Flint, in New York

Alive and conflicted as ever

2009-03-30T01:20:00.000-07:00

The girls in my life bring confusion. I'm in Lagos and things have got even more complicated than they previously were. I declined to bring my girlfriend of over a year here. I wasn't ready for the commitment that entailed. Nevertheless giving up the best relationship I ever had, especially when the ex was dead set on carrying on with it, whatever the challenges she had to surmount, was really not an easy thing at all. She didn't make it easy. But I was scared enough of what allowing her to come here would mean, to my ability to adjust to the environment, to my place in the social firmament and the business community, to my family and their expectations, that I stood my ground when last I saw her and made certain she understood that I intended to be alone for the next portion of my journey as an adult.

Of course, that was a lie. I've long since lost my ability to be alone. So here I am in Lagos, trying to date, trying to keep things light. I promised myself this would be a year of promiscuity and fun. I've dabbled in multiple flings but these things evolve as they will and I now once again find myself in a difficult position. One of my flings is threatening to become something more serious, something I'm of course not ready for. An older lady (what a surprise Flint!), she, like my ex, is far more ready to settle down than I am. She wants a relationship with the possibility of something real (read marriage, babies and full accoutrements) while I just want the hot sex and fun side of things. Knowing that we want different things, and having been completely honest about that, we ought to just walk away from one another. But of course, as we're good enough together that she's considering a real relationship, that's easier said and done.

My affectionate nature will be the death of me. If I were able to be a little less considerate of people's feelings and a lot less affectionate in my flings, I might have a decent chance at being a playboy of some sort. But combine my unreadiness to settle down with the ease with which girls feel comfortable around me and my easy affection for them, and you have Flint 2.009, serial heartbreaker. I do not like this.

Of vice and indulgence to come

2008-04-05T16:13:00.000-07:00

It's 7.13 PM and I've had two vodka tonics. I'm pleasantly buzzed and eating a cup of chocolate pudding, remnant of my week of soft foods after having my wisdom teeth taken out. A barbaric process that, more traumatic than a car crash (which I have experienced), one that will be thought of in the future along the same lines we currently think of foot binding and female circumcision. I'm still taking Vicodin to sleep through the night because the throbbing in my tortured gums is distracting as monkey at the fucking opera. Thus I feel entitled to indulge my vices a little, enabled in this by the movie Factotum, which is a pleasant indulge in masculine irresponsibility. It's not really a good movie, lacking in the humanity that enlivens Bukowski's work. Matt Dillon is an amazing degenerate but his voice really is no substitute for Bukowski's writing. This is a hollow shell, pleasant in it's callow drunkenness and misogyny but ultimately irrelevant. Nevertheless, vices are being indulged and it seems such a pleasant thing that I feel like I should just go on ahead and do a little indulging of my own.

So then, let us count. Where do I begin, what are my vices? Well... it's hard to think of any. I drink in moderation, eat like a big man but not quite a hog and fuck, with regularity and a fair amount of passion, the very same woman over and over again. Hastening past the irrelevance of my dalliances in booze, I should point out that sex is all that's 0n my mind. In three months I bring to a close eight and a half years of living in North America. It's been a wild ride and the entirety of my adult life. I've grown to be the person I always wanted to be and knew I had in me, although there is much left to accomplish. Nevertheless the portion of the journey is coming to an end and sooner than my mind is able to comprehend, I will find myself irrevocably and resolutely a member of a society much more conservative and less open than the one I'm currently in. Thus it is my intention to indulge, not a little bit, but a lot. Certainly not in booze or drugs (besides the aforementioned Vicodin, which I'm hardly abusing) but in things that might be considered "perverted," in sex copious and casual and fulfilling as I can manage. You should join me. It'll be fun.

Dispatch from the land of ever thirsting drinkers and the one who must serve them

2007-05-22T06:40:00.000-07:00

Day 6 of 7: The insane work week continues. The degree has now been complete for almost a week, yet not a moment have I had to go forth and enjoy what ought to be an immense freedom. Instead I spend all my days in a dark cave pouring drinks for ever thirsty New Yorkers who demand I be available from the first blush of daylight till the world is once again swallowed in darkness. I feel I am perhaps being swallowed myself. I must sally forth, break free of those who keep me in the cave, through a mix of stunning incompetency in failing to hire enough staff and a cunning reading of my inability to leave them to fall to their rightful fate. I shall sally forth and return my phone calls, celebrate the completion of my degree, regain a semblance of the life I once had before work, the thesis writing process, the thesis approval process and the unbelievably stressful family celebration of the actual graduation took over everything.

There will be freedom, to roam and to relax, to play and to recover, at the end of this period but it is hard to imagine at this moment. Not when I must report back to the cave today and tomorrow, and then with barely a day's rest, be back again on Friday. No it is hard to imagine that freedom. But how sweet it will be.

There is a girl (there is always a girl). Perhaps she will be different. Actually she already is different. We came a long towards one another over a greater time than I've ever done before we finally came together. I do not have to discover her anew. We have spent a lot of time learning one another. She is amazing. And yet I am scared. What have we done to our friendship by making this move? How will I stay satisfied and quell that restlessness that ends each of these things so certainly?

I don't know the answer to these things but shortly I will be free to find out. I will escape the incompetent restauranteurs I am bound to for long enough to have life again and find different employment that will not keep me so long in one spot. And I will return to this blog world once again with tales of my adventures and misadventures. Thank you for your well wishes. I look forward to returning to join you.

My regards from the cave,
Your loyal blogger, bartender and now Master of the Arts,
Flinty McFlinterson

Howl

2007-03-23T10:36:00.000-07:00

I am capricious. I struggle to cross onto the thirtieth page of a thesis that ought to have been done nine months ago and eat double fudge brownie ice cream out of the container with a minimum of enjoyment. I contemplate ending things with one lover when I see her tonight but yelp with joy when this creature of amazing physical beauty and remarkable coyness I met the other night sends me a message. I listen to blues songs I discovered while researching the thesis that defeats me, rare within my music collection for the fact that I actually paid for rather stole them. I sit in despair in front of pages that will not fill in the day time and reward myself for my lack of focus by partying at night like Armageddon cometh. My sex life is molten but my romances empty. I feel dissolute, my energies unfocused. I romanticize failure and despise myself for it. I am self indulgent, even in writing this.

Two lovers and a friendship that can go no further.

2007-03-21T08:46:00.000-07:00

I'm sleeping with two women, both Jewish and both smokers (a strange coincidence as I rarely date within either group). As always I'm passionately ambivalent about them both. The sex is wonderful with one. I'm totally physically wrong for the other, but by Jove the woman has an amazing mind. This year I've learned very well the power of being seduced by the mind. There are two women in my life whose capacity for thought, wit and knowledge amaze me beyond any one, male or female, I have encountered before. One is the one I just spoke of, a classroom rival who passion in arguing against my points caused me to suspect she might shortly stab me in the back with a pencil and wonder if I'd once used and jilted her in a drunken haze. l now know she is simply unable to be argue without arguing passionately and personally. Things other people view from a distance, she holds dear to her heart and when I once triggered one of those passions in bed, I had the very first instance of a woman being so furious with something I'd said that she left my embrace and paced the room as she berated and argued with me. In the calm afterwards, she said "fighting turns me on," and I thought of Jane who once said something to the effect of wanting her romances to be positive not adversarial or manipulative. I don't mind arguments, as long as they are about things of substance. Friction over insignificant things irritates me and is occasionally a source of rancor in this relationship yet I find myself mostly admiring of that diatribe in bed the other night. On some things she was right and in others wrong, but it is hard not to be awed by anyone who holds her beliefs both intellectual and moral so strongly and holds forth on them so eloquently. I find that our chemistry in bed is limited by the basic fact that we're like puzzle pieces from different boards. I'm tall and broad and she is small and lithe and despite the fact that I think her hott, there is an almost comical aspect to our mating. I'm far more experienced than her in bed, which she enjoys but I often wonder if this relationship might be better as a friendship. The thing that keeps me in her bed though, aside of her amazing mind is this openness you don't get except with the intimacy of sex. As someone pointed out to me, it's a lot harder to keep your walls up once you've parted your legs and so there is this revelation that I love and am astonished by that I don't know will continue if we go back to being friends.

Speaking of friends though, the other woman who has seduced my mind is one of those and has caused me no end of consternation. It is testament to how busy I've been of late that I never came here to inquire of your opinions about my dilemma. In short, she is everything I have ever written of wanting in a woman in this space (but for one little thing). She lives close to me. We spend incredible amounts of time together. She is as smitten with me as I am with her. She isn't taken. She's actively looking. That little thing that isn't what I want though is no little thing. I'm not attracted to her physically or sexually. I'm shallow in many ways but I like to think I'm able to put that aside for things that matter. Yet in the matter of romance, I would argue that attraction is extremely important. You can't date someone you're not attracted to. Your eyes will never stop wandering. And still... She is everything I want. Intelligent, kind, thoughtful, intense but playful, lover of art, dedicated to things greater than herself. Her interests and mine coincide in many places and she is by far the best conversationalist I know. And like I said, we're both kind of crazy about one another, except I can't get over that little thing. This happened over time. We known each other over a year. It's just taken some time for us to come to realize how much we like one another. And we've actually confronted this. I begged off, giving no real reason, simply letting her know I thought her amazing but thought it better we remain friends. And she's dealt with it and we've stayed friends but it continues to float in the air because these things don't go away so easy. I'm still conflicted but very much aware of the damage it'd do our relationship if I tried this and it failed. So I'm not sleeping with her.

The other woman I am sleeping with has caused me to reexamine my belief in Succubus. Frankly the woman is insatiable, which is incredibly fun but a mite alarming. Were it not for the fact that we are not able to see each other very often, I doubt I'd ever get anything done. Every time she has spent the night, I've found myself scrambling to get to anything on time the next day. And we've as often just fallen into bed together as made it to whatever event or activity we'd planned for a date. The sex is amazing and she is interesting enough in her own right, but I find there isn't much to our relationship, particularly when I compare it to the two others in which I feel like I'm constantly learning to see the world in the new ways and seeing myself in new perspectives. So I wonder all the time if I should end it and spend my time on more productive things, or if I should shut up and enjoy the sex and let the other relationships be what they will be. A permanent state for me, this ambivalence. Nothing is ever cut and dried.

K2

2007-02-05T20:13:00.000-08:00

Long, jagged scratch on my back, still healing, scattered cousins beside it, like the wicked outline of K2's peak, lesser mountains in the back. It hurts when I touch it, so enjoyable a reminder... Nevertheless must be careful with this one, heavenly nights and regretful mornings and all that.

Stuff

2007-02-02T19:21:00.000-08:00

I wonder where heads of state and royalty keep all the crap they are given when they travel around the world. Where does all that stuff go?

Women: quality and confidence

2007-01-10T16:14:00.000-08:00

I'm a bit jealous of her. Problems and all, it would be quite nice to be part of a unit, dealing with things with someone and for a moment be relieved of this eternal feeling of aloneness. Perhaps togetherness is an illusion, but I wouldn't mind being fooled for a little while.

Speaking with a friend of ours who is a psychologist about some place or the other that he is fond of, V said to him that, "if I usually date 7's and 8's, when I go to location X, I get 9's, to which friend of ours replied dead serious, "why not always date 10's?" Oddly enough, hearing about this conversation caused me to wonder if our friend is somewhat sociopathic. He occasionally seems a little too smart and connniving for his own good. Nevertheless in this matter he is quite right. Whatever the rightness or wrongness of assigning a numerical value to women, it's a practice that serves as a shorthand evaluation of the same qualities that everyone judges their potential partners by. And the quality of the people you go for is a direct reflection of your confidence in yourself and your own worth.

One of the reason I wondered about our friend's potential as a sociopath is how right he is, particularly about V. There's a man who needs a gigantic boost of inner confidence if ever anyone has. He's got his flaws, like any of us do but V is unappealingly unsure of his own worth. He's the sort of person who is over aggressive in game playing and at the start of a romantic pursuit because he can't relax and trust in his own ability to win. I complained about this early in this blog's history (a time when incidentally I seem to have been much funnier. Read my first month's posts. I used to have a sense of humor). Anyway, V (Wingman and best friend)'s dress game and career have improved since that time, but his game has certainly not undergone any dramatic metamorphosis. It hasn't worsened and he's definitely been laid a few times in the interim, but he definitely still needs work, particularly in the confidence department. In fact everytime I watch some much less worthy but far more confident guy work the bar at the restaurant I work at, or some party I've brought V to, I sigh and wish they could just give him lessons. I mean, I no longer really rely on him as wingman. As I no longer really do the club scene and I've got more confident, I don't mind walking up to the people I'm interested in even if they have friends I have to manage myself. Still he's my best mate and he really does deserve better than he gives himself credit for.

As for me, if there is anything about the quality of the people I've been dating that has been off, it's not been because of a lack of confidence on my part. Mostly my problem is impatience. I've always been a loner, but the kind of loner who feels his loneliness very keenly. At a point in my life when I don't have to be completely alone (at least not in bed lately), it's always really hard for me to commit to waiting alone for someone I think really worthy of my outrageous standards, especially as so often things go pear shaped really quickly even when those people do come around (see the long and painful saga of Flint and Opera girl). And sometimes I wonder if perhaps I do overestimate my own worth.

My ideals aren't completely ridiculous but I am demanding. I'm mentally sharp and definitely can't deal with anyone less so. I do want someone attractive, and in contradiction of what I've been led to believe about aging I actually find myself more adamant about looks as time goes on, perhaps because I've grown a bit more comfortable with who I am physically. I want someone who carries herself with well, with some elegance, somone who has substance, is kind, driven, capable of conversation, has a sense of humor but can be serious, someone who challenges me but is not so far ahead of me that I feel like I can't keep up. I don't think these are unreasonable requests and I guess one must settle to some extent but I don't feel like I meet that many people who are close to this.

I've met some really wonderful people of late, but they're in different places in their lives than I am. I feel like I frequently find myself interested in older women who've had time to acquire grace, mellow into kindness and grow more confident in themselves, yet it never makes any sense to be dating them because they're so much further along the path of life than I am. A strange catch that. Anyway, I'm rambling as always. If any of you have any thoughts on any of this, from my errant friend and wingman to the problem of waiting and finding the right ones, I'd love to hear em. Until next time, keep your socks off when you're doing it (just so you don't look silly).

Gatherings, friends and parties

2007-01-06T09:32:00.000-08:00

A small but significant tradition that my friends and I just got going is the man meal. Started because V, a seafood enthusiast, wanted us to eat at Mary's Fish Camp, it's quickly become one of my favorite events and one of those things that seem to me a marker of maturity of some sort. We've done it about four times now, a different person picking the location each time and paying for the meal. They're not exorbitant meals although they are pretty much as expensive as any of us can reasonably manage at this point in our careers. We did the restaurant I work at once, Freeman's and Sammy's Roumanian steak house, where we joined the employees of a jewelry company for their end of year party. That was fun. Lots of attractive girls dancing to mid 60's hits and drawing us away from our meal to join them. Unusual, but certainly not unwelcome.

In the last year or so, I've definitely moved firmly to an appreciation of small gatherings over crazy nightclubs. My favorite night the entire year was an evening when a group of about six of seven of us gathered at an underground wine bar in Soho and got completely blitzed on Italian reds while sharing some of the best and most amusing conversation I've had in a long time. The wine bar/restaurant we were at is probably my favorite New York hang out spot right now. Ironically, I was introduced to it by crazy girl from hell on my very worst date ever. Silver linings people, keep an eye out for them.

I've been doing my games nights as well, semi regular things where I gather a bunch of people at my place to get drunk and play board games. I think they might have run their course now, but they were really fun for a while. And though I've missed the last few gatherings, tea with the perverts was definitely one of the regular highlights of the year's socializing. Must make time for some of this year's events or push for them to be held on days when I don't work.

My birthday is coming up later this month and I've got to come up with some event organized similarly around small groups. I did the nightclub thing intensely in college and on my arrival to New York, and much as I love to dance, I'm very much over that scene. Say no to snotty bouncers, ridiculous cover charges, mediocre music and overcrowded dance floors. Say yes to good people, real conversations, great music, intimacy and experiences worth remembering. Hit me up if you've got any ideas for a worthy quarter century celebration that doesn't include a boring lounge or crowded night club, or if you'd like to come to one of these gatherings. I'd like to set about meeting more good people, and I've had luck with bloggers thus far. I do think I need to develop some of those relationships further as well. Sometimes it's less about meeting new people than cultivating those you've already met.

Hullo

2007-01-05T18:55:00.000-08:00

My lover tired of me I think. Return calls took longer, dates were cancelled, no real attempts were made to actually meet. I didn't really fight it, don't particularly mind. The sex was fun, but there wasn't much more to it. She was pleasant to be around but it's unlikely we'd ever have amounted to much. Besides she lived way into Brooklyn which, considering my Harlem location, might as well have been the far side of Egypt. So she's out of my life.

This happened just before I went away for Christmas. When she made no effort to meet before I left for two weeks, I decided I wouldn't be calling her when I got back. And then I went to Nigeria for two busy weeks of family activity. It was pleasant, yet trying. I love my family and we are quite close in our way. Still I am an intensely selfish and self absorbed person person who is far too fond of the solitude afforded by living alone in a country that I came to by myelf. My friends, my activities, my finances and mental space have no other real claimants when I am in New York. I am responsible for myself and myself is responsible only for me. It often feels like my real life is on hold when I go away for any period of time and this was no different.

I am no longer used to playing the role of son. The first of four, my role can be quite demanding, sometimes consuming. Living in New York allows me to breathe and have a life apart from that particular role. It is quite jarring then to go back and find that none of the expectations have changed and to live even for a short period defined primarily by that positioning. Much as I love my parents and family, I had to resist the urge to constantly inform them that I am Fred first of all and Flint only secondarily (if Fred Flint were my real name that is). My dad's role is particularly tough to deal with. An overwhelming presence, the mere mention of his name or knowledge that I am his son instantly invokes the most patronizing and fawning of responses towards me. Coming at a time when I'm trying to define myself as an adult for good, this does not in any way please me and I'm not unhappy to have escaped back to the safety of my adopted home.

I am coming up on the seventh anniversary of my move to this country. Ironic, considering the contents of the previous paragraph, that I am contemplating allowing it to be my final one. If I am ever to move back to my home country, it makes sense that I do it sooner rather than later. Whatever the pursuits that will make up my life, I must begin them in earnest soon and it continues to appear that my prospects burn brighter at home than they do here. I've spent a lot of time fighting the call home. I am more comfortable here, happier in many ways. There is much I would miss were I to go home, not all of it frivolous. I have no friends of quality at home, have never felt socially comfortable there and I would miss the kind of abstract conversation that one is only afforded in countries where the basic comforts of life are taken completely for granted. Still discomfort is frequently a good thing. I worry that I am becoming complacent here, settling in for a life of mediocracy, something that is completely unacceptable. We'll see. I have about a year to make this decision.

Something else that has been quite mediocre is my posting on this here blog. I am aware of this and I shall try to be better. I'm going to see if I can make this more of a stream of consciousness blog and drop my thoughts, whatever they might be more regularly. In analyzing some of my relationships last year, I would come here looking to remember what my thought process had been previously and find myself frustrated by the gaps in my own writings. I'd like to be more faithful this year. More to come...

Comfortably numb

2006-11-27T06:15:00.000-08:00

I've been cheating on you here, but not much. I'm as disaffected with blogging as I am with most other things. I'm in the middle of a thoroughly depressing episode, or perhaps I'm just in depression. Whatever it is though, its cause is readily discernable. I can't write my thesis and haven't been able to since I ended classes in May. What that means is that the majority of this year has been pissed away doing nothing. I'v lost all interest in the topic, cannot for the life of me convince me to get to writing even if it is only to write shit. And I can't really move on with my life until the damned thing is behind me. So it depresses me every time I think of it, which doesn't really help my motivation to do anything about it. I've been known to wish for magical solutions to things occasionally. This would be one of them. Where's that bleeding fairy god mother when you really need her?

In my disaffectation with life, I've taken to women and endless television shows (stolen off of torrents) to keep me entertained. I gone through entire seasons of HBO's The Wire and Deadwood in about two days each, and I'm about to get into Showtime's Dexter. So much for not owning a TV as a step towards productivity.

Luckily (I think), my sex life hasn't been affected by any of this. For Thanksgiving this year, rather than submit myself to a long, uncomfortable journey to Virginia to spend too much time with near family who bore me to death, I cooked dinner (an almost all Nigerian meal no less) for a lovely Israeli lady at my place. It was pleasant, different and we had some pretty good sex afterwards. Unfortunately pleasant isn't that exciting and I don't think I'll be calling her again. I don't imagine she'll mind that much either. I'm only now becoming adept at differentiating ease of conversation and connection for real chemistry.

Then there is J, with whom thankfully, the sex is not fucking pleasant. It's hott and it fulfils that requirement of mine a few posts back that I stretch my boundaries some. Stretched they are, and although this is once again a mostly sexual relationship, it's a good one, and that is a blessing. As to something a little more meaningful? Well, I asked this girl who is a regular at my bar out this weekend. We've spoken a few times and she's interesting. Hopefully she calls and doesn't decide to boycott the restaurant.

Anyway, I feel like I'm writing a book report and my ass is melting into this chair (I must buy a more uncomfortable desk chair so I don't spend quite so much time in this position). What have you all been up to?

P.s. Don't be commenting on this blog on the other site. That blog is a public face, while this one remains very much an introverted site of whine and misdeed.

Disconnected thoughts

2006-10-24T20:39:00.000-07:00

I've not been a fount of inspiration or motivation lately, hence my absence. My life stagnates and I do not do enough to propel it forward. Must get past this laziness and get on with life. Somebody poke with a cattle prod or something.

I totally fucked up a potentially interesting hook up with a very fun/sexy lady who may or may not be reading this. Who forgets they have a concert and then has to stand up their date when they realize it the same evening? Flint does. Booooo...

On the other hand, I did see the Yeah Yeah Yeah's. Karen O is... interesting.

I'm seducing my old roomate, one of the beautiful women I've ever met, who I used to sleep with. As you can imagine, things got complicated and the relationship ended on a very, very tense note. All that is past though. She seems very comfortable being seduced by me and very clear that she doesn't want a relationship. I could leave with that. I've spent almost two years dreaming about the things I never did to her. I'll let you know how that goes but I do love a good seduction.

Saw The Departed earlier this evening, a total guygasm of a movie. Big guns, horrendous violence, excessive foul language and an incredibly sweet but very effective seduction scene with Dicaprio and Vera Farmiga. Hott! I really enjoyed the movie overall, even more than the original (Wai Keung's Infernal Affairs) which I found hard to believe in parts.

Hook ups and potential lovers seem to be all over the place for me these days. I was chatted up by a very lovely older lady at my bar the other day. Wonderfully graceful, really fun to talk to and very confident of herself. I ought to drop her a line.

It's all potential really, nothing solid. I bolloxed that first thing up and could still do the same with the others.

I've got a headache and I'm going to bed, and I'm building a new blog on which I can ramble about movies and music and fashion and shite like that and I will link it as soon as it is ready. Good night.

This message is for you. Yes, you!

2006-10-10T17:58:00.000-07:00

Hello, is there anybody out there? What are you doing tonight? I think you should invite me to it. It is currently 8.55pm on Tuesday night and if you are reading this soon after, you should send me an email immediately at fredfflint@gmail.com so that my head doesn't explode from outrageous boredom. Look forward to hearing from you. Flint

Everything I want

2006-10-09T22:21:00.000-07:00

Everything, not in the abstract or in the future; now, immediately, tomorrow.

1. To find a purpose, that thing that will define myself or at least give me a start on it, so I can get to work and stop hanging out in this ether like, vaguely pleasurable but soul burning limbo

2. Some real and meaningful relationships. Most of the ones I have now are just tapped out. I need new people to connect with, fresh blood and ideas, more motivated people withmore active minds. And I want a relationship with a girl too, something interesting and different that totally works. I'm fucking tired of waiting and working for that without getting anywhere.

3. Crazy, crazy sexual experiences. Hanging out with ultra liberal sex writers will do much to expand your mental space, or in my case, simply more eager to try out the insanity that's been hanging out there anyway that you're not comfortable enough to discuss even with ultra liberal, sex positive writers in the first place. I need to get out of my comfort zones in a lot of ways I think.

Item number one is most important. I don't know how everyone else defines themselves, but for me, I expect that my work and the way I live my life will be the most important definitions of who I am. I already know how I want to live my life and I've done a good deal of work on that. There is more to be done, but at least it has been defined and the work begun. As to what exactly I will spend this life doing though, I still have no clue, and that is incredibly problematic.

Been meeting new people and somewhat more aggresively pursuing new friendships although I do have some reticience left over from a Summer totally consumed by the Blonde and Opera Girl. I feel like a ma emerging from a cave. I also feel like a man reciting a laundry list. I'll write better when I'm more inspired. Sometimes this thing just serves as a notebook for my future self, cryptic references that I will one day look back on and try to decode in order to understand what exactly was going on in the space behind my pie hole at some particular period.

I thought I heard a dead man play

2006-09-28T15:57:00.000-07:00

TV on the Radio is a pretty cool band. I liked their first EP and LP fine and even found some tracks to love on them. However at the end of their new album, "Return To Cookie Mountain,"there is a bonus track called "Things You Can Do." It is... affecting. Fela alive, it is marvelous, heart gripping, booty moving, soulful, bluesy, African. They steal from Fela Kuti even more outrageously than bands like Antibalas and their ilk, but by Jove, do they do their own thing with it. That singer fella's voice is wonderful and it sits on the track like iro (wrapper) on a Nigerian woman's ass. Musically, it's structured like the majority of Fela's music, starting in a soft and mellow Marijuana inflected groove. They don't stretch the intro for five minutes like Fela would have done but there is a small gap for you to appreciate and anticipate before the singer's voice comes in. Repititive, rhythmic melodies, the lyrics delivered with steady, unrushed pacing, and then... at 1.47, those horns, so sad and so grandiose, over and over again and my goodness, it's better than sex, or maybe it is sex because the crash at 2.20 feels a lot like orgasm. At this point, this song is pure rapture, all id, no ego, just pleasure, no thought necessary, emotion is all. The dueling horns, that relaxed, blues guitar doing naughty sophisticated things in the back, the piano in that sad but sweet little key I only ever hear in African music... Lord only knows how long it took them to master this.

I must be driving my neighbours nuts. I've been playing it on auto repeat for a half hour now, and I'm not sure when I'll be able to stop. Get this song, download, buy, steal, whatever. Get some speakers with half decent bass, put it on auto-repeat, sit in the dark and let this wash over you. And if it does to you what it does to me, come ask me about Fela Kuti and I'll tell you how you can experience this again, and again. Better than drugs,which I've never had; better than sex, or at least a less complicated pleasure; better than cigarettes, sublime as those can be...

