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.

In every wish and dream And happy home You will find the kingdom of The Gnomes

Everything comes in giant waves, no?

I woke up quite under the weather this morning completely unable to swallow coupled with aching eyeballs.
Not suitable for nannying.
I had to call out of work of course because little babes don't need my germs no siree. (Suri?)

It was an unpleasant day of not eating, not really drinking, not really moving... just rolling around in my bed having feverish dreams and intermittently feeling the disgusting tingle of the sunburn on my lower back rub against my sheets.

Then I dragged myself up around 230 this afternoon to get ready to go to therapy on the upper west side.
For some reason I thought today would be a really good day to delve into some ol stinky garbage issues I've had since I was a kid that possibly affect my current behaviours.
Might I remind you, this is Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, and is all about living in the moment mindfully. It is certainly not about having an hour long self absorbed cry fest.
Well...today I failed at mindfulness and self control.
I sweat all over Claude's nice Eames lounge chair and snot up about half his box of tissues.
I cried the entire time basically and I had that weird awful sobby choked voice that it just unbearable.

So that happened.

I came home to rest and take some pills and drink some tea which was nice but then I got shit on by someone who shall remain nameless.
I really dislike being disliked does that make sense?
I always feel this weird pity for people who berate those who care about them. It makes me think they are so beyond fucked inside that I have to figure it out and then assist them in some way.
Maybe they just don't like me and thats why they talk shit.
Either way, its essentially a lose-lose sitch.

So as of 7 minutes ago it became Tuesday and this horrible Monday ended and I am glad for it.
I embrace every moment I have with those I love but today was pretty loveless for the most part.
Thats why I'm going to think about all the happiness I had this holiday weekend.
I am so so thankful for the people in my life who give me positive thoughts and unconditional acceptance.
I hope these photos make you feel good.


On the train out to NJ to celebrate the 4th, it appeared as though Levin was not set to have a good time with the ladies. But I had faith in his ability to find enjoyment in all the vagina he was about to be stuck with for 48 hours.


Porto sits with me and is never embarrassed when I talk too loud or say "wet dick" in public.
Maybe she is embarrassed but she doesn't scold me which is nice.


Marshy like disease time.


Beer.
Meat.
Livy's salad.
Dinner in the yard.
It was an immediate killing it type of situation upon arrival.

We walked to the fireworks at the river and somehow ended up with the perfect seats despite a crowd of 125,000 people. Supposedly 125G, Nancy may have exaggerated.


Levin posted up Americana.


This is real.
Real emosh. (emotional? can i say emosh?)
Stephanie cried a few times and forced Levin to hold her hand dramatically.
I enjoyed that.
I mostly clapped furiously and wiggled with excitement.
Red Bank fireworks are by far the best I have ever seen in my life.
There were hearts and purple things and star showers and hibiscus shaped ones with red lanterns in the center that floated away as the explosion faded.
Steph and I now have a plan to be cremated and stuffed into a tube WITH fireworks so we can be shot into the sky and transcend time and space like magik.
I made up that last part about transcendence.


Levin caveman duties.


This is what drunk ghosts probably look like.



The next day, the actual July 4th, we had a plan to remain at the beach until the fireworks went off on the ocean around 9pm.
It is very hard to be at the beach for ten hours.
But Ilona and Werman showed up which was entertaining, especially because Ilona was wearing her mans underpants as a babin suit.


Werman is a good beach DJ.


Look at these butts!
Look at these mexican blankies from 7-11!


Stephanie's beach walk is so good, she does it a certain way 'so nothing shakes'
Shes my tiny pony.


If they have a baby I think they should just name it Jew.
No other moniker would really explain a creature from their combined beings.



Jey and BabyBows finally showed up late in the day.
They did not disappoint on Jersey costume prep.
Best part is they sort of always look like this.
I just never realized what I was looking at.
Glory.


I wish I had thought of this first.

I don't think it is possible to blog anything after the beginning of the sunset.
It was too good.
Dogs running on the beach.
So much color.
Music and swimming and all kinds of good things.
Heavenly is a good adjective in very few occasions but here it may apply.



















Olivia took photos of me with seashells over my boobies like a mermaid laying in the wet sand.
And me and Jey holding hands in the creek reflecting the pink from the sky.
And Stephanie dancing with a scarf like a bird.
And water dives and poodle chases and Micheal Jackson beach house blasting celebration.
All those parts are in my head where they belong and I wish I could share them but I just don't know about that.
I would have to be so much better of a writer...

We had one more little trip to the beach Sunday after I ate probably 3 entire bagels and drank 14 glasses of juice.
Then to Jeys to eat all the food at her house.
Also to show off my sunburn.


And sing this:


Then to the ferry to see another sunset and go back to the reals.



Out-feeeeit!








The moon!



This to that.


I walked South Street to my apartment and was greeted by a giant dead bird on the stoop.
It stared at me for a few minutes then whispered Welcome Home.

*PostScript thank you mom for taking care of us and loving us and feeding us and having a place for me always

Martha Stewart Living on the edge

Re: title of this blog, I'm REALLY good at Wheel of Fortune 'Before and After' puzzles.
Constructing them and solving them.
Just another thing I'm good at that will never get me ahead in life.
Big Whoop.

