Fuck Titles

Seriously, I think titles may be the one obstacle that prevents me from blogging more often - well, that and the fact I don't own a computer. The pressure to come up with a witty, appropriate heading for whatever bullshit I might have to say has stood in the way of my sharing my unique and fascinating world-view with others, and I'm over it. So, now that friend has loaned me her computer for the summer, I am eschewing titles - get ready, world, for random musings not gathered under a title, subtitle, or any other organizational heading (alright, well, date, but only because it's programmed into blogger).

And yes, I realize that this is indeed titled. Last one, fuckers.

Things I'd Like to Say to Girls, vol. 2

I want to hold your hand and walk through the Village and buy you dinner and make you breakfast and make you know how good I really am.

Like Two Boats Passing in the Fog

Me: Hey Dad, what's happening?

Dad: So, your Mom says your in the New York Times, huh?

Me: Yeah, Dad.

Dad: Has that gotten you laid yet, or what?

Me: Well, uh, not exactly, Dad. I mean...

Dad: What are you, Doggy Boy?

Me: Yeah Dad, I'm the Doggy Boy. Thanks.

Dad: Don't get all sensitive.

Me: Nah, Dad. I'm just fucking with you. Alright, talk to you later, Dad.

Mr. Haddix, to you

Check it, fools:

www.nytimes.com/2008/03/30/nyregion/30dogs.html?oref=login#

Things I'd Like to Say to Girls, vol. 1

Get down on your knees, my child, and uncover those parts of your body which inspire God's anger.

When a New Yorker?

Yeah, I mean, at what point can one call oneself a New Yorker? Is it only after having lived here a some unknown amount of time that one can honestly call themselves a New Yorker? That seems lame. Maybe instead it's after one has been completely infiltrated by the city. That is to say, when one has gone directly from work to the OTB. Betting on the ponies, natch!

That Your Work Shall be a Struggle

I...am...so...tired.

But I'm owning my exhaustion, ya know? I mean, two jobs, RA'ing, graduate school; seems about right for a virile(?) twenty-something, eh? Yeah, but I got a ZipCar account, which is very cool. And a company e-mail address and soon a BlackBerry, so... I can deal with utter exhaustion if it gets daddy a new pair of shoes. Word.

I'm On My Way, I'm Making It

I mean, I'm not a celebrity-lover, but it is cool when you find yourself in close quarters. Like today, when Julian Casablancas, lead singer of The Strokes, cruised into work with his two dogs, Balki and Voldemort. Admittedly, I didn't know who he was at first. But he looked famous (o.k., semi-famous; they're huge in Britain). Tall, dark and handsome, sure. But more than that. It was a style, a manner, the way he walked and talked. Very affected, but very cool nonetheless.

Oh, and tomorrow I have a meeting with the Financial Times of London. Yeah, that's right, Big Timin'.

It was called Project X

I nearly ran into Adam Duritz, he of Counting Crows 'fame', while walking through the Village today. I knew immediately it was him - knew with the "immediacy of vision" - and this was corroborated by a friend who had seen him walking across Washington Square Park early last week. I wish I could have come up with something snappy to say to him as he brushed past; something like, 'Accidentally in Love? More like Accidentally sucked! Or some other shit that would at the same time reveal my vast knowledge of 90's pop, while self-importantly letting it be known that Counting Crows sucked. Eric exemplified the sentiment when, at a local diner, he found himself next to Matthew Broderick. Instead of sycophantically gushing over The Producers, or making a funny, but overused reference to Ferris Bueller, he, with total calm, said simply, "I loved you in that monkey movie." Fucking brilliant.