The 26

2006-03-16T06:26:00.000-08:00

Yes, I know this doesn't count as a real return to the blog, but it's a start.

Today's NYC Craigslist Awards:

-best headline: http://newyork.craigslist.org/mnh/m4m/141264649.html

-most venemous concluding line (and almost best photos): http://newyork.craigslist.org/mnh/cas/142371521.html

-best headline/accompanying photo: http://newyork.craigslist.org/mnh/msr/142238856.html

2006-02-28T10:11:00.000-08:00

No one is pissing me off this week...so far. It's a funny feeling.

Rob and I had coffee on Sunday and he said if he was still at VH1 he'd be putting me on-air as a talking head b/c he thinks I'm witty. Tom took me running in Prospect Park yesterday, despite the 18 degree weather. Nancy had me come to her yoga class, and just 15 minutes of hanging with her beforehand brought total emotional fulfillment. Even Eric sent a sweet "no pressure" reminder about his DJ gig on Fri night.

With too much time on my hands and the constant temptation to nosedive into unemployed depression, I've been throwing names up on my shitlist way too easily lately. Perhaps I need to let the love and concern of some of my good peeps sustain me for a while.

Is there some correlation between physical activity and renewed emotional vigor? I dunno, but running and doing yoga (and trying to fit in another visit to the rockclimbing wall) feels a lot better than smoking cigarettes on the futon.

Don't worry though, friends. I won't be investigating Kabbalah, Scientology, or a raw foods diet any time soon.

2006-02-27T10:58:00.000-08:00

Sometimes Ryan knows that I’m feeling fragile, and rather than calling me a little bitch, he need only imply it. And for that, I heart him.

Jason: Hey Ryan/Tracie, my friend Kryz had fun meeting you guys. He said he’d like to have sex, conceptually, with both of you.

Ryan: I LOOOOVE conceptual sex... it's on.

Tracie (Ryan’s girlfriend): RY - watch it with the sex talk....conceptual or not!

Ryan: Is innuendo okay?

Tracie: okay...i guess you can have conceptual sex with whoever you wish.

Ryan: I only have eyes for you...

Me: Like i need 15 e-mails of your fucking cutesy banter. Do me the favor of taking your excrutiating "pleased-wth-life" attitude out of my in-box, won't you?

Ryan: Uh-oh, wooks wike sumwon needz a hug!!!!

(to him I dedicate Taylor Dayne's "I'll Always Love You"...the remix)

2006-02-20T07:42:00.000-08:00

Taking Tom out to meet girls last night:

I tell Tom to meet me at Half King, a good neighborhood bar with fun people and lots of space, so our choices won’t be limited to 3 or 4 girls. I get there before him and it’s kind of dead, mostly groups of friends eating at tables and not too many single women at the bar or just hanging out. I call him and tell him to meet me on 23rd/8th, and instruct him to call Luke&Leroy to see what’s going on while he walks over to meet me.

Luke & Leroy is having a “guy’s party” so we check out Serena, the bar at the Chelsea Hotel. Turns out they’re having a “women’s party” (see Shescape.com). Veloce is empty-ish and neither of us can think of a good place to check out so early in the evening. We start walking downtown, and after about 2.5 miles of walking in the cold, we finally end up at Pioneer bar. Just before we go in I realize that the last time Tom & I were out (the night we saw Diplo spin at Flavorpill’s First Friday series at the Guggenheim), I tried to take him to Pravda where he’d never been. So we head over there and get a table.

We start talking about all these major life issues and Tom sweetly tells me that he’s perfectly happy to have a chance to hang with me, and despite all our joking about hunting for chicks, it’d be totally cool to head back to Brooklyn after Pravda and just get a drink and hang for a little while longer. Must’ve been something in the 2nd martini I got, maybe a lack of whatever mixer was supposed to be in there (tasted like straight-up vodka to me), cos after using the bathroom upstairs something caught my attention: 3 cute, single-looking girls.