OK.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ONE OF MY DEAREST FRIENDS, THE MAN WHO SPEAKS TO MY SOUL EVERY DAY, MY HEART, MY TALL ONE, MY ITTLE JARN DOLL, MY DEAD DEAD.
I love you Jon Walter, you are 26 and alive as anyone could ever be.
Jon's self portrait



Sew.
I've been neglecting my blog obviously.
I want to be witty and talkative but I feel like I just can't.
I think being unemployed has made me less of a person.
The last week and a half has been brunches, beer, east village, LES, chinatown, puppets, happy hour, bikes, girls, boys, and ridiculously unstable weather conditions.
I also read a couple magazines, watched a lot of dvds, did extensive research on future film releases/trailers, and found out the following:
If I leave my windows open at night, my cats shriek absurdly loud at the strays in the courtyard.
At 5am.
Its.
Terrifying.

For now, here are some photographic memories.


Russians and pudgy Latinas def have the shitty shoe market on lock.


this ad gave me a boner everytime I saw it in the subway.
I watched an episode on youtube.
Was it exactly what I expected and wanted?
YES.
PS I watched it with a nine year old boy and it led to this kind of behaviour:



Had a night out on the sidewalk in the EVil with these weirdos.
Me and Jess talked about how the water in Jersey makes the bagels better.
Will shouted "ZOE!" at every woman that passed by.
They sort of act like a creepy married couple that everyone is scared to do dinner with. Except they aren't married. Or dating. Or attracted to eachother. NBW.
I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.


These two were being funny I think.
Liv is doing 'story hands'


We wound up at a hookah bar full of creepy Armenians.
Speakers blasting Cece Peniston.
Erman is Armenian but was completely out of his element.
We candle read his tattoos.

That was the first night of ill weather.
I got my butt grabbed by an old dirty lesbian dopehead.
I got epic blisters from wearing wedge heels for the first time this season.
Hiyme drank 48 Red Bulls.
It was such a good memory.
All of it.

***I JUST TOOK A 20 MINUTE BREAK FROM THIS BLOG TO SEND RESUMES. SOMEONE PLEASE GIVE ME A JOB. THANK YOU KINDLY.***

Ok, I'm back.
Oh yeah, I went to a spa upstate with Nan, that was really relaxing and extremely boring.
My mom is so awesome because we go places together and do nothing really and have a great time.
The fullbody Swedish massages were godly.

No one ever cares about what other people vacations look like, so I'll make this short...


I'm always a little sad to say goodbye to New York
Even for just a few days.


As soon as we got to this place we immediately put on robes and spa-ed the fuck out.
When I say immediately I mean it.
Ps does anything smell better than a good spa room?
No.
Is the answer.


This sign expresses exactly the vibe at the Mohonk Mountain House.
QUIET PLEASE.
There were no tvs.
No bars so to speak.
Quaker balling.


My moms gear is always 1. sparkly 2. colorful 3. teenager-like








Water Therapy




Not planned.
I was ecstatic about this.
Nan on the other hand, not so much.
The room was unusually hot.
That is not a bad joke, its just an ironic truth.


Went shopping in a hippie town nearby, and when we returned to the mountain house it snowed.
So. Lame.
It was 4/20 by the way and here are two things that will illustrate how New Paltz, NY gets down:

advertisement for the local entertainment


novelty stoner item sadly discarded.

OK I'm over taking about the spa, I liked it, it was sleepy, my mom kicks your moms ass.
Non-literally speaking.
My mom wouldn't fight your mom, shes a peacemaker.

Moving on.


Sour Rocker


Babyface Bowman


Sean Connery's grandson, Steven James.

Its been getting hot so we are all doing this stuff:


Amazing brunch season.
LOOK AT THOSE PANCAKES.


Riding bikes past shitty yet epic graf downtown with my main girl.
(this photo dedicated to said main girl Jeylan, I really might not be able to smile without you. Pause)

Ride to a BBQ.


rooftops.


gnome offerings.


people who have their shit together live in this fashion.


Oh hai.


Sometimes I think Stephanie looks like someone who should be an agent for really obnoxious young actors.


Please note Wyatts hangover face. It is perfect.
PS the olive oil looks like Jagermeister.
Why are people in marketing so fucking retarded?


I look like I design bongs but I really design Prada sunglasses.
I also have the most infectious laugh known to man.
Also my name is Brock.
Win.

Sitting outside at bars is always a good look in the hot ass evening.


Is it just me or is this fucking cute?




My bike is suitable for anyone really.
25 year old girls with short legs.
Grown men.
Whatever.


Hey gurl.


ConRAD attempting to take his name to a very literal level.

Sunbathing in Bushwick with Marion healed all pain.








Saw this baller from the J train stairwell.
He inspired me with color.

Also inspiring.
Boxing Jew puppetry.







Is anyone tired of this blog post yet?
I am.
Truly.

This has gone on too long and my fingers hurt.

Thats what he said.

ZING!