A horrendous breakup and first date

2006-09-26T14:01:00.000-07:00

One drink, two drinks, three and away we go.

Two weeks ago, three women gave me their numbers. And I broke up with the blonde. That went remarkably well. So well that we went out, got remarkably drunk (on a Wednesday no less), made out at bars and clubs from the LES to Chelsea Pier and woke up together in my bed the very next morning. Despite this unorthodoxy, it appeared that we understood each other and that was a sort of grand finale to things before we began a flirty but mostly platonic friendship.

Instead of this however, she stopped by the bar on Friday and in the most horrendous breakdown I've ever witnessed recreated a scene from "Fatal Attraction" or any movie of that ilk you please. Flowers were smacked around, threats were made, girl got drunker, all with me behind the bar flummoxed and trying to contain knowledge of the disaster to the smallest group of people possible, namely the other bartender and the couple to her right, into whom's meal flowers got smacked and the male of whom's hand she began to make out with. Needless to say, rounds of drinks were comped for that lucky pair once I cut her off and she departed in a storm of negative energy. I wanted someone passionate right? Ever noticed how passionate crazy people can be?

The Sunday after this, upon my return from a wedding in DC and needing a little psychic break from my visiting mother (who I love dearly and whose visit I thoroughly enjoyed), I snuck out for a date with one of those three women who gave me their numbers last week. I remembered her as tall, New York pretty (think expensive maintenance and elegant dress, enough to obscure the natural beauty or lack thereof of any woman), with the most horrendous posture, which however was not a signifier of a lack of self confidence as she thrust her card at me with the most assuredness of the three and breezed off like my phone call was a given. Well, I'm nothing if not easy and so call I did.

Dear readers, it's not easy being a cad in this city. Alfie makes it look all easy dating wanton women that are easy to seduce and are nice (for the most part). Me, I have to contend with ill mannered curs who upon being told my country of origin inquire as to whether I come from among the wealthy or the poor. I'll not comment here upon my socio-economic status growing up here, but I will say that if all the scion of the ultra-wealthy in this country are as unpleasant as this being, I'll be glad to never meet another Westchester export in my life.

Burned out from a bad day at work, she came to the date unhappy, pissy and directing a great portion of this negative energy in my direction. I ought to have departed. I knew I ought to. Odd enough, I wanted to stay. Not for her, but for the location, which had been of her choosing, and possesed, besides the most delightful bartender (a dandy with an affect that quite resembles Depp's pirate in that movie), two gorgeous and friendly college girls (one with the most astonishing head of brunette gorgeousness I've ever had the pleasure of observing) who made sympathetic commiserations with me when my date darted off to answer her crackberry.

Besides, I was hungry and in need of libations and so I stayed. Stayed for the most passive aggresive date any man has ever had the displeasure of going through. Charmed the bartender into accomodating my date's outrageous requests for modification of the menu. Endured conversation graceless enough to offend a New York bum, and like the tax man squeezing a penny from the (tax) sheltered rich, even persuaded a smile and some real feeling out of that woman.

And when, with the bartenders full sympathy, I paid the bill and departed with the lady, hoping to turn some of this passive aggressive energy into a sexual encounter of a kind I'd never had (as I do not make a habit of sleeping with people I dislike), what happens? She runs into some pretty boy she's sure she's met at some place before and abandons me because she is enjoying his company.

I must have displeased the gods something fierce that weekend. Perhaps I should have spent more time with my mother.

It got worse

2006-09-13T11:48:00.000-07:00

The breakup that is. Abandoning the don't call me stance, Opera girl called for an operatic conversation that played out with me circling Union Square for over an hour after midnight on a Monday night. To find finality, I had to trot out "I think you're a wonderful person but honestly my feelings for you really don't run that deep." Basically she needed to hear that I just really didn't like her that much. For her to find finality, she had to confess infidelity and the subsequent lies of omission to cover it up, a fairly plain ploy at hurting me at a moment I was obviously hurting her. My ego is hurt a lot less than my faith in humanity. I know what I'm capable of. I'd just thought and hoped she was a better person than that. Humanity is disgusting.

Buy me a yellow rose

2006-09-11T11:58:00.000-07:00

Did the blonde breathe, "I love you" before that kiss last night? I shudder thinking the thought.

Broke up with Opera Girl Saturday night. It was not fun. In fact, I'd venture to say it was the very apothesis of fun, by far the most harrowing and painful breakup I've gone through. I may not know what love is but heartache I'm familiar with. It sits with me now.

Of course we broke up because I don't want to be with her. Yet it saddens me greatly to think that she's out of my life, and it's all that I can do to resist calling her right at this moment (there is a very emphathic and angry moment when she detailed the things I was not to do, call her and make sure she's alright, email her, send her a friendster message. it is her intent to pretend I'm dead I believe. Does this confuse you? This ambivalence about being in a relationship with a person I obviously like so much? Imagine how much it confuses me. Better yet, think what it does to her.

I think perhaps I'm simply such a cipher in person that it is too easy for those involved with me to inscribe upon me whatever it is they want to see. I'm nice, I'm kind, I'm polite, occasionally I'm even fun. If the basics of decent humanity appear to be covered and I keep the rest of myself to myself, then they can just imagine me to be whoever they want to be. If I am nice to them, I must like them. If I hold them in bed, I must want to protect them. If I carry their bags, I must care for them. If all these things, then I must feel more for them than mere fondness right?

What is intimacy? Are you able to have it with one person only? Is it something you can only develop with those you truly, trly want to be with? Does it come easy or hard?

I can't say with any honesty that I love either of these women. I enjoy their company and like them both very much, one (who just left) above the other perhaps. I find much to admire, much to be entertained by and much to value in both of them. I care about them and hate to be the cause of any hurt in their lives. I would be very (and demostrably) angry at anyone else who brought pain into their lives. Does this amount to love?

Because I still do not find (as I told Opera girl in the calm after the immediate fury of the opera of our break up), to paraphrase some cornball romantic comedy that I can't remember, that either of them complete me. I'm not looking for perfection, I'm not looking for my female doppelganger but as much as I like each of these women, there are qualities in them that prevent me from wanting to spend all my time exclusively with them or envisioning long and rewarding relationships with them. The blonde has too many bad habits, big ones that grind on my nerves and it cannot be long till I tire of them. Opera girl? Could you be in a relationship with someone who's kisses you never came to love? However good everything else was? If you never merged physically in a manner that fulfilled you? How do you even tell someone you don't enjoy their kisses?

We broke up because she said she wanted to be with just me and for me to be with just her. We broke up because she said, "I think I'm falling in love with you" and I knew that it would be totally unfair to stay with her when I knew that there was no future and I didn't want a future with her, at least not that way. And yes, I do wonder if I made a mistake and if I've built up unreasonable expecatations about who I could be happy with and I really ought to call her and tell her I'm fine being with her and her alone but even more urgently I wonder,

Did the blonde breathe, "I love you" before that kiss last night?

Give me a lady in the street and a freak in the bed, and not necessarily in one body

2006-08-26T20:38:00.000-07:00

I live in a bad romantic comedy. Two women, one man, too many close encounters. The two women are the same as before, Opera Girl and The Tall Blonde. They know of each other, one has even seen me with the other, twice. That was certainly awkward. No they did not meet. Opera Girl swallowed her discomfort and each time allowed the moment to pass without her doing anything impetuous to further complicate things. Still I would give things I value to prevent a third occurence of this situation.

There have been good times, some very good times even. Between the two women I have interesting conversation, a late, late night dinner partner, concern for my welfare, sex that is frankly astonishing and some experiences I would not otherwise pursue by myself but I've enjoyed very much (trip to six flags with a bunch of adults anyone? It's surprisingly fun.) Let's not forget a companion to take to the raft of weddings I've got this year - half a guess which of the girls gets that invite.

Is it worth it? Perhaps. I find myself still longing for something that actually works in itself, rather than two halves that somehow don't make a whole. Since I clarified with both women, with their full concurrence, that we were not right for each other in real relationships but could perhaps find things to keep us interested in each other, I've basically been free to get back on the market and look for such a thing, while maintaining the current arrangement. Of course, with two women demanding my time, and heavily at that, there's been little time or energy left for such a thing.

It's not a tenable situation. Something will have to give at some point, but it's fine for the moment.

So much chili, only one spoon

2006-08-02T00:23:00.000-07:00

There are two women in my life. They are respectively, Opera Girl and the tall blonde (this is what she wrote on the napkin she gave me her number on, right beneath her full name). You may be confused as to how Opera girl is in my life. Well I told her to stop by at the restaurant I've been bartending insane hours at sometime. Quite unexpectedly she stopped by that very evening after she finished at the restaurant she was working at. As you can imagine, this was quite late and very shortly we left the restaurant together. We rode the train together and we got to the stop where I ought to have gone my my merry way, I got off to wait with her for her train to come (because I'm such a gentleman). Of course, we were mid sentence when the train came and she just walked on without pause. I followed. The end. Sorta.

This may be the first year of my life that I've had relationships that operated for the most part on my terms. Opera girl is back in my life, but the tall blonde has not departed either. They both now fall under the unwieldy label of "friends with benefits," something that I negotiatied seperately and without coercion with both of them. We agreed that we are wrong for each other in many ways, the blonde because she has such a different lifestyle and interests in life, and Opera girl, because we want very different things from life and think of love and meaning in very different ways. We (I and the two girls seperately) also agreed however that we could continue to see each other, the blonde because we have absolutely INSANE sexual chemistry, and Opera girl, because we really like each other despite our end differences. Opera girl said something to the effect of, "I'm just hanging out, you know, none of this is really that serious at the moment," and that is the constellation under which we can be found making out.

As to the mystery of the tall blonde and I's incompatibility, here it is. We were two seperate people in a relationship together. We talked past each other, even as we made all the motions of a relationship. About the only thing that was totally honest between us was our physicality. I knew and she knew (as I discovered when I finally started talking to her properly) that we weren't communicating about anything actually worth knowing. Somewhere after that initial burst of warmth that accompanies meeting someone you like and really like to fuck, we both warily raised our guards and simply stopped talking to one another. Petulance on her part and the initial blame on me, she said and I agreed. I had raised my walls. Things about her and her lifestyle bothered me, but being extremely averse to criticizing people, I simply kept them to myself and started to speak les and less about things. When finally, desperate to end things (or at least in the form they were), but unable to do it because doing so required us to already be in communication, I asked gingerly, "so is this working for you?" her replies were filled with a relief the Middle East could sure use right now. Nothing worse than being a lonely person in a relationship, except being two lonely people in a relationship. I guess I half knew that she might have felt the same way I did, but I couldn't be certain and so I held back in trepidation at having to possibly end something that she was excited about and being the bad guy. After enough whining to you fine blog reader folks, and endless sighs and proclamations on my part, I got around to just talking to her, and hallelujah, everything is cool now. She still wants to jump my bones and I actually dream of the things I'd like to do to her, but we no longer have to pretend that that's enough to keep an irrrational relationship going.

So sweet, sweet Maria, things are good. At least on the female front. There's always something else to bitch about. For example I'm working 90 thousand hours a week at this restaurant that I actually really like, and I'm doing that instead of writing my thesis. That's partially good, cause now I've got an income again, but bad because I'm not writing the thesis that this income is supposed to be supporting.

I'd like to keep on writing this never ending post but it's 3.20am and I worked about 15 hours today. Blame the run on sentences and general tone of this post on that fatigue. Let me know what you think of my arrangements if you want. I'll be back with more news about life and stuff. Good night.

Wanna give me a hand here?

2006-07-14T09:36:00.000-07:00

How do you break up with a woman who appears to be totally crazy about you? I'm pretty much ready to do it I think. As these things always end, it's sort of a matter of "I'd rather be alone than be with you," always a scary message to have to code and deliver to another person. She's away for the week, but she'll be back by Sunday and I'd like to do it very soon. Your suggestions as to how this should be accomplished are welcome.

The problem you see, lies in the narrative. I am (not was, am) infatuated with the blonde, something that is obvious to anyone seeing us together. We're that really annoying couple making out at the bar, on the street corner, movie theatre, barbeque and just about everywhere else it's possible to make a spectacle of one's self. We have sex that's spectacular, look good together and generally have fun around one another. But it's completely empty, sometimes cringe inducing and very expensive (which considering that I've been unemployed till very recently makes me question her sensitivity). Anyway it must end but that end is going to come as a surprise because there's been little in my behavior to indicate that it was coming.

They say, JUMP

2006-07-14T06:35:00.000-07:00

One of these days, my need for thrills and kicks will get me into some real trouble. Till that day though, I'm glad that I occasionally pull from the edge of the abyss without prodding from anyone but my own resurfacing mind.

Loosies

2006-07-12T06:57:00.000-07:00

Want to know what I'd sound like if I were female and living in my country rather than in NYC? Then you definitely need to read this blog. It's written in the more colloquial English we use in Nigeria, hence it incorpoates pidging Englisha and some Yoruba words. Maybe it won't translate, maybe it will but either way, I totally love it.

I'm now a bartender at a fine Latin New York restaurant. This is excellent as I've been so poor of late that I was almost rich (you know when you have so much in loans that it seems you must be a wealthy and productive member of society to be trusted with such levels of debt). Yesterday was my second full day and first one where I was totally in my groove, managing the customers and the millions of Mojitos I had to make with equal aplomb. I'm going to try to build my own customer base because the bar is the kind of place that allows for that. I'd tell you where it is, but then I'd never be able to bitch about it here again for fear of losing my job. And we don't want that. Poverty is definitely overrated.

The blonde is gone for a week, visiting friends and old haunts on the other coast. The other time a girl I was seeing went away, she came back only for us to break up. I wouldn't be entirely unhappy with that scenario, because I remain in my perpetual state of contemplating breaking up with the girl I'm with. I think I've really come to enjoy the chase too much and the companionship too little. Although I have missed human contact outside of work as I've ignored both the girl and my friends as I trained and worked for the past five nights in a row. Rosy Palms is a decent but uninspiring lover see.

I think of my sex life with the blonde and I realize I'm insane to even think of breaking up with her. I think about her idiosyncrasies and most of the time we spend together not in bed, and I realize I'm insane to be with this girl. Let's just say that the wrong head led me into this relationship thingy I'm in. Discussing the vagaries of the dating world with a customer at the bar who'd just come from a ho hum match.com date, I warned to get out if the first date didn't exactly rock his world. I've come to realize that I need to act on any reluctance to get involved with someone BEFORE we fall into that comfort zone that I find so easily. I get along too easily with women. Inevitably even though I'm not certain, I just go along on more and more dates; we start to have sex, she starts to get comfortable and then I realize that I definitely don't want to be with this person and start trying to figure out how to get out of things. I have recognized the cycle. Now I must break it.

Summer in NYC continues to rock. If you're anywhere else, you are missing one of the coolest things on the planet. There is so much going on all over the place. Free concerts in the park (Seu Jorge last week), barbeques on rooftops from Brooklyn to Harlem and the LES, free movies in the park and Coney Island for a diversion. Thank god I have a job now, cause I was spending money willy nilly at the post event drinks and going to every event cause I didn't have much else doing. You ask, what about that thesis I'm supposed to be writing. I'll look in on that and let you know if it's started writing itself while I've done everything else it's possible to spend one's hours on.

Morning wood rises again

2006-06-30T06:30:00.000-07:00

Please don't write in the comments telling me how cheesy this is. I'm fully aware but a guy's gotta try new things right? This is not about to become a sex blog don't worry, more whining about my inability to have a relationship is undoubtedly on it's way.

We'd slept apart most of the night, two blankets on the bed and a full night of rest because we weren't jostling arms trying to get comfortable. With morning approaching, I rolled over to where she lay sleeping on her side, facing the wall. I put an arm around her and she moved to let the other one slide under her neck. I kissed her bare shoulder and then settled my head on the pillow, trying to fall back asleep. She had different plans though, pulling my hand up to her face, first to kiss my fingers and then to suck them. Sleep is overrated anyway.

She sucked each finger in turn, lingering and going back when she reached the last one. It doesn't take much of this to get me good and frustrated, so I pulled her hand to my face, kissed her fingers and then took my hand back. She still had her back to me, so I sneaked my hand down to between her legs to feel her. I slid my pinkie, the most conveniently available finger in our position, into her pussy, eliciting a groan of pleasure and making her grind back against me. I can play in her for days. For some reason, she responds well to my fingers. But not this morning. There'd be little foreplay involved. She was flooded and I was horny. I took my hand back pressing her legs back together to let her know not to move as a I reached for a condom. With one arm still trapped under her, it took a little maneuvering to get it on. Once sheathed though, I back towards her, sliding in from behind her with an uninvited but not unpleasant vision of a scene in Munich where Eric Bana takes his seven months pregnant wife in the same manner. Interesting sex scenes in a Spielberg movie, unbelievable! Still not as a interesting as what was going on in my bed at that moment. Thrusting from the position we were in was awkward, so my hand, the same one she'd teased to get this started, the same one that'd put on the condom, slid under her arms, pausing to tweak her breasts before hooking behind her beck, giving me some leverage to better slide in and out of her. Now we were in business. A little rough sure, but I don't think she minded.

Sex with the blonde involves constantly jostling for control of the action. With a smaller woman, it's all me. With the blonde's temperament and Rubenesque figure though, it's always a matter of who wants it more in whatever position we're in. As it was, my will definitely took precedence. I'm nothing if not generous though. I eased into her, settled on the bed and then pulled her back and onto me. Leaning on her elbow above me, she ground down on me, matching my thrusts with hers. I could hear her whimper, and every once in a while she did something that made me let loose a gasp to join her sounds. A moment later she'd give an even sharper and louder gasp as I made her sit up, coming fully and suddenly in contact with my very hard and very erect penis.

It was all her now, leaning backwards, resting on her wrists, she alternated between grinding her pussy down on my pelvis and sliding up and down my shaft. She likes to grind her orgasms out, her pussy rubbing against my pelvis in some prehistoric ritual like using flint sticks to make fire. It wasn't that time yet though. She needed more stimulation and when she took her hands off the bed to rest them on my chest, I took the chance to give it to her (because, you know, this was all about her, I'm a total ascetic who wasn't getting anything from these proceedings). I nudged her forward, then grabbed her wrists, effectively taking control of things. She hung forward bouncing back into me as I fucked her, thrusting upwards from the bed. She looked magnificent, her shoulders overly tan from the bare shouldered dresses she's favored all Summer, her pale back streaked with flushes of blood from scratches, both fresh and from the night before. The previous tenant of my apartment left a mirror hanging on the door of my bedroom and though I think it somewhat cheesy, I've left it in place. I glanced into it and then stared transfixed at the vision of us together. Her back muscles rippled as she pulled away from me, her ass rising and falling, flexing and settling. In a (to me) hilarious play on the reverse cowboy, she looked like some amazing creature straining against me, her arms the reins by which I held her in place. Sex should always be so glorious.

She slowed to a grind again, catching her breath, urging her orgasm on, but denied again as she extended too far and my dick flopped out of her, itself at half mast. She giggled, leaning forward, breathing heavily. The room reeked of sex, womanly goodness, the latexy scent of the Trojan, tang and musk, sweat in the air. She turned around, still resting on my pelvis and leaned in for a kiss, our first that morning. Those lips... would raise sleeping beauties and dead men from their rest. They certainly raised my nodding little soldier and once again, almost painfully hard, I pushed into her. Again she began to rise and fall. I grabbed her hips, forcing myself deeper into her. She giggled and said, "it hurts my liver when you do that." Actually I think the near toxic punch from the barbecue and the bourbon that followed were what hurt her liver. Whatever it was my dick was supposed to be hurting didn't seem to mind that much as she matched me for ferocity, thrust for thrust, push for push. And then onto her orgasm, slowing back to that grind that is so instinctive to her and so learned to me, rolling and rocking (and not a beer in sight!) with noises far too obscene and loud for that time of the day as if the late night dalliances that rattled the building as we tested the strength of my glass desk had not already ensured that my neighbors completely abhor me. And onto the brilliant sunset of her orgasm the cowgirl rode, in a scene not scripted by Sergio Leone, but just as glorious. And then she collapsed on me, heavy breathing, bright pink nails flashing past my face as she went to hug me.

We stayed in much the same position, her hips lazily swinging around my dick as she recovered. "Fuck Tony the Tiger, I want Frosted Flint (my real name unfortunately does not provide for this lovely alliteration) for breakfast everyday," she said. How sweet.

I can't get no satisfaction

2006-06-27T17:21:00.000-07:00

This is my 100th post and it's taken almost a year to get here. I guess I write slow. Anyway...

The blonde is scarring me, physically I mean. Her nails have become rather too involved in bed of late and I really must warn her to tone that down. A little physical scarring isn't too bad though. I doubt she could scar me emotionally. I'm beginning to think she's all shiny surface and too little depth below. Now some would say that this ought to have been evident, but I've never been one to write people off based on a first impression. Lately though, my appreciation of her movie looks has begun to give in to the conviction that she is like most movie stars in more than just looks. And being the malcontent that I am, this of course is starting to get on my nerves. Having traded veggies (quietly pretty lady in a sedate but more intellectually compatibile relationship) for candy (red hot sexpot who I can't get a serious conversation in with), I find my stomach twisted in knots and my heart racing faster than I'd like it to.

The blonde is interesting. She gets really excited about the simple things in life (I mean really, really excited, about things like bulldogs and balloons) and she admires the fact that I read for fun but we don't seem to do anything more than drink, fuck and express adoration for one another while we're together. Even I don't want to discuss Godelier when I'm recovering from a hangover or setting one up so it's entirely possible that she's got a ton of deep thoughts but the time is never right to examine them. Whatever, I'm not satisfied.

And then there is the complication that I'm not quite over Opera girl, or she over me. We had the most confusing conversation on Friday afternoon and it just about left my head spinning. I can barely even remember the reasons I broke up with her so I can figure out if it was the right thing to do. What is obvious though is that if I wanted to get things between us going again, she'd be open to it.

This is going to sound a little cartoonish and probably fat headed to boot, but here goes. At least a part of my problem lies in the fact that I finally realized that girls like me. This was not always so, in fact was so much the opposite that I'm still a bit like a kid in a candy store these days. Oh I can have her if I put a little effort into it? Okay, great! But what about her? And her? And her? And of course, I don't really want a bunch of girls, just one that I'm compatible with who understands me and so ridiculously hot that I'm unwilling to consider being with anyone else.

Actually, I remember some of the reasons I broke up with Opera girl. She doesn't blow me away. Things felt far too comfortable, too unexciting. I documented my initial reticience about her looks, and I never completely got over them. She's a very pretty girl, but not in any manner that particularly drives my heart rate up. She's a little too sweet and young looking for someone who wants maturity and more than a bit of wickedness in the women he's with. Nevertheless I'm coming to the understanding that looks may not be as important as I previously supposed. And she is a VERY pretty girl, in whatever incarnation that pretty comes.

And the blonde? She has a brusque and unsubtle beauty to her, like a full figured Rebecca Romnjin-Stamos with none of that woman's elegance and a wide eyed enthusiasm for life and people that she bowls you (sometimes literally) with. I could probably not have begun to date her if not for the fact that her looks have obviously caused her some pain and made her somewhat hard. I find a few emotional scars appealing. Does that make me a sadist? Or perhaps a masochist as those scars inevitably manifest themselves in ugliness that affects me.

And then there is the Complication, who I once mentioned but never got around to writing about, a pretty English/Italian NYU grad student I met just before things took off with Opera girl. I asked her out but she put me off so long that by the time she called, I was well into things with Opera girl and couldn't date her. I know she was interested though, because I went with Opera girl to a party she was attending and I caught her staring daggers across the room at Opera girl. The Complication is perhaps a combination of the things I most want from a girl. She charmed me immediately I met her (no initial reticience like there was with Opera girl) and she's obviously intellectually inclined, moreso than either of the other girls. She's not drop dead gorgeous like the blonde but she's ridiculously cute, has mischief in her eyes and has a razor sharp wit.

See this is the problem. I don't know what to do about the girl in my life and for clarity, I think what I need to do is call up another girl. I'm not certain how you all read this stuff. I'm all but insane.

Tea with Perverts, blogger parties, sex with a blonde goddess and other adventures in a New York weekend

2006-06-18T21:17:00.000-07:00

Just got in and took off the clothes I've been wearing for the last two days. I'm hot and sticky, worn out and a little wired. I've had sex, lots of it. It started yesterday. The actress/blonde had stopped by after her evening of partying Friday night. I don't remember if we had sex then, but we definitely did Saturday morning and it was a very wonderful beginning to the day. Then we did brunch before I went off to have tea with a merry bunch of perverts. This was fun, nothing like conversing with a group of completely sexually liberated people. It was by far the most civilized gathering of such filthy minds imaginable though, other than the gentleman who disappeared and then reappeared wearing leather chaps and acted the part of maid for the rest of the gathering before getting spanked with a range of floggers. I said civilized. Selina may also have sparked a run on corset shops statewide by changing into a very beautiful one towards the end of the afternoon. It was good talking though and one of my favorite moments came in the aftermath of the tea, when speaking with Lex and Les on the subway, we managed to broach the topics of naked parties, swinging and numerous other deviances on a crowded subway train. That'd have made a tasty addition to the Overheard in New York pages if any of our neighbors was so inclined.

I went home after that and contemplated staying in, but after a great writing session, I felt fired up enough to fly and decided that even though it was past midnight, staying home was not an option. And so I headed over to Fauxy's birthday celebration all the way at the bottom of Manhattan. It was probably 2am before I got there and it appeared I'd missed the party. I'd planned to meet the blonde, who was out partying (did I mention that she parties a bit?) anyway and was going to head over to meet her, but she was tired of being where she was and wanted to come over. I tried to explain that the people I hoped to meet weren't there, but she was fairly drunk and after calling for the location about four times, she made it to me.

I've mentioned that the blonde is fond of me, haven't I? Well, the blonde was drunk when she met me, and partially because of this and partially because she is a very excitable and possibly obssessive character, she proceeded to inform me, about three hundred times in a row, how fond of me she was. I nearly broke things off with her right there and then, convinced that she was insane. Let me explain, she would not stop saying that she liked me! She'd say, "I adore you, no I really, really adore you. No, wait, I've got to let you know of how fond of you I am. I really can't say enough how much I adore you. Really, really, really," and then start again, making minor modifications, but sticking to the same general theme. I couldn't get a word in, or get her to stop. It was pretty damn ridiculous. I'm telling you, I've not been so perplexed in a long fucking time. It would have been the strangest thing in the world to break up with a girl because she insisted that you know in no uncertain terms how much she liked you, but then spoiled it by repeating it so much that you thought perhaps she was a malfunctioning robot programmed to entice and then destroy you.

