no more grilled cheese before bed

I had a "discovery channel health" nightmare that i weighed 402 pounds on a digital scale...like the kid in "I'm 16 and morbidly obese." Scary! Not for nothing, but I was shopping for a digital scale on the Bed Bath and Beyond website before bed. I also bought sheets and a damn bath mat though, so what the fuck!

Come see this.

The Pulp Fiction quiz -

beatles or elvis?
partridge family or brady bunch?
peter strauss or nick nolte?
talk or listen?
betty or veronica?

Great finger on the personality pulse pop-culture quiz. Thanks, Quentin!

Comically simple!

With a nod to John Waters (as I first probably saw this in B-more anyway, and it was just quoted in "Dirty Shame," Waters' last film that's on LOGO now)...

a ridiculously catchy short film made at CalArts in 1974 now on Flash!

Do you like?

hee hee.

I would dedicate this to a friend (I'm sending this entry to), but I don't have a pseudonym yet. Will report back soon!

When lousy sleep happens to good people....

"Us sing, and dance, and holler, just wanting to be loved."
- Shug Avery (Margaret Avery), "The Color Purple" Yeah, I cry like an idiot.

"I've got a husband. I don't need another one."
- Janey Carver (Sigourney Weaver), "The Ice Storm" Now, who inhabits a character better than Sigourney? Tell me, people I don't know!

"You're chewing gum?"
- Miles (Paul Giamatti), "Sideways" I think I finally like this movie.

Broadway Flea Market 2006!

It's already Tuesday and I haven't gotten around to this yet. Every year I attend and rhapsodize about the folks, finds, etc. So here it is!

Sunday turned out not to suck too badly, weatherwise, but since major storms were predicted, the 'let's get there early' strategy didn't work out and the place was thronged at 10 AM, when I met my college-and-theater/market buddy Jessica at the starting point, 44th and 8th. I kind of love meeting at 'the usual place' since there's so few things in life I'm consistent about; I can't remember when we started hitting the Flea Market. Every year, things are a little different, but basically the same...but in that good way. Before I get any cheesier, let's move on.

I think because of the rain, there were way fewer books then last year. Usually we come out with buttloads of dollar books and plays (that's where I scored my highly useful copy of "Glengarry Glen Ross") - I meant to pick up that extra copy of Shurtleff's "Audition" (highly recommended by Billy Merritt, and I've lent mine out twice), but I absently laid it down and forgot. I did grab "Writing the Broadway Musical," as we discussed how all the new ones happen to suck mightily. It's true! Which memorabilia sweatshirts are going to be $2 next year? Hmmm!


We browsed show jackets and bathrobes - nothing as fabulous as the Tony Awards robe she scored a few years ago. I made a huge find at the "Broadway Bares" stripper/fund raiser booth (I've never used the wrapping paper I bought long ago, it's still in my headboard drawer) - gold lame heels, gold sequin wristbands and a blue feather boa, all for $15. Hello halloween! I was highly tempted by the gowns on the "Hairspray" rack, but they were, pricewise (but not size-wise) out of my league. We avoided playbills, pored over kitsch, snorted at inflated prices ($100 for a Sweeney Todd pie plate? Indeed not!) and picked up a few odds and ends. A light haul, overall.

We caught a glimpse of Bebe Neuwirth in the non-cloistered 'celebrity photo booth.'

The quality find this year was post-fair-examine-the-stash breakfast at the coffee shop at the Edison Hotel , which I'd heard about but never seen. Wind your way through the lobby and fabulous heavy-duty old country food awaits you! I'm a sucker for restaurants that still have whiteboard with black letters pressed in them. "I thought the blintzes would be light..." said my dining companion, staring down a Dixie cup full of sour cream. I gazed over my pancakes and dish of bacon and noticed that they never charged me for that coffee refill after all.

Good times, once again. Let's hope they bring the drag queens back to the raffle wheel someday!

Hero Machine 2.0!

You've gotta love this site!

I like that there are two ass-kicking female form options. And lots of hair, boots, sidekicks and accessories for all!

Seriously, deep down inside, this is what I really look like, Ace bandages and all.












Show me your Superheroes!

This post is about me.

