my cat just climbed up onto a bookshelf then puked off of it.

Title of blog?
Just happened.

I still have no photographic account of Atlantic City but at some point I will, including the retarded accident that led to cripple status.
In the meanwhile (excellent Jodeci song) lets talk about sex. (excellent S+P song)
Gross lets actually talk about the god damn hurricane from hell (or from hot south american winds??) that showed up yesterday afternoon.

The idea was to enjoy crisp cool beers at a lovely discount cost thanks to Bogdan The Prince of Copenhagen and Obscure Art. And Hats.



GoodWorld moved to Allen and Delancey and changed their name to something weird like Flying White Oysters.
This guy was having a really swell time reading the papers in a tweed suit and sneakers.



I doubt I need to clarify but he was not American. Really?!?
Truthies.

Then this happened.





All the windows and doors open and swinging, the wind blowing packs of cigarettes off of tables....
It was cinematic and invigorating.
Summer storms are a weather phenomenon that I always seem to forget about. Then they happen and they are so amazing and electric.

Stephanie came and told us a really long story.


I was tired thanks to my faggot broken arm, and they were making faces like this.

Short attention spans, not your fault Porto.



Thats better.



It was a really good first afternoon back...
Izabella is all about playing matchmaker for me. Hi, blind dates? My favorite activity behind eating a sandwich in the tub.
After Good White Oyster Fuck we went home and Liv cooked pasta and Stephanie cleaned my room.

I'm feeling lucky.

Also lucky?
Today is the 25th Anniversary of PURPLE RAIN!
Heres a little math magik.
I'm 25.
The movie musical is 25.
My sister is giving birth to my new niece today meaning...
THIS BABY WILL HAVE THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER AND I WILL THROW HER A PURPLE RAIN PARTY ON HER 25TH BDAY WHICH WILL BE THE FILMS 50TH ANNIVERSARY.

I feel like my brain might explode if I think about it.


Excitement can be too much for some people.
I really feel you Sue.

Feeling you from the inside.

Good brunch with Tash today, Moroccan Benedict and Blood Orange Martinis. Yums!

Blorg time.
I'm feeling really joyous and blessed, which doesn't really make for the best comedic commentary, thats the sad truth of human nature.
But bear with me.



I honestly don't know what to say today so I'm going to drink a beer and see were that goes.

OK Things.

Thursday Night.

The darling Professor is back in town from a long stint in London. He brought a lot of energy home with him to New York, so he has been a gem to have around.
LOLA party 10pm.
We walked along the river to the Broad St Ballroom and into the most crowded glorious place I've seen in awhile.
There wasn't a sourpuss in sight.
Good times with immediacy.


Tash was bewildered.


10 minutes after we got there, we got up to the front. Alger is walking around being mysterious and Questlove slinks right by him playing a triangle or something up to the stage. Super relaxed.
Then his marching band came out of nowhere and blew excitement directly up our collective asses.


Hearing Hollywood Swingin' performed in this fashion is probably the fastest way to get asses shook.

10 flights up we found early nineties club music and a wooden playground on the roof.
Also beer in Levin's pants.







On the eighth floor we found more beer and tequila, a barber shop, a body mod guy, Amber and her sister, some police officers and firemen, a giant bodyguard, better music.

I never made it to the pool because you weren't allowed to bring beers in there.
Pfft.
I think I missed a lot of things going on but I had an excellent time.
I'm pretty sure the tequila was cursed because after a couple shots everyone was on one.

Midnight it all shuts down.


Levin posted up for a minute then we hit the streets.




Some assholes I don't know wanted to jump in the picture.
I was told to get the abusrdly massive american flag in he photo and of course did not.
So Olives salute makes zero sense in this case.


Gotham City yall.

Friday night was conceptual photog mission with Alger.
Dress up and models and documentation of the greatest apartment I will even have inhabited in this city.


Stylists are always fun because they love to talk shit on everyone.
It's part of their gig really.


Beautiful girl, great trash hair.
PS, just because a woman is Japanese, it does not automatically make her retarded.
Speaking broken English and having a brain deficiency are two different things.
She was a total doll and probably laughing at all of us inside.
Stupid Yankees.


The 17 year old Russian model in the foreground had a lot to say about American culture and the fact that I burp pretty constantly when ingesting Budweieser tallboys.
Keep your Eastern Euro commentary to yerself please. Theeeeeinks!
PS youre cute, but I don't need the sass. Look gorgeous and shet the yap.


Marion looked like Carnivale plus Miami plus country singer plus sex.



I initially resisted taking part in the actual photos, then I remembered I am suprememly self absorbed and theatrical.
So I put on a metallic onesie and some hot bitch heels and worked it out.
Obviously.


For those of you unfamiliar with the Alger photo mastery, heres a piece he did for Ray Ban recently.
When he runs around the models with his lights drawing in the air thru the darkness he makes a hilarious rocket zoom type sound.
That makes it very hard to hold still and play serious.
He is one of my favorites generally speaking and he deserves every ounce of success he ever sees.
What a heart.

Everything is so fun lately it makes it impossible to express on a blog.
I feel so lucky to have such fantastic people around me all of the time, they are inspiring and full of such genuine goodness and talent and humor.
(Faggetry!)