But eventually, I escaped this little bit of the twilight zone, calming her down and settling for my first drink of the night and her hundredth or so. At some point, Fauxy's party appeared and I realized that the party had not departed, but taken place on the other floor of the bar, one I'd not even noticed. Nice. I hung around for a while, making conversation while a female blogger I've never met tried to make out with the blonde. When the DJ cranked things up a bit and the blonde and I got to scandalous grinding, it occured to me that it was simply time to cash in my chips and head on out. I said my goodbyes, took my ribbing for such unabashed PDA and headed for her place, where she promptly passed out of course.

I spent all of today in Brooklyn. The day began with sex and pretty much revolved around sex. At some point when our blood sugar was sufficiently depleted, we headed out to brunch. We came back and attempted to watch the movie, Serenity. With frequent breaks for sex, it probably only took us six hours to complete it. The problem is this. Ordinary signs of affection between the blonde and I are dangerous, as they often lead a lot further a lot faster than I'm used to. If I hold her hand on the street, she catches my eye and a minute later I realize we're stopped in the sidewalk full on making out. If she leans over for a kiss at a restaurant, we're shortly making the most disgusting display possible. And when in the safety of her apartment, every kiss inevitably led to me taking off her dress, a wonderful Summer dress in the style of that famous Marilyn Monroe picture with her skirt flying. Actually, with her freshly bleached gold and white hair, hourglass figure and sunny disposition, she was channeling a whole lot of Marilyn today. It can be strange hanging out with the blonde. I've never been with anyone who draws so much attention. As if her naturally astonishing looks not enough, she pairs them with a penchant for extremely sexy dresses and pushes things over the top with a really bold, outgoing personality. Restaurant patrons turn and watch, drivers linger at the lights to stare, men, women and little kids all pause. It's not all friendly . Walking around Harlem with her drew the most evil of stares and at least one overly loud nasty comment. This is not stuff that makes me happy or suggests longetivity in this relationship.

Either way though, today was great and filled with the kind of ridiculous sex you only have at the totally unrestrained beginning of a relationship. Sex on the couch, sex in the shower, standing, with her head hanging off the edge of the futon and mine above the side arm of the futon. Okay now I'm just showing off. I had a great weekend. Tomorrow I've got to return to the real world and I ain't happy about it. Good night.

More about the women

2006-06-16T21:12:00.000-07:00

Just broke up with Opera girl. I tried to do it two days ago, but it was the first time I'd seen her since she got back, and I'd forgotten how much I actually liked her so that didn't go so well. Plus with a wicked touch of female deviance, she looked pretty much as good as I'd ever seen her. She looked just as good tonight too actually. You know a girl is trying when you go see her at her apartment where she's supposed to be wrestling with Ikea furniture but she still meets you at the door in heels, with the nice earrings and her tightest jeans on. So it was not without some wistfulness that I called things off and headed out without the breakup sex.

Two days ago, when I was being as flaky as only I know how to be, she'd suggested that I date both her and the blonde, who I'd told her about. Her basic position was unchanged from our conversations before out return, but now I actually had to take her seriously. So I took two days to think things over and seriously contemplate the idea of dating two women at the same time, and came to the illogical conclusion that I simply couldn't do it. Why illogical? Because gaddammit, how often does a women actually say to you, "you should date her and date me" with her sanity completely intact. Couldn't do it though. Just trying to figure out what girl to call and hang out with the next day almost caused me to short circuit.

So anyway, I'm down to one girl again. The blonde and I. Ever heard the Jay-Z song, "Girls, girls, girls?" One of my favorite lines from an overall excellent song is, "damn she's fine, but she parties all the time." He could have been talking about the blonde. After I hung out with some bloggers (more on this below), I met up with her and we managed to hit two clubs and a bar before the night was over. Methinks I got to remind her that I'm a student, a poor, poor student and one who has been unable to get a bartending job at that (say, you don't know anyone who needs a bartender do you? Let me know yo). Despite the expensive nature of hanging out with her and her hard partying friends, I like the blonde. She sends me texts that read, "I adore you" and "kisses to your face" and that's kinda cool. Actually it's not kinda cool, it's really cool to have like the hottest girl ever say she adores you. One of these days her face is gonna be on a billboard, and I will say with pride, "I used to sleep with that woman."

So I hung out with a few bloggers yesterday and can I just say, holy blogger hotness! I'm not going to say anything beyond that cause, as Alice keeps saying, blog on blog crime just ain't cool. Besides if things don't work with the blonde, I'm taking a break from dating and doing some self improvement or something, so no sending hang out requests to anybody. But it was cool hanging out and I've a whole bunch of blogs from some cool, funny people to check out now, like I don't already spend enough time on that kind of thing. That is all.

About women...

2006-06-11T18:39:00.000-07:00

I have said the words "I like you," thoughtfully and sincerely, twice this year. I've cooked for three women, an act, which considering my talent in the kitchen or lack thereof, is usually an indication that I want intimacy even more than I want sex. There have been no breaks in my search for love or something like it. My relationships overlap, the demise of one barely registering before I'm halfway into the next one.

So there are three women I've really got into this year. But I've been with others. There was the Brazilian, in a relationship that served its purpose, sex, and got me to see that I really needed to get away from dating people that were wrong for me, a truth I'd closed my eyes to for a very long time. There was a very brief and ill advised dalliance very early in the year with another blogger, something I've not written about here out of respect for her. I fucked things up there. It shouldn't have happened and didn't need to happen. If I got anything from that, it was a sharp dose of humility and the knowledge that I needed a little more integrity in this process. From these and all of last year's relationships, I learned very clearly what it was I didn't want. Now I've got two very different and individually interesting women who are interested in me, and I've got very little idea as to what it is I actually want.

The blonde is rowdy, passionate and worldly. Being with her would be expensive, dramatic and tons, absolutely tons of fun. She wants to be a movie star. Note that I wrote movie star rather than actress. Based on looks alone, I'd say she has a better than fair chance. The women is sex in heels, with a body made for a fetishist to love, sashimi pink lips with a slight upturn that's suggestive of a sneer, Shirley Manson platinum blonde hair and what a Nigerian man calls a coca cola figure (think Marilyn Monroe). And she's 5'11. I'll be competing with half of Manhattan for her attention. In fact I already had my most possesive moment ever at a party on Saturday where a gentleman took far too much interest in her the moment she walked in. Like I said, there'll be no shortage of drama here.

Things with opera girl, dramatic as they've been with her away would likely be far more sedate. There wasn't much to report before she left because there wasn't much really exciting happening. She and I see the world in similar ways, although I might be slightly more demented and she slightly more timid (but not much). She's probably as rowdy as the blonde, but her small frame makes it far less noticeable. I think her cute rather than ravishing and quite frankly, if I were making this decision on looks alone, she wouldn't even be in the competition.

To some extent, this decision is already made. The blonde is in, for better or worse and for as long as that lasts. Things got really weird with Opera Girl and I, but I think going on a date with the blonde definitely killed it. Being wanted is hot, and the blonde wants me, no ifs, ands or maybes. Add that to Opera girl's maybe and my own maybes about things between us and I guess it is what it is. If anything makes me sad now, it's having to tell Opera girl this. We had a really long and honest conversation a couple of days ago, and despite it all, she did want things to work out some way. That's not going to happen now I guess and I've got to figure a way to break it to her without making it seem like she's been replaced (Lord knows, she's not meeting the blonde for a long time, if ever). I also wonder what happens. Do you stay friends when your relationship imploded before it ever began?

It also really bothers me that something I was so excited about three weeks ago imploded so quickly and completely. Doesn't bode well for my future relationships I think. I've really enjoyed the time I've spent with the blonde and things between us definitely burn brighter than they ever did between Opera girl and I. Still I'm left with few illusions and if things don't work out with the blonde and I, I'm taking a break from women for a while.

About greatness...

2006-06-09T12:28:00.000-07:00

There is a decent amount of pressure on me to be successful in life. The saying, "to whom much is given, much is expected" applies in no uncertain terms to me. And success for me is defined very differently from the way it would be for many people. Making a hundred thousand dollars a year at some finance job, with a beautiful wife and family would probably be failure for me. Whatever I do in life, it will have to have an impact on a large number of people, earn me respect beyond the realm of my immediate peers and hopefully, also make me immensely wealthy.

Why such expectations? Like I said, to whom much is given... I'm probably among the luckiest five percent of the planet. I've had the opportunity to study at a great schools and I'm finishing my education at an Ivy League in the United States, arguably the most anyone could ask for in terms of education. I come from a good family, comprised of people who have supported me in almost everything I've ever tried to do. I've had very few hungry days in my life, never had to worry about being homeless or being truly unemployed. Add to all of this the pressure of having an immensely succesful father. After his dad died when he was about 10, my father hustled his way through the educational system, doing everything from selling coconuts to driving a cab and being a bus conductor to pay his way. Along the way he won the respect of extended family members who appreciated his drive and helped get through school. He started his company a few days after he left college. carrying his entire future in one briefcase while living with my mum and I in a dingy studio apartment that he couldn't even afford. From these humble beginnings, it's fair to say the man did alright for himself. He built his company from scratch and does more work with his sixty employees than American companies do with 3000. Some of the projects he envisions and carries out boggle the mind in their ambition and although he's been screaming retirement for five years now, the projects he's launched in that time have become even more outrageous.

Giving all this, you might understand if I have a bit of a father complex. Nigerians, the Yoruba particularly believe that it is essential that the son surpass the father. Seeing as I don't even have a difficult past to overcome, my work is definitely cut for me. Part of the reason I've stayed and will possibly remain in the West is to escape that immediate pressure. It's not that I don't want to do what I need to, or I'm trying to escape it by hiding here. It's so I can do things on my own, my own way without being hounded every step of the way for not doing it the way he did. Being here allows me to consider things that would be unthinkable in my home environment and try life my way rather than the mold that worked for someone else. It also allows me to take credit for what I do. If I don't have a difficult past to overcome, at least no one will say that all I acheive is acheived only with my father's help. If I find a job, it's based on my own merits and work, not because someone wanted to patronize my dad, or repay a favor. Here I can be my own man.

To be quite honest, I'm scared. There is little in my history to suggest that I have greatness in me. I'm pretty mediocre at just about everything. I have a wonderful imagination and lots of ideas, but precious little history of making those ideas reality. And that's what I wanted to get over this year. Less dreaming and more doing. Putting my ideas to paper and committing them to production. It's difficult though. I've been trying to drum up enthusiasm the ideas that need other people and fighting my own slackerdom at the things that I need to do by myself. Can't say I'm doing that great thus far, but I do know that the way I think about things has definitely changed.

I'm hoping to succeed by being me. There isn't much else I really want from life but to find something I like to do and do it really well. I want very few of the other things that people get so hung up about. I could sum up my goals for my life in three easy points:

1. Enjoy life. I don't believe in an afterlife, so I definitely don't want to be miserable in this one.
2. Find something that I can do and do it so well that I'll be remembered (positively) for it. Leave the world a better place than I found it or make some positive impact on people beyond my immediate circle.
3. Have some good relationships so my grave isn't lonely; lovers, friends, family (the one I was born with and any I adopt along the way)

I don't need to get married. I don't need to have a Volkswagen and a suburban lot to park it in. I don't need to live in any particular city or be anything specifically to anyone. I just want to be happy, productive and loved.

You make me want to use adjectives

2006-06-08T00:42:00.000-07:00

Some people just bring out the ~~wit~~ cheese in you. As I struggled with the impulse to say in a thousand different ways that the woman with me afffected me, I came upon and delivered immediately the sentence above. For some people, it'd have been a sacharine overload, but it was honestly delivered and she's vain enough to have been charmed by it, and so I got permission, nay encouragement to deliver all the adjectives I wanted as the night went on. I didn't stint out on them. Attentive readers may remember that I was not immediately impressed with Opera girl's looks. Here it is the opposite. My date, who we will call the Actress until I'm able to stop naming my partners by simplistic monikers referencing a single aspect of their lives, is simply exquisite, a 5'11, big boned, honey lipped and fine featured Scandanavian creature with a short mane of platinum blonde hair to attract unwitting Nigerian men. In the words of one of my current favorite bands, she "chews my mind up." I sent her a text at the end of our date informing her that she made my heart sing cheesy movie themes and that she does.

As always though, there is a but. I wonder if there is an element of self sabotage to my relationships. It would explain how I'm able to find fault over and over with the most apparently perfect women in the city. Here, I worry that I'm too attracted to her physically and that there is not enough behind that. This despite the fact that we actually had quite a few engaging conversations over the course of the evening, allowing me to break into my impassioned orator spiel (guaranteed to come out when I've met someone I'm trying to impress with the depth of my feelings for life and specific aspects of it - tonigh? cooperative creativity). Anyway, I think I ought to stop worrying so much about what is going to happen with all these ladies. I need to relax that edict of mine from earlier in the year that I would find a woman who wanted to be in a relationship with me and settle into a happy one before the end of the year. I think it'd be much better if I just waddled in with no expectations and we could both let things develop as they will. One problem though is still societal expectation and conditioning. My problems with Opera girl wouldn't be such problems if not for the fact that society expects and demands that when you find someone you like, you treat them like a captured bird and insist that they see no one else but you. I would be fine flaunting that particular edict and enjoying the time we have together without worrying about the time we have apart but I feel pretty ridiculous even suggesting such a thing. However, considering where things are now, I don't suppose it'd hurt very much to put that out there. Hmm, we'll see about that.

Anyway, that's what's going on on the girl front. In other news I'm trying to bartend. I don't remember if I've written that here before but if you do know a New York bar that needs a bartender, please let me know about them and let them know I'm the man they're looking for. Mucho gracias. By the way, I think the Scandanavian blonde likes me too. Her final text of the evening was "you're supercute, I have a crush on you." Here that Flint's high school class of 1999? Insanely gorgeous girls think I'm supercute. How do you like me now? Yeah, I'm going to sleep off some of the booze.

My relationship - the uncensored version

2006-06-05T16:10:00.000-07:00

This post should be read in the completely stream of thought tone of voice in which it was written (I'm not even sure that makes any sense, but bear with me, or you know skip this post. The main point of it is that the girl and I are now non-exclusive. Non-cliff notes version below)

Well just in case you were wondering, the three weeks apart have pretty much destroyed the relationship between the girl and I. Whether this is a good or a bad thing I'm not certain just yet, but I do have the sneaky feeling it actually is good. Life's weird, then you die and that must be even weirder. I don't know anything about the afterlife, but I have concluded one or three things in this one.

1. I am apparently unable to write a blog about anything other than whoring and boozing. In the timeframe in which I had a girlfriend, I did not become any less of an interesting person. I've been reading lots of world history that I never knew anything about before, watching tons of movies and hanging out with cool people left and right. I've started projects, been to the beach and done lots and lots of stuff. I just didn't really feel about writing about much of it. I did try to write more about my thoughts on people and the world, but I figured it didn't make any sense to subject my readers to half digested, stream of consciousness thoughts on my first thoughts about world and American history and what it says about the people on the whole. That one unfortunate rant below is the obvious exception. I've started many similar posts but never thought enough of them to finish or post them. If you have any ideas as to what you'd like me to blog about, please let me know. I'd be happy to follow instructions where I obviously have no ideas. Please note, I don't do funny so no requests for that stuff.

2. Relationships sure are strange things and I may or may not be ready for one yet. Although I've managed (by which I mean 'managed with great difficulty') to keep it in my pants for the past couple of weeks while the girl is away (despite an impromptu visit to NYC by the Brazilian and a couple of really flirtatious women on my recent outings with the best friend, who must be delighted to have me available to troll the town with him again as he has not grown any more confident with women in the time I've been attached and he hasn't), I've definitely not found that being in a relationship, even with a girl that on paper fits all of my requirements (artsy, independent, thoughtful, etc.), has definitely not caused to stop noticing or lusting after all the other women in Manhattan. That of course has me wondering what it is that led to desire a relationship anyway. Well, I always wanted that closeness and comfort of being involved with someone who knows you very well and likes you despite that knowledge. That there'd be a physical closeness from lots of wonderful sex would only be an added bonus. The problem with Opera girl and I is that we were seperated before we came to know each other very well. Thus for the past two weeks, I've been enduring conversations that didn't feel particularly intimate and weren't even that interesting (lots of reciting our activities for the day, talking about the weather and driving conditions on Charleston and the like). Being the anxious little bunny that I am, I of course began to worry about the health of our relationship (on a side note, I'm not that much of a worrier, at least not aloud, but I am really introspective, so like I've said before, this blog really is a little trip into the head of a fella whose real name is not Flint. I'm far too image conscious to ever allow my friends to hear the majority of my neurotic worrying, so if you ask them about me, they're likely to tell you I'm the most easy going and carefree fella on the planet. Yeah, that's me, Mr. Don't Worry, Be Happy. NOT!)

Anyway, as I was saying. The conversations weren't going very well and I had to ask (over long instant messenger conversations) a couple of my female friends about this and detail all my worries to them. They quite reasonably suggested that instead of talking to them about it, I talk to her about it. Communicating about the problems with your communication as a way to save a relationship? Who'd have thunk it? So I got all set to discuss it, but instead we actually had a really nice and not superficial conversation that day. So I was like "cool! Maybe things will be different now," but then she called me that evening and said that, oops, she'd kissed another boy when she was drunk and stuff and felt really bad about it. Damn.

Now some people would get really upset about this and throw a complete hissy fit and say all sorts of mean things as they end the relationship, but that's not really me. I guess I am a little bit Mr. Don't Worry, Be Happy because I immediately see that the silver lining in this is that maybe we can talk a little more honestly about things. So we kind of do. She's all feeling guilty about it and thinking about why she kissed another guy and basically thinks she's still got some baggage from her last relationship. And I guess that's understandable because she had told me before that her last relationship kind of fucked her up, but apparently she hadn't realized just how much. So I said fine, why don't we go back to being non-exclusive and that'll take the pressure off you while you figure things out, but we'll still be dating each other so it's not like we've written things off at the first problem. Although my friend did say to me that she thought you couldn't really have these kind of problems at the beginning of the relationship because you should be so in love that all you really want to do is be around each other. Of course this isn't the case as she kissed a boy and I've been flirting all over Manhattan and was actually contemplating going on a date to make sure that I wasn't about to settle into a relationship that wasn't right.

So the girl and I are sorta broken up. We're still talking everyday, sometimes up to three times each day, but the conversations have gone back to mundane after all the excitement of figuring out what was happening to us. I do feel like I've not been completely honest because when she kissed a boy, it became all about her doubts about things and I never really took the chance to make my reservations known because I was trying not to be an asshole about her thing and also she was going on about how much she liked me and I didn't know if that meant that she really did want things to work out with us. As for me, I hope it's not premature but I have pretty much decided that things probably won't work out with us. I'm not sure what will happen when she returns, because we did seem to be doing okay when she was around. Maybe there is something there and maybe there isn't. We'll find out when she returns but before then, I'm going on a date sometime this week. Maybe interacting with a new face will give me some perspective. Hmm...

What I think of humanity

2006-05-20T10:00:00.000-07:00

Everytime I read about some great evil (like this say) committed and hidden or justified in the name of religion, my jaw tightens. I think to myself, oh for a hell for them to burn in. But I know and those who do these things while hiding behind God and scripture know that there is no hellp, no God to turn to, no Devil to roast with. The greatest evils are committed by those most certain of their inability to be touched, those who know that there will be no punishment for their evil deeds besides the death of an already useless conscience and the scorn of people who don't matter anyway.

A man like Hitler may be reviled in History and have died an ignoble death, but this isn't because of his moral failings. It's because he failed at his mission. Had he succeeded, you would all be celebrating his birthday yearly, giving thanks that he destroyed those infidel Jews and enjoying the world as he had ordered it. After all, you do no less when you celebrate Columbus day or any one of a dozen holidays that conceal murder and atrocity in innocent celebrations of the world as we know it.

I've given up on thinking that people don't know when they are doing wrong. I believe we all no very well when we are arguing self interest over what is right, no matter in what language we choose to couch that argument. I've decided this only recently, yet another step in my continued disdain for the human race as a whole.

Part of the reason for this most recent decision is my search for an honest conservative opinion to read and argue with online. That search has been mostly a failure, and I've decided that the reason probably lies in the fact that conservatism, at least in the form that it is practiced and carried out in this country (and perhaps everywhere else, but I can only speak of what I know) isn't a different take on the world by rational and moral people. It's plain immorality. The things it argues for aren't different policies or different ways of solving the same problems the liberals have. What it argues for is greed, and racism, and sexism, and the aggressive dominance of others for profit, pride and power. If successful in each step, there will be another, more extreme and justified in the same terms, all for the same purpose though, the uplifting of the conservative over those believed to be inferior. In other words, what I'm arguing here is that when someone argues that black students get unfair benefits through affirmative action, what they're really pushing for is a return to slavery. When someone argues that it's fine to run Iraq because they obviously can't govern themselves, what they're really arguing for is colonization.

Is this overly cynical? No. You're a human being, the most flawed creature it is possible to imagine. I know that there is no God because no one could possibly have deliberately designed such a despicable race of creatures. The next great human civilization (if the current one does not destroy us all that is) will have slaves, will have genocide, will have poverty and disease. We are not making progress of any sort, becoming more moral creatures or making the world better for alll to live in. We are brutes, fighting for power and dominance over one another. In every generation of this cursed race, those who have power and wealth will try to keep it for themselves, no matter the cost (and I mean no matter if that cost is death or pestilence) to the rest of humanity, and it does you no good to argue against it, because there is nothing in all of human history to suggest the opposite. While there have always been those of soft heart who fight for equality and better conditions for others, they have always been canceled out by those more desperate to hold on to their power and positions.

So when you find yourself arguing with someone who is arguing a point that seems to defend white male privilege, or that privileges religion over a clear moral good, or the impracticality and expense of doing the right thing, know that you are not arguing with a rational being, you are arguing against the very worst of humanity, the basest elements of the human creature, that thing that keeps us from progressing and ensures that the majority of the planet will always live in poverty and despair that a powerful minority may hold on to their pitiful positions.

I'm not even in a bad mood writing this. It's a truth I've only recently allowed myself to accept and the truth ought not to make one angry, just open your eyes.

a mission?

2006-05-15T18:30:00.000-07:00

I know exactly what I'd like to do. I want to tell stories, of African American life and African life that haven't been told. If there is anything that I think it'd be really worth it to do, that is it. I'm sick of all the potrayals out there and I think there are far more worthy and interesting stories to be told from within those populations. I'm African, but America is my temporarily(?) adopted home. I hate that the media only sees this population when they need a foil for America's success or a boogey man to scare the good people of the suburbs. I hate that Africa is never potrayed except as a helpless receptacle of Western goodness or greed. Everytime I see a pathetic piece of tripe like City of God, I cringe and feel the need to punch a wall. I must sometimes alarm my neighbors with my tendency for gutteral yelps and boxer like bouncing whenever one of these things gets to me.

So, I'm doing photography these days and trying to say something interesting about Harlem. Whether I'm successful in that or not, I'm going to continue. I'll tell stories, in prose, in poetry, in rap, on TV or on film. Perhaps I'll do it in all of those. But I think that's a pretty decent goal for one person to set himself. There, I have a little more direction in life. It's decided.

No, I have not been kidnapped by aliens.

2006-05-03T13:06:00.000-07:00

I'm just dealing with a very busy end of semester, badly. I'm irritable and apparently have shoulders too broad for any suit in Manhattan to fit me. I know this because I tried every last one this morning when I ought to have been writing my youth cultures paper. That paper, which is due in three hours and fourteen minutes, has stymied for the last couple of weeks and I must now put it together in less time than it takes to try on every suit from H&M and Zara to bloody Bloomingdales. I'm gonna go the wedding in bermuda shorts and a fishermans' hat. Anyway I'll quite whining now and get to writing. I'll be back.

Nothing to see here, keep moving

2006-04-26T07:38:00.000-07:00

Alright, alright, not too much going on for the moment. The girl and I are doing well. It hardly seems possible, but I think we've seen each other pretty much continously for the past month or so. Things are good, I'm happy. She's met pretty much all the friends who are in New York, knows which girls from my past to be wary of (although she's met none of those) and she has the stamp of approval from pretty much everyone including the best friend, who sternly instructed her that she must take good care of me (err, thanks?). I'm not flipping out about the girls everywhere, even as they continue to wear less and less clothing. I'm sure that stage will return but for the moment, it is not an issue.

School is crazy busy and my semester of being a slack ass has left me in a most undesirable place. Lots of making up work to be done. In a month, all this will be done and I'll have to face the monster that is called thesis writing. Don't even have a thesis idea yet.

I have to go to a wedding at the beginning of May. I'm definitely not ready for it. Travelling long distances for the wedding of a couple I'm not really that into is not my idea of fun. Besides I need to buy a suit and a year of being a student has left about as poverty stricken as I've ever been. I wonder if one can find a good suit at a thrift store. Hmm...

Case you haven't got the gist, I have nothing to report. Be back once there is.

So, are you gonna be my girl?

2006-04-23T18:12:00.000-07:00

Yes, cheesy as it is, I actually said those words, asked the question and made this whole thing somewhat official. Saying it's so doesn't make coming to terms with what it means any easier though. I nearly choked last night when I said words, "this is my girlfriend" aloud for what is probably the first time in my life. For the record, two girls in the past have called me boyfriend, both for a total period of less than five months and neither of whom spent much time around my friends (one because I really didn't care that much for her, and the other because we were dating when I was in a city where I knew no one). So Flint's in a relationship. If you've been reading this here blog because you enjoyed my sufferings in the dating world, you may want to stop reading now. Or you might keep reading actually, because there are no guarantees that I'm out of the woods. You've by now gathered that I've no previous experience with this whole relationship business. If you read the previous post, you also know that my fine hunting instincts have made me into the sort of hound dog that is unable to stop sniffing. (It occurs to me that the previous sentence may make no sense at all and that I really ought to take a basic writing class again. Nevertheless we must forge on.)

It's a funny thing. You are born. You're a dork. You slowly come to a realization of this fact and decide it is unacceptable. You learn to dress yourself in clothes your mum did not pick out, learn a few funnies and teach yourself to flirt. You make the standard errors of college dating and emerge, emotionally scarred and unsuccesful on the other side of that experience. But you are a trooper, and so you keep at it, watching Bogart and McQueen movies as if straining to absorb some of their charisma through the dull LCD of your laptop screen. You improve your mind, do a few push ups, mind your manners and try generally to become the sort of person that it's not too embarassing to be seen with in public. I'll note here that I may not have succeeded in all of this. However, at least one person thinks I haven't done too bad. Friggin sweet. Now what?

