close call
After sending her a “Stuck in a Moment” mp3 over AIM:
SweetGrl: thanks
SweetGrl: i love u2
fuzzy boy: …
fuzzy boy: i love you too
SweetGrl: haha
SweetGrl: the band
fuzzy boy: oh
fuzzy boy: haha
fuzzy boy: phew
Archive for January, 2003
super nothing
I skipped this year’s Superbowl. No loss. I had some other stuff to do. I had no parties to attend, nor do I follow American football. But, on the other hand, I was torn about missing the commercials.
I know a lot of people watch the Superbowl just for the commercials, which I find really interesting. The fact that people would tune into a television program just to watch the commercials seems counterintuitive. I have spent a good portion of my teenage years honing the ability to change the channel when a commercial kicks in, and then instinctively return exactly when the program is about to begin again. It’s quite impressive. I’ve seen it make ladies swoon. Y’know, cuz that’s my primal hunting grounds. Watching television with the ladies.
Oh right, back to commercials. I suspect people watch the Superbowl commercials because they expect something clever, cute, moving, exciting, and creative. Funny little mini-movies with a clear message: “Buy me”. Commercials at their best are little slivers of brilliance; they’re opportunities to be expressive about stupid shit. People create art in the name of love, sadness, spirituality, and unattenuated emotion. But no one makes poems about Nike. Well, Wieden + Kennedy come pretty damn close.
poet
Bay and I went to see Russell Simmons’ Def Poetry Jam on Broadway tonight. I had scored a pair of free tickets from a raffle this one time I went to the Asian American Writer’s Workshop. The Jam poets were white-american, asian-american, african-american, complicated mixes; they were sudden talents, ex-convicts, and passionate workhorses of their craft. They spanned a huge swathe of possible voices. It was so American, I cried.
The show was so damn good. Every time I see really good spoken word, I think to myself, “Sheee-it, [crab]. You can do that. You should try to rock the mic like that.” Right. I can’t even use the word “swathe” correctly. I definitely misused that word. But that’s ok. That’s a poetic aesthetic. Y’all just need to adjust to the idea that I’m a be a poet.
I did notice another thing glorious. Black people have the most developed sense of expression that I have ever seen. And I’m just talking about as an audience. When some black people heard something they like, they say “mm”, with a downward inflection. It’s a perfectly-timed rhythmic acknowledgement, landing squarely like an eighth-note rest.
See, the other people in the crowd would begin to clap if they particuarly like something that was said. Which is stupid. You can at most sound off one or two claps off before the poet begins a new line. And the poet’s not going to wait for you. So you wind up with a pathetic sounding clap, or you drown out what the poet is saying next.
But the “mm” is right on. It’s a shortened lil “hallelujah”, a punchy “amen”, a profound “uh huh”. It says, “I hear you. I feel you. You are affecting me. Keep going.”
And the poet does. Dig?
cold as balls
My little weather program tells me the wind chill temperatures are going to be below 5 degrees F tonight. My preferred method of transportation in times like these is running, accompanied by profusive cursing.
The Coldness is unrelenting. I feel like there’s nothing that can stop it. I’ve put on layer after layer, and still, I am chilled to the bone. It might as well be raining outside. No one wants to go out. These are prosperous times for food delivery boys.
happiness for the day
“Topics” and “optics” are anagrams. I had no idea.
who knew they could read and write
If you have been watching MTV these days, you know they’ve been airing their Real World/Road Rules Challenge: Battle of the exes (quickie recap: bring in past cast members in elimination-stlye competition for prizes and money. watch people hook-up and get into lame arguments.)