I am supposed to be at H&R Block meeting the once and/or future ex to do the taxes. At noon. On 23rd Street.

It is 11:48. I am not dressed. I can't locate the W-2s.

This is not good.

My stomach hurts.

Edit: Meeting Postponed! Meeting Postponed!

This post is NOT about you.

Regarding "Cathouse: The Series"

1. Is Airforce Amy closer to 20, 30, 40 or 50? Yeesh!
2. If you're going to dye the hair that blonde, ladies, how 'bout springing for the eyebrows too? Not a good look, Sunset!
3. Is it just me, or are people shelling out good cash for some pretty tame stuff? I mean really, if you're going to push the limit of your precious University of Alabama Alumni VISA, why spend it just watching your wife get furiously fondled by another woman? Maybe America really is bo-ring!

Pet my pussy, but only if you stimulate me first. It's only logical.

Good lord, what is a pet date?

I'm fascinated by highly specialized dating sites. Even though I'm not looking for anyone lately. It's the same thing that draws me to the clothing racks in vintage stores and tiny dressmakers' shops in the East Village, gazing at 50s crinoline frocks and 60s sheath dresses. Just Not for Me, but the colors and textures are interesting.

For the merely snooty, or the creepily eugenic. these are sites for the intellectual-elitist (GoodGenes is more inclusive than the Right Stuff, oddly enough).

However, this is now my favorite one:

Trek Passions: OnLine Dating for SciFi Fans.

Live Long and Prosper, sex fiends. I'm going to polish off my Bajoran ear cuff and sharpen my bat'hleth*.

I wonder if anyone meets face to face.


*waiting to get spelling correction on that.

"Grrrrreetings Princess Cindy....and how are ya?"

In my opinion, the best "SuperSweet 16" (or as the girl's mom says, Super Swit Sixtin) episode is the Staten Island one. Where did they 'suddenly' get the $14,000 anyway? Did the 'brothers' beat the crap out of Prince Charming behind the catering hall? Will the tiny loud girl fall during the "Dirty Dancing" dance?

Oh, when bad TV happens to good people. I fondly recalled the time I hypnotized an otherwise well-educated culturally literate friend of mine (cable-free, proud Netflixer of documentaries, British public television and the "West Wing") with four or five straight episodes of "Next."

There's a new RW/RR Challenge starting Thursday. I can't wait!

"Peter Jennings Is Dead" - Live at the Monmouth County Fringe Festival!!!

The reviews are in!

"Who ARE these people??"
- Larry David

"Schmaltzy! I LOVED it!"
- Alan Alda

"You have to publish these things in threes, right?"
- Roger Ebert

"Peter Jennings is Dead" is the meta-satirical story of two rising young wordsmiths hurtling towards the center of the sun...one swig of cheap tequila and scathing remark at a time. And they KNOW. Just. How. Amusing. They. Are. Do YOU? Do THEY? DO THEY???

The Monmouth County Fringe Festival is fortunate to welcome these talented and breathtakingly attractive folks fresh from their well-received runs at LiveArts06 in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania and SpringArtSouth in Bel Air, Maryland.

Written by and starring Isabella Bonaventura-Shapiro (Bronx Public Television Seminar Series, SpeedBall HappyTime Theatre, ArtsArena) and Trent Regan Sharpe (Masters of Disaster, SpeedBall HappyTime Theatre, NewArtsFest 2.2). Directed by jean-pette josephson (Shakespeare by the Sea, SpeedBall HappyTime Theatre, Beckett on Beckett).

Showtimes 230 and 430 PM Friday, Saturday and Sundays (630 PM show added!). Tickets $5, $4 with FringePass.

Obsessive much? The beginnings...eh?

I used to really love hockey biographies when I was in elementary school. Any biographies, really, but I went on a mad streak I think, in fourth or fifth grade where I read every single non-fiction hockey book in the school and probably the public library. Books about the 'original' six-team NHL, and every hockey player bio there was. Bobby Hull, Gordie Howe, Rocket Richard. Knew about obscure Canadian towns, helmetless hockey, the absence of the forward pass.