Well before I go into what, I must address something. You might be thinking to yourself here: "what's the big deal? He ain't the first dude to ever go into a relationship. Why must we subjected to every single moment of the process? Will he be writing about the sex as well? I give the whole shebangy three weeks" To this I answer that, well, you needn't be subjected to anything you don't want to be subjected to. And secondly, it's pretty major for me anyway, so I shall be as giddy and introspective on this as I cann possibly be. And yes, I may write about the sex. Finally, it has been more than three weeks already so there, and please don't go jinxing me.

Onto the now what. Well, details of this relationship must be negotiated. Luckily, I've landed a lady with whom communication is not a problem. I asked her directly what she wanted from a relationship, a question which seemed to take her completely by surprise. After some hesistation and thought, she asked for a moment to think and asked what I wanted in the meantime. I said companionship and not dependency, continued possesion of my personality, support and friendship, and of course mind blowing and frequent sex. Obviously I've thought about this a little bit. She agreed with all of that and got into the spirit of things. She doesn't want to be a less interesting person cause she's in a relationship. She also thinks the other person ought to make you better than you were alone, both points I definitely approve of.

And that's about as far as we've gone thus far. There are still issues that must be broached. I asked how she'd rate herself in terms of sexual adventurousness, an entirely self-serving question on the answer of which much will rest. And there is still that small matter of the complication, who I've intended to write about, but have not quite got to just yet. Stay tuned, more to come.

Jesus hates the Flint

2006-04-21T13:09:00.000-07:00

Blasting Modest Mouse at improbable volumes with your dick in your hand and your browser at randompornsite.com is a greatly underrated method of recovering from a hangover. It's the endorphins see.

What's with these women? Why are they so beautiful, so available, so present everywhere I go. Where, I wonder, were they when I was devastatingly single and looking? It's strange but I'm barely off the market, and I'm already struggling with this concept of monogamy. I once wrote about falling in love a thousand times a day, and thinking (as all essentialists believe guys do) of possessing each and every one of these beauties. I'm not stupid. I knew I'd have to deal with this issue if I ever got into a relationship. Nevertheless I didn't anticipate, or perhaps I simply didn't realize how much of a wandering eye I have. And because Jesus hates me (probably cause I don't believe in him yet take his name in vain to explain the miseries of my life), he put a whole slew of them in my way yesterday, to mock me, less than a week into my new relationship.

First of all, walking around campus on the first day of eighty degree weather is likely to cause any heterosexual man whiplash. It's not bloody Long Beach people, put some clothes on! I'm trying to be educated here. Anyway, I got on a train on my way to see a concert and my eyes are immmediately drawn to those of a girl who happens to stand above most of the other passengers in the train. I'm a fairly tall fella and other than the occasional dude, I'm not really used to making eye contact with anyone when I look directly across the train. Generally I'm seeing the tops of people's heads. So when I made eye contact with this very pretty brown face, I of course had to do a more thorough examination. God must have had some free time when he made her. 6 foot tal, Amazonian black woman with the most ridiculous backside and rack I've seen outside of a porno and that one friend of mine who's a traffic hazard. And when I'm done checking her out, I realise that she keeps looking over my way. We make eye contact and she must have held my gaze for a half minute, then she burst out giggling and looked away. My photography professor sometimes takes a look at a picture I'm working on and says, "I think you can get that in three." I would venture I could have had this lady in two. Took all my will power not to walk over and give her my number.

And then after the concert, we all went out for drinks and dancing at Hiro. The lady worked late and had work really early in the morning, so she didn't come out. Now, this isn't some new group of people I haven't hung out with before. My concert buddies (minus the best friend), the Turkish fella and his English friend (who we randomly ran into at the Elbow concert) and some more English friends of concert girl. All the new faces were male and I'd never had the slightest bit of sexual tension with any of the other members of the group. So of course, we ended up getting ridiculously drunk, very flirty on the dance floor and concert girl (whose sexuality I've occasionally wondered about because she's never really shown sign of having any) ends up snuggling next to me as I rest in a whiskey induced fog at our table. Everyone else was on the dance floor and she came and plopped by me, obviously very drunk herself and nuzzles right up to my face. She then initiated a somewhat incoherent conversation which she insisted on having right in my face. Were I single, I would have damned the "don't make moves on your friends" rule and delivered the kiss she was so obviously demanding. As I am not, I did no such thing. I asked if she was alright and if it might be time that we made our way out and I put her in a taxi, but she insisted there was more partying to do. So I got up and began the long dance of leaving the club. I give myself a A for impulse control and C- for knowing what the fuck is going on.

Here's the thing. I've been going on for somewhere in the range of six years or so about wanting a decent relationship. Somehow or the other, I've finally landed in one that is healthy, makes complete sense and is with someone I really like, who is really damn fine and awesome. In the period of anticipation, I knew being in a relationship would not kill my wandering eye or somehow immunize me from the effects of beautiful girls, but seriously this is ridiculous. I must end this post now but coming up is a rumination on the relationship I'm trying to build, what I was thinking I wanted in a relationship versus what I'm likely to get, and the negotiations on these issues. In the meantime, feel free to chastise me for me being a cad with (as Chelsea Girl described me) the amorous attention span of a beagle at a chili contest (a description I'm unlikely to ever forget or let go).

Blogging while dating

2006-04-16T15:55:00.000-07:00

Well, thank you Mr. Wheaton, didn't know you were reading my mind now. I don't intend to tell Opera girl (is it a bad sign that I can't come up with a better nickname for her here?) about my blog, at least not if she doesn't ask. And if she does, I will tell her and instruct her that I would much rather she not look for or check it out.

That was the plan anyway. The logical kink in this of course, and one that Wheaton won't shut up about, is that she will find it. Whether by deliberately flaunting my instruction to the contrary, the irresistable presence of the blogger dashboard button on my browser or simply carelessness on my part, she'll find it eventually. This already bores me.

My last blog crashed and burned for the simple reason that both my current and last girl were reading. So was my best friend, another extremely nosy and unhelpful close friend and probably another third of my social galaxy that I was unaware of. Eventually, getting your words thrown in your face, your decisions and inner monologue second guessed and being unable to jot down a private thought without interference got very, very boring. I informed no one that I was closing it, just logged in one day, saved my posts to disk and burned the damned thing.

I actually didn't intend to ever start another blog. In my opinion, the blog had failed and there was no reason to pursue such folly ever again. Unfortunately I need to write. I'm one of those people who needs a diary (although I never succesfully kept one), and who, finding a shortage of people with whom comfortable discussing anything of depth, must attempt those conversations in another sphere. So I started this blog, informing all who asked that I'd retired from blogging and keeping it secret from pretty much everyone I call friend. There are two people who knew in me in the real world before I started this blog who know of it's existence. They are both really good friends, with discretion, who do not have much reason to talk to my other friends, so there is little chance of them accidentally disclosing it's existence.

So I've got this little blog that I like very much. It's a work in progress. I'm usually very honest, but I've probably not told every single detail. It serves its purpose. I like you all, my readers. There aren't too many of you (which is great), but I like you and like knowing that you're out there sympathizing with my plights, whether you say so or not. I don't want this blog blowing up, don't need a huge readership or a thousand people linking me. Yes, I'm an attention whore and I like to be liked and recognized, but I know what purpose this thing serves and it cannot do that if it's being linked by sites my friends are very likely to read.

You know that Jack Johnson song, Breakdown? It is totally fucking righteous.

I worry about my online persona. I want to be liked, but I want to be honest. That might be exhbitionism, but I think it also has to do with a desire for a place outside of my head that's completely honest. I lie to my parents, I lie to my friends, I've lied to every girl I've ever been with and I don't want to have to lie here. Thus I reveal ugly things about myself here, I try to get you to see me as more than a likeable lothario. I've yet to succeed in that, and I know there is much of my life I must talk about more and explore if I hope to get to that place.

But you say, isn't part of the reason you wanted a girl so that you could have someone to be completely honest with? And you're right. And if there is anything that I really, really like about the wonderful lady I've been seeing lately, it's that I've not felt the need to hide much. I may not have told all so far, but I've told no lies and hidden little. I like feeling comfortable enough to talk to her, and I like the way she's dealt with all she's heard about me. The things I've not mentioned, this blog and a few experiences I'm not certain one should divulge until a relationship is very well developed, have not inquired into. If she asks, she gets the truth.

But that still doesn't answer the question of what to do about the blog. If I keep it and I write in it about her, then she'll find it some day and there will be more drama than a Telemundo special. I'm not giving it up, because it seems ridiculous that I'd have to give up something that is so intergral to my exploration of who I am because I'm starting a relationship. You got some thoughts here? I'm rambling. I'm going to make a second post of some extra considerations on the same topic.

First kiss, first date, bliss?

2006-04-10T09:17:00.000-07:00

We were standing on the platform waiting for the train to arrive. Her coat hung open. I saw, took hold and pulled her closer. I slid my hands into the coat, holding her to me, feeling her weight lean into my arm through the soft fabric of her sweater. She put her hands up behind my neck, pulling me down to her. A great first kiss requires cooperation from both parties, and that was one of the best I've ever had, a great first kiss on a great first date.

First dates are easy. Most people have had so many bad experiences that expectations are low on both sides, allowing you to easily surpass them. For a guy, there are just a few rules to observe. Shine your shoes (pay some attention to the way you're dressed basically), plan the evening but leave room for improvisation if something doesn't work or she's not feeling it. Guys pay on the first date. This might be a remnant of patriarchal modes of thought, but it's not one that many people are willing to give up, so don't argue, just go with it. Try not to be an incredible bore by speaking about yourself incessantly. Listen to her answers as you will be tested if there is a second date. Try to tear your eyes away from her cleavage to look her in the face for at least a portion of the evening. Find something fun, or different, some spot you've found that's really underground and cool, or something else of that nature. Finally and very importantly, alcohol is your friend. Nothing makes two people like each other more than a bottle of wine or a few whiskeys.

I've been on a lot of first dates. A willingness to talk to strangers combined early adoption of Nerve's personals and occasional help from enthusiastic friends has meant that in the past few years, I've dated more than every guy and most girls I know. Of course, this entire blog is testament to my lack of luck in relationship land, so even when a first date goes well, I try not to get overly hopeful. Much can still happen to take things off track.

Happily though, as I write this, I'm waiting for Opera girl to get off work so we can go on date number X. That X doesn't stand for ten, it means unknown. I think we've seen each other every day this week, either cause we parted in the morning, or we met in the evening. The event with crazy lady from two posts past happened on our second date, and it definitely did shake us both up. But Opera girl (gonna need a new nickname, this one seems very limiting) is a fan of direct talk and we had a long and really intelligent talk not just about crazy lady, but all the issues surrounding it. And it didn't scare her off coming to my place, for which I'm grateful.

I'm a bit scared to get too hopeful. I take back anything I said about her looks. She is ridiculously cute and that's not just the endorphins talking. I keep catching (and she might too) myself staring at her. Must get that habit under control. She's on track to meet the most of my friends in the shortest period of any girl I've ever dated. This is helped along by factors such as her actually being age appropriate for me, living in the same city and our not having met in any sort of dodgy manner. So, cross your fingers for me and lets all hope I don't manage to screw it up somehow.

Tagged - This will be over as quickly as your high school boyfriend

2006-04-06T06:50:00.000-07:00

Matilda over at Jaded Fashionista put this on me, my very first tag. I feel special. Unfortunately anyone who's been in my bathroom knows that it's pretty spartan, so this will be short.

1. Body soap?
Dove, Cucumber and Green Tea, which I started using because it echoed my old cologne, Bulgari's Green Tea

2. Face wash?
Noxzema Tingly Citrus Formula - sadly I've been using it so long, it doesn't really tingle anymore. Need a change.

3. Shampoo?
Garnier Fructis, 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner - I've got a shaved head so even this seems redundant

4. Moisturizer?
Vaseline Intensive care - used it since I was a kid, need it to tame my crocodile skin

5. Cologne/Perfume?
Currently Marc Jacobs men. I like to change these regularly or have a couple at hand, cause I like to be able to smell it myself and you lose that ability after you've used the same one for a while

6. Deodorant/Anti-perspirant?
Gillette Clear Stick

7. Toothpaste?
Colgate Total

8. Mouthwash?http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif
Listerene.

9. Razor?
For my croc skin? I use an electric razor

10. Shaving cream?
Electric razor, hence no cream

11. Aftershave?
or aftershave. I put some moisturizer on and move on

12. Missed anything?
Nope. I'm surprised I have that much to report. Apparently, I'm not the ascetic I thought I was. Alrighty Feisty, Angelina - care to share?

Open Letter

2006-04-05T15:31:00.000-07:00

To the crazy bitch that run up on me and opera girl the other night and yelled a whole bunch of mixed up shit,

Strange that the first time that person would ever call me nigger or display to me racism in it's starkest and most naked form would be a black woman. After all, most of my time in America has been spent in the liberal Northeast and even in a much commented bastion of racism like Boston, everyone understands that in public and in polite society, one does not display their prejudices so openly. So while I've experienced and written of (not necessarily here) many instances of subtle racism, I've never experienced anything even close to this in terms of horrifically unselfconscious racism. It was like being in a scene from Crash.

Listen crazy lady, why you gotta run up and mess with a date that was going swimmingly. We were about to get up in my apartment, crack open a bottle of wine and explore positions 1 through 13 of the Kama Sutra. And then you gotta run up yelling about, "what is this shit? what's this all about? this is why Niggers (lets talk about how much pleasure you took in delivering this word repeatedly) like you ain't never got a job. I mean, do you have a job? what is this? fucking, nigger, blah, blah, blah." Don't really remember too much else in detail of your rantings. I'm generally not in the habit of paying attention to the obviously insane. I don't watch Bill O'Reilly either.

Truly though, I wouldn't mind having a conversation with you. I'm curious as to what it is about seeing me with a white girl upset you so much and hit you on such a visceral level. I think I could probably have a conversation with you. After all, you were jogging in full athletic get up, some skin tight Adidas or Nike get up, along with those bright orange headphones they foist on would be atheletes with no taste to help them get in the zone. In order to afford that gear and do something so bourgoise as jogging around a neighbourhood where the most exercise most people get is running to catch the bus, you must be be a member of wage slave (unless you're fueled by daddy's money - a distinct possibility in your case), yuppy, consumerist America. Within such circles, it's probably not acceptable to get all wild and ignant like you did the other evening. Perhaps that's why you did. You were tired of holding your tongue and you felt this was a safe space within which to express your vitirol. Or perhaps there were other reasons. I'll tell you though, it definitely wasn't a safe space. If I had been a pimp with my ho, I would have bitch slapped you without a moment's pause. If I were a drug dealer with a new customer, I would definitely have marked your face for violent and extensive retribution later in the week. And if I were a teacher going to work over the week's lesson plans with another teacher, or just a guy walking with a neighbour (there is a white girl living above me after all), you'd just have ruined the week of someone with no real ability to retaliate.

Well, I'm none of those people, so public excoriation will probably be the worst punishment you receive. Hopefully that's combined with some regret and soul searching on your part, which should have happened when you over adrenalized mind settled down and thought about what you'd done. I've got questions for you though, lots of them:;

1. We ain't in 1950's Mississippi. Miscegnation ain't no crime. How have you not got this memo?
2. Beyond our walking together, there was no outward sign of affection between us. We weren't holding hands, stopping to make out or any of that. I know cause our body language was worrying me at that very moment. So what is it that hit you so deep that you lost hold of your bourgoise mask and went all hood on us?
3. What was that whole mess about the job thing? What does the person I date have to do with my status in the working world? Is dating a black girl the key to the job of my dreams? How have not been informed of this?
4. You pull any other stunts like this lately or regularly? Cause I know a couple of asylums that aren't quite full. Streets would be safer without you. You're a menance.

There's probably more of these, but carrying out imaginary conversations with crazy people is an activity that brings limited returns. I do gotta note a couple of things though. I'm getting really fucking tired of this over defensiveness about interracial dating among black women. Having been interrogated a few times by exes and friends of exes, and reading hysterical conversations in blogland on the same topic, I feel safe in saying that at least a few people are going about addressing the shortage of desirable black men in exactly the wrong manner.

Losing your fucking head, becoming aggressive at the mention of a black man dating a woman of any other race (white, brown or friggin green), demanding regression charts on the number of black versus other women that one has dated, and the general insane sensitivity that accompanies the issue, does not make you in any way more attractive. Being the individualist that I am, unless contributing to an issue on larger grounds, I always advise that one maximise their own potential. Protests about the state of things and societal issues are all well good, and should all taken up where it is possible to make real change. On a day to day level though, if your ass does not want to die an unwanted spinster, I suggest finding a wider pool within which to date. If there ain't no black men, try white men, brown men, hell even women if you find yourself flexible. If you are not attracted to or find those groups not attracted to you or for some misguided reason find yourself unwilling to date outside the pool of available black men, you must somehow or the other be the most attractive fish within that pool. I ain't got no advise for you there, other than to try not to be a completely psycho bitch. Good luck.

For the immediate future however, please keep your narrow mind and narrow hind out of my path. With my date on my arm, the most important thing to me was getting her to safety, away from psycho lady. On any other day I run into you, I may have the time to speak cruel, cruel words to you. I haven't hit a female since I stopped roughhousing with my sister at 13, but if you come up on me all hysterical like that again, I may make exceptions. That is all.

Flint, in a not so seductive mood

Meet The Perverts

2006-04-05T07:06:00.000-07:00

Were all perverts this charming and attractive (and confined their amorous attentions to fellow perverts and willing converts like myself), they would be welcomed far more readily into general society. The Pervert's Saloon, organized by Dacia was way cool. Putting faces to the words I've read for so long was really cool, and it was interesting to adjust the persona people have created online and try to fit it to the faces and bodies you're now seeing. I'm happy to report that everyone was at least twice as attractive as online, having pretty bodies to match the minds I was already enamored of. Thank you for the introductions CG. How could one not feel attractive being introduced by such a lady? They're not all linked in my sidebar, so I'd like to introduce some of the perverts I had the pleasure of meeting, or simply hearing read last night.

Dacia: Organizer extraordinaire, model and champion of perverts everywhere
Cherry Bomb: Allow me to be frank. She's hott (two t's and a sweating Flint) and from her story, whip smart and able to take care of herself when confronted with sneering retail customers. I love a capable woman
Chelsea Girl: If you read this blog and the comments, you already know I adore Chelsea Girl. Monday night, I met many others who also adore her and got to confirm that she is as hot as her words.
Jefferson: Didn't get to meet Jefferson, but watching him read and toy with the crowd, while attended by a coterie of women, it's hard to doubt the sincerity of his stories or that online persona. Plus the spider web complexity of his love life makes me look a relative ascetic
Jane: Jane Vincent was at the event unexpectedly, and read one of my favorite stories from her site. It was even more entertaining in person. Later on, I caught get grooving like a superstar on the dance floor.
Lex Konrad: If you've ever read NLP, you've got to wonder how any guy could get so much play and be so laid back about it. Meet Lex in person, and it is obvious. Lex is like the physical embodiment of laid back, plus he's tall (I mean, taller than me at 6'5 or so), charming and very funny. And if you've never met Les, you're really missing something. She's really ridiculouly hot and really warm ad fun as well. If you're reading this Les, we'd really like to see more posts from you on the blog as well. Do write.

There were a lot more wonderful people who I did not get the chance to meet but really enjoyed hearing read. Desiree was a wonderful host, amusing and engaging. Tony Comstock (that a name or what?) is, as described by many people, one of the few pornographers I would actually like to sit and have a drink with. Really glad I went and got to meet so many people. Thanks to Dacia for organizing the event. Wouldn't miss the next one for all the free condoms in Manhattan.

Good thing my head's attached as I'd likely lose that too

2006-04-01T12:15:00.000-08:00

In the half decade preceeding 2006, I can count on one hand the number of things I lost. After a childhood of exceeding carelessness, I settled into some sort of responsibility and actually learnt how to take care of my things. In 2006, that ability of mine completely disappeared. Here is a catalogue of things I've lost in increasingly bizzare ways this year:

1. My favorite pair of gloves, some tan Cole Haan gloves that sat safely in my brother's room for two years before I picked them up Christmas, only to lose them at the end of January.
2. My ipod, a year old, 40 gig wonder that made many a trip bearable for me.
3. Two hundred United States dollars. Unfuckingbelieavable
4. Two hundred dollar Oakley sunglasses

A quick glance at that list quickly confirms that, the cash aside, these are all pretty nice but non-essential things. It's like someone declared a luxury tax on me, nicking or otherwise facilitating the loss of all my little material pleasures. Of course, that person would be my own careless self. I stuck the gloves in my back pocket an actually felt them fall as I ran to catch the bus. In my rush though, I paid no attention till I was settled on the moving boss, at which point I convinced myself that I must have left them at home and not brought them out at all. Yeah, you lie to yourself all the time too. The ipod was either dropped or nicked from my back pocket during a night of extreme debauchery on Lit's grimy premises. Despite my intoxication, I'm still mystified that anyone could have got anything out of such fitted jeans without my attention, but I do remember being pretty damn distracted for portions of that evening. My most recent loss, the sunglasses also appears connected to Lit, suggesting to me that perhaps I should find another place to indulge my debaucherous side. I could swear that upon departing last night, the glasses were in my coat pocket and I even remember playing with them as I walked towards my door. Unfortunately before departing to watch Brick and then party some last night, I took on my apartment with broom and mop, organizing and cleaning to sparkling goodness. Thus, when I was unable to find the sunglasses this morning, there were no mounds of disorder in which I could convince myself the glasses could be hiding. Those damn hipsters! As to the dough, well I rarely carry more than 60 bucks in cash on my person, preferring to pay for everything with credit or debit. Of course, the one day there was an exception to this, the cash mysteriously disappeared. Strange and stranger.

Anyway, with far more urgent fiscal priorities, it is unlikely that I will be replacing any of these things anytime soon. If anything good has come from all of this, it is that at least my senses are more alert to my environment. Devoid of gloves, earphones and shades, my touch, hearing and vision are now that much less encumbered. And short of losing my watch or the clothes off my back, I have few useless pleasures left to dispose of. Wish me luck in keeping those I've retained.

Why do I even need to title these things? They're always directionless rants

2006-03-29T21:42:00.000-08:00

When people speak of picking up destructive habits, one thinks of a drug habit, a nasty porn or gambling addiction or maybe even siphoning work from the office petty cash to pay for one of the previous habits. My recently acquired, or rather exploding habit is sitting at my desk staring at my computer all day acheiving sweet fuck all. I've been an internet addict for a long time, as are most people who go through high school or college in the United States these days, but it's never really been this bad. Despite having more interesting classes (in theory) than last semester, I'm a lot less engaged with my school work. Some of the factors causing this include not having to hand in assignments regularly, not finding the intellecctual content of class discussions particularly stimulating and the rather novel problem for me of not knowing exactly what I'm supposed to be getting from my classes. Having studied Finance in undergrad, I've been used to knowing exactly what I'd be learning in each class I ventured into. This totally unstructured learning environment, while theoretically more useful in terms of allowing me to craft an education that fits my very specific needs, is totally undoing me currently. I am an inert mass of unproductive creativity. The ideas are there. I've discussed and even written a couple of pages on some of them. But I've had no motivation whatsoever to progress beyond that point. I'm getting through fewer of my readings, even when they're interesting and finding a theoretical framework to hang any of my ideas around is going to be quite the task when I get around to it.

So what then am I doing with my time? Well, if your blog numbers have gone up significantly, it's probably not just cause Dooce or whoever listed you. Flint has been hitting the refresh button a few dozen times a day. If it doesn't seem like I'm commenting much, please note that I said I was in an unproductive mood. I only want to passively take in your genius. Do not in addition require me to have an opinion or if I do have one, compose it into a coherent form. At this point, I'd like to direct you to my sidebar, where you can read some of the wonderful people who have been facilitating my rooted existence in my desk chair. Hello everybody.

I don't despair too much over my academic career. I did really well last semester and I know in time, I'll get around to putting some effort in. Let's just hope it's not too late. I've been doing okay socially though. Saw Edvard Munch (I love moody, depressing art, and his stuff is quite powerful. It was like a cocaine fix for me and I've never even had cocaine) at MOMA with the Brazilian and I've generally been spending a lot of time with her, trying to ensure that she doesn't freak out too much about the move, which of course, she is. Had not heard from Opera girl since our date on Saturday, despite sending her a text on Sunday and leaving a voicemail Tuesday, and as one is wont to do after a date goes so well, I was freaking out like a little high school girl, checking my email and friendster page obsessively and glaring at my phone as if it were conspiring with the world to destroy any chance I'd ever had of romantic bliss. Luckily, she called today and although I didn't speak to her as we were playing phone tag, but at least I'm no longer convinced that some girl I ended things badly has put a hex on me.

During the interrogation that the first date always is, I confessed to not being the most organized person on the planet and how that had hurt me at my last real job. Opera girl was surprised, saying how put together I looked and asking if that was just an act then. This got me thinking. Superficially, I am actually a pretty together person. Coming from Nigeria, I of course care about my appearance and I generally tend towards neat no matter how outlandish my choice of clothing. So when I wore t-shirts with such high minded inscriptions as: 'Pimp', with the same word written below it in Chinese 'Dic - long, hard, round stick' and that stupid one you might have seen that says The Man, the legend with an arrow pointing up above 'man' and one pointing downwards below 'legend,' I always wore them pretty neatly. Wonder what happened to that legend t-shirt. I quite liked that. My apartment is also pretty grown up, something I'm quite relieved to have finally acheived. Yet, I'm not really an organized person. I'm frequently more than fashionably late, although never for any really important. Juggling the details of several people's schedules along with managing office finances, appointments and shebangys like that, as my old job required me to, regularly drove me to drink and was pretty disastrous from my angle of vision. As I've grown older, I've veered more and more into creative fields where disorganization is more expected. My ideal job would allow me to be a complete idea person, generating and refining them and managing a big picture view, while ignoring mundane details or at least attending to no more than my own mundane details. Anyway, it occurs to me now that there might not be a point to this post and so I think I shall end it. Good night.

