Rehearsal Dinner Invite Picture

Rehearsal Dinner Invite Picture
Originally uploaded by geoffreystevens.

I used this picture of Nick and Emily for the last-minute rehearsal dinner invitation I whipped up last week. I took this this shot of them down in Tennessee last July. It was a hot day, and they were invaraibly sweaty and very shiny from the camera flash, so I went in on photoshop and by zooming in and using the cloning tool, I gave their skin a lustrous, matte finish. Ahhhhh...

From an article in today's Boston Globe:

In Boston, school officials do not make condoms available, but students can get them at 13 school-based health centers, as long as they have permission from their parents and a referral from a primary care physician.

What?! You gotta be kidding me. Do you think any Boston public school student is going to jump through all of those hoops just to get a free condom? First they have to travel to a health center, then they need written consent from their parents, and a doctor's note to top it all off? I'd be shocked if these Boston high schoolers would be brave enough to do all that when they can just shell out a few bucks for some at the local pharmacy, and they don't need a note for those.

Time for a summer cellar cleaning session yet? Because we had so much fun over Thanksgiving break...



Thankfully, Nick and I already got raking and cleaning up the yard checked off the list over Memorial Day weekend, but unfortunately we managed to contract poison ivy all over our bodies in the process- hands, arms, legs, feet, you name it. A week after exposure, and I still had new splotches emerging every day.

I was never a big Michelle Williams fan. In fact, during those Dawson's Creek years, I just plain despised the girl, but time has softened my stance, and now I actually like her a lot. In fact, I may just have a lil'celebrity crush on her.



A few months ago I rented Michael Showalter's (he of Wet, Hot American Summer fame)most recent film, The Baxter, and Michelle Williams played the female lead. I haven't the slightest idea what she's like in real life, but I fell head over heels for the character she played in this movie. That's exactly the girl I'm looking for. Too bad she, you know, only exists in a movie.

The Baxter is nowhere near as funny as WHAS, but I still enjoyed it, probably because I like Showlater and Williams (especially when they're in a scene together) so much.

And living here in New York now, I can see Showalter live just about anytime I want. He hosts a show Monday nights at Rififi, and he intermittently does stand-up at the downtown haunts. Nick even got him to be a celebrity "Battle of the Funny Bands 2" judge when the Shark Show hosted the finals in late-April.

Who's up for company bowling night???

How can softball not be fun?

The company I temp for has a softball team in the New York Engineers and Architects Softball League, so I signed up for the team when the season began in the beginning of May.

That first game, in the far west side of Midtown at Clinton-DeWitt Park, felt really strange because I was by far the youngest guy there. There were some guys in their late 20s or early 30s on my team who I had never even seen before (perhaps they were from another branch?), and the opposing team had a lot of older gentlemen. That first game never got to be played, though. The league, with proper permits and all, somehow booked us to play on a field that had already been reserved far in advance. It didn’t seem like a good omen for the season to come.

Now, I love playing softball/baseball, and I fancy myself an OK hitter and an above average second baseman. I did play for 10 years with baseball summer camp and all the fixings, although I’ll admit it has been 10 years since I’ve played regularly in an organized league. What bothers me about this team and this league is how ridiculously competitive all the players are. This is just a recreational summer softball league, but all these players take the game so seriously. And it ends up taking most of the fun out of it for me, since I’m just...not of that mindset, especially when it comes to softball.

Instead of playing second base at our game this past Monday, the manager penciled me in to right-center (we play with 4 outfielders). I don’t want to make up excuses for my play, but I played the infield my whole “career” and I’m a tad rusty at reading fly balls off the hitter’s bat. OK, really rusty. I misplayed two line drives hit in my direction in the first inning and I thought the rest of the team was going to stone me when I got back to the bench. One ended up going over my head when I thought for sure it was going to drop way in front of me. It was hit directly at me and I couldn’t read it to save my life.

After the inning was over the manager came over and gave me a speech about keeping the ball in front of me (as if I didn’t know that already) and then the left-center fielder, who fancied himself to be quite the knowledgeable ball player, came over and gave me a long-winded, patronizing lecture as if I had never played ball before. I just nodded, said yes, and apologized, but what I really wanted to do was scream at the rest of the team and tell them to chill out, relax, and to stop worrying so much about other people. I didn’t like being bossed around like that, especially by a bunch of people that don’t know me from a whole in the wall.

