Eternal Sunset of The Spotty Mind

Fantasy football season is over.  Luckily I started playing fantasy basketball this year and it should hopefully hold me over until March when fantasy baseball begins.

What an awesome Christmas I had!  Lemme tell you what I got: Maureen Dowd’s Are Men Necessary, the super duper fancy shmancy yearbook Freaks & Geeks DVD set, a bottle of Johnny Walker Black, and…an iPod Nano!  Woo hoo!  And I know Santa knows I was a dick this year.  The thing’s so damn small and light, I’m convinced I’m gonna crush it in my hands.  Reminds me of practicing violin after football practice.

And as further proof that I was not adopted (despite my sister’s claims), my family and I drank a buttload of wine and sang karaoke for over three hours on Christmas Eve.  Holy moly, my family’s retarded.  My parents said that after I drop out of business school (aren’t they inspirationally supportive?) I should get a job as a Korean pop singer.  Uh, huh huh, ummm…  I like that plan except that Korean pop music sucks rhino.

(Uhhh… What do fake boobs have to do with quitting smoking?)

This blog is about to become a true outlet for my frustrations as I have decided to quit smoking in a few weeks.  Apparently, I will be crankier than someone who just saw Christmas with the Kranks.  I’ll be logging my experience on this site and warn you that I expect to curse a lot.  Until then, I am planning on enjoying every cigarette I smoke like I’m about to be blindfolded for the firing squad or like I’m Dennis Hopper about to be shot by Chris Walken. 

The truth is, cigarettes have been my perfect mistress for about 15 years and she has stood by me and never let me down.  She was always there for me when I needed her, happy or sad.  She never judges me so I never had to worry about her leaving me or rejecting me.  I like her butt.  Yeah, she’s slowly killing me, but I expect that from any woman.  (Ba-dum bum!)  She is the perfect woman, except she smells a bit and is banned from every restaurant and bar in New York.  It’s like those cheesy movies where someone’s dying and so their lover makes sure they enjoy every last moment of their time together. 

Like when Isabella died in Italy on Days of Our Lives and she and John and danced and he opened the window so she could see the sun rise as she died in his arms…

"It’s Christmas time, and there’s no need to be afraid." 

Life kinda sucks here in NYC because of the transit strike and I won’t get to see some people I want to see, one someone in particular.  At least I don’t got no exams.  No strike can break down my Christmas Spirit! 

I just wanted to wish everyone the loveliest and happiest holiday weekend.  Whatever you put your faith in, whatever your beliefs, this weekend is all about the love.  Don’t take nobody for granted.

"And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying ‘Glory to God inthe highest and on Earth, peace, good will toward men.’  That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown."

And have a great 2006.  2005 blew for me and was rough for my family and a lot of people who are close to me and to millions of people around the world, and we had no control over it.  Chin up.  2006 can’t be much worse.  I like to think that as long as you’re healthy and have people who love you, everything’s gonna be alright.  No woman, no cry.

Although it’s not a real New Year’s song, My Way, the normal version as opposed to the Sex Pistols version, is my favorite New Year’s tune:

I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried.
I’ve had my fill, my share of losing.
And now, as tears subside,                     
I find it all so amusing.

To think I did all that,
And may I say, not in a shy way,
No, oh no, not me,
I did it my way.

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught,
To say the things he truly feels,
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows
And did it my way!    (With gusto and panache.)

Reflection sucks. 

Take care everyone.  I hope to see y’all back here in 2006.

Call me a ‘tard.  Call me cheesy.  Call me a former gung-ho Methodist.  Call me a heathen imposter.  I don’t care.  My Christmas spirit has snuck up on me and jammed some holly jolly holiday spirit up the bottom of my soul!  And the timing couldn’t be worse.

