Return To Innocence (And Meat)

I'm going to see some friends in Queens next Friday night to take care of a few things but mainly to eat a lot of meat.

I’m still going strong with my vegetarianism (pseudo-pescatarianism). But that thankfully comes to an end this Saturday, April 1.

I’ll give a proper recap when the time passes, but the most difficult time I had with the veggie thing was when I went to see my folks in Florida a few weekends ago. You have to understand, my family is not a vegetable family. The most exotic vegetable I had growing up was tomatoes. I shit you not when I say I didn’t have broccoli until I left home and I had my first brussel sprout about 3 years ago. I don’t think my father ever ate something that didn’t at one time have a face (save for pizza, and that usually has pepperoni on it).

But that all ends next Friday night. I imagine when I finally sink my teeth into a juicy, steak at about 10pm on Friday night it will be akin to the conjugal visit sex. No - fuck conjugal visit sex. It’s going to be the me equivalent of "I just came back from a tour of duty in Afghanistan and haven’t seen an attractive woman in two years and my wife surprised me with breast implants and OH MY GOD I JUST SPOOGED TWICE JUST THINKING ABOUT IT" sex. I seriously get giddy thinking about this.

When I was a kid, I used to hold in pee for as long as I could, just so when I did finally pee I got that overwhelming feeling of relief and joy (a sensualist at a young age, was I). Perhaps I will be so overwhelmed by my return to meat that I will go through stretches of vegetarianism just to experience the elation of eating meat.

…

Actually, no. That’s never going to happen. I will never again forsake meat. Never. And if I should die between now and April 1, please make sure that I am buried with a steak. I don’t ask much of you, but one of you please make sure this happens.

Leftovers

I was hungry right before lunch so I jetted to the pizzeria across the street to grab a quick slice. As I was chatting up the kid behind the counter a totally smoking babe walked past the window hand in hand with her boyfriend. In typical guy fashion we both continued to talk about how the Mets sucked while our eyes lit up the girl’s ass like radar tracking an enemy plane. When I turned back expecting the usual lustful smirk the kid’s expression was crestfallen. He said, “Girl like that! Us working stiffs only get the leftovers.”

I had a true "adult moment". The egalitarian side of me recoiled at this notion. Leftovers? No one is a leftover! I am a working stiff and if I ever told my girlfriend I thought of her in the same terms as two day old meatloaf I would be dead before my body hit the floor. I knew the kid was having some self esteem issues but there was something other than being unlucky in love behind his comment.

Everyday we guys are bombarded with images of women we are “supposed” to have. They stare at us from magazine covers. Beckon us in beer commercials, Girl Gone Wild ads, and porn web sites. In the affluent area were I ply my trade there is a never ending parade of trophy wives with firm Pilates honed bodies, botoxed faces, and surgically enhanced boobs. If I said I never felt a twinge of longing or envy I would be lying. I am just as susceptible to those images as the next guy.

But I am a little older and wiser than the pizza boy I hope. In another life I worked in a mental hospital that catered to the rich and famous. I saw women struggling to maintain “perfection” by vomiting up everything they ate till they ruptured their esophagus and bleed to death internally. Girls cutting themselves, trying to hang themselves with pantyhose in the shower, offering me blowjobs for cigarettes, and crying till they almost shook apart – the collateral damage of “perfection.”

I remember one trophy wife whose eating disorder was so bad she had a very real risk of dying. Her fat rich husband’s only concern was if she stopped puking she would get fat and he did not like fat girls. Scumbag.

Working stiffs get more than their fair share of beautiful women. I lucked out! I see plenty of average guys with knockouts. Yet the images that assault men every day are raising the standard to an unattainable level and women are literally dying to keep up. Besides if you are holding out for that supermodel you may miss the love of your life right in front of you. Sure her ass may be a little wide. She never wears bikinis and high heels while fetching a beer from the fridge – but she will love you. And when you get older and gravity has taken its toll on you both she will be the warm body you reach for in the middle of the night.

I wanted to tell the kid all this but I had to go back to work. So I said,

“Every dog has his day kid.”

Then I left.

Manners, Manners, Manners

I think our social conduct is outdated. I mean, for the most part it's okay, but there are definitely some flaws. I thought I'd outline some new ideas and plans to make all our lives easier. Take a look, won't you...

ELEVATORS
The elevator rules need to be re-written. Sure, I'm an advocate for women and children first... in a sinking ship. On an elevator, I think it's a little unnecessary. How about - ready for this one - whoever is closest to the door when it opens gets the fuck out! I know, it's crazy, but hear me out: it will work. I don't understand why we have to manipulate ourselves like Tetris cubes when the elevator hits the lobby floor. It's confusing, and it's messing with our heads. The other day I was in an elevator with all dudes, and when it stopped nobody moved. We all just kind of looked at each other-- nobody wanted to be the first one to go. So it inadvertently turned into a test of one's manhood. I wasn't going to budge until the less masculine men left before me. Eventually, we all just whipped out our packages and determined who got to leave last based on size. I'm still there (writing this on a laptop).

REVOLVING DOORS
There's no winning when it comes to revolving doors. I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that guys are supposed to go through first in order to get them moving so a girl doesn't have to exert too much energy. That makes sense. Yet, whenever I dart in front of a girl to get the sucker moving, I feel like a prick. So I decided the only solution is to get right up behind a girl AC Slater style and help her push. Sure, you'll be invading her personal space, but that never stopped Albert Clifford when he taught girls how to play pool, did it? The answer is no.