I guess that’s the problem- I’m the temp, the new guy on the team, and they, in fact, don’t know anything about me, or whether or not I actually know how to play. They stick me in the very bottom of the lineup, put me on the bench for the first half of the game if we have more than 10 players, and proceed to over coach me if I make the slightest mistake. So I messed up in the outfield and misplayed a few balls. And for that I deserve a sneer, a condescending shake of the head, and a cold shoulder from my teammates?! Grow up, fellas; it’s a softball game, and nobody’s life or career depends on the outcome.

Maybe it’s just the engineer/scientist mentality they all share, but my entire team is entirely too competitive. I don't have that killer instinct/take no prisoners attitiude. If the umpire makes a close call, a bunch of them will start screaming, get red in the face, and run up to the ump and argue the call. I’ve seen it happen a few times now, and none of these incidents involved jocular play-arguing, either. Maybe that’s fun for them, but I see that happen and I feel like picking up my glove and leaving.

Sometimes seeing other players’ competitive zeal can be humorous, too: out-of-shape men in cleats, kneepads, and tight baseball pants, the pitchers, who are almost always the overweight guys who can’t play a position in the field, and anyone attempting an ill-fated slide.

So for right now, even though we won this week’s game, I’m not too popular with the rest of the team, and I have a feeling this crew has a long memory. Until I wheel out a triple or make some dazzling outfield catch, I’m in the dog house. I couldn’t even make eye contact with one of my teammates when I passed him in the hall this morning.

Nick & Emily's Wild Wedding Weekend (Day 1)

Ahh, the big Nick Stevens/Emily Hall Grand Wedding Weekend had finally arrived!

This was easily one of the craziest, most frantic, whirlwind long weekends I've ever experienced in my 25 years. And somehow at the end of all of it, Nick and Emily were able to get married, quite happily, I must add.

The weekend started in Thursday for all of us. I had improv class the night before and skipped going out with the gang afterwards because I had a lot of packing to do. I got back to Brooklyn and went to work, trying my best not to forget anything I'd need over the next 4 days. With 4 hours of sleep, I woke up Thursday morning and made my way into work. Earlier in the week I had brought my boombox (which I'd later learn I didn't need to bring to Westport) into work in my suitcase earlier in the week, so I had to pack everything into my 2 backpacks and my gym bag. It was a HOT, HUMID day. I had one of my backpacks hanging in the front like a Bjorn baby holder, and by the time I stepped into my climate-controlled office, I was DRENCHED from head to toe. The tshirt and polo shirt I had on never actually dried. When I finally took it off once we pulled into the Norwalk Hilton Hotel at 7pm, it was still wet.

Luckily my boss was out all week on vacation, so I was able to put the finishing touches on the rehearsal dinner invites (originally my parent's responsibility, then taken on by Nick, which was then passed down to me), print them out, and cut them.

Around 11, I took my break and saddled on over to the Men's Wearhouse a few blocks away by the Empire State Building. Apparently some of the other groomsmen who went to different locations had a satisfactory time getting measured and picking up their tuxedos, but this wasn't the case for those of us who opted to patronize the 34th Street franchise. The tux department was staffed by two of the surliest, unfriednliest, and helpless women I've ever encountered. I thought it was just me, but Oscar went there to get measured and he was ignored for 10 minutes before they decided to notice him.

Anyway, I was just there to pick up the tux, so I didn't think it would take more than 10 minutes. I was wrong. They had me try on the entire tuxedo, and the jacket didn't fit too well. They gave me a 40S, which will fit sometimes depending on the cut of the coat, but this one was really tight when I buttoned it up. I wish I had never mentioned it to them, because what followed was a complete waste of an hour in my life as one of the women called Men's Wearhouse in Texas to see if they could ship a 42S up to New York in time for the wedding (in short, they couldn't). The only replacement they had on the premises for me was a 41R, which looked like a zoot suit jacket on my short frame, and I staunchly told them I'd rather have the original coat instead. She ended up having a tailor move the buttons over a little bit so it wasn't as tight when I buttoned it, so I still had to return later in the day to pick it up. In the end, I never buttoned the jacket at the wedding anyway since we all had black vests underneath.

If you ever need to get a tux at Men's Wearhouse, avoid the 34th and Broadway location AT ALL COSTS. I can't stress that enough.