Women, coming and going

2006-03-27T18:17:00.000-08:00

I hate being alone. I want a girlfriend yesterday and some other interesting people in my life to boot so I don't have to stay in my head on evenings like this. I went on a very good date on Saturday, with a girl who is pretty much perfect in every way but one. She's very pretty, but in a manner I've never really been attracted to. Cute rather than beautiful, she's 24 but could easily pass for 18. I am inclined to describe her as a less angular, younger and cuter Annie Hall. I could be full of shit but that's what I thought on the date. Despite this small problem, she really is pretty much perfect and I'm inclined to shut my mouth, thank the dating gods for sending someone so interesting my way and court, court, court like a French king trying to secure his position by marrying an English princess (even though I don't believe in marriage). She's an opera singer (a "baby" Soprano as she put it) and pays the bills by working for a fashion designer and waitressing. She's smart, funny and intense. I already feel like I have to work harder to be worthy, and that's fine by me. I think the people around you, particularly someone so close as a girlfriend, should inspire you to be a better person. Did I mention that she can dance? We were at some funny little French place in the LES when they started to play some pretty decent dance moves and like a man taking a car for a test drive, I offered my hand to see what she'd meant when she described herself as a dancing machine. What a machine! You know how hard it is to find a non-Hispanic girl in North America who knows how to follow on the dance floor? They played a few salsa numbers and some other stuff that I know the rhythm but not the name of, and dancing with her really was the most delightful experience. I asked afterwards how she'd learned to dance and she replied Cuban ex-boyfriend. See what I mean by having to work to keep up? She seemed like she'd had fun dancing with me, but how does a man relax knowing the girl he's with used to dance with a Cuban and his family? Anyway, the date went well and I was felt pretty good at the end of the evening. At this moment, not so much. I sent a text message the next day saying it'd been good to spend time with her and that I'd like to see her again, soon. No reply. Gah. She might simply be busy. Actually I know she's pretty busy, but it takes about ten seconds to compose and send a reply. I just wanted some ackowledgement that I wasn't the only one who'd enjoyed the date. And now I have to almost physically restrain myself from calling because I don't want to be too pushy and fuck things up. Anyway, that's what going on right now.

The Brazilian is leaving at the end of the week, and we've been spending a lot of time together in anticipation of that. As they always do, things have become more intense the closer to departure she gets. She's moving to Italy to work for the same fashion company she was working for here. She's got some trepidation because she'd rather have moved home to Brazil, but she couldn't get a job there so she took the position offered her in Italy. And now she's stressed about life and happiness and family and whether she'll be able to find fulfillment on all those fronts in Italy. One of the awkward aspects of the relationship between the Brazilian and I has been communication. I've not done much of it. I once mentioned how my relationship with her felt almost like an affair. Well, that's cause I treated it as such. There were reasons for that. One, we both knew almost as soon as we met that she was leaving the US at the end of March, thus preventing us from attempting to form anything too close in terms of attachment. Secondly and more damning for me though is that I never really thought I ought to be with her. Meeting her at a crazy Halloween party where she was almost unrecognizable, yet incredibly foxy in some crazy wig and a micro mini skirt, I thought of her as someone I'd have a one night stand with and then never call again. When she refused to give me her phone number, I ought to have known to leave well alone. But I didn't, instead going on a date with her where I failed to correct a small but rapidly snowballing lie I'd told on the night we met. You will probably like me a lot less after the following disclosure. It was a small lie. As we made out at the Halloween party in someone's ridiculous loft, she mentioned that she was 34 and asked how old I was. Calculating the likelihood of my ever seeing her again and putting that against the derision I almost always get from older women for being younger, I tacked on an extra four years to my age. A small enough lie right? I haven't corrected it yet. Yes, four months after I met her, she still thinks I'm four years older than I really am. of course in order to cover up that lie, I've had to tell a few more. I mean, my birthday was in January and I couldn't invite her to it or explain why I couldn't, so I simply didn't tell her about it. So when she asked a few days ago when my birthday was, I had to make up a date. You may reserve whatever vitirol you're thinking of spitting in my comment section. Whatever you're thinking of calling me, I've called myself worse. It really does bother me to deceive a person in this manner and it's created a strain throughout our relationship that's prevented me from being myself or opening up much to her. Strange now that I actually consider the possibility that we will stay in touch and maybe stay friends when she moves away. What happens a few years down the line when she realizes my deception? No, this is not one of the finer acts of my life.

While I don't make a habit of such horrendous deceptions, I do wonder what things like this do to my soul. Not that I believe in religion, but I do have some concept of an internal spirit that's damaged by our falsities, foolishness, greed, pride and all those other human foibles; and I wonder what condition mine is in. What right do I have to ask for happiness or love in a relationship, if I so cavelierly deceive someone who invests themselves, however slightly, in a relationship of some sort with me. Anyway, enough of the public self-flagellation. This isn't a request for pity or even a bid to be despised. It was a stupid little lie that I should have owned up to early in our relationship but I didn't because I wasn't really letting her in that close to me anyway. I suppose the more important point in the whole thing is what I was doing with someone I was so reluctant to let close to me. Our communication's never been great and I do still think we're definitely not right for each other. But I've grown fond of her and as she leaves, I do regret and am horrified at the deception and also at what it does to the possibilities for us to be friends in the future. As much as I consider marriage to not be for me, she's someone who clearly wants it and I'd have loved to be there when she found someone she thought worthy of spending her life with. As it is, I know it's far more likely that I'll allow us to fall out of touch so I'm nothing but a pleasant memory from the past for her.

One cynical, jaded sumbitch

2006-03-23T09:42:00.000-08:00

I have the feeling that dating for me is going to be a really tough thing as the years progress. I finally asked for and got an answer from Boston Girl as to what happened to us. It didn't feel right to her. She was thinking about the future and family and life and all of that, and things between us just didn't feel right. I guess that conversation where I casually mentioned not believing in marriage helped that particular feeling. So there's my answer anyway.

This will not get any easier. I dated someone for about 4 months last year and she ended things over this very thing as well. Seven years older than I, she was thinking of marriage not in a distant future but as something real that needed to start quite soon. Even I wasn't such a cynical bastard, obviously I wasn't the one for that. Hence, it was nice being with you, but good bye now. As I approach my thirties and all the women around me begin to comtemplate the same boring societal mores, I expect this problem will be cropping up quite a bit. This is not going to help my serial dating habit.

I don't believe in empty promises. I'm going to three weddings this year, and knowing about the 50% divorce rate here in the US, quite frankly I expect two of those will end up in divorce. I'll even bet which two. Why can't a relationship be enjoyed for what it's worth? Why do people need these assurances, even knowing that they are probably false? DeBeers and Anna Sui, ruining romance for Flint in 2006 and onwards. There's a poem I read in some lurid Marilyn Monroe bio when I was about 13 that I've never been able to put out of my head. It's something about, "This is the wisdom, to make prayers and wish nothing of the the gods, to kiss the lips and stroke the hair, to have, to hold and in time, let go." I've never been able to find the book again to get it right, but that pretty much sums up my approach to relationships. People would have much more fulfilling relationships and less bitter partings if they simply held this view. Live life, work at it, enjoy it and don't try so hard to control what can't be controlled. If you're going to fall in love, fall in love. If you're going to fall apart and don't want to, then work at staying together, and when it's no longer worth it, walk away, cause life is simply too short to be bloody unhappy. Wedding rings and all that nonsense? Fool's gold if you ask me. And yes I know it's jaded, yes I know it's cynical. It's also right and it's also my view and if there is anything I am, it's an individualist. I'll listen to other people's opinions but the only truth I know is that I came onto by myself. And that's my truth. Unfortunately, the unpopularity of that view is going to cost me a lot of potentially interesting relationships. I won't lead anyone on. Who I am and what I am are pretty much always on display and if in my lifetime I can find one or a few women willing to accept that, then I suppose I'll be as happy I've any right to wish for.

Sunday night blues

2006-03-19T19:40:00.000-08:00

Me dad's in town and that's been nice. It amuses me that we are able to get along so well these days with so little to clash about. It's been quite pleasant, although he is monopolising an awful lot of my time. He leaves Tuesday and I will be relieved to get back to doing things my way, but it really is good hanging out with him. I feel like I've had him to myself quite a bit lately. He came by last year in January to surprise me for my birthday and we spent a couple of days hanging out. Then again in the Summer, we shared a hotel suite in London while the rest of the family crashed at my aunt's place. Basically about a week of rooming with my dad. And no one went crazy. That in itself is crazy. If you'd have told me that was possible five years ago, I'd have laughed in your face.

Anyway, still in a bit of a funk. Have ignored everyone of my friends all weekend and most of last week. Last week, believe it or not was Spring Break for us. I spent alternating between my apartment and the library. Still didn't manage to get any work done and this week is definitely going to be jarring for me. I'm even reading the wrong book for one of my classes, devouring Hunter S. Thompson's excellent Hell's Angels even though we don't read it for another couple of weeks. I might not even own the book we actually read this week in that class. I'm frequently amazed that I've come this far in my academic life with such quirks as this.

I find myself quite irritated that Boston girl has lost interest. Having blown off quite a few people in the past, I am well aware when someone is bored, spooked, dissuaded or distracted from their interest in me. Things seemed to be going well and I actually had been relishing the chance to go to Boston, both to get away from this space inhabit so completely and spend time with someone I found interesting and fun, and for the chance to see some of my friends, who I suddenly miss very much. Unfortunately, that was not to be and now I'm sitting here all alone, without no love of my own, yeah (lyrics by Zappa, performance by the Persuasions). I wonder what caused spooked her. I ought to have exit interviews with all these women who breeze in and out of my life and find out what it is that causes things to not work out so. It might help my love life. I mean, it's not that I was all decided that I wanted to be with this girl. But G, who came down from Montreal, had just explained to me that perhaps I didn't need to decide upon every single quality I required and insist on it's presence before I got into a relationship. Her take on things was that people meet each other, fall into bed and then sort of decide they don't mind each other that much and keep it going till the sex becomes crap, then they find an excuse to break up. This approach led her into a recently ended three year relationship that was actually quite decent. So I'd been thinking of going with her approach and letting what would be be, but I guess that was not it. Oh well.

I ought to write about G's weekend here. We went dancing. It was hot. I like to dance and she is a very good dancer. It took a lot of restraint to not jump her bones after she showed that she could really rock the dance floor. I would but I'm tired and not in the mood for storytelling. Maybe next time. Happy anniversary Chelsea Girl. I'm sad I don't have any submission for your celebration, but I'm not in the most creative of moods and I don't even have a digital camera with which I could capture a lazy moment. Enjoy anyway, we will be eagerly reading.

He rants, he raves, what else does he do?

2006-03-14T21:39:00.000-08:00

Nothing apparently... I don't think it's going to work with Boston girl. And though I'd not made up my mind about her, odd enough, the dodgy behavior isn't originating with me. She'd been in New York twice in a pretty short period and my spring break just came up, so I offered to come up and hang out with her for a bit. And she stiffed. Claiming that she's busy, she said she'd figure it out and let me know if she was coming down or when I could come up or what. Weird. Whether deliberately or not, she's made it clear that she's less than enthusiastic about my coming up to see her. Odd considering that she made sure to come stay over with me last time she was in town, even though it was an inconveniece for her. Oh well.

If I'm disappointed, it's probably as much because I kind of wanted to go to Boston anyway and hang with some friends. Now I wouldn't do that until I know what's spooked her. So there goes my trip. I'm spending spring break in my apartment alternating the pretense at work with dashes of real work and dealing with my sister's hundreth major (and it is fairly major) crisis in the last couple of years. Some people move away from home and just do their thing. That'd be me for the most part. Others, they leave home and their parents and family are constantly making emergency trips to quench fires. To put out there what probably shouldn't be put out there, we've had to deal with a half hearted suicide attempt, her getting kicked out of school for failing academically and now, a physical confrontation that led her roommate to call the cops. Hell, I fucked up enough times in my life that I ought to sympathize. Even after calming down massively upon departing high school, I didn't get through college unscathed. I still got kicked off campus on some bullshit that was mostly my fault. It's hard for me to sympathize with lil' sis though. After fighting a lot as kids, we settled into a decent friendship in my teens through the time I was in college. She's four years younger than I am, so she finished high school just before I finished college. Upon moving to the West, she didn't go to college directly. We all deeming her too immature, we sent her to some fancy prep school to give her time to adjust before she went to college. I wish I could say it helped, and it probably did, cause she'd probably have done worse by now if she'd gone directly to college. Nevertheless, whatever it did, it wasn't enough. It's always one thing or another, and being the older brother, my dad's sort of appointed me as sort of a surrogate father. Which wouldn't be at all problematic except for the fact that I no longer get along with little sister. I find her shallow, annoying, conformist, critical of everything I find interesting, and uninteresting in general, a chickenhead in short. Wow. Even I can't believe I just wrote that of my sister. Never mind, I think a lot of those things about myself a lot of the time as well. Actually, I worry that the reason I don't get along with her is that she's a reflection of the worst parts of me and I really don't want to be reminded. It might also be that I think I'm working at conquering those aspects of myself and she doesn't even realize they are there or need to be confronted, and that just drives me up the wall.

Anyway, sis is in trouble. The troops are rallying forth. I've not offered to go handle the situation in person, although I'm definitely armchair and telephone commandeering the situation. I'm alternately stressed and bored by it. I've been informed to put out of my head the idea that she return home (to Nigeria) and study there, but you know what? That's exactly my opinion. She's not mature enough to deal with the real world. Something is lacking in either her constitution or her education, and it's fucking up her life. I worry that whatever it is it may be lacking in mine too, even though I've come further along than she has. Anyway, that is the situation.

This is quite a harsh post. I don't feel the need to apologize for that. I'm not a nice person and I think my blog should reflect that. I want honesty here, otherwise I'm not sure what purpose this thing serves. I've been thinking a lot about that although I didn't really intend to address it tonight. It is what it is. Good night.

Friends: An Examination of Flint's crew

2006-03-11T11:15:00.000-08:00

The Good

Film Dude: Turkish dude I met through the best friend. Dresses very well, speaks with a heavy accent, total film nut, sees everything; mainstream, indie or foreign. Great dude. Hung out with him last night. Saw Duck Season (good movie), then went to a party with some Turkish people, stopped by Lit and Rififi and had breakfast really late in the morning. Generally not a party monster but an interesting and passionate person. Word is he's gay and somewhat closeted about it. Whatever. He's cool and that's what matters.

Concert girl: Very funny All-American girl. She's from Massachusetts, Rhode Island or some place like that and is your standard Pale Irish. Vicious, vicious wit and incredible store of useless knowledge making her a deadly Trivial Pursuit opponent. She's got great taste in music and has got me seeing a lot more concerts, thus fulfilling rule 3 in a most excellent manner.

The Columbia kids: Grad school kids are great; hard drinking, work shirking, trek to Brooklyn for booze and food kind of people. I like them a lot. They need to work on their attendance at my events, and I'm not deeply involved in any of their lives, but overall, these folks are fine with me. Some of these people should also be in the potentials but I'm not going to list them individually.

My Boston Friends: I've got at least four or five superawesome friends in Boston, really cool and interesting people that I'd like to see a lot more of. They suck because they do not live in New York. If you're reading this, you need to move down here and live close to me.

The Bad

The Best Friend: Once upon a time I thought he was interesting and suave and a great yang to my ying. No more. This fool is failing to evolve and will shortly go the way of the dodo if he doesn't keep up. Less interesting than he's ever been, more socially dysfunctional than ever and worst of all, less cool than he's ever been, he's like a Master of the Universe who's started sweating and swearing on deals and I'm the client rapidly losing interest. Tough.

The Crew: These are the people I've been spending most of my social time lately. Almost all very pretty Asian girls, they are very nice, attend my events, invite me to things (museums, dinner, picnics, birthday parties at horrible, big clubs) and are generally pretty damn alright. The problem then? Well, I suppose it's ungrateful of me, but I'm bored anyway. They're safe, mainstream and generally uninterested in anything too subversive. I sense the potential for true deviance in one of them who seems to have the thrill seeking gene, but she's saddled with a fairly cool but prematurely aged boyfriend who is unlikely to be pleased with me corrupting his little angel. [Editors Note: With my luck, this post is going to be referenced on some huge site and my teeny little blog will be pulled out of obscurity just in time for my friends to see the horrible things I'm saying about them. So welcome any new readers from Pretty Dumb Things and if one of you is with Boing Boing or writes for Gawker, please allow my blog to languish in it's little corner of cyberspace]

The French People: They seemed like they had so much potential, but they're impossible to get a hold of and as they depart these shores shortly, I've sort of bid them adieu a bit early.

The Potential

K girl and her boyfriend: Met these two at a friend's wedding. K girl is hugely combative and probably really a handful to deal with on a daily basis. Yet, she is whip smart, incredibly good looking and gave me one of the most interesting outlooks on racism in America (black guy learns about racism as it affects African Americans from Korean adoptee - I dig it). Her boyfriend is bearded, quieter but no less smart and engaging, and the word is that he's a really talented artist as well. I'd love to hang out with them, but once again they are impossible to get a hold of. We've missed each other a dozen times now and if I didn't think them extra cool, I'd definitely have given up by now. Hope for me.

The lesbian: B is a tall, handsome girl with a shaved head. She definitely does way more drugs than I do. Actually, I thought her a dealer the day I met her. She seems fun, smart and is an undergrad at Columbia. She made sure to ensure I knew she was a lesbian when we first met but seemed enthusiastic about hanging out. I may have spooked her by inviting her to what sounded like a fairly intimate gathering right after meeting her. Haven't spoken to her much since then, but I expect we'll run into each other on campus and that ought to be interesting.

And that dear friends is the sum of my social scene in the city. I must meet more folks so please point me in the direction of cool people in search of the same. Off to shoot some pictures I think.

Friends: The Rules

2006-03-11T10:24:00.000-08:00

I am no longer cultivating friendships with uninteresting people. Once upon a time my general attitude was that I would be friends with whoever wanted to be friends with me, as long as they weren't serial killers, thieves or of otherwise deplorable character. Those days are over. I am as bored with my friends as it is possible for one to be. Here then are the rules for the new friendships I hope to cultivate. I must somehow jettison or perhaps limit my time with the old ones in order to make time for new ones.

The Rules
1. Must have a spark of life in them, I'm talking good energy, zest; must feel like I'm talking with a real person when I have a conversation with them. Dull, lifeless people get killed on this island.
2. Must be bearable. In other words, they can't have really horrible manners, absolutely no social graces, or talk about themselves all the time. I do have one friend who I very much love who is an absolute disaster in public places (says the most offensive things, drinks too much, etc) but he makes up for it by being exceedingly loyal and hilarious and he has a great heart in him. I don't know if I can handle anyone else as difficult to handle as he is, but I could make exceptions.
3. Must be interesting, have interests and passions, which hopefully they will introduce me to. Honestly, what the fuck is the use of a friend who doesn't make you more interesting. Everyone has to bring something to the table. Invite me to concerts, parties, drag me off to explore the city or do other weird shit.
4. Must accept my invitations to engage in my passions or just to hang out. I try to invite people to things I think they'll enjoy. I don't drag my introverted friends to loud dance clubs or insist that people do thing they're uncomfortable with. But people must make a fucking effort! This one girl (who just sent me an invite to her wedding) has not managed to make it to one of the four or so events I've had at my apartment since I moved back to the city, alternating lame excuse with not acknowledging my invites at all. Besides that, she's low energy and I've had other friends complain that she's mean. Dead that shit. I've got to go to her wedding, but her emails will definitely be languishing in my inbox.
5. Liberal is good. Republicans aren't necessarily bad, but you can't be in your twenties, living in New York City and conservative. We've got life, we must fucking live it right? Right people right, we must!
6. There is no six. I just need good, interesting people who aren't bores, rigid automatons, racist or ignorant idiots, who want to fucking live life. Is that too much to ask for?

The next post will feature an examination of the good, the bad and the potential within my friends pool.

I say, JUMP!

2006-03-10T11:29:00.001-08:00

Watching the opus of fabulousness that is "Pump Up the Volume," I'm forced to wonder how far out of myself I could wander. I think of famously introverted musicians who nevertheless were/are the most electric of performers, particularly Hendrix or Andre 3000, and I wonder if I can get that out of myself. I'm about as insane as Charles Manson and could get further out there than Trent Reznor. It's all in here, but I'm struggling against years and years of conditioning and societal strictures that I've always despised yet have managed to internalize. High school wasn't a fun time. Unlike Happy Harry, I didn't hide my head in public and rail at night. I railed, railed and bought myself some very hard times, butting heads with everyone from principal to the seniors. In a country that takes it's religion very seriously, I declared myself a non-believer in God and dealt with the fallout until for the sake of my sanity, I recanted in an obvious and barefaced lie. I even began to believe again until I came to this country and a bunch of really devoted Christians managed to get me to think really deeply and decide once again that the God which so many people put their fears and folly into, if he or she does exist can take that very existence and screw himself with it. God, I fucking hate religion. And I bought trouble for myself in many other ways, saying things they didn't want to hear, hadn't pushed their weak and constrained minds to even thinking about. But in the end, I did compromise. I did make a few friends, and aspire to the very same things they all did. I'm only able to think as far out of my existence as the language and discourse of my time allow me. Yet, even within that space, there is so much more I could be, if I could only let go, jump, even if I fall, just jump and take the fall. And I'm scared, no doubt about it. I worry about failure, despite the fact that I know my existence will have no meaning if I don't take the chances I ought to. I need to concentrate, find my groove and work it, work it, work it like a mine for diamonds and no slave labor but mine required. I'm as smart as anybody needs to be, as creative as any Beatle that ever wrote a song or Fellini that directed a movie. And I'm narcissistic enough to know that I am all of these things. I need to work harder, one of those things they tell you all your life but I've never really learned and cared for till it serves my own purposes. I need discipline, another stricture of ordinary society that is essential for genius to flourish and I need space so I can do these things without being held back. I want support, similarly intelligent and ambitious people eager to take on the world as it is and make it into the world we'd like it to be. Goodness, how pathetic of a life would be it be if we all took this energy within us and the only thing we did with it was earn a living, breed and die. How fucking pathetic would that be? Oh, I need to jump, I definitely need to jump, no harness, no chute, just hope and my talents. I need to jump. I have a good feeling about this year and I'm gearing up for the jump and if this time next year finds me in the same place, then what I really ought to do is jump off a real bridge.

Trifling

2006-03-09T00:37:00.000-08:00

While watching Lord of War at the Brazilian's, I idly began playing with a hair clip on the coffee table. I clipped my shirt, then my pants, and back to my shirt to my belly through the shirt, and idly on to the skin of my arms. I hardly noticed what I was doing till I clamped down on a nipples, that most inexplicable aspect of the male anatomy. I gasped at the sensation, surprising but not unwelcome, and then continued to experiment, more consciously now. I returned frequently to the highlight of my experimentation. If the Brazilian were not asleep and grumpy, I might have gone to try my new discovery on her. Now, sitting in front of my computer, my nipples ache and I'm fiercely annoyed. I expect the Brazilian will experience an act of petty cruelty on my part some time shortly. It's not misogynistic. If the best friend turned me out of his place at 2.39 in the AM, he would probably experience pain in some manner shortly after. Three more weeks before she leaves the country. I'm uncertain about Boston girl, who managed to get on my nerves with an act of selective hearing last night, thus making her the nine trillionth person on my case currently. I feel trifled with and I don't like having that feeling when I'm earnestly attempting a new relationship. Perhaps this is a bad idea. Perhaps I'm being a whiny baby. We'll see in the morning.

Ugly passions

2006-03-09T00:24:00.000-08:00

I wonder how many of them it will take till there is no kindness left. Careful with the good ones, the nice ones, because when you are all done with them, there may be none left. The woman I'm thinking isn't even the one that hurt me most. That prize is for another who I cannot think of without reflectively ending the thought with 'bitch.' Yet she did her job well, bringing out of me strains of cruelty that I'd have strenuosly denied existed before I met her. And now? Now, my fantasies of her scare me. Of all the woman I've tangled with, it's her I'd most like to get back in bed with. Is she the fairest of them all? Probably. The vainest? Definitely. The cruelest? Who knows? She's definitely the lustiest, a demure Southern front the appetite of a Succubus within. Even then I knew I could do far more than I did then, go much further into those places you don't like to admit to anyone you'd ever think of going. And I regret not going those places, but know that it'd be better for her, and for me (my soul at least) if we never again met. Because when my mind wonders to her during mastubatory fantasies, there is nothing nice or kind involved; even things we did together are tinged with passions generously dipped in ugly, hunchbacked beasts with no redemption within. Tomorrow I venture into her territory, and though logically I know the chances of us meeting are slim anyway, I can't help but wonder what if. Yeah, pray for me people, even if I don't particularly believe in prayer.

Rambly post #1253 (of 49 total posts)

2006-03-03T16:28:00.000-08:00

I find myself fascinated by so much. In my class discussions, I frequently find myself coming back to that phrase or others signifying an endless fascination with the world and all that it comprises. That this wonder rarely coalesces into concrete questions about these things sometime worry me. I rarely form complete ideas or thoughts about things, preferring instead to pitch in surrounding minds hasty constructs of the aspects of life that most befuddle or bedazzle me. I don't if this reluctance to form complete thoughts or push things to their logical or illogical conclusions is a good or a bad thing. Is it a sign of laziness, or simply the way my mind works best. It's always ben hard for me to determine how much I ought to rely on habits whose origins I'm uncertain of. Certainly, I tend to rely on my unconscious to do lots of work for me, and it rarely does fail me. Approaching a problem and finding it unyielding, I often retire and leave it to the little elves in the back of my head to pound the shoe leather and stitch the clothes together. I wake up in the morning and behold, a new suit of ideas for me iron the kinks out of and emerge in gloriously. Little posts like this serve much the same purpose, allowing me to play with ideas that bug me less self consciously and more spontaneously. Part of the reason for the infrequency of posts on here is that I rarely force myself to finish any of them that do not want to be finished. And rather than return to them, I frequently find myself rewriting from scratch the entire piece in one sitting. You must understand that I spy beside this window a first draft of a post called "Beef wellingtons and soft boiled eggs" that must now be discarded. This blog is for me an experiment in expression, in whatever form that may take. I get to try little stylistic tics, learn or attempt to learn the wonderful descriptiveness that brings life to some of my favorite blogger's tales, which I somehow never learned in my own education and figure out what sort of writing it is I would like to do.

Ranting and contemplating life with Boston girl

2006-02-26T06:53:00.000-08:00

I am unhappy. My body is shot, suffused with a surfeit of alcohol and dying for a break. I think I will give it up for Lent, alcohol that is. Not that I believe in Lent or religion of any sort for that matter. As Sergdun once said, I don't even want to be called an atheist because that suggests I care about religion enough to define myself against it. Nevertheless, my body does need a rest and that will give me a natural resting point to pitch to fools who will not understand that a man does sicken of the boring rituals of urban life. I wonder what extreme lack of imagination drives us to perform these, over and over again, without pause for contemplation of what our participation in them says of us. Why are you at the same bars with the same people, hearing the same jokes and going home with the same person (you), every single week? You're a fucking dull twit you know. As am I, as we all are.