CO-ED BATHROOMS
How about this for a deal, ladies. We'll promise you exactly one (1) lid move. That's it. If it's down when we walk in, we'll lift it up so we don't pee all over the seat. And if it's up when we walk in, we'll put it down before we leave. We'll give you one move, and we won't ask for anything in return. Just don't give us evil looks or loud moans when you get in there and the seat is up. It's up for you... remember that.

EATING FRENCH FRIES
If you're eating something with your hands (i.e. a burger) then you can use your hands to eat your french fries. If you're eating something that requires a fork (i.e. a steak) then you must use your fork to eat your fries. However, if you're eating a steak with your hands, then you can only eat your fries with your face.

GOD BLESS YOU
God Bless You, or G'blessya, or Blessya, standards should still be enforced. However, if somebody says 'God Bless You' after you cough, you should be obligated to respond, "That was a cough, you fucking idiot." If you don't use tough love they may never learn the difference, and the last thing you want is for somebody to be God Blessing you after every bodily action. Also, people should be encouraged to make certain designated areas "No Bless You" zones. My friends and I have declared our apartments a No Bless You zone. So, if any of us are sitting around and one of us sneezes, the others are not only NOT required to say "God Bless You," they gets openly chastised if they do.

TRYING TO GET A DRINK AT THE BAR
Anything goes. 'Ladies first' does not apply here, because if that were the case men would never drink anything ever again. Women already have several unfair advantages when it comes to getting a drink (Namely: Breasts), so guys should be encouraged to do whatever they have to do. Forget chivalry on this one. And if you start feeling bad about it, just remember that odds are you're going to end up buying a girl a drink before the night is over, so it all evens out. Right?

HOOKERS
Hooker etiquette has remained the same, however you should not forget to tip your hooker. Amazingly, they go by the same tip scale that hair stylists go by, so just refer to that.

THE SUBWAY
There is no place on Earth where your manners and common decency is tested more than on the subway. First, let me draw out for you the subway hierarchy:

Homeless People
Pregnant Women
Old Women
Really Hot Women
Women With Children
Physically Disabled People
Really Old Men
Everybody Else

From top to bottom, this list goes from "Most Likely To Give Up Your Seat For" to "Least Likely To Give Up Your Seat For." Some people might be surprised that Homeless People top the list, but I would give a Homeless Person my seat before a Pregnant Lady because he's slightly more likely to stab me in the head.

I propose that we shuffle the order. The new hierarchy would be something like this:

Homeless People
Everybody Else

From there, we'll take it on a case by case basis. Because nothing should be absolute. And because every once in a while Pregnant Women like to stand up, while Everybody Else is tired and wants to sit the fuck down.

Just an idea.

VH1 Classico

While the internet was down today I figured I'd watch an hour's worth of music videos on VH1 Classic. Of course, it took me 15 minutes to run downstairs and grab lunch, so I had to limit myself to 45 minutes worth of Classic Goodness. Let me just say, I was not let down. At all. Here are the 10 videos I enjoyed.

George Michael "I Want Your Sex" - Within 6 seconds of the video being on, my officemate asked me, "Hey, when you were a kid did you think George Michael was gay?" I had to think about this for a while. Back when I was a kid and I watched music videos like "Faith" and "I Want Your Sex" I didn't know what gay was. Yet I feel that if somebody would've told me that there were men out there that had sex with other men, my immediate response would've been, "Oh... like George Michael?" Like, even if I didn't know, I knew. Does that make any sense? I'm not sure. Either way, great song and fun to sing along to, even if he was singing about some dude.

Ace of Base "The Sign" - Second video of the hour and already VH1 is straining the word "classic" pretty thin. This song, along with "All That She Wants" will forever remind me of going rollerskating at the Skate USA Roller Rink on Friday nights in the tenth grade. I think I even asked a girl out once as "The Sign" was blasting in the background. Sadly, the sign said "Stop." (get it? she said no.)

Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine "1,2,3" - "Oh, I used to love this song when I was a kid!" Then, I spent the next three and a half minutes hoping nobody heard me say that.

Billy Joel "I Go To Extremes" - I used to love Billy Joel. Of course, since everything to be said about Joel was said about Joel in "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs," I'm not going to even bother. Instead, I'm just going to declare that he wears some pretty bitchin' sunglasses in this video. That's it.

Lionel Richie "Hello" - JACKPOT! Best. Video. Ever. In case you haven't seen it, Lionel Richie plays a teacher that stalks one of his students who happens to blind. Now, if you ask me, that's just lazy. Who couldn't stalk a blind person? You don't even have to hide! But anyway, Lionel spends the entire video following her around and singing "Hellooooo.... Is it me you're looking for?" which is kind of fucked up if you think about it. If I did that to a blind girl people would call me 'evil' and say I was going to hell. "Hey, Blind Girl! Is it me you're looking for?" What's romantic about that? So Lionel stalks her for the entire video, and then, at the end, we get the best payoff ever. The blind girl happens to be an expert sculptor. She calls Lionel into the art room to show him the sculpture she's been working on and says, "This is how I see you." She rotates the bust around and there it is... Patrick Ewing. Seriously, the thing looks just like old #33, it's hilarious. Lionel then sings "Hellooooo" one last time and the video ends. The don't make videos like this anymore. A true classic.

Phil Collins "One More Night" - I was still coming down from "Hello" so I missed the entire thing. Phil Collins, by the way, divorced his wife by fax and married a 27 year old.