After I scarfed down a small french fry and a whooper junior, I settled back into my desk at the office. Fortunately, there was zero work for me to do there today (and my boss was gone) so nobody noticed the 90 minute tux run that I had originally figured to take a half hour AT MOST.

The original plan was for Nick and I to take the 3pm metro north train to Norwalk and get picked up there by our parents, who would drive down from Braintree in one car. But plans soon changed when Nick had too much luggage to haul up to Grand Central and Mom realized she had too much to do in Braintree to leave with Dad in the same car. Nobody's really sure what she had to do besides drop Rollie off at the dog kennel and buy a few snacks at the hotel room, but she didn't end up leaving Braintree till well past 3 o'clock. Apparently she had stressed herself out over Rollie having a cough in the days prior, but come on now.

Instead, Dad launched from Braintree in his van around 10:30. He planned on picking me up first (where he could also pick up the free used computer I got from Hazen and Sawyer that's been sitting underneath my desk for the last 4 months), and then scooting across town to pick up Nick before turning around and darting back up to CT.

Dad got in some Friday afternoon traffic on I-95, which was to be expected, but the coup de grace came when he received a $90 ticket from a police officer in Manhattan for not wearing his seat belt. He actually had it on driving down to NY, but he unfastened it to reach into his wallet to pay the Triboro Bridge toll and didn't bother putting it back on. He was stopped at a light a few blocks away from me when a cop, walking on the adjacent sidewalk, hollered at him to pull over. The policeman told him he'd only get a warning and not to have fear, it wouldn't count against his MA insurance rates, but I've never heard of a $90 warning before. And I see people driving around Manhattan all the time without a seat belt, and my Dad, with his MA plates, just so happens to get pulled over. He got slapped with a $170 no standing ticket the last time he visited (and he was in the car with the motor running, no less!), so he doesn't have a lot of automotive luck here in NY so far this year.

Finally, at 3 o'clock, I got a call from Dad on my cell phone that he's waiting outside on the corner of 36th and 7th. With the computer, I have to take two trips, so I went down first with my bags. I got to the intersection, and wouldn't you know it, I don't see Dad ANYWHERE. I called him up and said, "Dad- I'm here. Where are you?"

Yelling loudly, he barked, "I'm right here! 36th and 7th! Right in front of Pronto Pizza!"

I responded, calmly, "Dad, I'm looking around, and I don't see your car anywhere. And there's definitely no Pronto Pizza on 36th and 7th. Can you look around and find the street sign, because you're not at the right intersection."

"I'm right here! 36th and 7th! Why can't you see me? Here, I'll honk the horn."

All I heard was the honk coming over the cell phone.

"Did you hear that?!"

"Yeah, Dad, but I only heard it over the phone. You're not on 36th and 7th, so let's try to figure out where you actually are."

Turned out he was on 36th and Broadway, an avenue away. It took him some time to figure out how to backtrack his way to 36th and 7th, and in the end, the closest he could get without popping a blood vessel was 35th and 7th. At this point in the day, the roads were crowded and the sidewlks were jammed, and everyone was sweating bullets from the heat. I made my second trip back upstairs to get the computer and then we navigated our way downtown to Nick's apartment on 18th and 3rd.

We arrived, very late, and Nick still wasn't ready, either; there was something he was furiously looking for in the apartment that he couldn't find. I got a coffee at the corner shop while we waited because I was ready to fall asleep at any moment, and then I got scolded by Nick for not getting HIM one after he loaded his things into the van and we had driven off.

"Here, I got a medium. You can have some of mine."

"No, it's fine; I don't want any."

Huh?

It was no 4:30 and the northbound FDR lanes were at a near stand still. Nick started yelling and venting his anger about the traffic, but eventually it loosened up. Once we got on I-95, it was smooth sailing for a while until we hit CT, where the electronic road sides above the highway warned us of delays from Exit 4-18. Awesome!

We arrived at the Norwalk Hilton Garden Hotel a shade after 7, and Mom hadn't arrived yet. She had called us for directions a while ago while we were on the road, but she misheard them and ended up driving in the wrong direction. Dad went inside to check in and he soon re-emerged from the lobby to tell us that the Hilton had no record of our reservation (even though it was the FIRST reservation made over 6 months ago) and that the rooms were not paid for or held under a credit card, either.