I explain that I’m taking my friend Tom out to meet some women, he’s totally cute and cool, and ask if I may bring him up to hang for a bit. They seem game so I head back downstairs and tell Tom we’ve got to head up for a moment. We sit down and discover they’re Parisian. One works at Bard College and the other two are visiting from France. They’re all about 21 which makes Tom and I feel about 51, but no one’s making “(*yawn*), it’s getting late” face, so game on…

After another 2 rounds (and plenty of smoke from the women accidentally being blown into our faces), we reach the “what now?” point. I ask if they’re up for a fun, gay place as I have no idea where the straights like to go at 1:30am on a Sunday night. We instruct them to head to The Park and Tom thinks when they’re not there right away that they may have flown ze coupe. Sure enough they show up but The Park is closed. Down the block we head to Hiro where we all get right in and the girls seem to think the place is big and fabulous. We get drinks, we dance, we chat more.

Eventually they need to get going but tell me I’m a good NY tour guide, and take my number to hang again. Tom gets one of their numbers in a much less platonic gesture, and she explains that he can call her in France from a landline with ze ease. (Some couple chatted me up, giving me that “you might be just the thing to spice up our relationship tonight” look…but I digress, this is a story about Tom. Mostly.).

Tom and I need some food at this point so we go to Diner 24 which, at 4am, is hopping (except for the guy who’s fallen asleep at his table…perfectly still with his chin on his palm). Tom and I get burgers, we head back to Brooklyn, I get home at 5:30am. Mission accomplished: we met girls, we did our male-bonding.
I spent 46x what I should have but it was definitely a night worth a week of pb&j and spaghetti dinners.

2006-02-11T17:42:00.000-08:00

Let me sing the praises of my dentist, Dr.M, just for a moment. After neglecting my teeth for way too long, I got tired of using my tongue to shift food to the side of my mouth that didn't cause excruciating pain. I went to Dr.M when I had a cavity the size of James Frey's dishonesty and he healed me right quick. He also discovered a few other things that needed attending to before I was again orally crippled, so we've been sharing Saturday mornings together for about 4 weeks now. Today I asked about gas (N20) as opposed to the novocain I've been getting. He said novocain does a better job of numbing whereas nitrous oxide doesn’t mask pain as well, but allows you to care a lot less. "What about both?" I asked, channeling Mr. Frey's propensity toward narcotics use, I suppose. And both it was. Mmmmm....

The gas was going up my nose, the novocain was taking effect, and suddenly I was hoping he had the new Sigor Ros CD to throw on. It was not to be, I realized, as "What's Love Got to Do With It?" came on Lite FM. No matter, I was cruising. Dr.M finished telling me about his daughter's friend who recently came out while attending Vassar (*shocker*), and starting drilling, or scraping, or filling. I'm not sure what it was, but for all I cared he could’ve been implanting surveillance equipment in there for the KKK or Hamas. I haven’t felt that chill on a Saturday morning since we waked & baked for a special a.m. screening of “Akira” in college.

This week’s story from his hygienist, who never fails to tell me about her woes with men, was about the 16-year-old boy she was sleeping with, back when she was 30. He’d come during school breaks and after their trysts, she’d send him off with a packed lunch. They still keep in touch, she said, though “not like that." Lovely.

Tonight it’s off to the gay blogger Christopher Street bar crawl. I’ll be psyched if I end up half as buzzed as I was at the doc’s. (In my best Homer Simpson voice:) mmmm, nitrous.

2006-02-09T08:39:00.000-08:00

Too much beer last night. Didn't I quit smoking so I wouldn't wake up feeling like a midget was sledgehammering my insides in an effort to escape? Must take a night off. Which'll be good, financially speaking. And my liver probably won't mind either. Tom's also threatening to take me up on my offer to go running tomorrow (with my new New Balance sneakers that don't have the same waking-on-strips-of-cardboard feel as my Adidas). Must be physically and emotionally prepared.

It's one of those unemployed mornings. I've sent a couple resumes out, followed up with people via e-mail about leads, rewritten my Emmy speech to include those I've met and bonded with since the last version. Now what?

I'll probably run a couple errands, take a walk around the hood, make a sandwich, and watch "In Her Shoes." I know, it's beyond reasonable on the chick-flick scale, but Curtis Hanson directed it and I love "L.A. Confidential," and find "8 Mile" inexplicably watchable (and re-watchable), so I'm curious to see his latest. I can take a little saccharine without being traumatized.