Three Dog Night "Joy To The World" - It was a live concert video, but it looked more like a high school assembly. Speaking of which, if anybody needs Three Dog Night to play their high school assembly, I'd imagine they'd be available. Assuming they're not dead, of course.

The Beach Boys "I Get Around" - Great song. Your mom gets around.

Cyndi Lauper "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" - Don't worry, this was the 80's version, not the ill advised early 00's comeback remix. Cyndi Lauper videos always make me a little uneasy. They have the same production values of Troma films. Throughout the song I kept on waiting for the Toxic Avenger to appear on screen and for two average girls to start making out. Never happened. Luckily, Captain Lou Albano was there to comfort me through the pain.

Toto "Africa" - Man, how much did the US love Africa back in the 80's? We were all about it back then, but sadly Africa went the way of cabbage patch kids and Billy Zabka. Poor Africa. I think it's just laying low for a bit though, and will totally stage a comeback in the 2010's. You'll see.

Following Toto, my internet magically started working again. And here I am, a better person for having watched 45 minutes of "Classic" videos. Thank you VH1. Thank you.

Books I Should Write

Despite blogging consistently for almost three years now, somehow, some way, I have never been offered a book deal. Surely this must be some kind of oversight. I mean, don't ALL bloggers get book deals? I'm hurt.

Not that I want to write a book, but if I was given the opportunity I think there are several things I could write about. Especially since I've learned a lot in these three years. I wouldn't call it "Inbreeding For Fun And Education" or anything that would hurt my chances of cracking the Amazon Hot 100. Instead, I'd have to think of something unique and original. Which is tough. But here are some ideas. These are the books that I think I'm qualified to write.

You're Selling Me A Sandwich, Not Disarming A Nuclear Bomb-- Slow The Fuck Down Please, I'm Looking For Exact Change: A Guide to Buying Lunch in NYC

Cancel Your Blockbuster Card ...and other things you should remember to do after breaking up with your girlfriend

Not Having Any Toilet Paper Will NOT Help Your Chances of Getting Laid: A True Story

"Crazy" Is Not A Benefit In A Friends-With-Benefits Relationship Trying to Keep Things Casual in Sex

Free Drinks! If Those Words Don't Make Me Want To Attend Your Party, Assume You're Genuinely Unlikeable

Thanks For The Add! Trying To Validate My Existance, One MySpace Friend At A Time

"See That Girl? I Gave Her An Abortion." And Other Things That Some Hipsters Said To Me at Orchard Bar on a Friday Night

How Old Are You? or Why Are You Giving Me A Handjob?

Dirty Dishes? Throw Them Out! Living Like An Idiot

Funtember 11th: A Guide To Assessing The Crowd and Looking Over Your Shoulders Before Making A Joke Regarding September 11th

Why I Shouldn't Be Allowed To Speak While Drunk: A 22 (and counting) Part Anthology

Randomhouse...I'll be waiting by the phone.

Still Meatless

This isn’t going to be funny, because it’s just too painful for me to talk about. For I have gone over two weeks without consuming any meat. And, unbelievably, I am still alive. And I have not taken another’s life. Yet.

To recap, my friends doubted my capacity to go without eating meat. I can understand why, since I am a carnivore of the highest order. But they so ridiculed me when I told them that I could go without meat that I decided to do just that and not eat any meat in March - purely to prove my asshole friends wrong.
And so far, so good. For the most part.

At first, it was very rough. See, as a vegetarian, I have a major strike against me:

I do not like vegetables. At all.

(Note that I will call myself a "vegetarian" even though I am, apparently, a pseudo-pescatarian, which means that I am allowed to eat fish, other seafood, eggs, cheese, etc - everything except meat and fowl.)

A vegetarian breakfast is not a problem. Back when I was a meat-eater, I would usually have cereal or a bagel with cream cheese for breakfast anyway. Rare was the day that I got a bacon-egg-cheese bagel, usually only on hungover weekends (but god do I fucking miss those).

Lunch proved to be more difficult. I used to get a sandwich for lunch with ham or chicken or some other sweet delicious animal. Now, I’ll have an occasional slice of pizza, but mostly I just eat tuna. That’s it. I’ve had tuna for lunch maybe 10 of the past 16 days. My hair is starting to fall out and I’m hallucinating from all the mercury I’m consuming, but hey - at least it ain’t meat!

Dinner is the hardest one, mostly because I just realized that I have not turned my oven on since mid-January. I have used the burners on the stove, but that was only to light some of my arm hair on fire (I LOVE the smell of burning hair).

So I’ve been eating pizza for dinner. Lots and lots of pizza. Occasionally, I’ll order out and get some pasta, but that is rare, too expensive, and takes too long. I can stop on my way home from work and get a slice of plain and a slice of white for $5, so that’s what I’ve been rocking.

Bagels, cereal, tuna, and pizza. That’s it. That’s been my diet for the past two weeks. Well, that and a ton of sweets and desserts, since I have to enjoy myself at least a little in this otherwise miserable time.

But I think I made a breakthrough two nights ago. I bought some "fake" breaded chicken patties (ingredients: bread crumbs, mush, vegetable protein), microwaved them, put them on a roll, covered them in Russian dressing and - and I can’t believe I’m writing this - they were delicious. I mean, DEEEE-licious. I actually bit off part of my ring finger in the feeding frenzy, as I tasted the closest thing I’ve had to meat in weeks (and no, accidentally eating part of your own finger does not mean you’ve broken your vegetarianism; there are rules about self-consumption).