Dad didn't have a credit card (?!) and Nick, attempting not to forget anything, left his wallet, his bank card, his driver's license, and his neck ties back at his apartment (luckily a friend of his from CA, Chadd, was staying there for the night and could bring them Saturday morning). I gave Dad my credit card and he went back in to find us a room. Turned out our reservation was there all along, but the guy at the front desk was just incompetent and couldn't find it. He stuck us up on the 3rd floor in the boonies, the farthest walk possible from the front desk (not good for my Mom who can barely walk), while mostly everyone else in town for the wedding was down on the first floor. When they discovered their error the next day, they asked us to move, after we had already unpacked and had a million things to do, and we told them "NO WAY."

While we were unpacking everything from Dad's loaded van onto the luggage carts, Mom finally arrived, her car filled with...groceries?

"Mom, when are we gonna have the time to eat all this?!"

"It's for when you have people back to your room."

"I don't think anyone's coming back to the room. We have a pretty full schedule."

(silence)

Once we finally got up to the room, we only had a few minutes before this 8pm dinner that friends of the Hall family were throwing in Nick and Emily's honor was schedules to begin. And none of us were nearly ready to leave. Mom was exhausted from the drive and in a bunch of pain, and for other reasons I can't write about here, she decided not to attend the dinner. Nick got furious, went into a mini-breakdown, and we were all bent out of shape and we didn't know what to do, but we pulled ourselves together, got out of our stinky, sweaty clothes, showered, and got ready as quickly as we could while Mom fell asleep in her bed.

By the time Dad, Nick, and I left the hotel, it was past 9 o'clock, and a group of 30 people were all waiting for us to arrive before they ate dinner. We felt horrible and terribly guilty, and we tried to get there as fast as we could. It started to downpour outside, and I mean DOWNPOUR. Before we made it to the beach dinner, we still had to stop at a minimart and pick up soda and ice for the party, delaying our incredibly late arrival even further.

We showed up at 9:30, if you can believe it. Miraculously, nobody was mad at us, or at least they didn't voice their displeasure, and we were welcomed with hugs, open arms, and a delicious spread of food. The party was held at this house with a sp[rawling front porch directly on the water. They filled the interior with tube lighting, giving the room a warm, mystical glow. Before we ate, they had us all join hands in a giant circle, and they all sang a song (some sort of blessing or lords prayer, perhaps?). It was just...amazing. It felt like something out of a movie, us all in a circle, singing a beautiful song in the candlelight while the rain stormed down into the ocean water all around us.

The only downside to the evening was Dad, who decided to single out a pretty cousin of Emily's who was there by herseld since her heart surgeon husband couldn't make the trip. He did his Dad-thing and talked to/flirted with her the entire night and barely spoke to all the other family members he hadn't even met yet. Looking back on it now, Nick and I should have intervened or said something to him, because it was a little embarrassing and it did not go unnoticed by the Hall family. Nick and I were talking about it afterwards, and we both thought, "Can't Mom and Dad just act like normal human beings for just a few days without doing something weird?!"

Looking back on this day and the whole weekend, I think I was by far the most rational and level-headed of the family. I'm not gloating or anything; that's just the truth. I rarely lose my cool, unlike others in the family. Nick's temper can be wicked at times, and he can fly off the handle pretty quickly, while Mom and Dad start yelling at and blaming each other at the drop of a hat. Me, I hate yelling at people, and I hate being yelled at even worse.

So yeah, all this, and that was just Day 1.

Chipotle Paunch Bomb

Has anyone eaten at this mexican fast-food chain Chipotle yet? Word on the street is it was started by and once owned by McDonald's, but it recently went public. They've been popping up all around NY in the last year, and there always seems to be a substantial crown inside, so I decided to give it a try one night.

It reminded me of an authentic tacqeria, where you tell them what you want in your burrito as you move along the counter a la Subway. In fact, that's really all this is- a Mexican Subway. My main complaint with the ingredients was the white rice. Come on, guys, plain white rice? Even Taco Bell gives you something a bit more flavorful and colorful than a sack of Uncle Ben's. Rice, aside, the burrito was impressive. It was also one of the biggest, heaviest, overstuffed burritos I've ever seen. I was starving when I walked through the door, but I could only get through three-quarters of the burrito before I had to cry uncle, and I really should have stopped at the halfway point once my stomach started grumbling, "No mas, por favor!"