I was going to write a long and grand post about my sixty hour date of last week, but as you might have guessed already, I'm not in the most positive frame of mind right now. Thus rather than any attempt at lyricism and storytelling (at which I would have failed inevitably), I'll simply say in plain words what is going on. I saw a girl last week and it went well. Despite the fact that I have ended two potential relationships because I did not want to deal with distance, once again I find myself entertaining that exact same idea. She's in Boston though and I suppose that is the only reason it has any real chance. She will find friends among my friends if I do decide to let things play out naturally because if I have six close friends in the world, three of them live in Boston and complain that they do not see me enough. Add to that the fact that she loves NYC (as all reasonable people do) and would not mind being here twice a month, and you have the potential for a working long distance relationship. Forgive me, but there is nothing in Washington DC or Syracuse that suggests to me that I should spend much time, aside of the wonderful people I spurned along with those locations. Nevertheless, Boston girl is not quite in. We've got chemistry and that is great. It might even be enough. I have no way of telling. How do people decide to go into relationships? I said before that I would be in a relationship sometime very soon but never having established a proper relationship, I'm not sure of the criteria by which one starts one of these. How much do I have to give up when I find someone I've got a decent amount of chemistry with and who fulfills a few basic requirements? In most of the superficial categories, she fits the bill. Very pretty, intelligent, feisty (hi Alice), goofy and serious (I don't think I could ever date anyone slight). Yet I know our chemistry is mostly born out of my easygoing nature. It's what makes dating so fraught for me. I'm charming and non-confrontational by default. Unless moved to anger, I absorb and work around everyone's little foibles without comment or declaration of war. Like when the wing man ditched me this weekend, claiming fatigue, when I really needed a hand dealing with the complicated social situation of girl from last week, girl who is spending the weekend at my apartment this week (platonic but suspicious) and yet another girl wanting to go out all on the same night. I didn't go nuclear on him, or to be honest, even express my disappointment and irritation. His lame and repeated apology told me he understood what he was doing but would do the right thing unless I put him under duress. Fuck that. I think that people should be masters of their own actions. I'm willing not play puppeteer. If you know what you ought to do for friendship's sake, but decide not to do it, I won't pressure you or even deign to inform you of your obligations. It's only reason 196,785 for me to stop answering his calls and drop him like a worn and jamming Ruger. What all this kvetching means in the frame of potential relationship with Boston girl is that there are already things that displease me, which I have ignored and worked around because that is just my style. Like most women, she complains too much (about many things I've little interest in hearing about), her tastes may be too pedestrian (leaning towards the worst of those rituals I was denigrating above) and she has little prejudices and ignorances that I dislike (like the fact that she is an Asian girl who only dates black guys and insists on talking about it too much). Nevertheless she has many redeeming qualities and I did very much enjoy the weekend she spent here. It felt a lot like a rehearsal relationship, with domesticity of all sorts (she made Beef Wellington, I made soft boiled eggs), shopping (her trying things, while I sat outside and ignored the pretty girl attendant flirting with me) and unreasonable food demands (a twenty block hike in the freezing cold for cupcakes at Magnolia bakery). And I enjoyed it all. It was filled with the pleasures I've always imagined one derives from a good relationship; intimacy (for which I am a whore), sex (plain but good), companionship (a precious commodity indeed) and all that kind of stuff. So what then? What compromises are acceptable? I'm well aware that no one finds the ideal person, who for me is simply a hotter, smarter, better adjusted and female me (just call me Narcissus). Do I give up too much even before things get started? Will they be first fault lines as the relationship develops or will they lessen in importance as we adjust to each other? Hey, you guys have been in relationships. Help a brother out here.

Dude in class, mind elsewhere

2006-02-22T17:26:00.000-08:00

I do so want to split that wandering part of my personality, that dreamer that so often intrudes on my attempts to engage with the world. I see a pretty girl and I go off into wondering about how it must be to be so pretty. I write this sitting in a class where it is whispered that the professor has pretty undergrads as his teaching assistants. Having identified the two said assistants, I find myself fascinated. One is obviously out of her league, her intelligence and/or education insufficient for the task of adapting to the other class. The other might be the same, but she wisely adopts the adage of the fool who appears wise with silence. She is also strikingly beautiful, in a way that sets me reminiscing. I’ve had girls like these in classes before and they’ve always been hazardous to my education. I’m easily distracted people, very easily distracted and she is very, very distracting. I’ll admit it. I very much admire women; Tall and short, dark and light, zaftig and lithe, whatever stereotype you’d like. I’ve been known to be enchanted with tall, pale, flat chested women; short and generously proportioned women, whether white, black or Asian; athletic redheads, silky haired Indonesians, froed and cornrowed Africans and African Americas, exotically dark skin and freckled paleness… Sue me, I like women, and in writing all that, I’ve paid scant attention to the description of ritual ecstasy being debated in class just now. Back to the girl who cause the first distraction (she’s of the tall, pale and flat persuasion by the way and she looks quite intelligent in the way we sometimes make judgment of that from superficial features), I wonder if she knows her presence in the class is attributed to her looks, how that makes her feel, if she resents it or appreciative of the opportunity to be in an advanced class that half the grad department couldn’t get into, - I interrupt this reminiscence to inform you all that, SHE SPEAKS! Her point is not unintelligent. I wonder if she is often obsessed about like this. Tell me reader, is this really, really creepy? Do you feel icky just reading this? You must be a pervert then. Note that there has been not one sexual reference anywhere in this piece. And while writing may be an act of possession (something we are actually discussing in class right now). I’ve indicated absolutely no desire for any other form of possession within that. Although you might reference one of my previous posts and comment that I never see beauty without trying to possess it. Touché. Now bugger off. I need to attempt a little learning now.

Vanilla, chocolate, rum and hell raisin

2006-02-20T20:33:00.000-08:00

I want a sex crazed girlfriend with seven times the experience that I have. If I can't have a such a girlfriend, I'll take such a mistress or even a really quick fling with someone of that level of experience. This weekend, I had a long and involved conversation on the pleasures of vanilla ice cream vs. mint chocolate chip and other favorite flavors. Although there was no inuendo involved in that particular conversation, some of it does hold true when applied to the sex world. Vanilla might be the best form of ice cream, but it's really not worth having unless it's really, really, really good. Mint Chocolate Chip, Rum Raisin and all that other good stuff needs to be in the mix to spice things up. I've been having lots and lots of vanilla, from really, really good to really should have left that in the bargain freezer. I need more flavors in my life, as well as some really, really, really good vanilla. I'm willing to spend all day churning the milk (is that what one does to it?) and of course, I bring a wonderful chocolate flavor to these things. You know where the applications go, fredfflint@gmail.com. Next up, a report on my 60 hour date. Rockin'

Happy VD

2006-02-14T17:30:00.000-08:00

Living in Harlem and seeing someone in the Upper East Side is amusing for me. I get onto the train at 125th, bumping old school Jay-Z and acting as grimy as my neighbourhood, and fifteen minutes later I step off at 77th street, a neighbourhood so genteel you can just stop by a bodega and pick up really nice orchids and a couple of roses, my one small concession to the commercial nightmare that is Valentine's day. I arrive a little before midnight (so technically it's not even Valentine's day yet), and depart a little before 9am. I doubt there are many Americans or any girls my age I could have so civilized a relationship with. It's like having an affair without a wife or girlfriend to cheat on. Probably as good a time as any to get that experience out of the way.

Anyway, Happy Valentines Day. I'm going to eat half a tub of this ridiculously good ice cream while I procastinate.

She wants revenge

2006-02-12T22:13:00.000-08:00

I mean, why get into a relationship in the first instance? Why do we invest so much in searching and dating and longing and hoping, till we come to seem like deluded fools seeking the Maltese falcon. The idea of love or the ideal of a relationship for me rests ins imply finding someone to speak to. As Chelsea girl points out here, the real tragedy for most guys at the end of a relationship is the loss of the person they speak the most to. I pity the woman who agrees to get deeply involved with me. I've got 24 years worth of repressed conversations I'd like to get out pronto. My attempts at finding a confidante have often been the sort of farcical events that have one laughing to cover up the tears. I remember writing a letter to a girl I had the hugest crush on when I was 13. I figured that if she could only understand who I really was, she'd be able to overlook my pariah status at that point, and fall desperately and deeply in love with me. So I wrote this four page horror, like a map of my brain, filled with my fears and hopes, what made me happy, what made me sad, what I thought about her and what I thought about the other single cell organisms that comprised my classes. Yeah, you see where this is leading don't you? In a way, I chose pretty well the person to hand this Weapon of Intense Destruction to. She avoided me for a couple of days, and then after prep one night, she looked me straight in the eye and told me with as much venom as she contained never to write such a thing to her again and to generally avoid speaking to her in total. Why was this the ideal response? Well, it let me know just how unlikely it was that anyone needed to get that far into my psyche. And secondly, she probably tore my letter up after she read it, rather than show it around to her friends and quadruple my miseries in the world, a fate I would surely have suffered if I had picked anyone a tad more immature or crueler. I learnt my lesson too well and didn't date one person in that high school till I graduated, despite some half hearted passes at the same girl and a couple of others much later on.

One other thing that came out of that whole affair though was a sort of coping mechanism. Whether consciously or unconsciously, I've stuck to close female friends ever since. The idea being that if I can't find conversation within a romantic relationship, I might as well have the kinds of friends I'd be comfortable talking to. I've had perhaps two close male friends and probably twenty close female friends since then. And it's worked pretty well for the most part. Except that one time my best friend was a girl I was in love with. Not that I fell in love with my best friend. Rather the opposite: I met a girl and just about lost my head at the very first sight of her and then a week or so later she introduced me to her boyfriend, so there went romance. Still she liked me and somehow or the other we became fast friends, and despite being mad about her, I still gave her honest advise when her relationship went mad and generally played the good guy role. And then after a year and a half of moping about, and a full half year after her relationship reached it's long and tortuous end, I confessed all. At which point, she promptly stopped speaking to me and effectively pissed away a year and a half of friendship. Bitch.

Anyway, that explains why the majority of my friends are female. And serves as warning for all who might contemplate dating me: I've got lots of talking stored up in me and you will surely have to hear it all. Good night. Oh, the title of the post refers not to anything within this post but rather the excellent band I saw earlier on this evening. Check em out; they're quite fun.

I can't get no satisfaction

2006-02-10T16:55:00.000-08:00

I need the company of new people. I'm bored by most of the people in my life currently, most importantly the best friend. It's a bit strange to grow bored of a friend, particularly one with whom you have had so many drunken adventures. It's not my fault he refuses to grow the fuck up though. New people, new people. You interesting? I'll hang out with you. My whole crew needs refreshing. I've got a fairly interesting group of people who come to my parties and who I can go to concerts with. Overall they're somewhat straightlaced though, leaving me with little outlet for the debauchery I ought to be engaging in when living in New York City in my 20's. Actually, this is what's funny. I get irritated, like steaming mad and ready to knock him out, at the best friend for tryinng to pressure me into having a drink when I don't want one, and then I look for people to engage in debauchery with me. Life's strange that way.

Anyway, like one of those fools who declare that they are going to be married within a year, I declared that I would be in a relationship before Summer rolls around. Here's my logic. I'm pretty much at the most attractive I will ever be in my life (independent of one day becoming Bill Gates wealthy). I did alright with women in college, but I still had to do all of the work. These days, I get asked out by more women than I asked out, pretty cool women too. There've been a couple lately that things could have worked out with but for a few small but crucial issues (distance, twice; differing life stages, things like that). So I figure I simply have to keep meeting people, not have any distracting women around (like say, the Brazilian, who leaves at the end of March) and try not to get afoul of Cupid. Haha, listen to me. Come Summer, I'll probably be awash in fuck buddies and random dates with people I'm only marginally interested in. Story of my life.

Thing is, I've always known exactly what I wanted. I suppose at some point, I may not have been the person I needed to be to get that, but it amazes how much that I don't want I've accepted for so long. Here it is pretty simply. I want someone smart, intense and interesting, and able to deal with and accept who I am. I can be scarily intense, both very introverted and a complete party monster. Point blank, I can't deal with weak women. We all have issues and the reason you put up with someone else's flaws is so they are supportive of you when you need to deal with yours, but I can't date anyone who isn't strong enough to take on the world on a daily basis. Superficially, I like tall and I like pretty. What can I say, I need someone pretty enough that I don't feel the need to look elsewhere. On a slightly related note, do you know who this really, really, ridiculously good looking woman is? I picture me and this person making beautiful, beautiful music (take that metaphor as you will) and taking moonlit walks on the beach and you know the rest of this spiel. If you do know this person, please make introductions. I promise I'm fairly sane in real life and if things worked out between us, I wouldn't have to write any more posts like this. Anyway, I was detailing what I'd like in a woman I'd date. Well, being a woman is key. If I was ever into it, I'm now done dating girls. Why don't I want to date girls? Well, let's see. I met two girls outside a bar the other evening. We spoke as we made our way in, and then broke apart while they went to dance on the stage. When the bar got closed down by the cops for overcrowding, we met outside again and walked and talked for a bit. At the end of it, I ask the one I'm obviously interested in if she'd like to get together sometime, careful to be polite to both but obvious as to where my interest lay. And she gave me a fake number. A fake number? What are we, three years old and playing in the sand box? Here are a few possible responses for people who ask for you number that you aren't interested in:
a. No, it's been fun, but no.
b. Sorry, I'm not interested.
c. Maybe we'll run into each other again.
d. No but I'm flattered you asked
e. No

Any of the above is a pretty damn adult way of dealing with a polite request. People who are unable to handle that should not be allowed to socialize with grownups. The only time giving out a fake number is acceptable is if you're dealing with an overly persistent asshole you need to get away from. Anyway, things like that are the reason I can't deal with girls anymore. And I think this post is rambly to the point of incoherence, so at this point, I will bring it to an end.

No, I'm not really here

2006-02-06T14:40:00.000-08:00

I have many things to write but no time to write them, one of the disadvantages of being in school rather than under an employer on whose dime I might post with alarming frequency. Hope for me that some reading and riting gets done that I may return with more stories of debauchery. In the meantime, if colored girl is out there reading, would you let us know if the disappearance of stayblackstupid.com is temporary or permanent. I was quite enjoying your brand of ranting. Pretty please come back, t'would be too painful to lose two of my favorite blogs in the same week. What up, Angelina? Godspeed in your new endeavours and I will try to get out that NY article with great haste and a minimum of olde English.

The tune that Federline brought

2006-02-01T21:01:00.000-08:00

The problem with posting nine trillion times in one weekend is that things get buried. I like this post. Read this post. Comment on this post.

I have this very perverse desire. I actually want the Federline album to be good. Granted, I hadn't given much thought or encouragement to the idea when it was first speculated that he might make a rap album, now I actually want it to rock. It's like having a side of you that wants to see the things you most love destroyed. And yes, I love hip hop and yes, I'd love to see it destroyed. I think. It's weird, bothers me even. To some extent, it's a reaction to the culture we have today. I'm so impressed by the way it's possible to totally create stars out of nothingness and I want to see that proved over and over in more and more perverse ways, and it really wouldn't get much more perverse than Kevin Federline producing the album of the year. I just read an interview where he calls himself the rookie of the year. See, homeboy already knows the lingo. Besides the idea for the first single just sounds so insane, it might be genius. Roll that ass or back that ass up or whatever it is in Portugese?! That's bloody awesome. Come on, those kids at Fader live for this. I mean, tell me MIA was saying anything more substantive in her garbled Sri Lankan, pikey English ramblings. And do you remember a certain R. Kelly track that ruled the airwaves, which you probably have somewhere on your hard drive that was driven by the premise of sticking his key in the ignition? I declare this a hit based on concept alone. Ok, let's have a listen. There is a really weird screech at the beginning of the track that is pretty damn scary, must turn down volume. I didn't realize up till this moment that I'd never heard Federline speak. Of course, not being the owner of a TV or spending as much time on gossip blogs these days, that's less than surprising. He's got white boy flow. That shit hasn't sold substantial records for anyone but the Beasties, Vanilla Ice and Mr. Shady himself. I don't know if it will for Mr. Spears. It's probably adequate I suppose. The beat is really weird, one of these new fangled beats that is obviously made by an interchangeable member of Gen Y, bred on Premier and well studied in the styles of Storch, Pharell and Blaze. It will probably sound really awesome in about a week and will have omnipresence in every nightclub. Needless to say, Federline is a really bad rapper and has absolutely nothing to say. Still, the track is weird enough and the beat new enough that this will play. Despite all the derision heaped on him now, in two weeks everyone will be dancing to this and unable to explain how and why that happened. The moment I realized there is no more irony was the day I was walking around Williamsburg and heard a kid, about ten years old and playing stickball with his friends, start to sing the then new McDonald's theme, "Parapapara, I'm loving it." A frigging New Yorker! If the most wired and media savvy kids from the most cynical sector of the planet cannot resist the onslaught of radio play, and TV play, and internet play, and shopping in the mall play of random McDonald's ditties, how are the hell are the rest of us going to do it? It took me less than a minute to find and download the Federline track, something which is not true of the new Cat Power record say. And Star all but pledges in this article to flood New York, and hence the world's, airwaves with this stuff. So don't resist, you will be assimilated anyway. You might as well relax, put on club shoes and yell Popozao, Popozao!

At 24, I

2006-02-01T07:27:00.001-08:00

wore a pink shirt

danced a passable salsa (to the untrained eye)

towered above the huddle?

and had some very pretty friends, I must say.

I done shagged so many women, I'm starting to think maybe I ought to leave a few unshagged??

2006-01-31T20:30:00.000-08:00

God, she has a smile that could power Manhattan. She's just some girl I run into around school a lot, no one I know well, yet. I wonder what is the appropriate response when meeting all these creatures of loveliness. It is frequently posited that the need to possess (beauty, wealth, whatever) is one of the central and destructive aspects of masculinity. I find little in my experience to contradict that suggestion, at least not where beauty is concerned. Like many before me, I find myself falling in love a thousand times a day, and inevitably I want each and every one of these women. I want to date them, I want to sleep with them, I simply want them to hover around me and be pretty and intelligent; doesn't matter, it's all possesion. I should probably be thankful I'm so inept around women. Possessing that much beauty each day would surely destroy me.

I remember my cousin getting to this problem. About twelve years older than me, he once lived with us when I was a kid. A Casanova without compare, he somehow managed to combine joblessness, average looks, below average intelligence and a general aimlessness in life to come up with a package that seduced beauty after beauty into his bed. Not empty beauties either, smart women with real prospects and great backgrounds. Still, I remember the first day I saw a weak spot in his game. After years of watching him work, I went him to deliver a package to a girl whose exact connection to us I don't quite remember. Absoutely ravishing, we found her outside her place washing her car in the most ridiculous cut up jeans ever worn by a woman not named Daisy Duke. She was in college at the time and living on her own in a pretty sweet apartment. I remember being sufficiently impressed. My cousin was similarly smitten. At least that was the impression I got. And he definitely got right to work, with his patented line of aggressive play, questioning and flirtation. By the time we left, there was no doubt in my mind that she would shortly be girlfriend 16 or 17 or whatever frigging number he was on at that point. Yet, asking him about her a couple of weeks later, he made the most intriguing comment; one that didn't really ring true but none the less remains with me till now. He said, "I decided not to pursue it. I just wonder if it's possible for me to meet a girl and not necessarily insist on getting her into bed with me or approaching her in that particular frame of mind." To be frank, I'm fairly certain he got shot down. Be that is it may though, it's fascinating to imagine him suddenly thinking that at that point. Like, "I done shagged so many women, I'm starting to think maybe I ought to leave a few unshagged, no matter how ridiculously good looking they are."

It's like coming to goodness by tiring of sin, an idea I've been pondering lately. It's an odd route to maturity, but it fascinates me. I wrote this little fiction on the topic while riding a bus from Boston a couple of weeks ago:

I wonder if it's possible to come to righteousness by tiring of sin; doing the same thing, one time, two times and eventually pausing through a fear for your soul. Not a fear of God or punishment or any such thing. Those of us loved by the Lady Luck need fear no God nor waste gambling time worrying about heaven or hell. Yet, looking in the eyes of one cuckold after the other, shaking their hands and breaking bread with them, a man's heart may sicken and he begin to seek an honest woman and shirk the company of indecisive bitches eager to possess all (domesticity and danger) and pay none(cuckold or the fooled swinging cock). Can you steal, steal and sicken of the loot? Shank em in dark alleys and gank em on bright streets and find one day that you feel for them? Do you write it off as a temporary softness of the heart? Or do you allow yourself to wander towards goodness, like a reformed gladiator freeing property that he paid so much good coin for?

Anyway, all this rambling just to wonder if it's possible to meet a pretty girl and not want to or attempt to possess her in some form. I mean I do have lots of female friends who are incredibly pretty, and if I'm not dating them, it's probably because they were already dating someone when I met them and I discovered their extreme neuroses before that relationship ended. Having found their dirty secrets out, I no longer have any desire to own that particular set of problems. Sure, we can be friends but at the end of the day, they go back to their men and I don't have to deal with their insanity. It's like being am uncle and being able to play with the beautiful baby, but not have to deal with it when it poops or any of that icky stuff. And of course, there are the ones I did date and have found that we work better as friends than as lovers. But, like I said before, even their friendship is a form of possession. And I wonder what will happen when I do finally fall into a real relationship. Will I be required to cast my eyes down every time I see some woman of Scarlett Johanssen beauty? How do you ignore the Angelina Jolie look alike who sits across from you on the train everyday? How do married men handle this?

More rambling, I love to ramble

2006-01-29T20:26:00.000-08:00

I am a huge believer in teams. One can do nothing without other people to support them. Well, perhaps there are people who can, but I don't really know in what industries those would be. Loose teams, people who are as good at what they do as you are at what you do; that's the way to get shit done. For example, I don't see any reason for an actress of talent and intelligence to ever stop working, whether at 29 and past ingenue or 59 and past femme fatale. You want to stay working, you become friends with good writers and get them to write roles that fit you. You develop relationships with great directors and get them to place you in unexpected roles. This is only an idea, but it's the way I've always figured I'd do anything, if I ever did anything. I'm a great idea man, unmatched when I'm really inspired. But I'm also lazy, sloppy in execution and a lot more about the big picture than the gritty details. Obviously, these are going to be barriers to acheving anything. But I think I could compensate. If I have this fabulous idea that needs drawings to start out, I understand that I am so artistically inept that I fail at drawing stick man and know that someone else must be involved. Well, find someone in art school or graphic design who needs the practice and would be excited to be part of some random and engaging project (say dear reader, know anyone?). I've started trying to press all of my friends into these things. I sometimes lament that I've done so little up to this point, that I didn't create a company out of my dorm room and acheive international revere and fortune by 23. Then I read something like this Vera Wang article and realise that she was subsisting on daddy's money at 38. So no rush then. It'd only take a decade to build any career, musician or Microsoft owner, from scratch to stratosphere. I can start now, fail in five years, start and fail again, and do that over and over before acheiving success at 55. Truth is, there is no rush. I have little else I want to do with my life. Here's my life's goal, stated simply and truthfully. I want to do something great, doesn't matter what, except that it's positive. And while I'm at it, I'd like to live a good life, have friends, have lovers and get some level of joy out of living. I suppose when I say I want to do something great, I mean I want to build a business that has an impact on the world, or write a truly great novel, record a totally incredible album, make a revolutionary movie, that kind of thing. I think if I could do something like that, I'd be truly happy. And I know it wouldn't be the end, it'd only be a beginning. I'd have to try and do something else, which might fail, but at least I'd have that first success to cherish. Or I could fail first and fail frequently, and I don't think it'd necessarily be the end of the world. I'm sure that's bound to bring my depression bubbling up, but thus far I've never failed to get back on the horse, no matter how rough the previous landing. So I think I could do it. I want love in my life, even if I don't necessarily believe in marriage. I think I'd be great at raising a kid but I don't know if I'll ever do it. I wouldn't mind just raising other people's; either as part of a village or by adopting. I acknowledge that these are unorthodoxies that may well send my mother to an early grave. I will try to help her adjust as best as I can. I think life is completely random and it doesn't matter much whether you take one road or another to your destiny. It might be worth just doing what you think will make you happy while keeping to your beliefs. I'm scared that I will be proved wrong in all of this. I worry about life's harshness and the things it does to people, especially to dreamers. I worry about living a small life, although I can imagine finding happiness in smaller things and not particularly needing greatness. I love stories about those offbeat people, written off by the world, who nevertheless manage to pull off miracles and great feats. I love to read those stories and watch movies about people like that. There has never been a film where the protagonist is defeated at the end, when I don't hope with every breadth that he or she goes back home, and rests for a bit, then in their own roar back into the world, ready for redemption and to try again. I understand that implies a childish faith in the recuperative of the human spirit and probably shows that I've never experienced any true pain or defeat. I'm fine with that. In fact, I'd like to get to that pain and defeat, sooner rather than later. I want my low point as soon as possible. I want to touch the bottom so I can stop worrying about it and focus only on the top. I should stop rambling, do some laundry and get to bed. There is work to be done.

Optimism

2006-01-29T14:17:00.000-08:00

At 24, I favored my shirts a size too small and finally felt like I owned an adequate number of jeans. The day I turned 24, I bought new cologne cause I wanted a luxury I could both enjoy and share. At 24, I was full of hope, convinced I was at a starting point; on the diving board about to dive into the endless pool of my possibility and potential. At 24, most of my friends, casual or close, were female. Celebrating the occasion, I found I'd somehow amassed a majority of Asians among those friends and nary a black one, a somewhat odd thing for a man with neither an Asian fetish, nor a shortage of melanin in skin. At 24, I cared about fashion and beauty, movies and music, people and reality, learning and teaching, and lots of other things beside. The day I turned 24, I was very fond of my family in it's entirety and particularity. For some reason, turning 24 seemed momentous, odd for such a ordinary number. Anyway numbers are meaningless and I'm happy and hopeful. I'm learning things and trying things and hope to get over my flaws or get on despite them. It feels like the year to move from being a dreamer to being a doer, so little projects or big projects, bring them all. Ooh, for my birthday, I got a DVD I really love, the Mark Romanek director's reel. The best friend is great at being the person with the coolest (and sometimes only) gift each year. I can now watch Johnny Cash's Hurt video all day and all night, and have great background visuals for my next gathering. At 24, I'm loving and learning to entertain. And, of course, there is love, or the perpetual search for it. Well, the year started with poor judgement on my part, but even in this, I'm hopeful. Fingers crossed, shoes shined and Nina on the stereo. It's gonna be a good year.

I inveigled the folks to my blog thingy

2006-01-27T21:27:00.000-08:00

Holy batman and gatman, awesome new word of the day, from this article: inveigle.

Main Entry: in·vei·gle
Pronunciation: in-'vA-g&l sometimes -'vE-
Function: transitive verb
Inflected Form(s): in·vei·gled; in·vei·gling /-g(&-)li[ng]/
Etymology: Anglo-French enveegler, alteration of Middle French aveugler to blind, hoodwink, from Old French avogler, from avogle blind, from Medieval Latin ab oculis, literally, lacking eyes
1 : to win over by wiles : ENTICE
2 : to acquire by ingenuity or flattery

Craziness. I suggest you use it liberally.