New York Rangers
Montreal Canadiens
Toronto Maple Leafs
Boston Bruins
Chicago Black Hawks
Detroit Red Wings

That was it until the 1960s. And I did NOT google that, suckas!

I actually remember when helmets were optional. Remember hockey hair? Mike Bossy? I remember feeling guilty being a die-hard Islander fan because they were a lousy expansion team. Of course, those were impending DYNASTY years, suckas.

The one actual hockey player in my high school was a buddy of mine, and a die-hard Ranger fan who was five-three and openly ridiculed (actually, mostly for being a Ranger fan if I remember correctly). He got tall and gorgeous shortly after graduation.

I never got an actual Islander replica jersey. Too expensive. I opted for a real-ish Mets jersey, no number (too expensive, and I couldn't decide between 12 - Ron Darling - or 16 - Lee Mazzilli.) It was pinned on my dorm room wall, and I can't find the damn thing now. I never did the girl thing and got a 10K or 14K faceted gold Islanders/Stanley Cup charm at the Tri-County Flea Market. Never.

Hockey pretty much sucks now, though, doesn't it?

Ohhhh CANADA we stand on guard for theeeeeee!

Obsessive much? The beginnings...eh?

I used to really love hockey biographies when I was in elementary school. Any biographies, really, but I went on a mad streak I think, in fourth or fifth grade where I read every single non-fiction hockey book in the school and probably the public library. Books about the 'original' six-team NHL, and every hockey player bio there was. Bobby Hull, Gordie Howe, Rocket Richard. Knew about obscure Canadian towns, helmetless hockey, the absence of the forward pass.

New York Rangers
Montreal Canadiens
Toronto Maple Leafs
Boston Bruins
Chicago Black Hawks
Detroit Red Wings

That was it until the 1960s. And I did NOT google that, suckas!

I actually remember when helmets were optional. Remember hockey hair? Mike Bossy? I remember feeling guilty being a die-hard Islander fan because they were a lousy expansion team. Of course, those were impending DYNASTY years, suckas.

The one actual hockey player in my high school was a buddy of mine, and a die-hard Ranger fan who was five-three and openly ridiculed (actually, mostly for being a Ranger fan if I remember correctly). He got tall and gorgeous shortly after graduation.

I never got an actual Islander replica jersey. Too expensive. I opted for a real-ish Mets jersey, no number (too expensive, and I couldn't decide between 12 - Ron Darling - or 16 - Lee Mazzilli.) It was pinned on my dorm room wall, and I can't find the damn thing now. I never did the girl thing and got a 10K or 14K faceted gold Islanders/Stanley Cup charm at the Tri-County Flea Market. Never.

Hockey pretty much sucks now, though, doesn't it?

Ohhhh CANADA we stand on guard for theeeeeee!

Englightenment comes in the strangest places.

Corollary: Book covers are neat! Remember when you used to have to make them out of paper bags? Which I claimed were cooler anyway, cause you could write and doodle on them, and make hearts you had to cross out, and write the word "KISS" in fun Kiss fonts (of course I didn't know what a 'font' was in 1977) and draw the only doodle cartoons I knew how to (the Peanuts characters; Linus was the hardest cause of his funny shaped head under his spindly hair; Snoopy on his house was the easiest and was extra funny if he was smoking a cigarette). Those glossy book covers with college seals on them were dumb and didn't fit onto science books anyway and would slip off by October anyway and by then nobody cared and they'd end up jammed in the back of your desk to be fished out on the last day before Christmas along with some candy wrappers and some pencils and a torn paperback cover for a hockey biography you forgot to return to the library and that now you were responsible for. Big time. But now book covers come in stretchy fabric, one in a package for paperbacks and make the covers of your book kind of bendy but they're great for covering up the covers of books you don't want people to see on the PATH train. I don't know if that's why I bought them, and I felt ripped off because I thought there were two in the package but there was only one. And I must have bought them with that in mind, because I bought two books, but you can only read one at a time; at least, I can, I don't multitask well when it comes to reading, actually reading, not re-reading or bathroom reading like "Life in Hell" or something.

Forget it. I'm not going to tell you what I was reading on the PATH train. I will tell you, though, it was enlightening. And, at the moment, covered in stretchy blue fabric.