[Author’s Note: I tried to find a fancy word for "eating oneself", since I know the Greek word for eating is φαγο, which is roughly pronounced fag-o, but sadly, no such word exists. Then I tried to make one up, like suiphagis, but that just didn’t look right. Although linguistically it works. But whatever. I’m just trying to impress you. Moving on...]

I realize that the fake chicken might have been so delicious because I hadn’t eaten meat in a while. If you think deeper about it, I just might be a genius in this regard. I started my vegetarianism eating nothing but pizza and tuna, making myself so sick of them that by the time I got some "fake" meat, I thought it was great and am now happy with it. Conversely, if I had started eating fake chicken at the outset of my vegetarianism, with the taste of real (juicy, delicious, once-living) chicken and cow fresh in my mind/mouth, I would have probably thrown it against the wall and started eating the scabs I have all over my arms from my most recent fall down the stairs.

But if two nights ago we had a breakthrough, last night we had a major setback. I won’t get too into detail, but last night for dinner I ate the Burger King Big Fish sandwich, complemented with some onion rings, and topped off with a Hershey Sundae pie. And yes, it was as bad as it sounds.

The reason why you’re getting this post so late is because I’ve spent about half the day on the toilet. Good lord. I know it’s bad when you have blood on the toilet paper, but that doesn’t usually concern me (though I do force myself to stop wiping when there’s more red than brown/black/dark green), but what happens when you see a piece of brain on the toilet paper? Again, I only went to med school for one year, but I’m pretty sure that I left a nice chunk of my cerebellum in the bathroom. Or maybe it was some lung. I really can’t say.

So now, as I write this, I’m ready to head to the nearest steakhouse to get two steaks, put some chicken fingers between them, and eat until my heart stops. When I die, please make sure that my tombstone reads, "Vegetarianism is totally fucking horrible. I mean, what the fuck, right?"

But still, I soldier on. Never doubt my ego, pride, and stubbornness. I intended to remain meat-free until April 1. I know that I will be put to the test this weekend in Queens, where I will not be able to enjoy a taco truck dinner (2 tacos, side of rice and beans and some pico de gallo...I can’t even think about this without starting to shake). Not only that, but the NCAA Tournament starts this weekend, and my hosts have assured me that they have all sorts of animals ready to barbeque. I got a call from my buddy Leo, who I’ll be staying with this weekend:

Leo: "I just read your blog - am I gonna have to buy vegetarian shit for you this weekend? Cause I'm not."
Me: "No, I’ll manage."
Leo: "You’re not seriously going to not eat meat, are you? We have four types of sausage!"
Me: "No, I can’t. Please stop."
Leo: "John, did you hear me? I said we have four types of sausage! And hot dogs, burgers, wings - everything! Why are you doing this?"
Me: "I just want to say that I went a month without meat. That’s all. I don’t have much, but I need this."
Leo: "So what? Lie and say you did it."
Me: "Dude, I can’t lie."
Leo: "Wha - hello? Hello? Who am I talking to? John, you lie all the time! Your whole life is a lie! The first time I met you, you told me you were an orphan!"
Me: "That’s true, but I have to go. I can’t take this."
Leo: "Alright, well, I’m gonna go eat a hot dog. Because I can. Pussy."

So wish me luck. And if I see you in Queens, be gentle with me. I am fragile right now (and not just colonically). Somehow, in someway, this experience will make me a stronger person. Or someone will die. One or the other.

Legal Advice

Arguably one of the best parts of being a criminal like me is that you get to tell women in bars that you have a lawyer. As you might guess, I try to take advantage of this whenever I can:

Girl: "I work in public relations and -"
Me: "I have a lawyer."
Girl: "That’s cool. I mean, I like PR and all, but I’m not sure if - "
Me: "MY LAWYER IS HANDSOME!"

or

Girl: "I’m getting a beer - do you want one?"
Me: "Funny you mention that - my lawyer usually buys me drinks when I’m in NYC."
Girl: "So you do or you don’t want one?"
Me: "You know, I remember this one time my lawyer and I were having drinks at The St. Regis - it’s this really nice hotel in the city - and my lawyer says, ‘How do you do it?’ and I was all like ‘What?’ and he was all like ‘Get so many blowjobs from such beautiful women’ and I was all confused but then I looked down and wouldn’t you know it, two women were fellating me. Two women! And I didn’t even notice! And they were totally hot! So anyway, I looked at my lawyer and - "
[Girl gets up from table]
Me: "Hey - where are you going?"
[Girl walks out of bar]
Me: [shouting after girl] "It’s not my fault that you’re a lesbian! Just because Daddy didn’t give you enough love doesn’t mean you should shy away from this!" [points at genitals] "Yeah, that’s right." [motions to homosexual male couple] "You guys know what I’m talking about."

So thank you, to my lawyer for being my number one conversation piece.

I am very indebted to my lawyer, because, even though I am surely his crappiest client (by far), he takes very good care of me and makes sure to return all my stupid emails and frantic voicemails. However, I may have pushed him too far this week, since I sent them an email on Monday and haven’t heard back since:

Mark,

I have two questions for you.

1) I recently got a parking ticket. I feel that I was given this ticket unjustly. I don’t really have time to fight the ticket or any of that crap, but I want to write "Fuck you" or "Suck my ass, cocksuckers" or something equivalent in the memo area of the check when I pay it off. Can I get in any legal trouble for this?

