Archive for July, 2006
Wednesday, July 19th, 2006
99% of you will have no clue why I think this is hilarious, but if one of you does, I will love you forever.
Cerebral, roight, near-infrared spectroscopy, er wa’ever: a plea for tot’lly modest expectations (SHA’UP!).
by V Pollard
Dis one time under a bridge Shelley Gerder found summin er nuffin but it di’n't really matter anyways because she wasn’t wiv Teddy her boyfriend or a boy even at all she was mingin wiv her sister Kelly and everyone knows they touched eachover anyways so examine her brain wiv a radiograph er wha’ever.
Tuesday, July 18th, 2006
[I posted these photos, along with about 100 more, over at Junk.]
This weekend I got to see a bunch of people I love, including Diana & Emily (The Twins),
Ben & Robynn (The Distortions),
Kathy & her brother Mike (The Outfit Borrowers)
Anna (The Living Doll),
Ian (The Untouchable),
Katie Love (The Lovely),
Thommy (The Dreamstitcher),
Judgie & Sarah (The Classies),
and Muscly Jesus (My Personal Savior).
Also, this is the greatest flyer ever:
(click to see larger)
Tuesday, July 18th, 2006
Yesterday I came home from work to find that I couldn’t get into my apartment because, while I had my key to unlock the deadbolt, a guest who had stayed over the night before and who I’d said could leave without locking the door because you need a key to do so, had locked the door handle out of fear of our stuff getting stolen. There is no way to unlock the door handle unless you’re on the inside, and our door is thick metal and practically impenetrable (we live very near a federal prison). I tried nonetheless to break the door down, but my attempts left me with only a sore shoulder today.
So I called a locksmith, the first one that the 411 operator could find in my neighborhood. I told the guy I’d just gotten home from work and was locked out of my apartment. He said it would take 25 minutes for him to arrive, and hung up on me. I waited on the steps, in the near record heat, sweating and smelling worse than Paula Abdul going cold turkey, cursing everybody I knew. 40 minutes passed and I couldn’t have been any angrier. There I was, sitting on the dirty steps in direct sun, wearing all black, listening to a neighbor child meow incessantly at his thoroughly uninterested and probably dead cat, waiting for the asshole locksmith to show up and (hopefully) tear apart my door handle and charge me a million dollars.
That’s when Eunice, our building super, came out with a bag of trash. I never sit on the steps, so she asked what the problem was. I told her about the door and at the same time we both looked up at the fire escape. I live on the second floor. My bedroom windows face the front of the building, where the fire escape runs. The only problem was, the ladder was pulled up so as not to allow escaped prisoners quick and easy access to the place where I sleep in my underwear with no guns or even a baseball bat.
We were getting close to one hour since I had called the locksmith, and I was about ready to punch anything living. So I dropped my bag with Eunice, climbed up onto the railing of our front steps, jumped up to the ladder and caught it with my right hand. I swung like a monkey for a second and was also able to grab with my left hand.
The thing is, despite my slightly above average height (that’s right, e-friends, I’m much taller than people expect me to be when they’ve only ever seen me in photos) and relatively foine upper arm muscles, all my childhood life I was short, scrawny, skinny, and weak. So I still auto-revert to thinking I’m incapable of doing anything a real man does.
But lo and behold, when I began to pull my arms up to the next rung of the ladder, my whole body came with them. I managed, pretty easily, to climb the ladder and hop over the side of the railing two stories above ground, and I forced open one of my windows and climbed into the sweet cool relief of my wonderful air-conditioned apartment.
I was all smiles until I realized that any fool with enough brawn to push over some security guards at the prison across the street could be through my bedroom windows in about five seconds, and that if someone were to try to break into our building via the fire escape, my windows are the first available.
I called the locksmith again and said I didn’t need him anymore because I had gotten in myself, half an hour after he said he was going to be there. Five minutes later he called me back and said he was out front.
“Okay,” I said.
“Can you buzz me in?” He sounded annoyed that I hadn’t already done so.
“For what? I told you we don’t need a locksmith any more, I got in the building myself.”
“Yeah, but you need to pay me.”
I asked “for what?”
He said “for the visit.” His pleasant visit was a ten block drive in a truck that took him an hour to commence, and one that he made only after I’d already called and cancelled.