Note to #1 Cousin: You'll be glad I didn't! And don't forget to come for drinks, bring my "little cousin!" too!

(If you're reading this blog, you're probably invited for drinks!)

Anonymous messages about Nothing.

Dear Anonymous,

Thanks.

Love,
Anonymous.

Dear Meldrick,

Nice hat. And, thanks.

Love,
Bayliss.
(Kidding. Someday I'll have that quiz up...but I no longer have Kay Howard hair.)

Fascinating bastard (the title of my short-story collection to be).

"You are a fascinating bastard."
- Blair Brown (Emily), "Altered States"

"Altered States" is an incredible love story. If you're a stupendous nerd enamored of well-turned science-babble and tacky 1980-era (vector-graphics meet Nova meet stop-motion) special effects, that is. And, the debut of William Hurt, creating the first of a string of pale, strong-jawed performances before stoicism and restraint were discovered simply to be Limited Range.

But what a fine looking mad scientist he is. Y'all know I can't resist an irresistable, self-centered whacko, especially one so damn rangy. So pale his rangy naked body (and yes, he is often naked, poor exploited Bill Hurt) glows slightly blue in the darkness. (He spends most of the movie flanked by a couple of shaggy Jews. Guess who's the Jews, youse! Answer at the end of this work of literary art.)

And (spoilers, my Netflixy friends...) Blair Brown, no slouch herself in the brains and pallor department here, sticks with him. Brings him back from the ultimate void. No mere affair, no simple dalliance. The fucking depths of multidimensional space, the beginnings of time, creation, G-d and the universe itself...the terrible, terrible void...

Damn. I love a happy ending. A happy, naked, glowy, ending. And vintage-1980 lasers and mitotic cell slides. The rising-string soundtrack, however, can take a walk.

Who's the Jews? Bob "Great in Everything" Balaban and Charles "Maybe Not a Jew but Looks Like a Damn Hippie aka Renko in Hill Street and Merv Griffin's Cousin" Haid.

Trivia Bonus! Who else makes their movie debut? A very tiny Drew Barrymore!

Yes, I know what day it is

Today I've awoken, annoyed enough that I have to get on a PATH train at World Trade Center to Newark-

Oh, yeah. Damn.

Nothing much else to say, really. NPR is doing the 'creative' take from the Sears tower. Channel 5, the heartfelt take from Long Island. NY 1, straight up from downtown.

Sigh.

...but this amused me a LOT

Meth Mural!

Things that have amused me mildly today

1. An email from a super-high-tech company to me (in response to a job application) addressed: "Dear Sir or Madam"

2. "I was hyperventilating...seriously, it was like the worst day of my life."
- Carmen Electra's personal assistant, when some other celeb turned up with Carmen's dress at a red carpet event because the other celeb, without the PA's knowledge, BOUGHT THE DRESS IN A STORE.

3. My Thomas's lite bagel had no hole. Guess you get what you deserve when you buy lite bagels in a bag.

Yes, I want people to stop reading my blog, I do. I fear it has, up to this point, been far too stimulating.

As flaky as a home-made pie crust

But not one made by me, or that braless whore Sandra Lee, or that toothy twat Rachael Ray, or that bobbleheaded teeth-gritting self-loathing-because-she's-not-Martha Ina Gartner.

Anyway, for several reasons, at least one biochemical and one professional, my sleep cycle is flip-flopped and it is causing me severe distress, so I apologize for actual or perceived flakiness on my part. I shall return, shortly.

Busy, busy. I can't afford to feel this awful and function this poorly right now.

Giada DeLaurentiis is lovely, actually. Her food is nice and simple, her presentation earnest and unaffected. Although, as my friend "Keller"* says, she does appear as if she's "perpetually gazing into a Christmas ornament." And she has old man hands.

*not cause he's crazy but because he's got a crush on Christopher Meloni.

Recipe!! These are for the superlazy, culinarily inept, and to be published in my upcoming volume "Cooking for PUSSIES"

Cans of Chilaquiles - ridiculously easy, and calorically flexible.