This was around 6 o'clock, and by the time 10pm rolled around, I was ready for bed. This burrito literally knocked me out like a tranquilizer dart that hit me directly in the gut. My body must have overtaxed itself so much trying to digest that burrito that I couldn't keep my eyes open past 10...on a Friday night! The paunch bomb of all paunch bombs did me in and there was nothing to do but sleep it off.

On United 93...

Pretty much exactly what I was thinking, too...

This is an amazing movie that just nobody wants to see right now. I hope it will find an audience someday. It's terrifying, but an important movie that shouldn't be discarded and forgotten.

Do We Really Need To See This?

from Ty Burr's review of Poseidon in today's Boston Globe:

That's entertainment? Maybe, but it plays with queasy dissonance in a post-9/11 world. There will be people who won't go to ''United 93" because they think it will be depressing yet will go to ''Poseidon" expecting an exciting night at the movies, and I guess I don't understand how their brains work. Maybe the prospect of a second-tier cast dying for the sins of previous bad movies is enough of a camp factor to tilt the scales (although Rossum will have to do hundreds of these to atone for ''The Phantom of the Opera"). In a world of fresh horror, though, ''Poseidon" seems a strangely punishing form of make-believe.

Hiccups Trifecta

How often do people get the hiccups? Maybe, once every couple of months, right? I don't really keep count, but that seems about average for me. Well, on Saturday during Nick's 24-hour Atlantic City bachelor party extravganza, I contracted a mean, persistent case of the hiccups 3 times in an 8-hour period. And each time I got them, they wouldn't go away for at least 30 minutes to an hour. Do you have any idea what a prolonged series of hiccups can do to your body?

Aside from being really annoying, I actually started to get sore, especially in my neck and shoulders. I tried holding my breath, relaxing the muscles in my diaphragm, etc., and nothing worked.

Thye first round hit after we checked into the Borgata and made our way down to the sports book area to watch the Kentucky Derby. This one lasted about a half hour.

The second round came on when a few of us were tossing around Nick's XFL football on the roof the parking garage after the race. The scene felt like out of a Michael Bay movie- 4 guys throwing around a football on a roof deck overlooking Atlantic City in a hazy red sunset. The formidable Borgata building behind us, and a giant windfarm looming in the distance...oh, and me with a raging case of the hiccups. Ever try catching a 30-yard pass in mid-hiccup? I don't recommend it.

Round three came on when 4 of us were crammed in the back of a cab on our way from one strip club to another (actually, they were only bikini bars- I know). Aside from everyone in the cab finding my hiccups enormously aggravating, they were starting to hurt. Each hiccups came and I'd have to wince and brace myself. For the hiccups!

I woke up Sunday morning, and I felt like I'd been in a boxing match the night before. All these muscles in my neck, shoulder, and upper back that I didn't even know existed were calling out in pain. Four days later, and I'm still popping Advil and stretching constantly to ease the tension.

Oh, what a world we live in people, where something innocuous as the hiccups can get the best of you if they last long enough!

Bumble and Bumbling

Yesterday after work I hustled down to Bumble and Bumble, way over on the far west side of 13th street, to see if I could be a model for their students program and get a cool haircut for free before Nick's wedding on June 3rd (coming up fast, ain't it?). Thankfully, my long locks and curly mane passed muster and made the grade. The evaluating stylist signed my application and directed me over to the booking desk.

I figured it might be a few weeks before they could see me, but I almost lost my balance when the girl behind the counter penciled me in for a cut on the 10th...of August! Well, if I get my hair trimmed now, I'll actually be due for another cut by the time that appointment rolls around.

When I was leaving I asked some other approved models when they managed to get their appointments scheduled- May 12th. Wow, a whole 4 days! What a back log! And I have only...around 99 to go.

Fake Inner Racist goes for a swim!

Yesterday, while swimming laps at the NYC Parks and Recreation Pool in Chelsea, the Fake Inner Racist in me thought: "A black lifeguard? Isn't that like, an oxymoron? They can't be serious; is this some kind of joke? We all know black people can't swim- to save their lives and especially mine. I've seen Survivor, man, and those black dudes just sink right to the bottom of the ocean everytime."

The lifeguard most often on duty at the Williamsburg pool directs most of his attention to any cute girl in the slow lane who doesn't know how to swim. He saunters over and offers her a free lesson in the crawl while swimmers in other lanes could be drowing en masse and he'd never know. Correction: if the drowning victim were a hot girl who lost her top in the process, he'd be all over that.