2) Hypothetically speaking, say I have a friend who’s sleeping with a seventeen year old girl. What kind of trouble can he get in for this? I mean, we’re not talking jail time, right? Is it a fine? If so, how much? Is it probation? And what can’t you do on probation? You can drink on probation, right? And what if this girl didn’t tell my friend she was 17 until after they already slept together? Is he then grandfathered out or anything? I mean, once you do it once, it doesn’t matter how many times you do it thereafter, right? She’ll be 18 in ten months, if that matters.

Anyway, please get back to me when you get a chance.

Love,
John

I’m anxiously awaiting his response and will keep you abreast.

Glaze

I was on the phone with my friend Nicole at work yesterday:

Nicole: "So what’s going on?"
Me: "Oh, nothing much. Chillin’, billin’. You?"
Nicole: "Well, school sucks."
Me: [noise of intense satisfaction] "Mmmmmm…"
Nicole: "What?"
Me: "Oh sorry. I had two donuts for breakfast and just licked my moustache and tasted some leftover glaze."
Nicole: "It’s almost 3pm. That’s disgusting."

Ladies, once again, I am available. And if any mothers are reading this, I am more than willing to be set up with your daughters. Quite a catch, am I.

The Global Village

You know celebrity is an interesting thing. Why are we so interested in their lives, what they wear, who they sleep with? What gives them their “power?” I mean you have to admit we live in a celebrity obsessed culture. Look at all the tabloids in the checkout of your local grocery store, if you don't believe me.

John Cleese posited an explanation in his television special The Human Face. Basically he said we are designed by evolution to live in small groups, numbering five hundred or so. In our not too distant insular agrarian past we knew every one around us. Famous people in the village were those that had accomplished something. They were warriors, healers, prophets, and kings. Everyone knew their face.

Now we live in megalopolises numbering tens of millions of people. The endless procession of faces we see everyday are, for the most part, anonymous, with out a name or story attached to them. We feel a profound lack of connection to the swirl of humanity that besets us.

But we all know who Brad Pitt is.

He is just a guy who works in the movies but many of us know more about him than about our next door neighbor. We may not know squat about the guy sitting next to us on the subway but we will both know who Brad is. That, in a funny way, connects us. Cleese is basically saying that celebrities, by the virtue of their being seen in the media, fulfill a basic human longing for connection in the global village. We all know them and, by that, they connect us to each other. They cut through the anonymity. That’s what gives them power.

Of course that perceived power is all out of whack when compared against reality. A celebrity, if he or she is smart, realizes that people recognize their persona, their act, and not them. They realize fame is fickle and try and stay grounded in the real day to day experience we all inhabit. They know they are not warriors, prophets and kings – just people whose job puts their faces on the screen. Those who believe their own PR end up in trouble. Think Elvis. Think Michael Jackson.

So what does all this have to do with my stupid blog? I’ll tell you.

Last night I went out to eat in NYC. At the table to my right sat an obnoxious, business-suit-clad lawyer-type who kept snapping his fingers to get the waiter. He kept asking the wait staff “Do you know who I am?” Probably a minor so and so with an equally minor company. He is a part of the great huddled masses. Just like me. Suffice to say people who are not famous like to make the wait staff think they are.

As I'm fantasizing about killing the dildo who's barking orders at everyone, I look up and Alec Baldwin is standing in the doorway. Holy Shit.

He is with his brother Steven Baldwin, significant others in tow. First off let me tell you Alec really is a handsome devil. It’s a cliché, I know, but he is a lot taller in person than on screen. Alas, they had only one table; between the ladies room and the kitchen next to the register. It’s the worst table in the house. Alec, ever polite, takes it happily. He orders off the menu, says please and thank you, tips well, and thanks the kitchen staff on the way out. He is a perfect gentleman. This guy has his head on straight.

So basically my long winded post comes down to this. If these “famous people” can eat in a restaurant without being an entitled obnoxious prick why can’t you? Don’t get caught up in the seduction of celebrity. It’s an illusion. Just be happy to be you.

Now shut the fuck up and eat your food.

And Alec, if you're reading this, I expect payment shortly...

10 Things About Handjobs

A friend of mine (let's call him Brian Farmer) recently told me about a hookup where he left with nothing but a handjob. Now, according to Brian, when things got going the sky was the limit... but as it turned out the limit was much, much lower than he anticipated. He left that night in a strange state of mind...somewhere smack in between success and failure. In some ways he was like a man who had won a war but forgot what he was fighting for. In other ways, he was just another 27-year-old guy who was given a token handjob. Whatever the case be, it made him think. And as a result, it got me thinking as well...

1. Have you ever heard somebody over the age of 16 brag about getting a handjob? No. It doesn't happen. If you hook up with a girl and all you leave with is a handjob, you're probably going to end up rounding down to your friends to save face. "What'd you get?" "Um, I just felt her up, that's all."

2. Here's a question for ya. If it's raining out and you have an umbrella and somebody walks up to you and tries to hand you an umbrella, wouldn't you just be like, "Um, I already have that covered, thanks anyway." Yeah. Exactly.

3. Girls will say things like, "I know guys complain about handjobs, but I always get the job done." Yeah, you probably do, but that's only because desperate times call for desperate measures. If we know that's all we're getting, we're gonna make it work. Mind over matter. I'm pretty sure I could finish while getting an Indian Burn on my arm if I had to... it's all mental.

4. Handjob + 72 degree angle + closed eyes + gravity = potential to give oneself a facial. And that equals a very unhappy customer... usually.

