Everything is wrong with me
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Freddie, deodorant, subway assholes, a casting call, music, and LL's turkey day
Last night, I watched "The Freddie Mercury Story" on Ovation (yes, I know, I'm super cool and very manly - would it be better if I told you that while doing so I was repairing a transmission and getting a blow job from a sexy college coed? Does that help? Anyone?).

Turns out, ol' Freddie had a very interesting life, and by the end of the "Story" I was willing to consider that maybe, just maybe, he was a musical genius. Remember, Queen was never nearly as big here in the US as they were in the UK and Europe, as evinced by the giant copper bust of Freddie Mercury that sat on the vanity of the hairdresser who cut my hair at the £5 haircut place on Tottenham Court Road in London.

But what struck me about Mercury was how incredibly flamingly homosexual he was and how none of his fans knew it. None (well, maybe some, but very few). And I'm tempted to say, "Hindsight is 20/20", but after looking at some of those costumes and his behavior, I don't even think that expression applies here. Good lord. Provided, this is coming from a guy who when he was younger didn't realize George Michael was gay and thought he was the manliest of men with his leather jacket (a la the "Faith" video) and cool beard, but in my defense I was like 8 and didn't even know what "gay" was and Freddie Mercury blows George Michael out of the water in the flamboyant department.

My roommate Brian and I were mesmerized watching this documentary. The hour was filled with gasps, chuckles, and a lot of "Wow" and "Oh my god". I wondered if Brian May, the guitarist for Queen, ever turned to Freddie and said something like, "Freddie, we know you're gay and we support that - hell, the band's called 'Queen' - but do you think you could maybe turn down the gayness just a little bit? We're not asking for a lot here, but you're at like a 14 on the gay-meter; can we bring it down to a 9 or so? What do you think?"

All in all, very entertaining and highly recommended. Very sad ending though, made worse by the fact that I was high out of my gourd (hey - it's been a tough week at work), so don't say I didn't warn you.


I am very particular about my deodorant, probably because I sweat more than any human being should. I wear anti-perspirant, and am proud of it. Leave that deodorant and clear-stick to the pansies - I need the flaky white stuff to clog my pores and prevent my ass from sweating - just fucking cake it on there, baby.

And I've never understood "clear gel" deodorant. I don't know why anyone would wear this. I don't even know how this got made:

Clear Gel Deodorant Creator: "I have created a new type of deodorant. It's a clear, gooey, cold gel, that when applied to your armpits, makes you feel sweaty and gross. In addition, it offers nowhere near the protection of normal deodorant, makes you sweat immediately after applying it, and has you stinking in under five minutes. What do you think?"
Deodorant Company CEO: "Let's do it."

I just don't understand it. Not at all.


Riding the subway during rush hour in NYC can be quite an experience (this deserves its own post), but yesterday I experienced my two biggest pet peeves during the subway ride:

1) The group of tourists. I love tourists. I love tourists because I travel a lot, so I try to be nice to tourists here in NYC for the karma, so that one day in the future when traipsing around the streets of a foreign city, drunk and looking for some hard and fast love at a reasonable price, a native will come up to me and offer a room for the night, complete with hand relief and a five-egg omelet in the morning.

But what a lot of tourists do on the subway is stick together. Really together. Example: the best standing spot on a subway train is just inside the doors. On the train I take home, only one side opens its doors to let in/out passengers, so if you stand by the doors opposite that side, you have a little nook for yourself where you can stand undisturbed for the whole ride.

Yesterday on the way home, I happened upon a relatively uncrowded subway car. Though they were seats, I took my favorite spot by the non-opening doors and settled in, rocking out to some Vanessa Williams. At the next stop, a group of six Southern tourists got in, and proceeded to cram into my little area. The entire rest of the car was open for standing, in addition to some seats being available, but all six came right over to my area, one standing directly in front of me, with his butt no further than six inches away from my balls and such. It was completely ridiculous, as other people stared at them yapping away in the very uncrowded car, a sea of Southerners standing around a pissed-off dude with a bad beard.

People, spread out. Sit down. Relax. You're not going to miss your stop. And I know it's New York City, but someone's not going to get murdered if they move from your three feet radius. Get your ass away from my balls and such, and let me be. I've had a hard day at work, and I just want to listen to my early '90's adult contemporary. Thank you.

2) The pole hog. This is much worse than the tourists, because these people know what they're doing. These are the people who on the crowded subway train decide to grip the subway pole in a hug, so that those standing around said pole either have no place to put their hands, or have to place their hands very high or very low on the pole.

I think that violent crime was invented to be used against these people. At the very least, pepper spray must have been invited after the inventor took a crowded 6 train from 96th Street to Union Square, swaying uncomfortably all the while while some fat dude leaned his fat back against a subway pole, leaving said inventor without a grip.

If you don't have the presence of mind to realize that those around you would only like to stabilize themselves while you hog the entire pole, you are a terrible person and I hope your children get eaten by dogs. Angry, diseased dogs with huge balls.

I have to talk about something else before I do something I might regret.


Casting call: I need an African-American child, age between 4 and 7, for a photo "shoot". I say "shoot" because that word sounds professional, when really it's just going to be a couple of pictures with a digital camera. I'm being completely, 100% serious here. If you know any 4-7 year old black kids in the NYC area who would like to make $50 for 15 minutes worth of work, please email me at eiwwme@gmail.com.

[Seriously, I mean it. This is not a joke.]


Six songs:

- "I Throw My Toys Around" No Doubt & Elvis Costello
Elvis Costello could shit in his hand and eat it and I'd still think it was genius, but this is a very well-written, clever, and catchy song.

(Ugh - I just grossed myself out thinking of Elvis shitting in his hand and eating it. I can't believe I'm single. Did I mention I'm 25?)

- "Who's Johnny" El DeBarge
From the "Short Circuit" soundtrack, I can not express how much I loved this song as a kid. And I can't imagine the horror and pain it must have caused my poor father. I'm sorry dad. So sorry.

- "Breaking Your Fall" Chris Whitley
I don't know if this is country, or country-rock, or whatever, but it's got an ambient, country-cool feel to it. Excellent.

- "Little Willy" Sweet
Is he talking about his dick? I think so, but I'm not sure. Actually, I am pretty sure he's talking about his dick. Too bad this song's been stuck in my head for about a week and a half.

- "Someday" The Strokes
I'm sure that a cadre of supercilious hipsters will say that I'm a little late on this, and definitely not thin/cool enough to like this song, but I don't care. It's a hell of a song, and I don't even like this band very much. So fuck you, assholes.

- "Tearz" Wu-Tang Clan
This first thirty seconds sounds exactly like the Mulgrew house at 11:03pm on Christmas night, 2002.

[Please download this song, so that this joke can work. I've been writing this blog for almost ten months, and this may be the funniest thing I've ever written, as it has kept me cracking up ever since I thought of it (and I don't often pat myself on the back like this either). It really does sound exactly like Christmas night in 2002 in my parents' house. Uncanny.]


Oh, and if you want to see pictures of Lindsay Lohan's Thanksgiving, knock yourself out. She's only in a couple of them, but you can tell she's absolutely fucking insane.

So hot.

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