Moratorium Addendum: Brokeback Humor

I am pleading for a cease and desist to all Brokeback Mountain-related humor. Any jokes that mention the phrase, "just can't quit you" are seriously played, my players, and are simply devoid of all humor whatsover by now, May of 2006. If you go the easy route, make the joke, and someone does indeed laugh, just know that you're not funny- it's merely a polite courtesy giggle at best.

A Grave Case of McPhee-ver

Anyone else suffering from the McPhee-ver lately? And when I say "suffering," I mean "enjoying immensely."

Geoffrey's Spring Book Round-Up

I've been doing my best taking advantage of my New York Public Library card (and immaturely smirking everytime I type nypl.org into my naviagtion bar). Here's a quick rundown of the books I've consumed over the last few months...

Teacher Man by Frank McCourt
I hadn't read Angela's Ashes or 'Tis, but I saw nothing but stellar reviews when this was a released a few months ago. It took while to get it through the library with all the reserves and requests, but it was well worth the wait. For anyone, like me, who's been thrown into the classroom with minimal training and asked to teach, this book's for you. McCourt taught English in the New York public school system for nearly 30 years, and this collection of stories, recollections, and memoirs is humorous, enveloping, and reflective.

Education of a Coach by Dave Halberstam
A must-read for any big time Patriots/Bill Belichick fan, Halberstam probably devotes more ink to Bill's father, Steve, who was a great football mind and college scout in his own right. A wonderful, insightful look into Belichick's mind, his uprninging, and his relationship with his father.

Open Wide by Dade Hayes and Jonathan Bing
This book follows and tracks 3 movie studio marketing teams as they try to get the word out on their big summer tent-pole film released over July 4th weekend of 2003: Terminator 2, Legally Blonde 2, and Sinbad (that disastrous animated movie that time has already forgotten). Tjis one really puts the "business" in showbusiness, and it discourages anyone who reads it from making a Hollywood movie. The hoops writers and directors must jump through to get their movies made, and then the whole product is torn to shreds once market-research comes back from the field with an unfavorable rating. This books pretty detail-oriented, but has some fascinating parts nevertheless. Sort of takes the fun out of seeing a movie when you realize all the work that goes into the marketing and audience-research behind these movies.

Men And Cartoons by Jonathan Lethem
Great, diverse collection of short stories, many of them involving superheroes in everyday, unusual circumstances. This was the first piece of literature I've read of Lethem's, although I've heard good things about his work for some time.

Killing Yourself To Live by Chuck Klosterman
From the author of Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, one of the most entertaining books I've read in recent memory, comes a new book about Klosterman's road-trip across America visiting places where great rock stars have died. It sounds like a hard sell, but it's a very easy read. You learn a lot about Chuck and a bunch about the rock stars and how they died, but Klosterman's reporting skills around the towns he visits come in handy. I had no idea there would be so much backstory about Klosterman's love life and the significant women in his past and present, but I found it compelling and forthright. Lots of laughs, but a few tears also.

Freaks of the Storm by Randy Cerveny
I'm currently in the middle of this one about the world's strangest true weather stories. A lot of bizarre weather-related things going on in this here world.

Rebels On The Backlot: Six Maverick Directors And How They Connquered The Studio System by Sharon Waxman
Guess the title is fairly self-explanatory. I had wanted to read this for a long time, mainly because these are some of my favorite directors and they made most of my favorite movies during a formative time of my life. This one follows the lives and careers of David O. Russell, Quentin Tarantino, Paul Thomas Anderson, Spike Jonze, David Fincher, Steven Soderbergh as they fight the evil, senseless, suffocating studio systems while trying to get their movies made. Filled with great anecdotes, behind-the-scenes stories, and everything in between.

Front Cover: Great Book Jacket And Cover Design by Alan Powers
Great stuff. Definitely worth a gander.

Don't Get Too Comfortable by David Rakoff
I was a little disappointed in this, Rakoff's second collection of essays, after enjoying Fraud so much. He seems to be grumpier and grouchier with age, and that doesn't equal more humor, bigger laughs, and deeper insight. There are a few nuggets here and there, but I was put off by how many times Rakoff had to mention that he was a single, embittered New York-area gay man in his 40's. No matter what the story or subject matter, that always managed to be brought up and discussed, no matter what the context. It got old real quick.

