in a comfortable situation where I can hear things and have an honest discussion I can make a quick quip. For example, a couple of days ago a coworker said, “Did you hear about this cow that escaped its farm out in Queens?” (I know, right? You can’t make this kind of thing up. It’s just too easy.) Of course I said, “No,” and inquired, “So when do you think they’ll finally catch your mom?”

I can’t plan this shit. There’s no time when it’s appropriate to break up a discussion on the aesthetics of Radiohead compared to Jay-Z with a Knock-Knock joke about the KGB. It’s a gift and a curse. I swear.

If you look at some of the best comedians—and there’s no way I’m comparing myself to them, I’m just saying, look: funny people can’t rule the world—they all have all sorts of personal problems. I think everyone has known about that since back in 1967 when Smokey Robinson sang about clowns or even way back in the 1800s when Leoncavallo wrote Pagliacci (and, in turn, provided the inspiration for the aforementioned Robinson song). Just look at Richard Pryor, Lenny Bruce, Andy Kaufman, Artie Lange, Woody Allen, Mitch Hedberg, Bill Hicks, Dennis Leary (don’t even get me started on Worcester), Rodney Dangerfield, etc. With the ability to make people laugh there seems to be some inherent inability to run your own life; it’s like you can make other people happy but you can’t make yourself happy. It’s like that, not literally the case. I pretty much find something or revisit something that makes me happy every day; I find about 95% of my life hilarious but I can’t do that without being around other people. I can’t set up my own jokes.

At any rate, the point still remains. It’s incredibly difficult to be funny when the bar is set really high for you before you get the opportunity to prove yourself. It’s much easier to surprise when no one is attempting to compare you to a bar they’ve set in their own mind. That is, it’s easier to raise the bar when no one has placed it anywhere.

Nomination

Roger Moore for Worst Acting Post-Cutaway-From-Stunt-Double in 1983’s Octopussy.
Key Scenes: Pretty much from the car chase scene until Bond jumps off the train. I mean, honestly, Roger Moore had more wrinkles than Maggie Smith in all of the Harry Potter movies combined. Like he’s jumping from train car to train car…more like…jumping from tanning bed to beach resort. OooooooohhhhhhH!!!!!! Got ‘ems!!!!!

Melanoma is serious.

Asshole.

Hamburgers.

Here’s a story that’s way too long for this recipe:

I had Saturday off so I took the subway into town and walked from Manhattan to Brooklyn. Last summer I walked to the first tower and turned back (n00b tourist move) so I could get back home and make myself some dinner. Back on Saturday I felt the time had finally come for me to finally go the distance and walk the entire thing.

On the way up to the first tower the crowd was pretty much half Euro[tourists] and half gigantic families. I passed a ton of people and felt good about being a local instead of slow tourist. Past the second tower, everyone was pretty much walking towards Manhattan and beyond it, well, there was no one. To be honest, I don’t think many people have ever seen the “Welcome to Brooklyn” sign simply because the whole tourist venture seems to end at the second tower. I however love DUMBO, so I exited the bridge and found my favorite wine store where I purchased a bottle of red as my reward. The bottle said something about tasting great with meat on the label and I realized I should whip up some delicious hamburgers because the only way I know how to cook steak is on a grill (and since cooking on a grill would be 1) both ridiculous and hazardous in my apartment and 2) kind of too much effort for one steak for one dude).

Beat this meat:

• ~1 lb of Ground Chuck
• Less than a tablespoon of Cayenne Pepper
• Dash of Salt
• Dash of Pepper
• 1 egg
• 2 minced garlic cloves

Pretty simple preparation: mix it all together with your (clean) hands, shape it into patties (3-4) and cook ‘em. Tastes delicious in a little less than 10 minutes when you broil them. Also, about the Cayenne Pepper: I made these for my mom—who cannot stand anything spicy at all—and she thought they were delicious. It just adds a bit of flavor, not heat, to the delicious garlic topnotes.

If you don’t want them to shrink up, you can take a cookie sheet, place it on top of the meat and then put a brick on top of that. Usually that keeps them skinny like fast food hamburgers. Usually.

Drinking, Simplified

I have always hated looking up recipes and seeing stupid measurements like “Add 1 teaspoon vermouth and 1.25 ounces gin, then stir in a quadrant of ice and 1 and three quarters of a jigger of finely chopped peppermint sprigs.” So I’ve reduced some of my favorite recipes to simple measurements and all in whole numbers so you can measure with a shot glass, pimp cup, tea kettle or cough syrup cup without doing something stupid like measuring half a shot glass. Easy.

LONG ISLAND ICED TEA

• 1 part Vodka
• 1 part Gin
• 1 part Tequila
• 1 part Triple Sec
• 1 part Whiskey
• 1 part Rum
• 1 part Lemon Juice
• 1 part Simple Sugar (See recipe below)
• 1 dash (or equivalent, see directions) of Coke

The best part about this drink is it’s pretty much 75% alcohol and all you can taste is sugary lemony tea. Unless you don’t make the Simple Sugar, in which case it’ll taste like someone made you a lemon tequila and threw some sugar on top. Another great thing about this recipe is if you actually invest in all the ingredients, you can make pretty much every basic mixed drink there is except a White Russian. Take everything on the list and shake it with an ice cube in a cocktail shaker. If you’re making a punch bowl’s worth, you could probably skip the shaker and mix everything in the punch bowl with a spoon or a whisk. Whatever you’re into. Pour over excessive amounts of ice. Add enough Coke that your beverage turns from light yellowish to iced tea color. Consume, but in moderation; they’ll sneak up on you.

Bonus summer game: Make a punch bowl’s worth and split with your friends on the driveway. Drink 3 and see if anyone can get back inside. Whoever places their hand on the door handle has the strongest liver and the highest chance of incurring alcoholism. Hooray!

SIMPLE SUGAR

• 1 part Sugar
• 1 part Water
• 1 part Stiff Drink (See recipe below)

Prepare your Stiff Drink of choice. Honestly, if you’re cooking up something that’s only good for mixing drinks, why not take advantage of the mood? I’m right handed so I generally place the drink in my left and whisk with my right. Heat the water on the stove and gradually stir in the sugar until you have a pot of clear, delicious sugar water. I stir in gradually because I get to enjoy my Stiff Drink and because it just feels like more of a complicated recipe than it actually is. Place your Simple Sugar in a lidded container and refrigerate. No one wants hot sugar water.

MARGARITA (MAN STYLE)

• 3 parts Tequila
• 1 part Triple Sec
• 2 parts Lime Juice (Alt: 1 part Lemon juice, 1 part Lime juice. Your call.)

Shake it, ice it, drink it. Sometimes I just throw the salt directly in because I don’t really want to salt the rim. Whatevs.

WHITE RUSSIAN

• 1 part Kahlua (or other coffee liqueur, but why wouldn’t you just get Kahlua?)
• 1 part Vodka
• 2 parts milk (or cream, I guess)

Pour in listed order over ice, mix if you like. Now there’s a beverage involved here. Man.

GIN AND (TONIC, GINGER ALE, SELTZER, SPRITE, WHAT HAVE YOU)

Guess.

WHISKEY AND (COKE, GINGER ALE, ETC)

• 1 part Whiskey
• 1 part Mixer

Pour in listed order over ice and imbibe. Even better, if you have Jack Daniel’s and testicles (optional) take 1 part whiskey, pour it over ice and imbibe. You’re welcome.