2006-02-08T14:46:00.000-08:00

Things My Younger Sister Did Not Say to My Older Sister and I While Waiting at the Gynecologist's to Hear About Her Malignant Cancer Cells:

1) Guys, I'm so glad we finally did this!
2) This place is really cute!
3) I hope you guys are having fun...
4) Isn't this heaven?
5) Jay, you've been here before, right?
6) This is so what I needed today.
7) Everthing here looks great!
8) Oh my god, my friends are gonna be jealous!

Turns out everything is ok. Last night she got test results from a doctor she had visited once, and was told they found malignant cancer cells. Much of her evening was spent deciding which cliff she would jump off of when the pain was too much, and planning her funeral. Don't ask Stacy to think positive when there's a negative outcome that's even remotely possible.

My older sister Frann and I took her to the gyno today and it turns out everything's fine. No cancer. No death sentence. After a little playtime with our nieces and some Baskin-Robbins, Stacy was back to her Daria-meets-Carrie Bradshaw peppiness. Looks like this wasn't a very special episode of "The 26" after all. Praise Jesus, Allah, Kanye, whoever.

2006-02-06T08:59:00.001-08:00

Why I love Eric...

Jason: Did you hear - "Film director Lee Tamahori was arrested for approaching an undercover police officer in a black wig and off-the-shoulder dress and offering to perform a sex act for money. Tamahori's directing credits include the James Bond film 'Die Another Day' and last year's 'xXx: State of the Union.'"? How insane!

Eric: That is crazy! They must have been out of their minds to make a sequel to xXx!

[unrelated to the above, i saw this and chuckled: http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/0712051brack1.html]

2006-02-06T07:27:00.001-08:00

“US Weekly is almost never wrong.” So said Amanda at brunch yesterday in what may have been the highlight of my weekend. Pearls of wisdom like that can really sneak up on you, sometimes you need that 5th mimosa to really appreciate them. The excitement of brunch was knocked down a peg when, despite my attempt to order cheaply and keep a tight hold on the penny jar, we split the check and I had to throw down $27 for my $14 order. I know, I know…I often blow $50 on nonsense without a second thought, but something about the percentages involved there made me sad for a hot minute.

I came home after brunch and settled quickly into a vegetative state. Having watched “The Aristocrats” and “The Constant Gardener” on Fri night, the only Netflick I had left was “Kings and Queen,” a 2.5 hr French movie that I didn’t have the Ritalin to sit through. So channel and net surfing prevailed until 6:20 when Nancy finally called, ready to leave for a Superbowl party in Williamsburg. With the sun having already gone down, and my ass already adhered to my futon, I declined and spent the rest of the night begrudging network television for it’s poor Superbowl counter-programming.

One highlight was a very sweet call from a friend in L.A. that had just received a CD mix I made him. “A” is on a reality TV show and I MySpaced him after coming home one drunken night cos doing things like that while inebriated entertains me. We started a nice exchange, he asked about music, I promised a CD, etc. So he called to thank me and we had a nice long chat about a variety of topics. Turns out people on reality television are actual humans. With brains and senses of humor and the ability to speak in bites that last >30 seconds. Perhaps I’m extrapolating too much, and A is an exception, but it gives one hope…

Since that came close to a name-drop, I’ll add that I met Taye Diggs and Idina Menzel (of “Rent” and “Wicked” fame) this weekend also. I was out with Brad who loves Idina, so we showed up to a dance performance by a company that Taye has some affiliation with. Idina and Taye were milling about after the performance so I approached Idina and said “My friend is one of those guys who’s gonna cry when he meets you, would it be ok to come say hi?” She was pretty and gracious and sweet to Brad, and even though Taye seemed very excited by his own good looks and movie/theater star status, he was cordial enough. Everyone was happy and off for drinks we went (not with Idina and Taye, but…).

2006-02-03T13:29:00.000-08:00

Damn, my initial blogging ambitions are already deteriorating. It’s scary and disorienting how time seems to disappear during periods of unemployment. An hour IMing this person, an hour updating my concert calendar, checking Friendster to see which high school friends may have come out, watching Daniel V.’s audition video on the “Project Runway” site. Suddenly 10am becomes 7:15pm and it’s time to think about taking a shower.