Olive got some photos back recently from a trip we had to NJ together, they are so natural and free and a superb reminder of how wonderful things can be when we see them for what they are.
The shore on a cold day with no shoes.
Your mothers house in the suburbs.
A wrestling match with one of your oldest most loyal confidants.
All caught.
So we don't forget it or take it for granted.






















Oldest, dearest, I never forget you.

Kisses from the summer solstice.

Hi Waaaaayne.....Hiiiiiiii.

I just touched my cat's butt by accident and I'm really disgusted by it.

Something else I'm disgusted by is the state my legs are in.
I look like a teenage runaway who lives under a bridge and has a vitamin deficiency.
I have been tearing up South Street on my bike as well as having too many drinks and aggressively dragging said bike up and down stairs and such.
That explains the severely bruised ankles/calves/thighs.
I have this super irritated shredder cut that looks kind of like a tiger tried to climb up my limb. Its is a little swollen and still fairly dirty.
I fell. That's the whole story.


So today Claude, my cognitive behavioral therapist/new best friend told me in jest that I should tattoo 'I don't date losers' on the palm of my hand to serve as a personal reminder.
We talked for at least 20 minutes about the fact that I specifically chose to continue seeing men who I am FULLY AWARE are unavailable.
AKA substance abusers, cheaters, jobless drifters, emotionally invested in other women, depressed, etc etc etc.
To be totally honest, this is something I swear to God, I didn't know I was doing.
Heres a sample of how blind I am:

Claude: What exactly do you want from ____?
Me: I think I have no idea what I want. I think I wish things would just be happy and awesome. The men I like, they are actually good people, seriously Claude.
Claude: OK. Good. Are they available?
Me: No.
Claude: OK. So you have to stop seeing them. Cut it off. Its OK for things to just not work out. No one is a 'loser' we are just humans. You are not picking losers, you are just being *MALADAPTIVE.
Me: But that means I don't win.
(THAT IS VERBATIM. VERBATIM)
Claude: Riiiight. So you're winning right now? I mean... wouldn't winning be dating people who want to be with you? And respect you? And are ready?
Me: What? This is stupid. I win if I make it work.
Claude: Guess what. You just made my job easier. Repeat yourself outloud. See how it sounds.
Me: Oh shit.

Aaaaaand SCENE.
Tada!
Then he gave me some exercises to do and things to research and looked at me like a little gnome and wiggled his glasses and said, "Its all about the path. Thats all. Just the path."
That gave me a panic attack but I settled down and was fine.
Great Job.

*Maladaptive behaviors refer to types of behaviors that inhibit a person’s ability to adjust to particular situations. This type of behavior is often used to reduce one’s anxiety, but the result is dysfunctional and non-productive. For example, avoiding situations because you have unrealistic fears may initially reduce your anxiety, but it is non-productive in alleviating the actual problem in the long term.

Enough about that for now.
Here's some things me and Gob did together recently.

(not this Gob)




Gob and I looking at the river while weird Chinese people fish and set things on fire.


Gob and I looking out at machinery and dome as pictured below.




Awkward running father who did not understand that one would need wind in order to successfully fly a kite.
Men alone with children is interesting because of their completely sporadic fits of logic. Its there...then its not? Oh here eat this popsicle for breakfast. What? You refuse to now eat these eggs? Why???
Lets fly a kite! Shit, there is no wind. I guess I'll just walk around with you with no water and long sleeves on this very hot afternoon until your mother gets home.
Shrug.
I love men, I do. And the idea of a loving father, a fun father...its a Dream. Its special!
But.
Lets face it.
Theres a reason why kids think dads are fun and moms are pests.
Somebody has to be the pest or every kid in the world would have rotten teeth, dirty faces, infected fingies and weird brown bag lunches with little to no nutritional value.
I generalize because its funny.


Death is part of life.
But maggots eating squirrel eyes is still gross.
FDR is literally killing it.
(ba-dum CHHHH!)


Tank top balding sandals guy and his giant turtle, who may in fact be his romantic lover.
PS the turtle lives in a boat house.
Baller.

This has nothing to do with my bike rides, but please look at this man on the train.

His toupee was SO UNBEWEAVABLE in person.
It looks like a hair hat!
I have never seen anything like it.
It was so shiny and wiggish and his little remaining wiry gray hairs poked out all around its border.
He also had the weirdest kit I have even seen, dirty denim with elastic waist and cuffs?
One velcro shoe one with laces?
A fucking confetti party time pattern umbrella?
An expensive-ish watch?
I'm pretty sure hes one of those people who tries to sell you free things like copies of the Onion or 'appraisal on air conditioning unit installing' coupons he got in the mail. Super Saver!
He probably also eats people.

The opposite of scary train guy is this kid, who I met at Stephanies bday BBQ.


He was really good at scrounging our food and also tried to plant an avocado pit in the dirt so the park could have a fruit bearing tree.
I gave him bubbles and a pop ice.
Then I played ball with him.
His face makes me happy so I am going to go to bed before something ruins it.

Arr-vwar, creeps!