I recently discovered that a number of past cast members have blogs. Colin, from Real World Hawaii, Lori, from Real World NY, and Julie, from Real World New Orleans. (source: reality blurred)
I think it is interesting to get a behind-the-back opinion of what’s going on in a show. And it’s comforting to know that these people actually exist. Or, that MTV went through the trouble to hire people to pretend they are people and write blogs for them. Hmm.. nothing is very comforting unless you dish out a little trust first.
too much schooling
Milton Berle (1908-2002) died last year. The problem is, I never see a date range, or years alive. I see a subtraction problem. (The answer is 94).
when they go wilder…
Another thought about playing charades the other night. We are a pretty self-aware and self-conscious crew of kids. So inevitably, someone last night made the snarky comment that being romping teenagers, we should have been out getting hammered, stoned, and sex’ed up, instead of staying inside playing group games. (Hey, we all had fun that night. I had a super-blast. I say, whatever works. At least it didn’t cost us money.)
Another person made the comment that we can easily turn charades into an adult game by adding drinking and stripping. You know, guess a clue wrong, take a drink. Fail to get your team to guess, remove a piece of clothing. I’m pretty sure licking should somehow get incorporated.
I now realize that any game can become “adult” if you add sex and alcohol. Poker? Strip Poker! Twister? Naked Twister! Truth or Dare? Never Have I Ever! Well, actually, Truth or Dare is a gateway adult game. It’s a game that all ages can play and at varying levels of iniquity and debauchery. Kids could start out with giggling and “Kim, do you like Billy?”. And by the end of the night, it’s bodyshots and “Kim, I dare you to make out with Sally”.
For real, adults are easy. People like to talk about how wonderful it is to be a kid and to be easily amused by, say, a piece of string. But nay I say! Adults are just as easy. Keep the alcohol flowing and the sex rolling, and you have eternally entertained adults.
when suburban kids go wild…
Played charades last night with the usual cast of characters (aka hometown buddies). Charades is a really fun and interesting game, because it becomes immediately clear who has no communication skills whatsoever. When your team is shouting out “solar system” when you’re acting out “bear”, perhaps you should re-evalulate your abilities.
To be a good act’er-out’er, you need to be clear and unambiguous and able to know when your team isn’t getting it at all. I loved being the presenter. I think I have an acting/performing bone, hidden somewhere on my body. I did a decent job last night, if I may say so, which I most certainly can because this is my blog!
The presentations that I am most proud of are “Survivor” and “The Cosby Show”. For the Cosby Show, I got my team as far as “___ ___-bee show”, and then I took a deep breath and did the best Cosby impression I could muster.
It was nothing short of inspired. I strutted, I rolled my eyes, I bobbed my head. I was going to go as far as enjoy a pudding snack, but time ran out. Sigh. Team, you let me down. I gave you art and you gave me “The Retarded Weird Man-bee Show”.
Though, the best presentation of the night (and successful too) had to go to Raj and his “Laverne & Shirley”. We were playing bootleg charades and made up the opposing team’s clues, and when we thought of Laverne & Shirley, I was sure it was a stumper.
The only way I could think of presenting this was to act out the famous opening credits. Y’know, that whole glove-on-the-bottle-in-the-factory scene and the skipping together. But no. Instead, Raj acted out a swirley (the kid’s prank of flushing a head in a toilet), which was guessed, somehow. And then did a “sounds-like”, and got Shirley, somehow. And then… sigh. it was over. It was a brilliant gamble, and it worked. You clever bastards, I’ll get you someday. Yes I will.
I found this list of places to go ice skating in NYC. There are a handful of alternatives to that bloody tourist pit known as the Rockefeller Center Skating Rink. RCSP is expensive, small, crowded, and someone gets engaged every five minutes. I swear to you, one time I went and I saw three proposals, one after another. And you arrange it with the rink, so they give you a mic and a spotlight and everything. So everyone sees you. And the couple after you. And the couple after that. But it’s ok, Bobby, you’re a romantic. And romantics do that sort of thing. Y’know, all the cheesy crap that all the other romantics have done.
Got the list from Gawker. I like Gawker; it’s a Manhattan city blog filled with fun gossip and hot tips. Check it out.