To counter the previously mentioned insane Christmas music that plays through my window thanks to the city’s Better Business Bureau, I compiled an "alternative" Christmas mix that includes the Kinks, the Pretenders and Billy Squire.  This is where it started.  I began hearing sleigh bells in my head like in an old Dr. Dre track.  But then I realized I have finals this week so I switched over to George Winston’s December and lit some Christmas candles.  This is actually how I would often chill and study in college.  But that album makes me want to wander the streets of the city enjoying the lights and the ball shrinking cold.  So I lit some wood incense that doesn’t really smell like incense but does smell like you’re burning wood, which you actually are.  But the smell reminds me of being everywhere but here and I just want to curl up all fetal on the floor and watch Love, Actually or Bernard and the Genie.

Then I went Christmas shopping cus I wouldn’t have time.  I had so much fun and through some weird act of Allah, there were minimal complications.  I usually end up beating up some old lady for the last of something that she wanted to get for her sick granddaughter.  "Sorry, lady.  Next time, be quicker and grease the wheels on your walker.  And oh yeah, Merry Christmas, biatch!"  Just kidding.  I usually don’t stick around to rub it in their faces.  Old ladies like to prosecute.

All the while, I should be studying more.  At this point, I’m praying for the MTA to strike so my exams get delayed.  Totally not Christmassy, but eat me.  I got other issues, like outrageous selfishness.

"Your soul is an appalling dungheap overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable mangled up in… TANGLED UP KNOOOOTS!"

I hope everyone else is getting into the holidays.  For the Jews, I just want to say that I wish I was celebrating Chanukah cus I want to pig out on some latkes and Krispy Kremes.  For those celebrating Kwanzaa, just make sure you buy a real Mishumaa instead of a Menorah, cus apparently it’s an unforgiveable feaux pas.  And for all those Shintoists and Buddhists and Sceintologists and Heaven’s Gaters, GOD WILL STIRKE YOU DOWN!!!  But probably not til All-Heathen’s Day in March.

"May all your Christmases [and your other assorted holidays cus I ain't no weirdo having a ridiculous argument about AMERICAN FREEDOM] be white."

Also, Batman smells.

I have realized through time that I want to be black and have wanted to be black since I was a kid.  Thank God I’m not white!

And it’s certainly not just because I spent the last hour and a half downing a forty of Colt 45 while watching Biggie Small’s VH1 Behind the Music and got teary watching Puffy perform that shitty "I’ll be missing you" with Sting and Faith Evans and that choir singing behind them.  How has Biggie affected my life as an Asian American?  Not in no way no how.  But goddamn, he could rap.  He was an inspiration to ugly fat guys everywhere.  I could be big poppa!

I’ve been thinking a lot about how Christmas brings out the romantic in me.  Isn’t it supposed to happen in the spring?  It’s something about the city, something about the snow falling, the way the fresh snow makes everything actually look clean, the lights actually having meaning, the inability to walk quick because of icy sidewalks, the keeping warm through any means possible…  And I like pale ladies and they look great in the cold.  Love is in the air, my friends.  "Cus I see some ladies tonight who should be havin’ my baby, baby."

I get a lot of mail from non-profit groups including Planned Parenthood asking for money.  It always scares me because I’m afraid they’re sending me a bill.

My bastard son Arsenio says that’s not funny.  I had to give up what was possibly the greatest job ever to take care of little Arsenio.  Now I’m pro choice.

I was gonna go home for New Year’s as well as Jesus Day, but my old pal Tom and his wife Sarah and his sis will be visiting NYC from Texas to ring in 2006, so it looks like my Annual Lazy Bastard’s New Year’s Party is back on.  This is for all those of you who don’t want to spend New Year’s alone but also don’t want to go to some loud annoying party where you have to wait 20 minutes to pee (2 hours if you’re in Times Square).

As always, I will cook up some fancy schmancy desserts and we will have cheap ass champagne and plenty of hard liquor (no soju) and, as per tradition, we will most likely watch and laugh at Strange Days.  So if you have nothing going, please let me know and we’ll save a spot on the couch for you.