In which I all but dare karma to bite me in the ass

2006-01-27T17:35:00.000-08:00

The scene: an apartment in Harlem, NYC. Our protagonist is pacing and talking to himself out loud, as he is wont to do.

Flint: The food poisoning is way too heavy, definitely can't use the food poisioning. [Shakes head in frustration and then heads resolutely to the bathroom, flushes and then sits down right outside the door, picks phone up annd dials the already lit up number.]
Flint: Hello? Brazilian. Hey, how are you?
Brazilian: I'm good, went to the Empire state building today, finally doing all these tourist things before I leave. I went shopping afterwards and I'm home now. How are you?
Flint: Err, I've had better days.
Brazilian: Oh? Are you okay?
Flint: I'm sorry I didn't call earlier. I had dinner with a friend in some random place last night and it really didn't agree with me. Spent the day hugging the bathroom
Brazilian: Oh, that sucks. Do you need anything.
Flint: No, I'll be alright. I'm drinking seltzer and holding on. But I really can't do anything tonight. How about we see each other on Sunday or something?
Brazilian: Ok, that's fine. If you need anything, give me a call.
Flint:Thanks, you're too sweet. Take care.
Brazilian: Beijos, bye.
End Scene.

Right then, back to watching the Sopranos and stuffing my face with pizza, as one does when they're in a funk the night before their birthday (which the Brazilian has not been told about or invited to join in since the whole relationship is slightly dodgy and under wraps). Yes, I am aware that my soul is in dire danger here, but hey. If you're going to make an excuse for ducking out at the very last moment on a friggin Friday night, it'd better be really good. Now I have to invent an entire scenario involving some strange ethnic food consumed in some less than ideal locale of the city, kept deliberately vague so as not to hurt any real and existing business, etc. Sigh. This is the second time I've used food poisoning. The first tim was when I wanted a day off work so I could read some novel (Jonathan Strange and Dr. Norrell?) that was rocking my world. I'm anticipating that karma will catch up with me somewhere 15,000 miles above sea level on a flight where I'm sitting next to some pretty girl who won't understand why my stomach sounds like a demented three penny opera and my general area smells like something Ozzy regurgitated.

Damn, must have been whiskey in those cups

2006-01-27T07:46:00.000-08:00

I'm afraid I have to report yet another night of drunken debauchery when I ought to have been studying. This one came with the unfortunate side effect of a hangover, something rare and unwelcome in my ouvre. Anyway, out at Lit last night, I commented to my friend that the hipsters really ought to be commended. It's not everyone that can raise maladjustment to an art form and find enough people who were similarly unable to get along with anyone in high school to actually create an economic and social force of such power that daily newspapers and unemployed bloggers complain about them regularly. So three cheers for maladjustment, and three cheers for Jack Daniels. Actually, maybe you can hold those for the moment. My head doesn't want me doing any kind of cheering now actually. There's this person that comes out some nights. That person isn't really me, but he does inhabit my body. Cheerful and cheeky, he manages to stifle the reserved aspect of my character and do really random things like dance with the go-go girl on stage (I think she had fun), and get conversations on with everyone, male or female, with a pulse in the nightclub. I rather enjoy being that fella. It's kinda cool to let the rebel without a cause schtick go and be rebellious without a pause. I'm not sure that previous sentence made any sense. On the other hand, I'm not sure my head has ever made this much noise. I think I'm going to go lay down now. More postings, on varied topics, to comes later.

Living alone sometimes sucks

2006-01-22T18:45:00.000-08:00

I just finished my second meal of the day that has come out of a can. This tells me that I am getting even lazier at feeding myself and really must make more effort. This is particularly as one of those meals was a Chef Boyardee thing and upon opening it I realized that it contained nothing I couldn't make myself within a half hour. Living on your own can be rough. So can living on your own without a TV set. Before I ate, I was going completely spastic, bored, hungry, tired of my computer and too stupid to know how to handle any of it. Luckily food helped and I am now happily staring at my computer again. Would have been nice to turn away from this screen to another temporarily or maybe even have some human company. Speaking of human company, I've decided that I need a girlfriend. Haha, you laugh at me. I've been proclaiming this for the last 900 years at least. Yet, it never really works out. Conversing with The Wing Man (and best friend, henceforth to be the known as TWM), we agreed and I acknowledged that it is probably not helped by my constantly dating the wrong people. Take the Brazilian for example. I can't date anyone who disparages hip hop. I don't get pleasure from that many things and I really can't accept negativity towards the few things that do. Anyway, I only got with her cause it was convenient. Our time together is naturally limited as she leaves the country for good at the end of March. Even with this, I'm bored with her and contemplating creating and delivering the big, "I'd rather be at home furiously masturbating to internet porn than be here sleeping with you" speech. Then there is this really cool girl I went out with a little while ago, who unfortunately happens to live in Syracuse. Syracuse! I think that's somewhere beyond Egypt but closer than Australia. This is where I'm supposed to insert a point to this post. I am going to exercise my right not to. See you later on when I remember the other things I was going to drone on about.

Monster Post

2006-01-22T17:00:00.000-08:00

I never post, so here is a monster post to make up for that. I will try to post more often in the future. I'm getting back into the mix of things, and regularity and schedule are good for me. I've been pretty guarded about revealing much about myself on here, figuring it best to leave any clues for friend's of mine who might stumble across this. Fuck that. For one thing, it overestimates their online adventurousness, and for a second, fuck em anyway. If they find it, I'll just shut it down and start a new blog away from their prying eyes, one with no readers at all to really ensure my privacy. Anyway...

Saw a couple of really good movies this weekend. Brokeback Mountain might be the movie of the year. I've yet to see A History of Violence or Syriana, so it's possible that one of those is better, but Brokeback is definitely much better than almost everything else I saw last year. A slow and tough movie, the brutal humanity of it makes it truly fun to watch. Heath Ledger finally proves himself an actor, going all Brando on us with a full scale transformation of the way he talked, walked, basically existed within the movie. It was actually pretty distracting in the first twenty minutes or so. The thing about performances like that though is that if done well, you stop noticing it so much and fall into the plot and story as things move along and I think they pretty much succeeded in that. Gyllenhaal didn't have as great a transformation, essentially playing a variation on himself, and I wasn't so enthralled with his performance until later in the movie, when he plays older and has my very favorite scene in the movie. "You sit down! This is my house! This is my child! And you are my guest! So sit the hell down or I'll knock your ignorant ass into next week!" That's old Jack Twist finally demanding respect and doing it in style. The old man sits down and Jack wins our respect as well. I'm sick of and will no longer be sympathizing with wimpy fucking characters in movies, novels, whatever no matter how they much represent the geeky, reserved, hesitant aspect of my own character. I read Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man last week and I was so fucking cheesed at the character the entire time. No matter how much I identify with his fears and issues, I really can't deal with characters who refuse to act, or to think, or to question. I can't live life like that and I can't stand it in anyone, fictional or otherwise anymore. Send word to Jim Carrey's Eternal Sunshine character about this as well. Back to Brokeback though, I'm still marveling at the fact that this movie was directed by the guy who royally screwed up the Hulk movie. Good going, Ang. Oh, and my other favorite moment in the movie is watching Alma Del Mar (Ledger's wife) when she sees Jack Twist (is that a great name or what?) driving up. If the devil himself had ridden up, hallowed in spikes and riding a red hot poker, that woman would not have been more fearful. It was great.

Now if I could just have disposed of the weird dude sitting beside me, who started breathing really hard at the very first sex scene and then wouldn't stop all the way till the end of the movie. Dude came with two women too. I truly hope neither of them is sleeping with him, or life may come to imitate art a little too much for their comfort. The other movie I saw yesterday was The Warriors, which was totally transcendent. I love finding all this stuff, movies, music, books that has been there and wonderful for years, but I'm just discovering. I read Ralph Ellison for the first time in 2006, listened to the Clash and the Beatles for the first time in 2004 and only came to truly appreciate Bogart in 2005. I'm glad to see that there is much else for me to discover in the world. Art makes existence worth it. It's impossible for me to watch The Warriors or anything like it and remain completely disillusioned with life and living it. This is no way means that I relinquish any nihilism I may possess though. Anyway, at this point, I'm going to end this post and move the other things I want to talk about into a separate one.

A freeform masturbation of words onto the page - I highly suggest ignoring this post

2006-01-17T21:45:00.000-08:00

I am not naturally inclined to form thoughts into whole treatises and essays. Thus I keep writing first sentences into this artificially constructed space and then finding my mind blank or far too full to organize and chop up into some convenient and trite piece for the entertainment of those who may occasionally dip in here or simply to allow me to digest my ideas and come out with simplistic solutions or conclusions that might be used to direct my future actions. The same goes with comments on other people's blogs. If I read you, chances are that I've started to write a response to your posts several times, seen the very first line of it and decided that I come off as a smirking, stupid, obnoxious, uninformed, grade A idiot and decided against posting at all. I wonder if it is possible to conceive an artistic lament for all the comments lost by a blogger's unwillingness to appear stupid, or in any other negative light. Yes, I really am that shallow. On the other hand, it does point to a deeper problem. When asked what it is exactly I write, I'm often forced to reply, "fragments." I've not the discipline to distill my informal writings into finished pieces. Being a sheep, as most people are, I am of course able to complete assignments in classes and hand in work assignments, albeit with extreme difficulty, and some of these are indeed very good. If I were able to push to completion anything I did outside of a class or work, perhaps that stuff would be very good too. Thus far, it has been impossible to tell. One way to remedy this of course is to take classes in the stuff I'm interested in writing, thus giving my structure and deadline demanding brain artificial constraints that my excellent conditioning in high school would prevent me from ignoring. I succesfully did that with photography last year, finally taking a class which allowed me to test empirically any talent or potential I might have in that field. Talent has not in fact been confirmed, but I was sufficiently intrigued that I intend to try out an advanced class before concluding in the negative. Unfortunately, classes are expensive and time limited, thus it is unlikely that I can take a class in every single thing it is that I wish to explore. This then leaves me back in the position of the dreamer, attempting to become a doer. I've begun the process of dissociating myself with indecisive characters in novels and movies, my frustration with their inability to act overcoming my basic identification with their general neuroses or fears. I've no intention of dying Hamlet. Right now I'm reading Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man and I find myself constantly frustrated with the protagonist's unquestioning and unwillingness to think around corners. He reminds me a lot of Edward Norton's character in American History X, too willing to accept each new dogma that comes his way without engaging his critical faculties. I find myself frequently yelling, internally (mostly) at a fictional character and worrying that he, like Norton, will not begin to think until he has been forced to pay some extremely high tolls for his slackness on the highway of life. I may have been accused of gullibility in the past, but this at least, I've never been accused of not asking questions or coming to my own conclusions about the shape and color of the world. I may conclude that earth is a cuboid and the sky pink and purple, but at least those would be conclusions of my own reason.

Okay, I am done with that now. But having mentioned pink, I would like to point out that I recently purchased one a Western (cowboy) style shirt covered in flowers and done in two shades of pink and that contrary to what you might imagine, this shirt does not make me look like a raging homosexual. I think I will wear it when I celebrate yet another year of my (thus far) pointless existence on this geoid. If someone takes a decent picture, I will post it. That is all. Good night.

Resolutionish

2006-01-12T02:14:00.000-08:00

I don't do resolutions the way most people do. Instead of a laundry list of things I'd like to change, I generally decide on some abstract thing that I'm thinking would make my life better and almost unconsciously work through it. For example a few years ago, I decided that I needed to be more honest in my relationships. That included letting those I dated know if things weren't working out, avoiding compromising situations or dating two people seriously simultaneously. I pretty much kept to and have continued to keep to that with the side effect that I date a lot more. See the example of the freshman for an illustration of how this works. Meet girl, go on two or three dates. Decide for whatever reason that it's not going to work. Inform her and then go home and twiddle thumbs while waiting for next girl to enter your life. No prolonged hitting of the booty while she tries for a relationship or letting things get any more confused, just get out once it's obviously not going to work.

Last year's resolution was to leave boring parties early. That was to curb my budding alcoholism. Nothing gets me on the sauce like being bored in public. I always figure a few more drinks would definitely make these folks more interesting. What always instead is that I wake up with one interesting and humiliating story to serve up my therapist in a few years. So my resolution was supposed to help with that. And it worked, worked so well I'm thinking of extending it to include simply going to fewer parties. This party monster needs to show scary face at fewer events and spend more time doing productive things rather than killing brain cells by the bottle.

The other resolutionish thing I'm trying to do this year is learning to plan. Ye ole Flint is not a planner. It runs in the family. We may all be the worst planners on the planet. Starts with my father who has succeeded in life despite lacking that faculty but still regularly misses flights and has to be reminded of everything a dozen time, moves on the my mother who has run two or three shops and is constantly owed and owes money and not just in that "net 30" way either. I'm talking about borrowing from one person to pay off another and other borderline irresponsible ways of handling her finances because planning it is simply beyond her. My siblings aren't much better and I certainly am not. When the going gets busy, Flint gets befuddled. This is a partial explanation for my long term abandonment of this blog. Once the activities start to pile up, I get butter-fingered and a few things have to get dropped. This blog unfortunately was one of them. What happens when I'm really busy is that I try to handle everything as it comes. Then things start to build up and I start to realize that approach won't work and I must formulate a plan to deal with the rest. So lacking the faculty to do that, I usually decide what's least important, drop it, rush through the more important things and hope that by so doing I cover everything important and still have a little time for what isn't. As my disastrous performance in the final exam I had to take last year and my prolonged absence from this blog would indicate, this obviously does not work. Thus I will read some books, take a seminar, simply think on it and figure out some way of learning to manage my life better. After all, the success of my folks despite their inability to do is not necessarily an indication that I will be similarly successful without it.

The spotless mind

2005-12-28T04:19:00.000-08:00

There are certain aspects of civilization a man ought not to be a part of; like throw pillows, or Christmas cards. I did some venting on Christmas cards yesterday. Having abandoned religion in theory and principle, I also despise it's routine elements, the meaningless traditions like the exhange of cards that no one wants or reads. Gifts don't count. I hate Christmas shopping, but occasionally I get good stuff, so I suppose that possibility makes it worth keeping. Who ever heard of a good Christmas card though? The only good cards I've ever received hae been at the end of the year from my best mate, or random, off the calendar cards from other really good friends. The best one that comes to mind is a postcard that has a bruised and bandaged hand one side, and on the other side says in huge block letters, "Because I love your sinful, scotch-soaked soul." That's from my summer friend in Boston. She rocks. The only thing I think the holidays really are useful for, is connecting and reconnecting. New people you've been hanging with, and would like to continue to hang out with get text messages reaffirming the good times. Girls you stopped seeing but would like to keep hanging out with (the freshman, the actress) get non-threatning messages to see if things are alright. They're both both quite willing to be friends, which pleases me very much. I've never understood the bitterness and acrimony at the end of most relationships. That part drives me batty. If I liked a person enough to go out with them on more than three dates, chances are that I want them in my life. And not necessarily to sleep with them (although, that is sometimes an option). But I have ex-lovers all over the East Coast who are among my favorite people in the world. And I can't stand it when a relationship ends so badly that I can't speak with the person afterwards. If I once cared deeply about you, chances are I'm going to continue doing so. There is a recent ex who I'd like to get the Laguna treatment done for. The only reason I'd do that is that I know if it were available, she'd do it to me. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth to like someone that much, and have them unwilling to even return a phone call. Pah, women! Some women!

Anyway, not to turn this blog into a tribute blog to all my favorite entertainment choices, but I must take a moment to sing the praise of one of my favorite movies ever, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Like every internerd and movie critic who watched that movie, I of course identify with Jim Carrey's character, although truth be told, I'm Captain Amazing next to his scaredy ass. Still, going into his head was creepily similar to mine with the traumas of childhood and that whole waiting to be saved from yourself thing. And will there ever be anyone with orange, red, blue and purple hair as devastating as the citrus fruit monikered Clementine? I say it's the best thing Winslet has ever and is likely to ever do on film. I totally love that movie. Right, the next post will feature neither television, nor movie lovage and something manly to counteract all this gushiness. Peace

Neanderthal Man

2005-12-10T07:30:00.000-08:00

My first reaction to this article is "damn, I don't watch enough TV!." Not owning a TV will do that to a fella. Then I start to wonder how much people really are identifying with the worst parts of these characters. As I've not watched much of any of the shows written about here (besides a couple of episodes of the Sopranos), I'll just take my favorite anti-social hero as a case study. Detective McMulty of the Baltimore Police Force. What a fucking asshole, and how I do love that asshole. (That was a really weird sounding sentence). Anyway, McNulty is an ass, no denying that. Love him or hate him, you gotta admit the man has no shortage of flaws. Convict him on charges of womanizing, boozing, fucking up his marriage, failing to pick up his kids, drunk driving (he's a motherfucking cop!), pettiness and extreme instances of disloyalty. Yet he's still one of the most compelling characters I've ever watched on TV. And I'm not Angelina, so it's not his pretty blue eyes that do it for me. The man has passion for what he does and he's damn good at it. Besides that, he does strike you as a good guy at heart. Whether that's enough, I don't know. It's enough to make me watch the show, the best on television (bar fucking none). Would I would actually have a drink with him? Possibly, but it'd be on the order of having a drink with one of my friends I consider an extreme fuck up, exasperating and exceedingly annoying. I mean, I can't even be mad at the womanizing. So the man is a caveman, he likes to get laid (good at it too, I would take lessons if he gave em). But like anything, it becomes a problem when it prevents you from doing what you need to with your life. If you've got kids and a worried wife, you ought to figure out your shit and get it together. I'm very anti having children if you can't keep it in your pants. Also, good guys don't hurt women willy nilly and McNulty leaves some very bloody hearts in his wake. Then there is drunk driving which I've been conditioned to really, really hate. Pettiness is fine. I can be petty myself, particularly when I feel like I've been fucked with. Fuck me over and get it like I can give it. Say a couple of rosaries, McNulty, that sin is forgiven. What can't be forgiven though is disloyalty. That's the kind of thing that'd cause me to really give this man distance. McNulty fucked (and fucks) over people who fought for him, depend on him. Political figures, his old captain (Bunny), DA lady (who he screwed in more ways than one), members of his team occasionally, and his current captain (Daniels). Daniels is particularly egregious because the show has you liking Daniels. He's the kind of captain that really goes hard for his thing, coming pretty close to losing his career for the case and the team, and buying himself a long and difficult exile in the process. For McNulty to repay that with disloyalty after all they'd already been through... that's some fucked up shit. Nevertheless, even as he makes himself harder and harder to love as the series progresses, it's hard to give up on McNulty completely. He's just dogged (and good) at his work and his everyman schtick is sometimes so appealing (the man gets intimidated at nice restaurants even when bedding hot shot political animials) and quite frankly, your favorite cops love and trust him (even though they are as frustrated with him as you are and it might be because he covered for Kima when she was cheating on her wife), you just gotta sigh, wish the best for the man and hope he somehow finds some moral redemption. So I guess I'm one of those people that the article talks about. I might not have a beer with the dude, but I guess I'm always rooting for him, flaws and all. I never claimed to be anything more than a neanderthal anyway, just one with manners. (Hey, remember that awesome scene in Closer where Clive Owen chases Julia Roberts down the stairs demanding to know the details of her infidelity and when she asks why he wants to know, he yells "because I'm a caveman!" Wasn't that awesome? Spine tingly goood. If I ever do turn fag, it'll be that man that does it). Anyway, what all of this bellyaching and analysis really is, is a love letter to my favorite show on TV, the grittiest, most realistic, nihilistic, totally truthful, hot as a flaming poker show to ever land on TV, The Wire. Insert a motherfucker somewhere there if you like. Check out the HBO website, buy a TV, order cable or just start ordering the DVDs in anticipation of its return. That's that show and you ain't seen nothing yet if you ain't checked it. Sermon over, I got work to do.

Conservative? I think not

2005-12-10T03:14:00.000-08:00

Things is, I ought to have much in common with the conservatives. No doubt, I'm a proper bleeding heart on many an issue. I believe in floors more than ceilings. I don't care how wealthy a man gets, I just want everyone else to be able to eat two or three meals and send their kids to school wthout going bankrupt in the process. I'm all about giving everybody an opportunity to compete in this country's idealistic dream. Education is good, healthcare is good, taxes aren't great but basically essential. Don't let the lazy get away with being lazy, don't want to end up a welfare state like Germany. But do allow people the opportunity to compete. Choice is good but truth is, abortions are bad. People should be more responsible. On the other hand, it's plain reality that humans will fuck up. Allow for that and put in place a reasonable system that encourages education, gives people choices when they fuck up and hopefully minimizes the need for abortions. But leave the option open so women don't end up sticking hangers in themselves in their bathrooms or paying hacks to do it in unsanitary conditions. Some of these things are simply plain common sense and easily agreed on by reasonable people. So why is it so difficult to find any middle ground? Why is it that I can't read any of these sites that claim to be written by conservatives? I may be ultraliberal about some issues, but I'm pretty conservative on others. I don't like crime either and I might not agree with you on exactly how to deal with, but we ought to be able to talk about it without all this excess acrimony and me leaving with a bad taste in my mouth every time we do.

I have a partial answer or two. Freqeuntly, what so called conservative websites are peddling isn't conservatism, it's hate, and racism, xenophobia and greed, all cloaked in conservative colors because that language allows for it to be more effectively hidden. Thus the reason Mr. X and I can't agree on anything is because Mr. X hates niggers, chinks and wops and would like to send them all back to their countries, and possibly even put that slavery thing back in place so that they can do what they were put on earth for, which is serving him.

Point B is sheer bitterness, this fuck em before they fuck you, us against the world, everybody is an enemy rabid paranoia that fuels so many worldviews. Like the previous group, it's impossible to reason with these folks. Shit, I don't think the world is all pretty colors and roses. On the other hand, I can't see any way to reason with anyone who thinks the US doesn't have enough in nuclear weaponry yet. I'm simply not able to get past that level of paranoia. I do quite dislike the opposite of this as well, that hippy dippy bullshit where the world is a rainbow filled Skittles ad. Snap out of it, wars happen, people die, people try to kill you. Why is it impossible to find a middle?

Point C is plain party politics. You abandon conservatism and simply make the world us vs. them. This one applies to democrats and everyone else pretty evenly. Is that ruling good for our side? Great, don't matter that it abandons every principle we ever thought we stood for. our side's winning. You'd think it was bloody WWE fridays the way some of these people cheer at this stuff as it happens. I've been guilty of this one. I tire of it.

All this and I can't trust the news, any of it. Grey Lady, WSJ, Washington Post, all as doubtful and incompetent as Fox News. Need to go to Iraq myself, build a time machine and listen in on Libby and Novak's conversations myself, forcibly interrogate CIA members as to whose bidding somebody was doing when they went someplace, etc. etc. etc.

Some of this seems so obvious and it must seem like I'm just realizing what everyone else already knows. After the last election though, I promised myself I'd get out of knee jerk politics, listen fairly to other people's opinions, seek out the enemy and see if we didn't have some commonalities. I haven't done it as consistently as I've liked, but honestly after a few of the conversations I've had online, I'd really like to stop now. Some of these people should be lined up and shot. Everything you ever heard about bigotry, close mindedness and hate in America is true. It's probably true the world over. But I live here, so here is where I experience it. These people get me depressed.

Mouse! In my house!

2005-12-09T21:43:00.000-08:00

So I'm sitting at my laptop, tapping away productively (a rare occurence indeed) when bold as a pirate I see across the room a motherfucking mouse. Itty bitty motherfucker, just scurrying along like his ass was going for a nice Sunday stroll on the manor he just bought. Maybe it was a she and she was going to pick up some groceries, from the kitchen that I stock. Well, doesn't matter what the fuck gender or race that little bastard is. It's gonna die. Break out the mouse traps, the tazers, the motherfucking biological weapons. That bitch is going down. I do not pay exorbitant Manhattan rent to share my apartment with any other biological creatures. Where is my fucking six shooter?

This is funny

2005-12-08T09:11:00.000-08:00

It was going to be another quiet night for me. It was almost 1 AM and I was spending some quality with French philospher, Foucault, when the Brazilian sent me a text message. She just got back into the country the day before and wanted to know if I was out that night. I replied in the negative but told her she could stop by after her party if she wanted. She said sure and told me she'd send a text message to warn me when she was close by so I could come down. I went back to reading, and waited for her text. As it came, I glanced around the apartment and realized I ought to have pulled the place together a bit. It was clean and neat enough, but fresh sheets might have been wise. I figured that'd have to wait till I let her in. So I went downstairs and she was nowhere to be found. She called as I was there and said the taxi had gone to wrong block and they would be back shortly. So I figured I had time to dash upstairs and change the sheets while this was happening. Ran up the stairs, cursing my landlord for rigging the doors so you had to come downstairs to let people in, changed the sheets and then dashed down again as I heard the buzzer going. I stepped out the door, laughed at her sparkly gear, gave her a hug and then turned around to realize that I'd just locked us out. Yes, I am idiot and I've got the certificate to prove it. It was near 1.30 in the morning and it was freezing out. My neighbours were going to love this. I started playing the buzzer game, starting with the apartments I actually knew the residents of and where I figured someone was most likely to be awake. As I did this and alternatively laughed and fretted with the Brazilian about our predicament, I looked her over. She was coming from a holiday office party with an eighties theme. The most striking aspect of her sparkly gear included a ridiculous off-shoulder, shiny striped shirt (like something she stole from the Fez and altered for effect); a short, blonde wig, huge Jackie O sunglasses and some garish shiny lipstick in a sinful shade of red. Being the liberated and worldy gentleman that I am, I was sporting a jalabiya. What's that you say? It's one of those long, flowing robes you've seen Arab men wearing. For pottering around the apartment and sleeping in, they can't be beat for comforts. Most evenings, if you come to my place after I'm all settled in, I'd be wearing one of those. As it was, the Brazilian and I stood outside looking like something Halloween left behind. The lady who finally let us in was someone I had never met before and as she opened the door to hear my explanation, the look on her face was so incredulous and beyond comprehension, I wish I'd had my camera for I surely would have won an award. The end

An email I just received

2005-12-06T11:28:00.000-08:00

I dare you to decipher this. These things ought to come with their own Rosetta stones. I've changed nothing beyond removing her name.

hi cousin hw r u doin?hpe gud nd i hpe skol is fine 2.i jst need 2 ask one tiny winy favour.could u pls get me microwave popcorn wen u r comin home,iv rily misd it .tanks in anticipatn.take kia, [my 18 year old cousin's name retracted]

a life less ordinary

2005-12-03T12:29:00.000-08:00

forget the movie, which was ordinary to good at best. I get tired of having boring conversations, being the kind of unimaginative clot who spends his weekends in the bottom of a whisky glass trying to meet women in places where at least six years of experience suggests its inadvisable to be trying to do so. I see people who do things that amaze me, whose writing causes my head to explode and reconfigure, who've made art that makes my blood boil, and ignorance that freezes it in my veins. I feel the need to break out of my skin, break into a different world, be a lot more than I am now. And I know I have it in me. When I sleep, I hear my spirit rumbling, I wake up wondering what I'm waiting for and when I'll break with all the bullshit. I'm too conditioned, too bound to convention, like capitalizing at the start of the sentence and writing in complete, too scared of myself and what I could be, too scared that I won't like what I become. I like this dude. He ain't exactly changed the world, but that arrogant SOB took on the world on his own terms, did it right and he ain't even near done. And no, he's not even in the same ballpark as the game I want to play. I've got to break free of ordinary people with ordinary thoughts and preoccupations. I've got to stop delaying and start working. I sometimes stare at the mirror and think to myself, I'm in my physical, creaive and mental prime. If I don't do it all now, all this will start to rot and my life will have been a waste. Any moment from now. I'm at the crest of possibility but my effort has not yet matched my capability. I gotta stop getting there and get there. Now, now, now, now now!!!!! There, that dramatic enough for you? Somebody take my keyboard away from me.