Corn Tortillas (cheap ass ones are better, since they're thicker - Goya or Key Food brand)
Can chopped or stewed tomatoes, drained. The kind with chiles are nice.
Can refried beans. I use Old El Paso fat free.
Large (12-16 oz) jar of salsa.
8 oz bag of shredded cheese, some orange kind. I used Kraft Free, actually. Sure, you could go ahead and grate your own. Whatever.
Sour cream.

In a baking dish (I use a 2 quart, or a 13x9x2 may be slightly larger) sprayed with nonstick spray:
Layer the following:
Tortillas (tear some to fit)
Refried beans
Salsa mixed with canned tomatoes
Cheese
The final layer should have no beans and slighly less salsa/tomato mixture, just enough to moisten, and topped with cheese.
(it's roughly 3 layers of tortillas, by the way)
Bake at 375 until cheeze is browned and bubbly, about 20-30 minutes.

Let cool (this is nuclear hot.) Serve with sour cream. (Reduced fat sour cream does not suck. Fat free sour cream sucks greatly).

My my, aren't we cynical?

"I think you should only fuck when you're really in love...of course it could be for a very short time."

- Sam Kinison

From now on I am only going to fall in love in three hour increments, tops.

I had a brilliant IM conversation earlier this evening about love (I never thought I'd say that.) Unfortunately, it's gone deleted.

To paraphrase that old chestnut, "The most wretched way you can get burned, is to fall for wrecks and get wrecked in return."

Like I told another old friend tonight, I'm made of stone. I am, I swear. She didn't believe me. I also told her I am one-sixteenth empath and one-sixteenth retarded. It's true!

Huh?

Attention span: poor.
Nutrional analysis: pathetic.
Bags under eyes: huge.
Self-evaluation: D+ (my favorite grade of all time)

Look, I had this brilliant entry parsed out in my head, about the finer distinctions between "lonely" and "lonesome." Then I got sidetracked by the idea of nicknames, and how I finally decided that, not only should my friends appear in here (the non-bloggy ones especially) in creatively disguised names, that may or may not change, they also may be named after television characters with whose universe I am currently obsessed. Hence, the part of the conversation above (re lonesome, lonely and its sequelae, literary and personal) that inspired that discussion I had with drinks with my longtime buddy, the sharp and snappy "Meldrick Lewis."

I'm sure he'd be pleased with that appellation.

Before I use any longer words or eat another croissant cracker, or browse another stupid web page, or case another airline for cheap fares overseas, I'm going to curl up in a ball and collapse, thank you.

Meldrick. Perfect! Just wait for the "Which Fontana/Simon/Wolf Character Are You" quiz in Salon or some such suitable vehicle. (And of course, who was the most annoying "Homicide" character - Falsone? Mike Giardello? Megan Russert? Brodie? Deep in my heart of hearts, I may covet Tim Bayliss in leather, but I crush hard on Michelle Forbes.)

Ok. Go to bed. For real.

I have just realized I have tied my hair up with a drinking straw.

I am in Oz.

Let's put it this way. I realized this after I got a promotion to work in the Warden's office last night because of my mad skillz.

If life were Oz, right now, I would currently be in a room with Burr Redding, the white small-town sheriff who was in protective custody with "Mobay" and Clayton Hughes (and who also tripped CO Howell down the stairs for O'Reilly), and the rich preppie kid who Beecher tried unsuccesfully to 'save' from becoming an Aryan prag. (Sorry for the inaccuracies, but I want to limit my electronic trail and not go on ImDB.) Augustus Hill's already left for the day.

And I am an unmedicated Miguel Alvarez.

LockDOWN!!!

In case you've been asleep at the proverbial wheel...

At this time, this blog is apparently about the following:

1. An unseemly obsession with "Homicide" and any number of connections thereto (Tom Fontana, Baltimore, bisexuality)
2. Food (including but not limited to recipes, food quirks and hateful Food Network troll-bitch-hosts. Look out Ina Gartner, look out.)
3. An unhealthy, overwrought analysis of relationships past, present and future often through the use of slightly obscure ballads.

Just so you know.

Meanwhile, the Richmond County Fair is September 9th and 10th. Did you know that Richmond County (aka Staten Island) even HAD a friggin' fair? Does that mean deep-fried Italian sausage on a stick? Fuhgeddaboutit!