5. A sweaty palm is not an acceptable form of lubrication.

6. Ladies, every time you say "I hate it when a guy tries to push my head down there!" somewhere on earth, at the EXACT same time, there is a guy saying, "I hate handjobs." If only we communicated a little more, maybe we'd all be happy.

7. This one's for the hookers: A handjob shouldn't cost any more than 1/2 of what a blowjob costs. I'm saying, if a bj costs $50, a handy shouldn't be any more than $15, that's all.

8. Remember those old SAT analogies? Well-- A penis is to a vagina : A hand is to a mitten. Please don't put my penis in a mitten.

9. Remember when you were a kid and all you had was Nintendo? You loved your Nintendo, didn't you? But then one day you were in the mall and you came across a Sega Genesis, and there was Sonic in all his 16-Bit glory. The game moved faster, the colors were brighter, and the overall excitement was so much greater. Once you got your hands on that joystick, you knew you'd have a hard time going back to your Nintendo. Right? So what did you do? You stuck your dick into your Sega, didn't you? Didn't you? That has nothing to do with handjobs, I'm just curious.

10. Finally, to make one last analogy: Getting a handjob is like pulling up to the full service pumps at a gas station. Sure it's a nice luxury, but in the end you just end up feeling a little strange having someone else do that job for you.

The Sex Mix

Who's done it? Who's made a Sex CD? Be honest.

I haven't, but it's an idea I've been kicking around since I started having (consensual) sex all those years ago. Of course, back then it would have been a Sex Mix-Tape, which would've made things awkward when I'd have to stop everything and flip it over to side B.

In school I would distract myself during boring classes by writing potential track listings for my ideal Sex Mix. I'd only be able to get a few songs down before I would say to myself, "What the fuck am I doing??" I mean, can someone really make a Sex CD? What does that say about you as a person? I guess it kind of says, "I have enough sex to necessitate a Sex CD," but it also kind of says, "I am really, really lame."

First things first: why make a Sex CD? Simple...there are absolutely no good CD's to have sex to. Or to make love to. Or to bone to. None. Not all the way through, at least. Sure, there are tons of CD's with potential, with little blocks of great sex songs, with the occasional hot track that makes you want to take your pants off, but there's not a single CD that I've come across that does the deed from beginning to end. There are 2 factors that contribute to this: The Single and Irony.

The Single ruins CD's that have sex potential. The single could be the one fast song on a generally slow and moody CD, or the one quirky song on an otherwise solid album. Not only does the single jar you, it's immediately recognizable, resulting in an awkward detachment that causes you and your partner to simultaneously think, "Oh, it's this song." If you know the words you start singing along in your head, which is great for guys (because it distracts you and bides more time) but not great for girls (because it distracts you and takes more time). The Single is a total mood killer, and it has ruined more albums in the past ten years than P. Diddy.

Now, Irony. Irony killed Soul. Killed Soul dead. All that great Al Green/Marvin Gaye/Otis Redding/Barry White music has been ruined-- no longer considered sexy, thanks to irony. Before the 'Age of Irony' you could play "Let's Get It On" to get somebody in the mood. Now if you cued up that song during the heat of the moment your partner would laugh their ass off. All that great 70's Soul music has been wasted away on lame TV commercials and Rob Schneider movies. Because of that, we're fucked. In case you didn't notice, there weren't any other genres of music in the 70's pumping out music to have sex to. Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, and the Ramones aren't exactly sexy, unless you're a D&D geek, elderly goth, or ugly, respectively. And the 80's didn't pick up the slack either, unless you live in New Jersey and have a girl that likes to get it on to Slippery When Wet. But that's it.

So as a generation with no good Sex Music, I guess we're kind of obligated to make our own Sex Mixes. But making a Sex Mix comes with several problems. First of all, what do you title it? "Sex Mix Vol. 1"? "Bob's Mood Music"? "Lay There And Take It"? You have to write something on the CD with a black sharpie, don't you? Beyond that, when you put on a Sex CD you're determining what kind of sex you're going to have. Radiohead sex is different than Sade sex. And classical music sex is different than both of those, because it means you're probably having sex with a baroness. (well, that's what it means on Cinemax.)

How about the sleazy factor? Is it sleazy if you use the same Sex Mix for a bunch of different girls? Is it sleazier, than say using the same box of condoms for a bunch of different girls? I say it is, because symbolically music is supposed to bring us closer together, while condoms are meant to keep us apart. But since it would be an incredible hassle to keep making new Sex CD's, I guess it's okay to reuse them. Of course, you should probably stop if you find yourself saying, "Geez, I liked this song so much more the last time I listened to it. God I miss my ex-girlfriend." The other problem is that if you've listened to it more than once you're going to start putting pressure on yourself. Like, "if I don't hold out until Track 9 I'm pathetic." Like you really need that.

What about the track listing to a Sex Mix? Do you try to match the pacing to that of a typical sexual encounter? Do you start with a few slow songs, proceed to work your way up to the climax, and conclude with the denouement? Am I putting way, way too much thought into this? I think I am.

But I'm not losing hope. While I don't think I'll ever be able to put together a satisfactory Sex Mix, hopefully there is an artist out there working on the ideal Sex CD as we speak. One that's devoid of Singles, Irony, and P. Diddy. Until then, I have no choice but to stick with my old standby: Mary Kate & Ashley's Greatest Hits.

What?

What Perks?

I have nothing left to live for.