Ice Haven by Daniel Clowes
From the author of Ghost World is this graphic novel about a group of disparate neighbors who populate a small town. I'm not a huge graphic novel reader- I've read Jimmy Corrigan, Maus, and maybe one or two others, but I've enjoyed them all, and I'd like to read more in the future. I really appreciate Clowes' art style, and his sense of humor can be a bit chilling at times. At times sad, comically perverse, and outright odd, it's a quick read, perhaps to quick. I was left a little mystified by the sudden conclusion, and I wished it was a little longer.

Calling Out A Moratorium

Some of you heavy users may not like this, but people saying "Anyhoo" has got to come to an end. Soon!

While we're at it, I'm still very leery of "Twenty Four Seven." It's just not passing muster, and whenever anyone over the age of 35 utters it, I just want to laugh.

Doggone It!

For Mom's Christmas present last year, Nick thought it would be a good idea to buy her tickets to the big, grandaddy-o of dogs shows, the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, held every year in mid-February at Madison Square Garden. She loves dogs, we used to watch it on TV together every year, and she always said she'd make it there one day, so Nick and I thought it would make a terrific gift. Nick bought one ticket for Mom, and since he had the radio show to do every weeknight, he bought a ticket for me so I could accompany her.

The show is spread out over 2 days, so Nick got tickets for the second night, where they judge 3 breeds and then pick the best in show to cap off the event. Being 11 weeks away, we thought that would give our Mom plenty of time to make arrangements for a trip down to NY, seeing as she doesn't work anymore and that she has a rather light schedule these days.

Unfortunately, Mom wasn't feeling that well come February 14th, so Nick and I were stuck with these two tickets he had purchased way back in December. We thought she'd make the drive down, but she cancelled the trip the night before. We didn't have enough time to post them on craigslist or sell them, and nobody we knew was free and/or interested in going to a dog show on Valentine's Day night. Not wanting to eat the tickets entirely, I called 5 or so people to no avail and decided just to go on my own. I love dogs, too, but it turned out to be a lot more entertaining than I thought it would be.

After work, I walked 2 blocks south to the Garden, and I saw all these owners and handlers walking around with their dogs outside- all the nearby hotels were booked solid with owners, handlers, and canines. I stood outside for a few minutes, wondering if there was any way I could scalp my second, unused ticket, but I had no luck. There were a few creepy-looking scalpers roaming around, but they didn't seem to be that successful, so I gave up quickly andf went inside.

The cool thing about going to this show is you don't just find your seat, sit down, and watch the judging. The Garden's open all day long while each Best of Breed competition is going on, and they let everyone walk back into the doggy clubhouse where the dogs nap in their crates, where the handlers groom them relentlessly, and audience members can schmooze with the owners and find out how to buy a dog just like that one in the show. It was literally like walking into a live version
of 'Best In Show.' I bumped into every character from that movie 10 times over.



It felt like a giant sociology petrie dish in this "benching area." Owners actually sitting inside the crates with their dogs while reading a paperback novel to kill time (there's a LOT of waiting around), loads of gay men, blow dryer and brush in hand, quibbling over how to comb their dogs hair, and loads of midwestern women in the 40-55 age range, some dog owners, some paid guests like myself.



These dogs were treated better than most people. Every dog had their own personal fan attached to their crate.

At one point I found myself in a sea of 15 borzois surrounding me at every angle. I know they're just dogs, but those big fellas with their long, horse-like faces give me the willies, especially seeing so many at once.

I know it was a dog show, but for me it turned into more of a perverse people-watching show, the unintentional comedy scale being upended and broken again and again.



Once I found my seat inside the arena at 8pm, the show began and I was treated to more wacko characters sitting in front of me and behind me. When the golden retriever won best of group (man, middle america sure does love golden retrievers, pugs, and german shephards. I mean, how mainstream can they get? This golden retriever could have had one eye and two legs and this crowd would have fainted with praise over it.) A woman and mother of 2 in front of me started crying with joy and her two kids jumped up and down like it was Christmas morning. She had a girl and a boy, and the boy was 11 or 12, just on the cusp of puberty. In a year or two he'll be listening to Puddle of Mudd, contemplating drugs and obsessing over girls, but for tonight he's jumping up and down with his mother and younger sister, yelling in a hihg-pitched voice bound to start breaking any day. Were they the owners? No, they just had a golden retiever at home and liked them. It's like watching a passionate crowd root for their favorite team at a football game, except here they're all cheering on supremely-groomed canines.




