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.

You wouldn't pass the initiation.

S'been a week.
What I was doing:


This is what it looks like when me and Moll have happy hour.





This is what it looks like when your Valentines date is a glass of booze.


I was just yesterday ranting about how much I hate when people make certain faces for the camera.

My least favorite is the myspace self portrait pout.


My second least favorite is the pretend metal head pose.

You make my skin crawl.

Side note.
Large animals in captivity doing that?
Hilarious.


Jeyla gets a pass on the tongue out thing because shes obviously one of the most fantastic people on earth hands down.
Also she is sort of hiding beneath the ill druid hood which automatically means everything she does is partially invisible and therefor nbd.

Speaking of hood invisibility, it is one of my favorite things.
This is because I am insecure about my face.
I went to Dre Day at Santos and was in the quietest mood of my life so I kept my jacket on and hood up and lemme tell you.
What a diff.
I was THERE and NOT THERE all at once.
Its like magik.
Also magik.
This thing.

More magik?
Crip walking jews and lots of doofus looking white guys with R-tard strength.
Because. That was who attended Dre Day.
Good times.
Wish you were there.


Got a package from Greece.
Full of tzatziki, what else?

Whoops, home address on blast.


Jey wore Nike spandex to go eat sushi.
It was all about raw sea creatures, sake, and the booty.
And rape.
That how it works on No Rules Tuesday.

The official photo for my sentiments about No Rules Tuesday:

Tht kids parents are def full blown Swede.


Saw this in an old reference book in my psychiatrists office.
I wanna know more about brainz.
I want to know why there is no such thing as the right song to listen to if you are still awake at 530am.
Also, why was Sex In The 90s the best show ever made?
In addition, why does beer for dinner ever present itself as a 'great idea'?

All week I've been making a mess of my apartment and thinking about spicy food and wasting money and feeling like shit.
I'm not unhappy at all, just super irresponsible.
I was talking to my dear mum about leaving the Gypsy Den of Chinatown behind come fall.
It is amazingly daunting to think of being somewhere else.
The image I get in my mind is being on the 5th floor of some walk up in the east village, being blinded by the sun streaming in the window.
Plants surviving in the kitchenette.
No more leaky pipes.
No roommate.
An actual door to the bathroom.

Sounds like a fucking nightmare if you ask me.

But all things must come to an end.
The era of the basement dweller has been in full effect for years and maybe its not good for me anymore.

New Topic.
Hot Topic.
Hot New Topic.
What are you gonna pick?
Hot Pockets?
Mmmm Hot Pockets.


February is almost over, who has the hook up for me for a new bike?
Mine was stolen in October.
I plan to replace it with something small, purple, and dreamy.
Tsst.


In my mind it will be like this.
Only no engine.
And I won't wear that outfit.
And it will go a lot slower.
And I will not be giving rides to girls of mysterious ethnic makeup.

Purify yurself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka.

Girl that aint Lake Minnetonka.

Aaaaaaaand SCENE.