“Well how much is your visit?”
“Sixty-five dollars.”
“Ha. Absolutely not.” And I hung up.
He called back five times throughout the night, didn’t leave any messages, and called once again today.
I have since locked my windows, but all day I’ve been mulling over the fact that a guy who breaks into houses for a living knows my address, knows when I get home from work, and thinks I owe him money.
If I get home today and there’s a gang of locksmith goons holding crowbars and chains and performing intimidating choreographed dances on the sidewalk in front of my building, I will…
take pictures and e-mail them directly to Gawker.
Monday, July 17th, 2006
Shit shit shit… I hear that Keith may be in trouble this Wednesday. I fell in love last Tuesday night (see a couple photo posts back) and my reason for watching this season of PR will be instantly halved if he gets Auf‘d. Nooooo! Fashion gods, notice my lament…
Update: good news, I think.
Monday, July 17th, 2006
For me last night was one of those surreal nights where you’re half asleep at four in the morning, moving around in the bed trying to find a cool spot, your eyes adjusting to the dark so you can see everything even though it’s only very dimly lit from the streetlights. Always reminds me of my second dorm room in college, on the first floor of a building that faced a big yard where, in the beginning of summer, there was almost always a guy late at night playing an accordion.
After yesterday’s photo shoot with Emily and Thommy up on Sarah’s rooftop, Robynn came over and made something amazing from an eggplant, pasta, mushrooms, spinach, peppers, and flour (and came out of the kitchen sweating like the white girl in Making the Band 3 who just. can’t. sing.), and Kathy and Anna and I must have said “oh my God” ten times each while eating it. I brought leftovers to work today and had the best lunch ever.
I have more photo work to do tonight than I even want to think about.
Thursday, July 13th, 2006
I just went from hating Adam Carolla to loving him in fifteen seconds. Here.
Thursday, July 13th, 2006
How long did Diana and I agonize in her apartment over which shoes and bag to wear with this red, red dress?
How many drinks had I had in me by the time I made Marla blush by divulging that I thought she was gorgeous?
What can I ask about Jay that you all already haven’t? Perhaps; were his comments to me more numerous in the direction of flattery or insult? Would I love him differently either way?
Look at her. How does Chloe do it?
Does Kara make the most fantastic underwear I’ve ever laid eyes on (see: world map in black)?
Did my plan work? Notice his conspicuously absent ring finger.
How did I end up with a piece of heartthrob Keith’s DKNY underwear tied to my person, and how did I not pass out when… well…?
Is Katy (my favorite) going to battle it out with Keith in the last episode, and if so, will it be because I am crossing my fingers extra tight for just such a showdown?
Did I think twice about my homo status when Alison mentioned we’d have to be Brooklyn strong and represent the borough,
and did I reconsider long enough to plant a kiss on her pinhead?
And finally, did Naima part fashionistas like so many droplets of Red Sea on her way over to our corner (without lifting a finger) to personally invite us to her party this Sunday?
After the launch party we stopped by Pasti’s and then headed to Happy Valley to hang around for a little bit,
and I saw Thommy and Emily
and Anna and Dana,
which made me quite Happy indeed.
(images tagged for Junk, going up in a day or two).
Wednesday, July 12th, 2006
My camera (the little one, not the new one) is full of pictures from yesterday, but I will have to go through them later. Today I am busy being hung over. Early open bar + late bottle service + lots of friends + Project Runway casts = me drinking way too much and not noticing. I didn’t have dinner, either, so I was absolutely gone in about ten seconds. Diana had some sushi at Buddha Bar and said it was fantastic.
Made some new friends who are all pretty awesome, had a few incredibly surreal and flattering moments, and fell completely in love with season 3’s Katherine. Came away with one of her castmates’ underwear tied to my hoodie strings by Jay.
Um. What else? I have stories that I won’t put on the internet, but maybe when the book comes out you’ll gasp and high-five me.
Tuesday, July 11th, 2006
I got a brand new beautiful million dollar camera in the mail, I came into the office to find that I was moving to a bigger & better desk, I’m eating pad thai for lunch, and tonight I’m going with Diana to the new Project Runway season launch party. Even I wish I were me today.