Most annoying of all throughout the night was this middle-aged woman sitting directly behind me with her daughter. She was either the owner of or had something to do with the Australian cattle dog in the competition. She didn't stop yapping about how great this dog "Rebel" was the entire night, and she was talking to anyone around her that would listen, directlyu into my ear. The coup de grace was when she referred to the dog as her grandson and then broke into a tale about her great-grandson. This was, at most, a 45 year old woman. Some confused elderly woman with a southern twang sitting a few seats away to he right was puzzled. "Now, are you talking about a person or are you talking about the dog?" because we were all a little confused. Ultimately we could have cared less, but we were confused nevertheless. Of course, she stopped her yapping when old Rebel didn't place in the hearding group. She actually started crying foul and saying the judges were too
narrow-minded, that one day Australia would get its due, and that the olde english sheep dog winning was so blah and 5 years ago. This woman also brought along her 5-year-old daughter with her, and that back-and-forth dialogue, as exasperating as it was, was pretty funny. In my head I kept thinking, "This is great stuff! I should be writing it all down!"



As the hound group competetion was about to begin, some nerdy, heavy-set guy way up in the back screamed out for the entire Garden to hear, "Release The Hounds!!!" and it got a huge laugh. I laughed, too, but for all the wrong reasons. I think there were some high-fives shared afterwards between the screamer and his circle of hound-lovin' compatriots.

The crowd was ready to tear the roof off for that retriever in the finals, but the colored bull terrier (not a particularly attractive dog, but I'll admit he was very steady and poised) ended up taking home the crown.



I know Best In Show already did a great job lampooning this subculture, but this was a treasure trove for untapped unintentional humor, and I was only there for a mere 5 hours. You really have to see it and experience it to believe it. As cynical as I may come across in this recap, I ended up enjoying myself and having a much better time than I had originally anticipated, even though I was there solo.

Sticky Space Bars

I think I'd be more apt to write here and spend less of my work downtime reading a book and checking my email if I had a better keyboard. The standard office-issue keypad in these parts is a black Dell model. And it's not a quiet key, so the rap-tap-tap of the keys is a bit louder than I'd prefer, especially in this eerily quiet office space. If I get on a typing tear and I'm going at full-steam, I get a little paranoid that those around me will catch on and realize how little I have to do during the day.

But, truth be told, this keybpard is just bad. Plain and simple. My biggest beef is the space bar; it sticks something terrible, and it drives me NUTS. Every sentence I type has at least two words combined, and then I have to go back and space them out. I talked to IT, and they had me use an air blower to dislodge tiny particles that could be deep down in the keyboard causing the problems, but it didn't help (though, admittedly, there was a lot of junk doen there).

I guess my IBM laptop has spoiled me. At this point, I'll take just about any laptop keyboard over a standard desktop board. After 7 years of laptop typing on a Fujitsu and an IBM, going back to the old keyboard feels clunky and laborious. When I interned at the newspaper in Cyprus, I brought my laptop into work and spurned the regular old computer they assigned me. I still have no idea how I was able to hook my laptop up to their network, but I fiddled around with it for about 15 minutes, and somehow I hooked it up.

So for now I'm stunk with this old clunker, but I'm going to take some action soon.

Whenever I've made a reference to OK Soda in the past, I'm always met with a puzzled look and a, "Huh? What's that?" Then I usually say something along the lines of, "You don't remember OK Soda? It was put out by Coke for like, less than a year when I was in middle school, so somewhere in the early-to-mid-90s. They had this crazy, anti-ad ad campaign. Everything was in black and white, the commericals, the cans. And the cans had this weird comic book art on them. Oh, and you could call this 1-800 number and leave a message about how OK Soda invariably made you feel OK. How did it taste? Well, sort of like Coke mixed with orange soda and a sip of Dr. Pepper. Man, I wish it were still around." And whoever I'm telling this to usually looks at me like OK Soda was something I've made up in my fantastical imagination.

Well, thanks to Wikipedia, I now know why so many people don't remember OK- because most of the country never drank it or saw it! It was only test-marketed in a select number of cities (Boston being one of the lucky municipalities) for a 7 month window starting in the summer of 1994. Then it was yanked from the shelves, never to be seen or consumed again.