It's true and it's unfair. When you're a kid you have so many substantial birthdays to look forward to. So many milestones. So many rewards just for making it to a specific age. Depending on what state you live in, around the age of 16 you get your drivers license. At 18 you finally earn the right to vote, and more importantly, the right to buy cigarettes and porn. At 19 you can start drinking legally in Canada. Next up is the big one, 21, when you can start drinking legally here in the states. Finally, at 25, you get to rent a car. And then that's it.

After you turn 25 there's really nothing left to live for. Sure, if you're a rich white guy you're technically eligible to run for president at 35, but that doesn't affect everybody. And yeah, I guess there are senior citizen discounts when you hit 55, but those are always pretty weak. There's nothing that rivals legal drinking and legitimate phone sex. What are we to do? What is there to motivate me to live another 5, 10, 20 years? There's nothing.

Now I turned 30 not too long ago, and this has really been bothering me. So last night after an intense brainstorming session with a friend, we came up with some more ideas for important birthday milestones. For some of these, the government has to step up and help us out, while others are more of societal agreements that we should accept and pass on to our kids. I think that all of these are plausible, and together we should go forth and nail them down. Because we all need a reason to live, right?

So here they are.

31 - Fuck A Friend. When you hit 31 you get to have No-Strings-Attached Sex with one of your good friends. Ideally, a friend that you've never had sex with before. This is sure to ease the pain of turning 31, and it will finally erase the sexual tension you have with an old pal. As a society we're gonna have to agree on this...a one time thing amongst friends.

33 - Free Light Beer. At 33, a dozen years after our last alcohol-related reward, we are rewarded with booze once again. All domestic light beer: Miller Light, Bud Light, Coors Light, etc. will be free from now on. Of course, this only applies at bars, and you have to prove you're 33 by showing your ID (which should provide a bit of an ego boost, since you probably haven't been legitimately ID'd in about 8 years). The reason this can only work at a bar is if we were able to take free cases of light beer from stores it is inevitable that the South would run out of Busch Light in 3 to 5 months.

35 - Vote In Foreign Elections. By the time you're 35 you pretty much know what's going on the world. But hey, even if you don't, that shouldn't stop you. At 35 you get the option of choosing a country and voting in their elections. Not only will this be kind of fun, it's also a great way to make the world hate us a little more. I couldn't think of a better way to show the Iraqis that we're serious about democracy than voting in their elections for them. Burnnnn.

42 - One (1) Free Pedicure. On your 42nd birthday the government will issue you one (1) gift certificate to a local beauty parlor for a free pedicure. Why? Why not? Hell, I'll probably go my whole life without getting a pedicure... unless, of course, I'm 42 and it's on the government's dime. It's a nice little treat.

50 - You Can Litter. Yes, it will still be frowned upon, but once you hit 50 you're allowed to litter without getting a ticket.

65 - Social Security. Maybe. We'll see about that.

66 - Women Can Finally Vote. I know this is controversial and crazy, but I think women should be allowed to vote when they turn 66. I mean, it's unfair that women in this country still don't have the right, and I think if we give them an additional 48 years to study up on the subject, by the time they're 66 they should be capable of making a good decision. Hey, call me a progressive liberal, but that's just what I think.

70 - You Can Be Openly Racist. When you hear a kid say something racist it breaks your heart and twists your stomach. When you hear an old person do it, it's almost kind of cute. So, when you turn 70 you can start saying stupid, irrational racist things and it will be more endearing than grotesque. Of course, you can't say racist things around children unless you preface it with "I'm old and I don't know what I'm talking about..."

85 - Murder. This is the big one-- the reason to live 8 and 1/2 decades. At 85 you're allowed to murder one person. Why? Well, because if you're alive that long you should be able to break one of the 10 Commandments, and well, we think adultery is just wrong.

Now, since we are a country of laws and regulations, you can't just go out and kill somebody when you turn 85. You have to file the paperwork and get the government to review your case and approve. There are 2 stipulations: (a) You have to have a personal vendetta against the person; and (b) The person you want to murder has to be 85 or older. Because if you really want to kill somebody after 85 years, that person probably deserves to be dead. Of course, as paperwork tends to go, it will take 6-8 years for everything to clear, so chances are at least one of you will be dead by the time the Murder is approved. But assuming you both live into your nineties... Well, happy birthday, Grandpa.

We need more perks in life. We deserve it. We deserve more rights and fewer responsibilities. When you're celebrating a birthday, all you're celebrating is not dying for 365 days... can't we do better than that?

I think we can. I think we can, and I hope you agree with that, and most importantly, I hope you still want to be my friend after reading this.

Why?

So I can fuck you when I'm 31. Duh.

Lent? No, Ego.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to have your attention. I have a major announcement that I want to share with you.

As of today, I am a vegetarian.

(For the month of March only.)

Yes, you read that right.Yours truly, one of the greatest carnivores in the Northeast, if not the entire US, is going without meat for a whole month.

Please, don’t freak out. There is no reason to be concerned and I’m not losing my mind (that is, I’m not losing it any more than I was already losing it). I assure you I have a most excellent reason for this life-altering change.

I am NOT doing this because I care about animals. I firmly believe that animals, like women, were put on this earth to be conquered and eaten by man (women not so much with the eating part, but you get it). And few things piss me off more than militant animal rights people. Don’t get me wrong: I have no political or social convictions and I respect the hell out of people who do. But if I were ever to have such a conviction, I’d like to think that I might focus on causes that might help humans (poverty, hunger, AIDS, etc) than stuff that helps animals, or as I like to call them, food. I mean, I think fur is wrong and all, but I ain’t gonna dedicate my life or a significant chunk of my time for some animals that God put on the earth for me to kill and eat anyway.