But I have stepped foot outside my cave this week so my brain and awareness of the cultural landscape hasn’t completely atrophied. Wednesday night I headed to Carnegie Hall for the Joni Mitchell tribute. There were some artists playing that I was excited to see, such as the barely pronounceable Me’Shell Ndegeocello, the Eels, and Cowboy Junkies. And some other artists I don’t care as much about, but who I thought might be interesting to hear doing Joni – Neil Sedaka, Suzanne Vega, etc.

Without writing a review as slow-moving and coma-inducing as the show, let me just say that most artists didn’t really do a great job of reimagining Joni’s songs. There were a lot of sad-faced women and melancholy men singing about wanting to go home, or not wanting to…leaving a lover or being left…it kinda made one yearn for a trite, whimsical Kanye West ditty. Jesse Malin rocked “Carey,” and Laurie Anderson (a/k/a one of those “important” artists) did a minimal, sparse, and inventive cover of “Both Sides Now,” but otherwise…

Nancy and I left Carnegie Hall as Judy Collins came on. As it was definitely a very Judy-friendly (read: old person-y) audience, I thought we might get stoned. I should’ve worn some pro-George W. shirt just for fun, to provoke a reaction from the hemp wearers, but alas, it was an afterthought.

Yesterday I had lunch with my friend Alisha who’s worked at a number of TV networks, and then dinner with my old boss Chet, who’s got an exciting new job. Somehow I accidentally convinced both of them that these were purely social get-togethers and left without any real job prospects. They’re supposed to know that when I say I can’t wait to see them it means I can’t wait to hear about how they’re gonna hook me up with some gainful employment. I guess the lesson learned this week is “remember to seem less sincere.”

2006-01-31T10:43:00.001-08:00

Bad News of the Day: Coretta Scott King is dead. Eve, Trina, Kim, and Foxy can all suck it. That was REALLY the first lady of hip hop. Coming one day after playwright Wendy Wasserstein died, I'm left to wonder how much crossover there was in their social circles and how many people will be at both funerals. Regardless, it's nice for Jews and Blacks to be in mourning at the same time. Death as a common enemy keeps us from battling each other.

One bit of happier news for NYers today is Seu Jorge, who did the terrific Portuguese covers of David Bowie songs in "The Life Aquatic," is playing Central Park Summerstage on July 2. For info on him and links and stuffs, head here: http://www.brooklynvegan.com/archives/2005/11/the_life_aquati.html

Last night Artie and I headed to (the very last row of) City Center to see "The Public Sings," an anniversary celebration of the Public Theater and the shows born there. Celebrities were on-hand to sing songs from "Hair": Meryl Streep doing "Sodomy" had the AARP crowd in stitches, and up in the bleachers it took us a minute to tell that it was Natalie Portman on "Frank Mills." Ben Stiller, Zack Braff, and Rosie Perez doing "Sing!" from "A Chorus Line" allowed them to make good use of their inability to hold a tune, though Cynthia Nixon's performance suggested she makes a better pragmatic lawyer than chorus girl. The evening did go to show that sometimes if you can't afford $750 tickets, the $20 seats are a good alternative. And it gave Artie a chance to see the theater-fag side of me. Yes, it's true, I know the words to all of "A Chorus Line" as well as I do to songs by the Arcade Fire, Clay Your Hands Say Yeah, and every other PitchforkMedia.com darling to stroll through Bowery Ballroom in '05.

I was excited to see the Oscar nominations today. Not enough for "A History of Violence," my favorite fictional film of last year, but seeing "Murderball" (of which I wept through 82 of 86 minutes) nominated for Best Documentary made me want to give it's star Mark Zupan a big bare-chested hug. With tongue. In the shower. Was also nice to see the new face of America's liberal agenda, George Clooney, get nominated for acting, directing, screenwriting, and I think he got a couple others for best mixtape and best breakfast burrito. Too bad Oscar only found room for one person of color (Terrence Howard) amongst 20 acting nominees. At least the disappointed black and Latino actors have Dolly Parton's performance to cheer them up on Oscar night (she's nominated for her song from "Transamerica").

Finally, things are heating up with the potential L.A. job offers I've sorta gotten, sorta been entertaining. Looks like I may be doing a real-life "Joey," leaving my friends behind and heading west where the work is. I just hope that like Mr. Tribiani, I'll have a little Jennifer Coolidge in my life. (...pensive sigh...)