2005 blew.  Here’s hoping 2006 is a big improvement…

How is it that I re-fall in love with Donna Reed every single year?  As I watch It’s a Wonderful Life for the umpdity umpth time, I wonder where the Donna Reeds and Katherine Hepburns have gone.  Not that I don’t love today’s women, it’s just that that kind of class is rare these days.  Look, I love it as much as any dude when I see a girl with her thonged ass hanging down below the hem of her skank skirt, but there’s something so much more attractive about a strong and outspoken yet still feminine and playful woman like Irene Dunne in a long classy dress and a fur stoal.  We rarely get to see that type of beauty in an age of miniskirts, lowriders and strapless cleavage curtains.

(Comedian Brian Posehn said men should do the male equivalent of women showing cleavage and wearing their jeans so low you could see a their buttcrack: wear our pants real low and show a little "neck".) 

In fact, where have all the Jimmy Stewarts and Ralph Bellamys gone?  I have a feeling I’m the modern equivalent of every idiot character Bellamy played in those days, a big, dim lunk without a clue.  And just like Ralph’s characters, any Irene Dunne or Rosalind Russell can take advantage of me and rob me blind.  Please, women!  Rob me blind!

I think there’s more in old movies that contributes to my problems with women than I’ve realized.  One of the reasons Donna Reed was so beautiful in It’s a Wonderful Life was that edge of sadness she had.  I fall for that like Humpty Dumpty (meaning: once and I die).  A lot of those actresses seem to have that: Claudette Colbert, Barbra Stanwyck, Betty Davis, Joan Fontaine, and especially Merle Oberon.  I’d bet it’s just more inherent male King Kong stuff cus it may reflect a want to save these women from their sadness.  Since I’m unable to even save a dollar or cheer myself up, I should just settle for some woman too high on crack to ever be sad.  Please, crackwhores!  Rob me!  (Why do I want to find a Jane Eyre?  And how will I explain that crazy woman locked up in my attic?)

I’m sitting here taking a break from half-assedly writing a paper about the evolution of the pencil on a Saturday night watching a totally depressing Christmas love story as attendees of two separate rocking parties irrationally try to guilt trip me into leaving my studies, and I’m just thinking about being alone and how all these ridiculous forces like romance films and love songs have influenced me to look for things that don’t exist.  Is it wrong to want to be as rich as George Bailey?

If I could be with that girl right now, I think I’d be flying down to her at top speed.

I’ll give you the moon, Mary.  I’ll take it.  Then what?  Well, then you can swallow it, and it’ll all dissolve, see.  And the
moonbeams would shoot out of your fingers and your toes and the ends of
your hair.

ADDENDUM: I just heard Richard Prior died.  It’s a rough night.  I need a drink…

Sorry for not posting.  I’m a week from finals and I can’t really think in blog terms…

Just a few quick notes:

• I haven’t seen Rent yet.  I know, I know.  I’m supposed to be the gay straight guy who organizes the opening night trip for all y’all, but I just couldn’t.  Just remember, there’s no day but today.  (If there’s no day but 12/9/05, then that’s really depressing, in a Sartre-esque way.)  Rosario, I’m coming to see you, baby!!!
• With no disrespect to the MTA, I’m kinda hoping they go on strike cus then the U. might give us some lenience as to when we take our exams.  I doubt it though.  I’m a selfish prick.
• Project Runway started!!!  I actually am not a fan, but Brian and Melanie watch it religiously do I’m inadverdentaly bombarded with it.  All I can say is it is genius to combine gay men with straight women cus the cattiness is endlessly amusing.  I’d like to see Heidi’s water break during an actual episode…
• If you haven’t already, listen to the Mitch & Mickey tracks on the A Mighty Wind Soundtrack.  It’ll change your life.
• I’ll be watching all my favorite "inspirational" dvds to help me study.  These include: Miracle, Rudy, Friday Night Lights, Back to School, Major League, Starship Troopers, Freaky Friday (the original Jody Foster, Barbara Harris version), Bon Voyage Charlie Brown, Elf, Barry Lyndon, The Shining, The God of Cookery, Tootsie, From Justin to Kelly, Judge Dread, Bitter Moon and Lesbian Spank Inferno.  Uh, I think I lost focus somewhere in the middle of this list…

Wish me luck, y’all.  It’s that time of year when all the forces in the world conspire to drop a giant dooky on me at the same time.  Bring it on, collective anus!  I can withstand anything you bring, except the smell.  (Coming soon, a rant about how Citigroup is the greatest evil in the land, which will also be an attempt to instill doubt that protects me from being convicted of money laundering.)