Skinny hipster threat

2005-12-03T01:13:00.000-08:00

I think that'd be a great name for a band, connoting many different aspects and dangers of the current hipster ethos. Are the actually a threat? To whom? Themselves? Society? The American way of life? Rational people the world over? Non-hipster folk who just want to drink their whisky in peace? Tonight anyway, at least one member of that final group wasn't too pleased with their presence, at least the male ones. Skinny hipster girls are always awesome, as are not so skinny hipster girls and not quite hipster but still very cute girls. Nevertheless, it was yet another evening when I wondered if it was worth putting on three layers of very think clothing, seperating myself from my very pleasant home and taking two trains to hang in locales where I felt somewhat uncomfortable and returning home without one interesting conversation logged. Must be more creative in planning my evenings, and fire my wingman, whose responsibilty tonight was.

Err, the Brazilian again

2005-12-01T16:39:00.000-08:00

I just realized that the last post begged the question of why the Brazilian is still in my life. Do I contradict myself? Yes, but who cares. The Brazilian expects to be out of the country permanently by the end of March at the latest and possibly by the end of this month. In the unlikely event that I were to meet the woman of my dreams before that time is up, the Brazilian would have to be let out the back door quickly and firmly. If that doesn't happen though, why deprive the Brazilian of my sweet loving? Or if you prefer the less self-serving version, it's great to have a friend with benefits while the search for the next Lady Flint continues. Remember, applications are still being taken at fredfflint@gmail.com.

The Brazilian and the freshman, again

2005-11-29T12:52:00.000-08:00

I had intended to keep last night for myself, some time for the meditative act of cleaning and sorting out my apartment. Then the Brazilian sent me a text message saying she was back in town very briefly (two days) and would really like to see me. Sigh. One should not pass up opportunities to get laid, particularly when the next time such an opportunity would present itself is unknown. So I called and told her to come over and picked up some wine on my way home. As it turned out, she didn't arrive till almost 11 so I actually had plenty of time to myself. I love to clean. While I'm by no means anal, the process calms and focuses me. So by the time she came over, the place was not only spotless, I was super relaxed. {Switching to Montgomery Burns voice and tapping fingers together} Excellent.

Why excellent? Well, lets put it this way. The Brazilian was the third woman to sleep in my apartment since I moved in here in September. However, she's the first one to actually have sex with me. Phew. Was starting to think the apartment was cursed or something. This is what letting your exes crash at your apartment gets you. So I get laid. That was the point of those last two paragraphs. It made me happy.

In other news, the freshman has been informed that her services in the relationship capacity will not be required. I did it early enough it appears, as she took it with great aplomb. As to whether or not we will be friends, that is something that Mr. Wheaton would probably suggest I not hold my breath for. It'd be a pity if she never called again as she is quite interesting. But then, I did just effectively tell her she wasn't good enough to date. Why would she want to be friends after that? But women never cease to baffle me, so who knows?

How pretty am I?

2005-11-25T16:24:00.000-08:00

They wanna know, how pretty I am,
feeling so fly and talking such jive,
I tell em, I'm pretty as a West African thunderstorm,
all brooding and dark,
hitting so hard and just so precise,
and still they say, how pretty am I?
I tell em, I'm like Winter in Colorado,
all hard and bold, all my lines so striking,
and my skin as black as that snow is white,
they say, how pretty am I?
I tell em, fresh, like Summer in the tropics,
smelling so sweet, like dew and fruit,
and a bit of salt, like I carry the ocean around with me,
they ask me, how pretty am I?
and I tell em, pretty as can be, pretty as you can imagine,
I'm the prettiest thing that ever lived

-This little piece inspired by the man who first called himself the prettiest thing that ever lived, Muhammad Ali, a man who knew a thing or three about the fine art of bragging right. In that vein too, I met yet another man who ain't got no qualms about how pretty he is. I told my barber this evening I'd bring him the picture of him I took when I came for my last cut. He asked how it came out and I gave him a positive "aight." He paused the cut he was doing, turned to me and said quick and sharp, "ain't no one ever take a picture of Bo Butta and have the picture just come out aight." I laughed, thought about it and told him, "yeah, it was fly, I can't front," which was partially true. Bo looked fly as fuck in his leather trench, shaved head and sunglasses, but the picture itself was rather "eh." I'm gonna have to do some cropping and make sure no one misses his flyness.

Out with the too old and too young, bring on the just right

2005-11-24T20:47:00.001-08:00

As interesting as she is, I will not be dating the freshman. Two things make this certain for me. One, I have a sister who is exactly her age and that freaks me out. Two is the fact that I'm simply way past this stage. I've done college, done dorm rooms, done all of that drama and I've moved on to a different stage of my life. Dating someone going through all of that would simply be regression. This would seem to be sheer common sense but I did have a reason for actually contemplating dating her. Simply, I frequently date older, much older than the age divide between the freshman and I actually. The Brazilian is eleven years older than I am and I'm only five years older than the freshman. One of the things that drives me up the wall when I meet an older woman is the condescending attitude of "you're just a baby, you're too young for me." Condescension will get you killed. What has been brought forcefully to my attention in two dates with the freshman though is the fact that these women were in fact correct. The freshman comes off as ridiculously mature, both emotionally and rationally. She's smart, scarily ambitious and an overall superawesome person. And she's pretty damn cute. I wish I could say this of every other woman I've ever dated. Nevertheless, her concerns are not my concerns. She's still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she is unlikely to get to straight As in college. Ha, hahaha. I gripped that reality a long time ago and graduated with impressive but far more realistic numbers a little while ago. In the same vein, the Brazilian was griping about her employees a little while ago and it occurred to me that my boss complained about the exact same thing I'd done sometime in January. The Brazilian runs a department, has an established reputation in her industry and calls CEOs by their first names. I'm still learning the ropes and trying to get my voice heard in meetings. It doesn't matter that we're intellectual equals or that the freshman uses "reification" in everyday conversation. It doesn't make any sense for me to be dating these women. The freshman is my first ever dating anyone younger than I am, but I've always dated older. I'm mature enough that older women have always been comfortable around me and I just like the lack of drama in those relationships. It seems to me though that it's time to give all that up. A girl I dated for 5 months ended things between us a little while ago, because even though she quite liked me, she was thinking about children and starting a family and it didn't make any sense spending time with me. Put that with the Brazilian and the freshman and that makes three times this year that the age shift thing has broken down on me. Obviously the universe is trying to send me a message. SO, if you know any wicked and edgy, feisty and charming, jazzy and hot, 20 and some odd year old hotties who might be looking for tall, dark and handsome (not to mention intelligent and talented, but not funny, I don't do funny), send em over here. Applications are now being accepted over at fredfflint@gmail.com.

Why I fail

2005-11-23T22:07:00.000-08:00

It seems to me that one of the reasons I fail or continue to feel as I fail even before I begin is that I do not reach high enough. I keep striving to do thigns that have been done before, and better, by those to whom it came natural to and in so doing, I sabotage myself, preventing the best that lies within me from coming out, failing to emphasize my own strengths and instead attempting to magically recreate those of others. That is a recipe for failure. I must stop it. I not Diane Arbus, or Bazima or Bukowski or any of those other people whose moments I am so respectful or envious of. I am Flint and can be nothing but Flint. Sadly, Flint is not my name and even this post reads as if written by a stranger. Sigh...

The most interesting thing that happened to me today

2005-11-23T19:49:00.001-08:00

A short black man, he chomped on his food with his mouth wide open, something I didn't think people did outside of seedy novels and B movies. He had laid his sandwich down as I walked into the drycleaners and approached the counter where a pair of jeans were laid out. I opened my plastic bag and showed him my pair of jeans. They needed, and still need, mending. My jeans frequently develop holes beneath the crotch area, a sign perhaps that my sitting is rather too manly and I ought to learn some modesty. He stared at the holes without saying a word and then looked up at me with a blank expression. I was impatient, saying to him, "I just need a patch on the inside and for you to sew it up please. Do you have some denim?" His expression didn't change much but he looked down at the jeans again. His response came slowly enough that I was all but stamping my feet, "I won't work on them unless you wash them." I was confused for a moment, thinking he meant to shank me for a drycleaning, but he rephrased when he saw my expression, "you gotta go wash them or I won't work on them. I don't do repairs if they're dirty." I got his meaning then, although I surveyed him skeptically. He didn't seem a creature of extreme hygienic prejudices. Nevertheless a man must set his own standards. I respected that. The dilemma lies in the fact that I usually feel the need to wash things when they come back from a tailor anyway. Washing my jeans before and after a repair seems unnecessary to me, not to mention it would reduce the alreaady short life span these new fangled denims have. I told him the man to have a nice day and as I left, he told me to bring them back clean on Friday. I glanced back at him, considering the likelihood that I even wanted him working on my pants. As I walked towards the laundromat where the lady would attempt to overcharge me for a load, I searched the neighbourhood for another drycleaner. Nada.

man in the dark

2005-11-22T07:43:00.000-08:00

my name is Flint,
I live in a darkroom,
my air is stop, my meat is film,
I sip all day on developer,
if these pictures great fame don't bring,
I'll fix that fucking instructor

Saturday morning expedition

2005-11-19T11:32:00.000-08:00

I love walking around my neighbourhood early in the morning. You can hear every sounds loud and clear. A car starts up just behind you, startling you cause you didn't even notice anyone in it; there's a rumble from the next street as construction workers fix roads and create huge messes, another car starts further down the road and then a sanitation truck roars by. Each sound is distinct, starting far, coming closer and tailing off depending on their movements and yours. All the spaces look bare and empty, unpopulated by people yet, made even more stark by the silence. The creak of a bicycle the only intrusion on the peace now. Big open lots with two men working in them. Even 20 feet away, the men loook like toy figures in the large expanse. I walk by a circus that's setting up and laugh with two passers-by at the horses making out. The camel is not friendly. It stares at me intensely before growing bored and then looks back sharply when I start to move. I let it be. I sneak into a fire station and take pictures of the uniforms hanging untended. "Cassare" one of them says. I'd never realized the firemen's names are written on their jackets. These are engraved in a harsh orange. I wonder how that, along with the bright blues which appear in the shades of grey my Black and White film transforms everything into. I take a picture of a pair of boots someone left by a truck tire. As the day progresses, people come out. My early morning film shoot is going well, so I extend it and keep shooting, meeting odder and odder characters. Amen for the fine folks of New York City. I'm hungry now though. I wonder if I have anything in my kitche.

Do I look like Jim Carrey to ya?

2005-11-18T15:36:00.000-08:00

I don't identify with Igby. That spoiled prick is a junkie for pain in ways I can't even begin to compete with. His father on the hand; well that fella and I could definitely sit and have a drink together. I watched that movie hoping and praying and waiting for the moment he would pull himself out of that funk, tell em to fuck their pressure and do something for himself with his life. I hoped and hoped and hoped, but it really wasn't that kind of movie. I really enjoyed it, but it didn't do anything for my fears about my life. As the feisty one points out here, there are people with real problems in the world so my petty depressions (yours too probably) are really not that important in the grand scheme of things. But damn, aren't there moments you just want to stop and scream? Or pull a Bruce Wayne and just disappear from the world that knows you for a few years? It's amazing how even the most prosaic of events will trigger this set of fears. This afternoon, at the Chelsea Health Clinic, I assured the nice lady that I didn't sleep with men, exchange drugs or money for sex and use needles for anything they weren't intended for. She then oohed and aahed over my sneakers ((cause I'm fresh and clean that way) and while filling out details, asked me a bit about myself. I gave the answers dutifully, and waited for it. "Really? Oh great. Very impressive, You're a very bright young man, with a great future ahead of you." If I could get one the many that repeat these set of lines to live that future me, I'd be happy to just go take a long nap and watch on a TV screen. I've done fuck all with my life and even though things may look clean and crispy from where you're watching this Truman show, but I'm the one who has to live it and quite frankly ma'am, your observations piss me off. No disrespect intended of course. And this is what I'd like to tell every single person who ever decides what journey I ought to be on with no idea of what's in my head.

the pretty one and the bastard

2005-11-15T09:24:00.000-08:00

The French girl is either in an open relationship or dating a bastard. In a conspiratorial whisper out second time hanging out, he told me about girl he had "fucked at a party" the week before. The French lady was just outside the wine bar, smoking a cigarette. I laughed and took a gulp of my Vinho Verde. This is the thing. In the words of singular Andre 3000, I "could be an organ donor the way I give out my heart." And I've definitely given the French woman my heart. Not that I would let her hold it exclusively. Well, maybe if she insisted. She's gorgeous of course. She looks a little like this, only prettier and more elegant, more French. (Try not to think too hard on what I was doing with those pictures. It's unsavory... But back to the matter at hand.) She speaks with that lilting accent that lets you know she's only been in New York a few months. And she's sharp. Ooh, I wouldn't wanna cross that one. Everytime I see her and hear her laugh, my heart does a few stanzas of some marching band anthem. And because no amour of mine would be perfect without this, I can see nerves of steel and a righteous temper behind that laugh she deploys ever so ever so often.

Of course, there is the French bastard to deal with in all of this. That's right, he's French too. I met them both at one of those funky ol' parties in Brooklyn. And if not for the fact that he possesses what I desire, I might even like him. After all, he would be a perfect replacement for my current wingman. He's exotic, French, knows his women and obviously knows his way around women. We'd probably be good foils for each other too, his grace and light movement a contrast with my booming and boisterous presence when I've got my mojo going.

Anyway, my old wingman told me not to bother. He immediately thought they were together, while I took my time believing I could be so unlucky. And I've been flirting with her. In fact, I was at my flirtiest and best dressed when she met me. And she loves to dance. With me. Pah! Always the best man, never the groom. It is yet another indictment on my moral character that I'm not a man around whom one should leave their girlfriend. And though I've recently learned some hard lessons in regards to that mode of behavior, I can't help but try here. After all, he is having his fun. Why can't she and I have some? More to come, more to come...

Turning the tables

2005-11-13T23:49:00.000-08:00

After seeing this post, I'm leary of posting about relationships. I was about to write that bloody post about four levels of dating and all that yada. I still might. However, this is important. This is a public service I'd like the lovely lady bloggers of the internet to peform for all mankind. And I know I'm tredding on these lovely folks territory here.

Women, why do you love assholes? I'd like a more substantial answer than that trite, appeal of the bad boy in the leather jacket that you always revert to. What I'd really like to know is why you insist on being belittled, having your self image bruised and generally being horribly abused rather than just dealing with normal, sane human beings. Please answer in the comments and I will transmit your answer to nice and normal guys the world over. Thank you.

Small smudges on my soul 2

2005-11-13T16:15:00.000-08:00

That the incident in the post below bothered me so much is ironic, considering I'd just committed a much clearer moral transgression. I stole a scarf. I know, what a weekend. I was trying the scarf in the mirror when I realized it had no security tag. It was a chain store so when I checked other items, they all those big electronic tags that make it impossible to try on anything comfortably. I continued trying other things, contemplating taking the scarf. And I did. I wrapped the scarf around my neck, paid for two other items that I wanted and walked out of the store with a scarf I had not paid for. The items I bought included a tie and a more expensive scarf than the one I took.

I'm no moral relativist. I took something that did not belong to me. Had I been caught, I'd have deserved whatever iniquity the store felt fit to visit upon me.

_______________________________________________________________
Waiting for the train later that evening, I spied a girl twirling by me. That's right, twirling. She is probably about 5'7 and she was twirling very elegantly to something playing on her ipod. Her blonde hair was dyed blue at it's base and flipped outwards mid neck. She covered her head with a French beret, wore a long flowing turquoise skirt, a cream sweater and a black jacket. She was a gracious wood sprite misplaced in Manhattan's grimy subway. I leaned against the stairs and watched her, grinning openly. I wanted to speak to her, to hear what she was listening to and know how she could so brightly do those twirls over and over again even with people watching. I guess she may have become a bit self-conscious cause she twirled away. A guy she passed turned to me and grinned, "that was something." I wonder if it's a masculine thing to want to possess beauty. She really was entrancing and I'm smiling even as I write this and think of her. Yet, I wonder why I couldn't just enjoy it and be content with my memory, why I hope she'd read this and be flattered and gladdened to know someone thought her absolutely beautiful and delightful, why I however briefly considered ever posting my first ever missed connection in whatever magazine it is that wood sprites read.

_______________________________________________________________
Small smudges on my soul. Maybe not so small?

Small smudges on my soul 1

2005-11-13T15:42:00.000-08:00

The mid-Manhattan branch of the New York Public Library closes at 6pm on Saturdays. So of course, I strode in at 10 of 6, with a book to return and book I needed. I dropped off the one to be returned, dashed to the information desk, got the call number for my book and then headed over to the elevator, where things proceeded to get complicated. The little lady at the elevator with the strident voice wouldn't let me up. "That floor is closed. You can't go up. I can't let you up there. You have to wait till Monday. That's not my problem. I can't let you up there. Who told you to sit around all day and not come earlier?" I tried pleading, tried reasoning and finally realized she was not going to let me up. I also got really tired of hearing her voice. I was about to give up and head out when it occured to me that no building was ever designed with only one way to access a floor. The stairs were right by the exit. I ran five floors, told the startled librarians (who really were closing down the floor) that I already had my call number and found the book in less than a minute. The librarian looked weary, explaining to her colleague that I had come up the stairs and asked me to please take the elevator down. I did that.

As I got to the ground floor, my friend of shrill voice pointed me towards the exit, before she realized who she was. Then her face contorted in fury and she went off, even as I went to stand in line to check out my book. "Who told you to go up the stairs? I told him he couldn't go up there and he went and took the stairs. Y'all don't listen. They never listen. You don't listen. I told you not to go up there. He pulled that shit too. I told you not to go up there.." And on and on and on and very, very loudly. I grimaced, made an apology and tried to explain that I intended no disrepect, only I really needed the book and the website said they closed at 6, so... She wasn't hearing it. Frankly, she couldn't have heard much with her voice booming all over the place like that. And as I checked out the book, other's drew themselves into it. An older gentleman who worked at the library walked with his cane up to me and joined in berating me in much the same tones. It didn't help that the two or three other customers who began to sympathize with the elevator lady, assuring her they knew how she felt, surely qualify for senior citizen discounts at retailers city wide. That simply set it up in my head as crabby ol' folks versus the young and striving go getter. I think it's rude to walk out on someone who's speaking to you, but those old voices definitely followed me to the exit.

I've been unable to let it go since it happened. I guess it disturbed my equilibrium. Even more than that though, I'm disturbed at how upset she got. I thought about the way I might feel in her position. I think I'd probably feel much the same, though a lot less personally disturbed by it and probably a bit amused at the ingenuousness of the kid. Still, I'd probably drop a "Do that again and I'll box your ears off." I guess not having that option made her feel helpless. Or something. The New York Times ran an article a little while ago about how we're becoming a culture that never accepts "No" for an answer. We've got to have it and have it now. I guess I'm a part of that. Still... The library website said they closed at 6. I cut it close, although not deliberately. I didn't want to have to repeat the trip all the way there. I had 10 minutes. You can reason anything away.

If I had it to do again, I don't know if I would have gone up the stairs. I wasn't necessarily in it to get one over the lady. I just wanted the book, and it seemed to me that it was possible to get the book. I still don't think of that impulse as wrong. Yet the amount of anguish (I think that is the right word) it caused her disturbs me. Should she not take things to much to heart? Would I still have gone up if she had been a bit more personable in her refusal? Like I said, I wasn't in it to get one over her. I didn't have that gloating feeling riding down in the elevator, just relief at getting my book. Nevertheless, I'd probably forgo the book if I had it to do again. We should not be causing each other pain, or grief and I don't like myself for having done that.

The wisdom

2005-11-12T01:52:00.000-08:00

I came home sad and blue cause I didn't get laid or even get a cute girl to acknowledge my presence for more than a few minutes all night. On the other hand, I don't think the loving warmth and suffusing joy of our lord Jesus Christ would have made my evening that much better.

On other news, I spent a half hour helping some poor fucked up drunk bastard I found on the street. Me and this other kid did everything we could to prevent his drunk ass from getting arrested and get safely home to... Astoria! Poor bastard indeed.

I love my friends

2005-11-06T09:16:00.000-08:00

girlrobotics (2:07:12 AM):: dear flint
flintinny (2:07:19 AM): ???
robotic (2:07:28 AM): I just got drunkered at a pirate themed bar.
robotic (2:07:47 AM): they had an amazing selection of rum
robotic (2:07:58 AM): and really good crawdad poppers and smores.
robotic (2:08:02 AM): that's smores.
robotic (2:08:32 AM): they brought graham crackers with marshmallows and chocolate bars on a platter with skewers and a flaming sterno can.
robotic (2:08:41 AM): it was amazing and you need to come out and enjoy it.
robotic (2:08:52 AM): I'm going to go get high with Jenn now.
robotic (2:08:54 AM): I love you.

New wingman wanted, old one broken

2005-11-05T10:30:00.000-08:00

For the crimes of failing to update his skills, unsportsman like behavior and general suckiness at the picking up of women, I hereby consign my old wingman to the second place role of best friend and seek a new wingman. Only the qualified and very skilled need apply.

Ok, so that's kinda dramatic. But it is necessary. My wingman for almost four years has become incredibly sucky at the task at hand. How so, you ask? Well for one thing, of late he's taking to calling dibs on, "the pretty one." All the time. That's just rude. I mean, that's really unbecoming. What works best with wingmen is if you have slightly different tastes in women and thus you generally let the one whose type is most represented by the pretty one have a first go, or if that doesn't work, at least alternate. Well, my wingman no longer has a type. Long periods of unattachedness have left him without standards of any sort other than the generic, "prettier one." And that is almost a crime of nature.

Second, he's fighting me for girls. Really fucking unacceptable. You can't have your winngman making moves on girls you have a previous relationship with or he knows you're into. Unfortunately, not only has my wingman recently slept with an ex-girlfriend of mine (one of my most recent and disastrous too), he's muscled in on my booty call territory in hideous and unacceptable ways. Men have faced the garrote for lesser crimes.

And my third and not at all inconsequential complaint, he just sucks at the business! I mean, he's never been great at it, but even as I'm getting much better, he's getting worse. How's that possible? I've got beautiful women coming to my parties so he can set up dates with them that never go anywhere. He ain't pulling at clubs, ain't pulling at bars, ain't pulling on the job... And when the man talks about going to clubs so he can "hump," should I pimpslap him or have him delivered to a shrink? I mean, that mentality was barely acceptable in college. Three years on, that's just fucking unnecessary. He's never been able to dance, his dress game is slipping and if anything, he's getting less smooth. Gaddamit, we need an intervention.

The thing is, it's a delicate situation. I may have mentioned that he doubles as my best friend and one does not just dispose of those nilly willy. Besides, he is a good man in many ways, better than me in some. And when he's not being a sucky wingman or crossing boundaries with my women, he's pretty loyal. That counts for a lot. Nevertheless, this cannot conntinue. A change must come. Got any ideas for me?

suffer the children

2005-11-02T09:42:00.001-08:00

I once sat in a bar in North Carolina and listened to a single mother talk about her son. She spoke of how she loved him to death and there was little he didn't get from her. And then there were the suitors, who bought him just about everything else. From the new Playstation to the Fubu gear, he probably dressed fresher and lived better than she did. And although it was part of a work interview, I felt a sadness grip me. It's the same kind of despair that grips me when I see a really pretty 12 year old girl dressed entirely inappropriately on the subway or around the city. I'm never having kids.* It really is unbelievably thoughtless of people to have children. Do you not see the world you live in? Do you not watch the news? Do you think your influence on another mind is so strong that they'll turn out in any way alright?

I'm hard on parents, even mine. To some extent, I've always resented being born. I'm hard charging aobut living and making the most of life. Most days though, it just seems like too much work. I've never objected to the idea of death. I'd probably be the kind of guy to tell a mugger exactly where he can put his grubby bullets. Maybe a vain glorious way to go, but at least I wouldn't have to go to work the next day. Or face the disappointment of yet another sandwich for lunch or any one of the millions of indignities that make up life.

The single mother in North Carolina was a fascinating one. She came for our session with a friend, her best friend. Together, they frequently dumped their kids on a neighbour and took impromptu vacations to exotic locations around the US. Sometimes they even took the kids. The last trip was to Disney in Orlando. I remember the best friend declaring herself a lesbian, whether part time or full time. There was no doubt there was something between the two women. Oh, they seemed a fun pair. Cute too. One black, one Latino. The black one had the kid I think.** There are no kids whose fates worry me as much as African American males. If you live in this country, you probably have reason to be worried about that kid too. After all, in a few years when he's a bit older and a lot omre rebellious, she'll wonder why it is she can't control him. And her job at Starbucks probably won't pay for the gear he's gonna want then. A little older, the suitors might also be calling less frequently. Then how is little precious going to feed that hunger? Sounds like the opening bars of every other hip hop album.

*However, I might consider adopting. That way, when the kid is all fucked up and wants to know why, I can just go, "don't look at me, that's the nature part causing your problems. I did ok with the nurturing."
**Upon further reflection, the Latina lady might have had the kid and the black one was the raging lesbian. However I've already written this one way and I have no intention of disturbing the poetry of my post with frivolous editing. Make the adjustments in your head.

Life sucks, need a girl who will

2005-11-01T19:55:00.000-08:00

This template blows. Actually, with only eight possible choices, any template would blow. Blogger must be run by commies. A million choices at an everyday low price. That's the American way.

Anyway, I claim this little corner of cyberspace in the name of devilry, debauchery and despair. There may be whiskey drinking, skirt chasing, nakedness and bitching. If anything offends you, run to mummy and cry. This ain't NPR.