[Women and animal activists, please note that I AM indeed single]

Nor am I doing this for health reasons. I know I’ve only got a few years left, you know I’ve only got a few years left, whatever. If anything, I think I will actually gain weight from being a vegetarian. I don’t like or eat vegetables, so during this month my meat and fowl consumption will be replaced by macaroni and cheese, pizza, pasta, and more pizza. Not only that, but I’m already of the mindset of, "Hey, if I’m going to be a vegetarian, I’m gonna eat whatever the fuck else I want to eat." No ones wins when I start getting selfish, especially the TWO pieces of pumpkin pie I had for lunch.

With this in mind, I weighed myself this morning, intending to put how much I weigh now on here so that I could compare it to my weight at the end of the month. But when I got weighed this morning, I learned that I was a whopping 223 pounds. This is a pretty high weight for me. My fighting weight is about 190, which is focused entirely on my gut.

This is the most I've ever weighed, as far as I remember. I also remember my dad betting me that I couldn’t break 250 once, and though I tried, I have yet to cross that 250 pound plane. It was the first time my dad ever encouraged me in anything semi-athletic. Actually it’s sort of the opposite of athletic. And I still let him down. We have a complicated relationship.

The lowest my weight has ever been was in 1995 when I nearly got under 180. This is when I had no money and decided to travel the world for a year. After gorging myself regularly, and realizing that credit card debt (because of food) just wasn't cool, I realized I was going to have to: a) stop drinking, b) stop eating, c) stop traveling. I chose "b" and, let me tell you something, you’d be surprised how much weight you can lose when you only have a turkey sandwich every day for three months. Of course, when I finally got back to work, I gained about thirty pounds (in the first 26 hours after cashing my paycheck), much to the chagrin of the girl I was dating at the time, who started dating me when I was Svelte John. Oh well - sucked for her.

I have been hovering within a few pounds of 210 since 1999, so today’s reading was a surprise. However, I think there are three reasons for the higher-than-expected number:

1) Over the past few days I’ve been gorging myself: breakfast meats galore, two trips to the deli for pastrami, a few chicken parm dinners, etc.

…

You know, I just re-read that line and realized that that’s not very different from my normal diet. I guess I’m just a fat bastard.

2) When I weighed myself this morning, I was not nude. I kept my boxers on to cover up my genitals, because I didn’t them to see the potentially high number. So the boxers added at least 4 pounds, I’m sure. And thank god I did cover them up, because they would have ascended into my body and would have stayed there for a good two months. Not like they’re needed for anything except show, but whatever.

3) I have not trimmed my beard in a while. That’s another 2-3 pounds right there.

But still, despite my higher-than-average current weight, I still think I will gain weight over the next month. So we’re at 223 right now. Mark it down. I might finally get above 250. Sweet.

So the real reason I’m doing this has nothing to do with animals or health. Instead, it is because of something more dear to me than either my love of animals or my own health. Hell, my reason behind my month-long vegetarianism is more important than anything else to me. So why am I doing this?

Ego.

Some background: last week, the concept of vegetarianism came up in a conversation between my friend Mike and I.

Me: "You know, I think I could be a vegetarian for a little while."
Mike: [laughing] "Yeah, right."
Me: "What?"
Mike: "Oh, you’re not joking?"
Me: "No, I’m not joking. What the hell does that mean?"
Mike: "You could never be a vegetarian. That’s no meat, pork, chicken, or turkey. Only fish and vegetables. And I’ve never seen you eat a vegetable on purpose."
Me: "I could do it."
Mike: "You wouldn’t last two days."
Me: "I fucking hate you."

Later that night, a bunch of us went to dinner. My buddy McGriff was there. I brought up the idea up to him.

Me: "So McGriff, I think I might become a vegetarian for a little while."
McGriff: "How long’s a little while? Like, fifteen, twenty minutes?"
Me: "I fucking hate you."

Then we basically had the same conversation Ben and I had. The best part is that I haven’t consistently hung out with McGriff since I was in college, but he still doubted my dedication.

Or underestimated my ego.

I kept bringing up the vegetarian idea to more friends and each replied the same way: there’s no way I could do it. None. None, none, none.

So guess what bitches? Look who’s going one month without meat: ME. It’s on - no meat for all of March. No chicken, hot dogs, burgers, turkey, pastrami, Taco Bell, Burger King, chili, steak, chicken parm, bacon, ribs - none of it. For the month of March, it’s only going to be eggs, cheese, potatoes, rice, tuna, peanut butter, and a whole lot of fucking desserts for me.

I’m obviously going to have to work on the honor system here, but I will not lie. I know that you probably don’t believe me, since I lie all the time, but I’m not lying here. When it comes to matters of ego, truth is everything.

So over the next month I’ll be letting you know of my progress. Don’t worry, I’m not going to turn this into a diet blog. And hell, the odds are that I’m going to get drunk this weekend and eat a dog. But if I do, you will know.

Finally, wish me luck. Because I’m really going to need it. I already kinda regret this, but there’s no turning back now.

[Please don’t send me emails saying that real vegetarians don’t eat fish or whatever the hell else. I’m eating fish, ok? If it makes you feel any better, I don’t even like fish, so I won’t be eating that much. Thank god for pizza and Country Crock mac and cheese. Bring on the carbs!]