My friends out there know that I can’t abide stupid people,
which is probably why I’m so angry all the time because I have to spend my
entire life with myself. There are
intelligent women out there but there are those few who are so sharp, it cuts a hole in
my brain and causes leaks. Those leaks
lead to worship.

For those of you who don’t know, Maureen Dowd is a Pulitzer
Prize winning op-ed columnist for the New York Times. At first, I just perused her work on my way to studying Bob Herbert,
but I realized that she is a writer who does not screw around with safe
euphemisms and made me laugh out loud at work when I was supposed to be, well,
working. She lets the Times reading
world know exactly what she thinks, mostly about our Presidents and their
administrations’ idiotic behavior, and she does it with clever biting wit. We’re not always on the same side of
political divides, but she does it smartly and makes me question. She’s been accused of overstating things and
taking arguments too far, but I believe that’s one of the best ways to get
proper perspectives.

My Maureen (sorry, Ms. Dowd) seems to have the same view as
me towards the sexes: we ain’t exactly equal, but neither men nor women are
helping the cause sticking to our outdated rituals. Sadly, I’m kind of an exception to Maureen’s argument that men
are put off by women in power. I think
my worshipping of Maureen proves it, but I would also fight 13 rounds with
Steadman for dibs on Oprah. (Women I
pursue need to realize that I ain’t gonna be wearing the pants in the
relationship, or at all.) But I will be
the first to admit that I too follow that retarded “Me Tarzan, You Jane”
behavior, but dammit, if it keeps me from being alone for the rest of my life,
so be it. Despite all this, I do think
she’d have a problem with my “de-uterization” and “gonad legislation”
campaigns.

She’s been doing the talk show circuit to promote her book
“Are Men Necessary?” which I’ve heard is a funny (not “ha ha”, but “yikes”
funny) collection of stories about sexual absurdities in the media and the
world through her own experiences and takes stock of the current state of the
so-called “battle of the sexes”. (Ach
chem, for those who might want to buy me a Jesus’ B-day present.)

Apparently she does ask the title question, and I’ve heard
that her answer is yes. I think we’re
necessary too, because of our baby batter. If there were no men left, once women are only left with Michael Jackson
and David Crosby’s frozen sperm to keep the species alive, humankind will be
better off following in the footsteps of the dinosaurs.

So if you’ve enjoyed my writing about abortion and men’s
nads, you should probably read her work too. It’s much gooder wrote than this crap and does not include tasteless
terms like “coin purse” and “baby batter”.

Lastly, due to her recent television appearances, I worship her more than before cus now I know that Maureen’s a hottie.

I don’t find this blog funny anymore.  I think I’m too stressed to be funny. 

So let’s make fun of tourists.

Isn’t it hilarious how they can’t speak English?  "Dude, what are you saying?!?"  And what’s with tourists not knowing how to get from one place to another?  The subway system ain’t difficult folks, except when they decide to bypass midtown and the R train travels down the D track, or when the local uptown decides to take you to the South Bronx.  And Jamaica!  Ain’t no tourists in Jamaica, Queens.  I bet that other Jamaica has tons of them.  And I hear it’s more expensive.  My favorites are the tourists who take photos of Times Square, cus it’s IMPOSSIBLE to get a photo of Times Square anywhere in the city, especially in Times Square. 

I joke, but I truly appreciate the research that tourists do before they come here.  For instance, I love the ones who go to the Olive Garden and go back home and rave about the awesome authentic Italian food they had.  And Houlihan’s has authentic buffalo wings.  Yeah, of course, you should totally buy top price tickets to Movin’ Out.  It’s an amazing show about an alcoholic and his wife who’s the same age as his daughter.

You know I went to Africa last year?  And that country is FILLED with minorities.  They must have immigration issues…

Thank you, good night, and don’t forget to tip your waitress.  Please come back tomorrow when I’ll be talking about why I worship Maureen Dowd.