2004-04-27 | 10:32 p.m.
gluing tinsel to your crown

My Pantone Birthday Color is Heirloom Lilac, and damn if the description isn't dead on, friends. It says like every nice thing anyone has ever said about me. I like to only think of those things. Pantone makes it possible. Thank you, Pantone.

October 23. Heirloom Lilac. Eloquent, Funny, Agile.
Far deeper than you may appear, you have what it takes to go the distance. There is a lot more to you than meets the eye. You have a nice blend of wit and sensitivity and are known for your timing. You are meant to communicate and entertain and are unusually magnetic in front of an audience. Take care of the people you care about the most without giving all your energy away. Heirloom Lilac reminds you to save time for yourself to relax and rejuvenate. (whatever that means)

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2004-04-27 | 2:29 p.m.
the kind of life I had reserved for other guys less smart than I

Last night, I happened upon the Barnes and Noble``` in the Lincoln Center area. I never hardly go up there. I used to go to school up there, before there was a Barnes and Noble```. Anyway, yes. So I was 45 minutes early for a meetup and I decided I'd waste 20 minutes with a cup of coffee. But I couldn't because the cafe was full of people with like giant spreadsheets out and laptops and homework and doing their taxes and shit.

I hate this. I will never understand this. Hogging up a table for four with nonsense you should be doing at work or at home. If it were homeless people cutting their fingernails, I'd understand. Where else are they going to go? But these people have homes. They need to go to them so that I can sit and read an article and have a cup of coffee and take up one piece of space. If you were sitting in a cafe to do some work because you liked being around other people, or might maybe have a conversation, I could possibly understand this. But no one does that. They are all totally engrossed in their stuff (so engrossed as to be oblovious the fact that they are taking up space that isn't entitled to them, imaginary friends notwithstanting), that they are getting no benefit from the people around them. I just don't get it. Hate hate hate. I hate this city.

But I love it. Because what I was doing up there was going to Lincoln Center for the Film Society's honoring of the always amazing Michael Caine. I had ghetto-fab $25 tickets to this expensive benefit show. That $25 bought be a seat in the third row. Orchestra. Oh God. It was so beautiful and magical. I got to see Sir Michael and clips from a billion of his movies. And then there was Ian Holm and Steve Martin. And the president of Iceland, who's a pretty interesting man. And I even cried a little piece. Wonderful things happen here, no doubt. I'm just tired off all the inbetween stuff.

Anyway, if I move not too far, I could always drive down for such events. If I ever learn to drive. And, of course, I can't move at all until I get some kind of job that makes saving possible.

Speaking of that, how come out of towners can always get jobs in NY, but I can't (this is happening now in my very own life)? Clearly it is some conspiracy, as I am unstoppably fabulous. Unemployment may have my bank account by the neck, but my overinflated ego is doing just fine, thanks.

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2004-04-26 | 3:27 p.m.
stand here and remember just how good it's been

I have a problem with big, giant dramatic ballads. The problem is that I love them. All the theatrics and histronics, I am there. I think that's why I hate singers who just throw theatrics and histrionics into every damn song. Or ones who do it through the entire song. Save it up. If you spread it around all the time, it gets tired.

Given that, "American Idol" has been hard for me, because the songs they pick, I really love a lot of them. And since I was reading RubyTrax's blogue, I have two recent songs from AI in my head. They are "I'll Never Love This Way Again" (oh my God, oh my God!) and "Against All Odds" (honestly, in my all-time top 40. Maybe even 20. I won't say 10, but I might could.) I hope these kids stop killing my songs. Thankfully, their performances are so butt and boring that I can't even recall them. All I hear are the sweet sweet sounds of Phil and that crazy bitch Dionne. Also, my own crazy-bitch screeches.

Speaking of crazy-bitch screeches, how come no one told me of the amazing genius awesomeness that is when Dave Chappelle had that crazy bitch David from Real World (New Orleans?) on? Anyone who's anyone knows that his "Come On Be My Baby Tonight" is one of my all time favorite comedic moments in the history of television. I guess we need to count Chappelle among those in the know. Damn, Dave Chappelle. Why are you not my husband, you skinny wonderful man?

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